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Chautauqua Library. .... Garnet Series. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
 a ^election from ftis BEorftis; 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION BY E. E. HALE. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 CHAUTAUQUA PRESS, 
 
 117 FRANKLIN STREET. 
 1886. 
 
Copyright, 1886, 
 By rand, AVERY, & CO. 
 
 iz-^^7/K 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION v 
 
 THE TRAVELLER; or, A Prospect of Society ... i 
 
 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 21 
 
 RETALIATION : A Poem 41 
 
 PICTURES OF LIFE. 
 
 Adventures of a Strolling Prayer o 57 
 
 A Description of Various Clubs 70 
 
 The Tricks of Gamesters 82 
 
 Mr. Fudge, the Publisher 98 
 
 The Little Beau 104 
 
 The Arts of a Mercer 109 
 
 THE MAN IN BLACK. 
 
 In Westminster Abbey 115 
 
 Views of Philanthropy 123 
 
 The Same, continued 128 
 
 In the Matter of Old Maids and Bachelors , . 137 
 
 A Case at Westminster Hall ......... 142 
 
 A Conclusion 147 
 
 BOOKS AND AUTHORS. 
 
 The Book-taught Philosopher . 155 
 
 The Profits of Poetry 159 
 
 The Labors of the Learned ' . . . . 164 
 
 The Advantages of a Strong Title-page .... 169 
 
 The Disputes of the Learned 172 
 
 ill 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 FACE 
 
 THE ECCENTRICITIES OF FASHION. 
 
 A Lady of Distinction . i8i 
 
 The Difference of Ceremonies 185 
 
 ON LITERATURE AND TASTE. 
 
 Sentimental Comedy 193 
 
 Taste 199 
 
 Cultivation of Taste 210 
 
 The Republic of Letters 223 
 
 Literary Tribunals 228 
 
 ON VARIOUS MATTERS. 
 
 Recompenses of Mediocrity. . 235 
 
 Happiness in a Great Measure Dependent on Con- 
 stitution 239 
 
 On the Instability of Worldly Grandeur . . . 244 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, 
 
 ESQ 249 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith is read wherever men read 
 English ; and, where he is read, he is almost always 
 loved. 
 
 He died comparatively young. He was but forty- 
 five years old. He had not distinguished himself by 
 any special research. There was no line of literature 
 in which, at that moment, he was confessed to be a 
 master. Men who went to his funeral called him 
 " poor Goldsmith ; " and it is most likely that they did 
 not know, that after a century he would be perhaps 
 the best remembered of any of them. 
 
 Dr. Johnson seems to have surprised those around 
 him, when he said that Goldsmith was a great man. 
 
 But if to be remembered is any fair test of great- 
 ness. Goldsmith has probably as good a right as any of 
 that self-satisfied circle to plead the evidence of after- 
 memory. Within ayear past, his play of " She Stoops 
 
vi introduction: 
 
 to Conquer " has been republished, with elegant illus- 
 trations, and sent to two hundred thousand homes, as 
 being one of the most attractive entertainments which 
 can be provided for them. It would be fair, prob- 
 ably, to say that more copies of the " Vicar of Wake- 
 field " have been printed in the last year, than were 
 published in Goldsmith's own lifetime. And, if we 
 bring in the test of frequent quotation, what English 
 poet of that time furnishes more lines to the daily 
 use of ours, than he who tells us how 
 
 " Fools who came to scoff remained to pray," 
 or how 
 
 " Winter lingering chills the lap of May." 
 
 Mr. Irving, in the preface to his charming biography 
 of Goldsmith, calls him his master, citing the beauti- 
 ful lines which Dante used when he spoke of Virgil : — - 
 
 " Thou art my master and my author ; thou, 
 Thou art the only one from whom I take 
 The charming style which gave to me my fame." 
 
 If we owed nothing to Goldsmith but the debt we 
 incur because he was the master of Irving, we might 
 well be grateful to him. 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith was born in Pallas, in Ireland. 
 His father was a poor clergyman of the English 
 Church ; and, when Oliver was two years old, he re- 
 moved to Lissoy, a little village in Westmeath, where 
 he occupied a farm of seventy acres. 
 
 This place is the " Sweet Auburn " of Goldsmith's 
 " Deserted Village ; " though in that poem he does not 
 call it an Irish village, and does not scruple to intro- 
 duce one English peculiarity, the nightingale, a bird 
 which is not found in Ireland. For the rest, even the 
 details of the description of " Auburn " may be traced 
 in Lissoy ; and till lately, at least, the traveller found 
 them pointed out with a fond idolatry. The hawthorn 
 only — 
 
 " That lifts its head on high, 
 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye" — 
 
 had yielded to the passion for greed, which had cut it 
 up for the sale of curiosities to travellers. 
 
 Unfortunately for him, probably, — but who shall 
 dare say, when the result was what we know, — the 
 family early determined that the boy Oliver had a rare 
 genius, and must have a literary or liberal education. 
 For this his father's means were quite inadequate ; and 
 the cost of his training was met by various benefac- 
 tions of relatives, in a happy-go-lucky kind of way, 
 
viii IN TROD UC TION, 
 
 which would have broken up, very soon, even the 
 most regular or prudent dispositions, had he even had 
 any. He worried through the University of Dublin, 
 by the help of one of those wretched provisions, 
 wrecks of feudal times, in which a poor student is 
 permitted to exist in the college if he does some part 
 of its menial work. His own self-respect was wounded ; 
 and, from his own account, it can hardly be that the 
 college was well served. He made in college some 
 life-long friends : one of them was Edmund Burke. 
 But he does not seem to have won the favor of the 
 teachers. Nor is there, indeed, any evidence that 
 their judgment of him was a matter of any impor- 
 tance. They were men, who, if not utterly forgotten 
 to-day, are only remembered because they are men- 
 tioned in his tHOgraphy and in Burke's. 
 
 When he had left college he was as much in doubt 
 as he was the day he entered it, as to what he was to 
 do in the world, that he might earn his living. He 
 tried one and another adventure. Once he came so 
 near settling in America, that his trunk was brought 
 to this continent in the ship from Cork, for which he 
 had paid his passage. Goldsmith himself was care- 
 lessly out of the way when the wind came fair for her. 
 But for this chance, a sort of chance not unusual in 
 his life, we lost one more generous young Irishman to 
 
INTRODUCTION, ix 
 
 join with Montgomery and others in the opening strug- 
 gles of our Revohition. He might have written songs 
 and odes with Freneau ; or fought, perhaps died, with 
 Montgomery. But Fate did not so order. 
 
 Such a series of half-experiments, and of utter fail- 
 ures, would certainly have ruined nineteen young men 
 out of twenty. In Goldsmith's case they did not, per- 
 haps, ruin him ; but most, or all, of the wretchedness 
 of his after-life may be referred to the habits formed 
 in these years of adventure, and to the disposition in 
 himself and in his family which made any such adven- 
 ture even possible. It is said that an old clergyman 
 said, as the result of forty years' experience in the 
 Christian ministry, that in that time he had known but 
 two devils, and that their names, like that of "the 
 Devil," began with D. One was Drink, and the other 
 was Debt. Goldsmith, in his too short life, was not 
 wholly free from the temptations of the larger of these 
 two devils. But under his inflictions, despite the 
 wretched habits of his time and his companions, he 
 did not break down utterly. Ot the other devil, 
 whose name is Debt, he was the slave from the 
 beginning to the end. We shall see that his life was 
 shortened, and his whole career embittered, because 
 he early learned all the ways of debt, and never re- 
 lieved himself from its tyranny. 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It was at last determined that he should study med- 
 icine (if the word " determine " can fairly be applied 
 to any of the fancies which swept, from time to time, 
 over the counsels of the Goldsmith family and their 
 friends) . Money enough was begged and borrowed for 
 him to go to Edinburgh, and enter himself as a student 
 of medicine there. He spent years in this study, hap- 
 pily and fortunately for himself. He was an affection- 
 ate observer of outward nature always. He always 
 made friends, and was of a loving and unselfish dis- 
 position. All these are qualities which go to the 
 make-up of a good physician. After a year and a half 
 of study in Edinburgh, he determined to carry further 
 his study in Leyden, and again in Paris. He had ac- 
 quired some knowledge of French, in Ireland ; and 
 this availed him from the beginning, in his wanderings 
 upon the Continent. 
 
 Wanderings they were, indeed ; and probably they 
 gave to his after-life more in a knowledge of mankind, 
 — in a hundred phases such as only a vagabond sees, — 
 than in any scientific knowledge of surgery or medi- 
 cine which he acquired in the schools of Holland or 
 of France. If, by any good fortune, he ever had any 
 money, he was sure to share it with some other tramp 
 or adventurer, — or, indeed, to give it all to him. He 
 soon learned the way to travel in France, and to earn 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 the cost of travelling. With the flute he carried with 
 him, he would play for the villagers to dance ; and they, 
 in return, would provide for his food and his lodging. 
 Or he would present himself at one of the convents 
 which still existed in France, with the doors opened 
 to almost all vagabonds, — certainly to wandering 
 scholars ; and by a clever thesis, perhaps, or by 
 that social charm which he always carried with him, 
 he would secure a welcome from good-natured breth- 
 ren, who probably, though they might live long lives 
 in their retreat, never welcomed again a guest so 
 attractive as this young Irishman. 
 
 The wonder is, indeed, that Goldsmith ever re- 
 turned to England, so completely did this vagrant 
 life accord with his tastes and habits. But the news 
 of the death of his uncle Contarine recalled him to 
 England; and in 1756, when he was twenty-eight 
 years old, he found himself in London, not because 
 he had friends there, or had any pretence that he had 
 any thing to do there, but under the universal law, by 
 which all adventurers drift, in the end, to the largest 
 city which is within the circle of their gyrations. At 
 first he offered himself to the pubhc of London as a 
 practitioner of medicine. He had fairly earned the 
 degree of M.D. ; and as " Dr. Goldsmith," or as " the 
 Doctor," he was familiarly known in London until 
 
Xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he died. But he had scarcely a friend to introduce 
 him. He does not seem to have had any remarkable 
 skill as a physician ; though there is no reference to 
 any failure he ever made, except in the management 
 of his own case. Clear it is, that his fees, or hofiot-a- 
 riums, were not enough to provide him bread and 
 butter, even on an humble plan of life. And so, 
 fortunately for the world, he was obliged to try 
 the staff of literature, as so many other young pro- 
 fessional men have tried it, to help him in his 
 limping. 
 
 The figure is Walter Scott's, as will be well remem- 
 bered. And Scott accompanies it with the advice, — 
 which so many men have rejected, because his great 
 example lured them on in their rejection, — that one 
 should use literature as a staff only, or a help, in 
 the business of life ; and men come to rely on it. 
 "It is a good staff," he says, "and a poor crutch." 
 Goldsmith had so httle success as a practitioner of 
 medicine, that once and again he gave up his pro- 
 fession, and relied altogether on his pen for his sup- 
 port. Once or twice he resumed his practice, or 
 tried to do so. But, in the end, literature was his 
 crutch ; and, so far as worldly comfort went, he walked 
 with this crutch as well and as ill as most men walk 
 with crutches. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIU 
 
 It is, on the whole, a misfortune for readers and for 
 students, that side by side with real scholars, real 
 poets, the men who have seen something, learned 
 something, or felt something; side by side, that is 
 to say, with poets, prophets, scholars, thinkers, and 
 observers, — there grows up a race of men, whom the 
 Greeks called sophists, who have the arts of writing, 
 and of writing well, of talking, and of talking well, 
 while from their own observation, their own thought, or 
 their own feelings, they have nothing to say. Athens 
 was full of such sophists in the time of Socrates and 
 Plato ; and, with the invention of the art of printing, 
 the field for their career has greatly enlarged, and 
 their num.bers greatly increased. In modern times, 
 as in Greece, they formed a " profession j " and, for 
 centuries, the fact that a man is engaged in literature, 
 has been no evidence that from his own life he has 
 any thing to say. 
 
 It was Dr. Goldsmith's misfortune, that with his 
 rare and delicate poetic genius, and sympathetic 
 habits of observing nature, he found himself in rivalry 
 with these " hacks," as they are rightly called, in the 
 competitions of Grub Street. But he met his fate 
 gallantly. And, in the competitions of this wretched 
 crew, his white plume might always be seen in the 
 advance, like Henry of Navarre's. It is a great 
 
\ 
 
 xiv INTRO D UC TION. 
 
 thing to say, that when his fame was estabhshed, — so 
 that men went back to find in ephemeral magazines 
 the essays which he had, perhaps, been paid for in 
 shilUngs, — these essays were not unworthy of his 
 reputation. In this regard he reminds an American, 
 of our own Hawthorne. And one is tempted to ask 
 whether, when Hawthorne was minting coin for tlie 
 favored readers of the "American Monthly Maga- 
 zine," he did not sometimes look back to the time, 
 a hundred years before, when Goldsmith was writing 
 for one and another London magazine, which, but for 
 his magic, would be forgotten to-day. 
 
 He was most fertile in expedients ; and the publish- 
 ers soon found, that for once, to borrow the phrase of 
 a great showman, " the mermaid was alive." Gold- 
 smith sometimes was late in meeting his appointments ; 
 and this is a sin in authors, which, for good reasons, 
 booksellers do not easily pardon. But the men on 
 Grub Street soon knew how good his works were. It is 
 a curious fact about the publishers of books, that the 
 great majority of them, since their business was in- 
 vented, have known very little of the wares in which 
 they have dealt. Success in their calling requires, 
 gather, that they should know their market ; should be 
 able to judge, promptly and well, what the readers of 
 their time require, and what they will buy. In Gold- 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 smith's case, he was unfortunate that he had no great 
 pubUsher to deal with. There was no great pubHsher 
 in London in that time. He did make allegiance with 
 Newbury, the publisher of children's books for two 
 generations or more, in St. Paul's churchyard ; and, 
 under Newbury's auspices, some of Goldsmith's first 
 things saw the light. 
 
 Newbury had founded the "Monthly Review," a 
 magazine, which, with many vicissitudes, survived 
 nearly to our time j and for this. Goldsmith was en- 
 gaged, on a fixed salary, as a regular contributor. The 
 days when special articles were specially paid for, by 
 the publishers of such journals, had not dawned. 
 
 From the time of Goldsmith's arrival in London, 
 when he was twenty-eight years old, to his death, when 
 he was forty-six, he spent most of his life in assiduous 
 work with his pen. He was also an usher in a school ; 
 and, as has been said, he announced himself as a phy- 
 sician. One of his most loyal patients was a journey- 
 man printer, who introduced him to the great novelist 
 Richardson. Richardson employed him as a proof- 
 correcter, and introduced him to Dr. Young, the author 
 of the " Night Thoughts," which were then highly es- 
 teemed. Both these successful men were kind to the 
 young doctor, and to Goldsmith their introductions 
 were of great help in his new career. 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Of all the books we owe to his genius, that which 
 had the least appearance of a hack's job is, as might be 
 expected, that which is most widely known, and has 
 done most for his reputation. The " Vicar of Wake- 
 field " was not written to order. He wrote it because 
 he wanted to write it, and it was finished before it 
 was sold. This is more than can be said of most of 
 his work, which was, alas ! generally paid for before 
 it was begun. When it was finished, Goldsmith showed 
 the manuscript to Dr. Johnson, whom he had then come 
 to know, who was always kind to him, and who had 
 great authority in the London world of letters. John- 
 son approved it ; but confessed afterwards, that he did 
 not prize it as it deserved, and that he had not, for a 
 moment, suspected its great success. At his instance, 
 Francis Newbury, a nephew of the publisher of the 
 " Monthly Review," bought the manuscript, and what 
 we should call the copyright, for sixty guineas, — 
 about three hundred dollars. In the state of letters, 
 then. Dr. Johnson said that this was " no mean 
 price." Strange to say, the manuscript was held 
 by the publisher two whole years without printing. 
 When it was printed, in 1766, the public immediately 
 recognized its worth. It ran through four editions 
 before the end of the year, — a sale then considered 
 marvellous. But Francis Newbury never paid Gold- 
 
INTRO D UC TION. XVll 
 
 smith any thing more for it than the original sixty- 
 guineas. 
 
 The book at once won the place which to this day 
 it holds in English literature. The simplicity of the 
 language, the pathos of the story, the domestic char- 
 acter of all the situations, so familiar that every reader 
 can sympathize, the tenderness and affection which 
 are beneath every line, make it a favorite of learned 
 and simple alike. The style, for people who study the 
 mechanism of English expression, may be called per- 
 fect ; and, by the tricksters of speech, it is proposed as 
 a model. Unfortunately for the book itself, therefore, 
 it has been chosen, in foreign countries, as the book in 
 the English language most fit for pupils to begin upon. 
 And while girls and boys in America read Voltaire's 
 " Charles XII.," or About's " Roman d'un Jeune 
 Homme Pauvre," the children of France and Germany 
 learn their English by translating the loves of Olivia, 
 and the misfortunes of Dr. Primrose. 
 
 After Goldsmith had written the " Vicar of Wake- 
 field," and before he had published it, he produced, 
 in another stress of poverty, the manuscript of the 
 " Traveller." He had been in London eight years, 
 and had not, in all his work for the booksellers, pub- 
 lished any thing with his own name. With much hesi- 
 tation he revised it, with great care, — it seems to have 
 
XVlii INTRODUCTION, 
 
 been written long before, — and referred it to Johnson's 
 judgment. Johnson's judgment on such matters was 
 often very poor ; but in this case, fortunately for the 
 world, he was delighted with the poem, and said so 
 cordially. He even wrote a few lines in the end of it, 
 which are, as might be expected, among the poorer 
 lines of the piece. It was published by the older 
 Newbury, in a quarto, as was the fashion of that time, 
 on the 19th of December, 1764, and was hailed with 
 enthusiasm. Goldsmith's reputation as a poet was 
 made ; and, from that moment to this, the opinion of 
 men of sense and feeling has never wavered. The 
 poem had every thing which Johnson liked in a poem, 
 — in the perfection of its finish, in its freedom from 
 extravagance on either side, and in the decorous sim- 
 plicity of its plan. It has beyond this, qualities which 
 Johnson had not, and which he was hardly able to 
 appreciate, but which the public, always wiser than 
 any man or any woman, infallibly marks with the seal 
 of its loyal approbation. From the " Traveller," the 
 biographers of Goldsmith have selected many pas- 
 sages descriptive of his own life. Such is his descrip- 
 tion of those piping days of his journey through 
 France, 
 
 " Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
 Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 How often have I led thy sportive choir, 
 With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ? 
 Where shading elms along the margin grew, 
 And freshen'd 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' skill, 
 Yet would the village praise my wondrous power. 
 And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. 
 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
 Have led their children through the mirthful maze. 
 And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, 
 Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore." 
 
 The poem, indeed, fulfils the sternest requisition of 
 criticism, substantially laid down by Horace. Every 
 line can stand for its own life, and prove its own right 
 to remain, unerased by the sharpest or most unkind 
 file. There is not a line but has a right to be. The 
 same may be said of " The Deserted Village." And 
 when one thinks of these poems, and remembers the 
 lines from them which are household words, one shud- 
 ders to recollect the months and years of labor which 
 Goldsmith forced himself to give to subjects in which 
 he took no interest, but that he earned by them his 
 daily bread. 
 
 Meanwhile, he gradually made the acquaintance of 
 the men of letters best known and most esteemed in 
 London. When this is said, however, it must be 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 remembered, that, between the men of letters and the 
 men of science and philosophy, there was a wider 
 division than would be drawn now. An intimate 
 acquaintance, first with Richardson and Young, and 
 afterward with Johnson and the Literary Club, does 
 not seem to have involved an acquaintance with 
 Hume, or Robertson, or Adam Smith, or Priestley. 
 At the time when Goldsmith was enjoying his new 
 fame as a poet, Benjamin Franklin was in London, 
 living near him, and in familiar intercourse with 
 Hume, Priestley, Pringle, the head of the Royal In- 
 stitution, Price, and Shipley, the bishop of St. Asaph. 
 But in the somewhat full correspondence of Gold- 
 smith and of Franklin, we have found no evidence 
 that the two ever met. When Franklin writes to his 
 friends of his improvement in musical glasses, one 
 does remember the lady joined her practice of them 
 with her study of Shakspeare. 
 
 In the solid and faithful work which he did for the 
 booksellers, we are to remember Goldsmith's *' His- 
 tory of Rome." For near a century it held its own 
 on book-shelves, among the " books which no gentle- 
 man's library could be without." It had no merit, 
 and pretended to none, as a critical examination of 
 rival authorities. It had the merit of a charming 
 English style. One could read it, and, reading it, 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXl 
 
 could enjoy it. It is the same merit, which, at the 
 same time, gave Hume's " History of England " the 
 place which it never deserved as a standard, and yet 
 has never lost. His "Animated Nature," a book of 
 natural history, still fascinates the fortunate boy or 
 girl who lights upon it among the stores of an old 
 library. He worked on it as one works on job-work. 
 But he lighted it up by his own memories and obser- 
 vations. He never forgot, in this work or in any, 
 that an author's first necessity is to be read. He 
 must be entertaining. If not, he might as well write 
 with blue ink on blue paper. Let him command his 
 reader's sympathy and attention first. Then he will 
 have a chance to instruct that reader, correct him, or 
 to make him over as he will. 
 
 This hurried review shows, that, in less than twenty 
 years, Goldsmith published three poems, which have 
 taken the very first rank; that he pubhshed the 
 novel which is often called the best novel written in 
 English ; that he pubhshed a history which held its 
 own for a hundred years ; an epitome of natural his- 
 tory, which has survived the discoveries of many gen- 
 erations, and that he wrote two of the comedies 
 recognized among the best on the English stage. To- 
 day this would seem to be a great deal, and is. But 
 it is impossible to read Goldsmith's life, without a cer- 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION, 
 
 tain feeling of annoyance, because, from such a well, 
 the world did not draw more ; and we ask, half pro- 
 voked, "Is this all?" 
 
 For the story — not very amusing or attractive — 
 shows that he was always at work in fetters. He was 
 benevolent to a fault, too benevolent; that is, that 
 he would give to beggars what belonged to his credit- 
 ors. He had a certain vanity in dress, and in other 
 matters, which betrayed him into expenditures which 
 he could not afford. His life, therefore, was frittered 
 away with quarrels with creditors, and the duns of 
 tradesmen and landladies. Indeed, the derision and 
 pity of those around him, did much to make him 
 wretched. The Devil of Debt took possession of 
 him ; and no man shall say what are the unwritten 
 poems and romances for which, but for that devil, we 
 might now be thanking Goldsmith. 
 
 It would be absurd to say that Goldsmith made 
 any great contributions to human progress ; that he 
 added, what is called rather pompously, any " great 
 thought " to the intellectual advance of the world ; 
 or that, for its moral training, he made any new reve- 
 lation. But for that other object, not less important, 
 of making life pleasant and happy, of cheering 
 homes otherwise sad, of driving out impure thoughts 
 by pure, or making long hours short, or lonely 
 
INTRODUCTION, XXIU 
 
 days cheerful, few authors who have written in the 
 English language have done so much as he. It is 
 impossible to read his life without feeling that he 
 could have done more and better, had he held him- 
 self better in hand. He worked like a slave, gener- 
 ally, because he would not be his own master; and 
 the work of a slave is almost sure to be poor work. 
 But while we repeat this, we must not forget what 
 we have. We must enjoy that, and may well study 
 it, hopeful indeed, that, among a hundred thousand 
 students, the study may possibly give us one more 
 Washington Irving. 
 
THE TRAVELLER; OR, A PROSPECT 
 OF SOCIETY. 
 
(1764.) 
 
 To THE Rev. Henry Goldsmith. 
 
 Dear sir, — I am sensible that the friendship between us can 
 acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication ; and 
 perhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my 
 attempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a 
 part of this Poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland, 
 the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed to you. 
 It will also throw a light upon many parts of it when the 
 reader understands that it is addressed to a man who, despising 
 fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, 
 with an income of forty pounds a year. 
 
 I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble 
 choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, where the 
 harvest is great and the laborers are but few ; while you have 
 left the field of ambition, where the laborers are many, and 
 the harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds of 
 ambition, what from the refinement of the times, from different 
 systems of criticism, and from the divisions of party, that 
 which pursues poetical fame is the wildest. 
 
 Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished 
 nations ; but in a country verging to the extremes of refine- 
 ment Painting and Music come in for a share. As these offer 
 the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment, they at first 
 rival Poetry, and at length supplant her ; they engross all 
 that favor once shown to her, and though but younger sisters, 
 seize upon the elder's birthright. 
 
 3 
 
4 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is 
 still in great danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned 
 to improve it. What criticisms have we not heard of late in 
 favor of blank verse and Pindaric odes, chorusses, anapests, 
 and iambics, alliterative care and happy negligence ! Every 
 absurdity has now a champion to defend it : and as he is gen- 
 erally much in the wrong, so he has always much to say ; for 
 error is ever talkative. 
 
 But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous, — I 
 mean party. Party entirely distorts the judgment, and destroys 
 the taste. When the mind is once infected with this disease, it 
 can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the dis- 
 temper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists from pursuing 
 man after having once preyed upon human flesh, the reader 
 who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes ever 
 after the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. 
 Such readers generally admire some half-witted thing, who 
 wants to be thought a bold man, having lost the character of a 
 wise one. Him they dignify with the name of poet: his 
 tawdry lampoons are called satires : his turbulence is said to 
 be force, and his frenzy fire. 
 
 What reception a poem may find, which has neither abuse, 
 party, nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I soli- 
 citous to know. My aims are right. Without espousing the 
 cause of any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage of 
 all. I have endeavored to show that there may be equal hap- 
 piness in states that are differently governed from our own ; 
 that every state has a particular principle of happiness, and that 
 this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. 
 There are few can judge better than yourself how far these 
 positions are illustrated in this Poem. I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most affectionate Brother, 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
THE TRAVELLER; OR, A PROSPECT 
 OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 
 Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po ; 
 Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 
 Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; 
 Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 
 A weary waste expanding to the skies ; 
 Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
 My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; 
 Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 
 And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 
 
 Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
 And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ; 
 Blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire 
 To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire : 
 Blest that abode where want and pain repair, 
 And every stranger finds a ready chair : 
 Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd, 
 Where all the ruddy family around 
 Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
 Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; 
 
 5 
 
6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 
 And learn the luxury of doing good. 
 
 But me, not destin'd such delights to share. 
 My prime of life in wandering spent and care ; 
 Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue 
 Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ; 
 That, like the circle bounding earth and skies. 
 Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; 
 My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 
 And find no spot of all the world my own. 3° 
 
 E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 
 I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 
 And plac'd on high above the storm's career. 
 Look downward where an hundred realms appear ; 
 Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide. 
 The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. 
 
 When thus Creation's charms around combine. 
 Amidst the store should thankless pride repine ? 
 Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 
 That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? 4® 
 Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can. 
 These little things are great to little man ; 
 And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind 
 Exults in all the good of all mankind. 
 Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd ; 
 Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round ; 
 Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 
 Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale ; 
 For me your tributary stores combine : 
 Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. 5° 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 7 
 
 As some lone miser, visiting his store, 
 Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er ; 
 Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
 Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 
 Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 
 Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies : 
 Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall. 
 To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; 
 And oft I wish amidst the scene to find 
 Some spot to real happiness consign'd, 60 
 
 Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, 
 May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. 
 
 But where to find that happiest spot below 
 Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
 The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 
 Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
 Extols the treasures of his stormy seas. 
 And his long nights of revelry and ease : 
 The naked negro, panting at the line. 
 Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70 
 
 Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave. 
 And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 
 Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam ; 
 His first, best country ever is at home. 
 And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare. 
 And estimate the blessings which they share. 
 Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
 An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; 
 As different good, by art or nature given. 
 To different nations makes their blessing even. So 
 
8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 
 Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call : 
 With food as well the peasant is supply'd 
 On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side ; 
 And though the rocky-crested summits frown, 
 These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. 
 From art more various are the blessings sent ; 
 Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. 
 Yet these each other's power so strong contest, 
 That either seems destructive of the rest. 9° 
 
 Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails ; 
 And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. 
 Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, 
 Conforms and models life to that alone. 
 Each to the fav'rite happiness attends. 
 And spurns the plan that aims at other ends : 
 Till carried to excess in each domain. 
 This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. 
 
 But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 
 And trace them through the prospect as it Hes : i°o 
 Here for a while my proper cares resign'd, 
 Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 
 Like yon neglected shrub at random cast. 
 That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 
 
 Far to the right, where Apennine ascends. 
 Bright as the summer, Italy extends : 
 Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, 
 Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; 
 While oft some temple's mould'ring tops between 
 With venerable grandeur mark the scene. "o 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 9 
 
 Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
 The sons of Italy were surely blest. 
 Whatever fruits in different climes were found, 
 That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground j 
 Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 
 Whose bright succession decks the varied year j 
 Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
 With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ; 
 These, here disporting, own the kindred soil, 
 Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; ^20 
 
 While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand 
 To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 
 
 But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, 
 And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. 
 In florid beauty groves and fields appear ; 
 Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
 Contrasted faults through all his manners reign : 
 Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; 
 Though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet untrue ; 
 And e'en in penance planning sins anew. 13° 
 
 All evils here contaminate the mind 
 That opulence departed leaves behind ; 
 For wealth was theirs, not far removed the date 
 When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state : 
 At her command the palace learnt to rise. 
 Again the long-fall'n column sought the skies, 
 The canvas glow'd, beyond e'en nature warm, 
 The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form. 
 Till, more unsteady than the southern gale. 
 Commerce on other shores display'd her sail ^ ^40 
 
10 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 While nought remain'd of all that riches gave, 
 But towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave : 
 And late the nation found with fruitless skill 
 Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 
 
 Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 
 By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; 
 From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind 
 An easy compensation seem to find. 
 Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, 
 The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade, '5° 
 
 Processions form'd for piety and love, 
 A mistress or a saint in every grove. 
 By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd ; 
 The sports of children satisfy the child. 
 Each nobler aim, represt by long control. 
 Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; 
 While low delights succeeding fast behind, 
 In happier meanness occupy the mind : 
 As in those domes where Caesars once bore sway, 
 Defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay, i6o 
 
 There in the ruin, heedless of the dead. 
 The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
 And, wondering man could want the larger pile. 
 Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 
 
 My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey 
 Where rougher climes a nobler race display ; 
 Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread. 
 And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 
 No product here the barren hills afford. 
 But man and steel, the soldier and his sword ; ^70 
 
THE TRAVELLER. II 
 
 No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, 
 f But winter lingering chills the lap of May : ) 
 No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 
 But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 
 
 Yet, still, e'en here content can spread a charm, 
 Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
 Though poof the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' small. 
 He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
 Sees no contiguous palace rear its head 
 To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; ^^o 
 
 No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
 To make him loath his vegetable meal ; 
 But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
 Each wish contracting fits him to the soil.- 
 Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 
 Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes ; 
 With patient angle trolls the finny deep ; 
 Or drives his vent'rous plough-share to the steep ; 
 Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way. 
 And drags the struggling savage into day. 19° 
 
 At night returning, every labor sped. 
 He sits him down the monarch of a shed j 
 Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
 His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze ; 
 While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard. 
 Displays her cleanly platter on the board : 
 And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, 
 With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 
 
 Thus every good his native wilds impart 
 Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 200 
 
12 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise 
 Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
 Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
 And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; 
 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
 Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, 
 So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar 
 But bind him to his native mountains more. 
 
 Such are the charms to barren states assign'd ; 
 Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. 210 
 
 Yet let them only share the praises due : 
 If few their wants, their pleasures are but few ; 
 For every want that stimulates the breast 
 Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest ; 
 Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies 
 That first excites desire, and then supplies ; 
 Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, 
 To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
 Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, 
 Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. 220 
 Their level life is but a smouldering fire, 
 Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire ; 
 Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer 
 On some high festival of once a year. 
 In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 
 Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 
 
 But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow : 
 Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low ; 
 For, as refinement stops, from sire to son 
 Unalter'd, unimprov'd the manners run, 230 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 1 3 
 
 And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart 
 
 Fall blunted from each indurated heart. 
 
 Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast 
 
 May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest ; 
 
 But all the gentler morals, such as play 
 
 Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way. 
 
 These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly, 
 
 To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 
 
 To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, 
 I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. 240 
 Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
 Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please. 
 How often have I led thy sportive choir. 
 With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ? 
 Where shading elms along the margin grew, 
 And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew ; 
 And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring still. 
 But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill. 
 Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, 
 And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. 250 
 
 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
 Have led their children through the mirthful maze, 
 And the gay grandsire, skill' d in gestic lore, 
 Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore. 
 
 So blest a life these thoughtless realms display ; 
 Thus idly busy rolls their world away ; 
 Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 
 For honor forms the social temper here. 
 Honor, that praise which real merit gains, 
 Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, 260 
 
14 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Here passes current : paid from hand to hand, 
 It shifts in splendid traffic round the land ; 
 From courts to camps, to cottages, it strays, 
 And all are taught an avarice of praise. 
 They please, are pleas'd ; they give to get esteem ; 
 Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. 
 
 But while this softer art their bliss supplies, 
 It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
 For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought. 
 Enfeebles all internal strength of thought, 270 
 
 And the weak soul, within itself unblest. 
 Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
 Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art. 
 Pants for the vulgar praise wliich fools impart ; 
 Here vanity assumes her pert grimace. 
 And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; 
 Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer. 
 To boast one splendid banquet once a year ; 
 The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, 
 Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 280 
 
 To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
 Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. 
 Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
 Where the broad ocean leans against the land, 
 And, sedulous to stop the coming tide. 
 Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
 Onward methinks, and diligently slow. 
 The firm connected bulwark seems to grow ; 
 Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 
 Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. 290 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 1 5 
 
 While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, 
 Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile : 
 The slow canal, the yellow-blossom' d vale, 
 The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, 
 The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, — 
 A new creation rescued from his reign. 
 
 Thus while around the wave-subjected soil 
 Impels the native to repeated toil, 
 Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
 And industry begets a love of gain. 3°° 
 
 Hence all the good from opulence that springs. 
 With all those ills superfluous treasure brings. 
 Are here display' d. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts 
 Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts : 
 But view them closer, craft and fraud appear ; 
 E'en liberty itself is barter'd here. 
 At gold's superior charms all freedom flies ; 
 The needy sell it, and the rich man buys \ 
 A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves. 
 Here wretches seek dishonorable graves, 31° 
 
 And calmly bent, to servitude conform, 
 Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 
 
 Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old ! 
 Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; 
 War in each breast, and freedom on each brow : 
 How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 
 
 Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, 
 And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; 
 Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 
 And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide. 320 
 
1 6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 There all around the gentlest breezes stray ; 
 
 There gentle music melts on every spray ; 
 
 Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, 
 
 Extremes are only in the master's mind ! 
 
 Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state, 
 
 With daring aims irregularly great ; 
 
 Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
 
 I see the lords of human kind pass by ; 
 
 Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 
 
 By forms unfashion'd fresh from Nature's hand, 33^ 
 
 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
 
 True to imagin'd right, above control, 
 
 While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan. 
 
 And learns to venerate himself as man. 
 
 Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here ; 
 Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear : 
 Too blest indeed, were such without alloy ! 
 But foster'd e'en by Freedom ills annoy : 
 That independence Britons prize too high 
 Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ; 34° 
 The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, 
 All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown. 
 Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held. 
 Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd ; 
 Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, 
 Repressed ambition struggles round her shore, 
 Till, over-wrought, the general system feels. 
 Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 
 
 Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, 
 As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, 35° 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 1/ 
 
 Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, 
 
 Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
 
 Hence all obedience bows to these alone, 
 
 And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown : 
 
 Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, 
 
 The land of scholars and the nurse of arms, 
 
 Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame. 
 
 Where kings have toil'd and poets wrote for fame. 
 
 One sink of level avarice shall lie. 
 
 And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die. S^o 
 
 Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, 
 I mean to flatter kings, or court the great : 
 Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire. 
 Far from my bosom drive the low desire. 
 And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel 
 The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; 
 Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
 By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun ; 
 Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure ! 
 I only would repress them to secure : ZT^ 
 
 For just experience tells, in every soil. 
 That those who think must govern those that toil ; 
 And all that Freedom's highest aims can reach. 
 Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. 
 Hence, should one order disproportioned grow. 
 Its double weight must ruin all below. 
 
 O then how blind to all that truth requires, 
 Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
 Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms. 
 Except when fast approaching danger warms j 3^° 
 
1 8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 But when'contending chiefs blockade the throne, 
 
 Contracting regal power to stretch their own, 
 
 When I behold a factious band agree 
 
 To call it freedom when themselves are free, 
 
 Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw. 
 
 Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law, 
 
 The wealth of climes where savage nations roam 
 
 Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at home, 
 
 Fear, pity, justice, indignation start, 
 
 Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; 39° 
 
 Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
 
 I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 
 
 Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour 
 When first ambition struck at regal power ; 
 And thus polluting honor in its source. 
 Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. 
 Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore. 
 Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 
 Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, 
 Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste ? 4°° 
 
 Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain. 
 Lead stern depopulation in her train. 
 And over fields where scattered hamlets rose 
 In barren solitary pomp repose ? 
 Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call 
 The smiHng long- frequented village fall? 
 Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed. 
 The modest matron, and the blushing maid. 
 Forced from their homes, a melancholy train. 
 To traverse climes beyond the western main ; 4^o 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 1 9 
 
 Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, 
 And Niagara stuns with thundering sound ? 
 
 Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays 
 Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways. 
 Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 
 And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim j 
 There, while above the giddy tempest flies, 
 And all around distressful yells arise, 
 The pensive exile, bending with his woe. 
 To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, 420 
 
 Casts a long look where England's glories shine, 
 And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 
 
 Vain, very vain, my weary search to find 
 That bliss which only centres in the mind : 
 Why have I strayed from pleasure and repose. 
 To seek a good each government bestows ? 
 In every government, though terrors reign. 
 Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain. 
 How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
 That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! 43° 
 Still to ourselves in every place consigned. 
 Our own felicity we make or find : 
 With secret course, which no loud storms annoy. 
 Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
 The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 
 Luke'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. 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
(1770.) 
 
 To Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I can have no expectations, 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 
 ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel : and I may 
 lose much by the severity of your judgment, 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. 
 
 How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere 
 mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to inquire ; 
 but I know you will object (and indeed several of our best and 
 wisest friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it 
 deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the disorders it laments 
 are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I 
 can scarcely make any other answer than that I sincerely be- 
 lieve what I have written ; that I have taken all possible pains, 
 in my country excursions, for these four or five years past, to 
 be certain of what I allege, and that all my views and inquiries 
 have led me to believe those miseries real which I here attempt 
 to display. But this is not the place to enter into an inquiry, 
 whether the country be depopulating or not ; the discussion 
 would take up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, 
 
 23 
 
24 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, 
 when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. 
 
 In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh 
 against the increase of our luxuries ; and here also I expect 
 the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or 
 thirty years past it has been the fashion to consider luxury as 
 one of the greatest national advantages, and all the wisdom of 
 antiquity in that particular as erroneous. Still, however, I 
 must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to 
 think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many 
 vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. 
 Indeed so much has been poured out of late on the other side 
 of the question, that merely for the sake of novelty and 
 variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the right. I am, 
 
 Dear Sir, your sincere Friend and ardent Admirer, 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain ; 
 Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, 
 Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
 And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : 
 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
 How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
 Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 
 How often have I paused on every charm, 
 The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, '^ 
 
 The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
 The decent church that topt the neighboring hill. 
 The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. 
 For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
 How often have I blest the coming day. 
 When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
 And all the village train, from labor free. 
 Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree. 
 While many a pastime circled in the shade. 
 The young contending as the old surveyed ; 20 
 
 25 
 
26 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 
 
 And still, as each repeated pleasure tired. 
 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; 
 
 The dancing pair that simply sought renown, 
 
 By holding out, to tire each other down ; 
 
 The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. 
 
 While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 
 
 The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love. 
 
 The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. 3° 
 
 These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these. 
 
 With sweet succession, taught even toil to please : 
 
 These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed : 
 
 These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 
 
 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn. 
 Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
 
 (Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
 
 ^ And desolation saddens all thy green : 
 One only master grasps the whole domain, 
 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 4° 
 
 No more thy glassy brook reflects the day. 
 But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way; 
 Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
 The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
 Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 
 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 
 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 
 And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
 And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand. 
 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 5° 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE, 2/ 
 
 / 111 fares the land, to hastening 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. 
 
 A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
 When every rood of ground maintained its man ; 
 For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
 Just gave what life required, but gave no more : 60 
 His best companions, innocence and health ; 
 And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
 
 But times are altered ; trade's unfeeling train 
 Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ; 
 Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 
 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, 
 And every want to opulence allied. 
 And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
 Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
 Those calm desires that asked but little room, 7° 
 
 Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
 Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ; 
 These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
 And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
 Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
 Amidst thy tangHng walks and ruined grounds. 
 And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, So 
 
28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 
 
 In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
 In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown. 
 Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 And keep the flame from wasting by repose : 
 I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. 
 Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, 9° 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 
 And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue 
 Pants to the place from whence, at first he flew, 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past. 
 Here to return — and die at home at last. 
 
 O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, 
 Retreats from care, that never must be mine, 
 How happy he who crowns in shades like the,se 
 A youth of labor with an age of ease ; loo 
 
 ' Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
 ' And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
 For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 
 Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
 Nor surly porter stands in guilty state, 
 To spurn imploring famine from the gate j 
 But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
 Angels around befriending Virtue's friend ; 
 Bends to the grave with unperceived decay. 
 While resignation gently slopes the wayj iio 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 29 
 
 And, all his prospects brightening to the last, 
 His heaven commences ere the world be past ! 
 
 Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 
 Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
 There, as I past with careless steps and slow, 
 The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
 The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, 
 The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, 
 The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
 The playful children just let loose from school, 120 
 
 The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, 
 1 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; — 
 These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
 And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
 But now the sounds of population fail, 
 No cheerfiil murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
 No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, 
 For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 
 All but yon widowed, solitary thing, 
 That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 130 
 
 She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 
 To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
 To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn. 
 To seek her nightly shed, and weep till mom j 
 She only left of all the harmless train. 
 The sad historian of the pensive plain. 
 
 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
 And still where many a garden-flower grows wild ; 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. Ho 
 
30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 'A man he was to all the country dear, 
 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place ; 
 
 Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, 
 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
 
 Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
 
 More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 
 His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
 
 He chid their wanderings, but reheved their pain : 150 
 
 The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, 
 
 Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
 
 The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
 
 Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed \ 
 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
 
 Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 
 
 Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, 
 
 Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow. 
 
 And quite, forgot their vices in their woe ; ^^° 
 
 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at every call, 
 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
 To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. '7o 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 3 1 
 
 Beside the bed where parting hfe was laid, 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
 The reverend champion stood. At his control 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
 And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 
 
 At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
 Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
 \ And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. '^o 
 The service past, around the pious man. 
 With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 E'en children followed with endearing wile, 
 And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given. 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 190 
 , Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
 With blossom 'd furze unprofitably gay. 
 There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
 The village master taught his little school. 
 A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
 I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
 Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
 The day's disasters in his morning face ; 200 
 
32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
 At all his jokes, for many a joke had he j 
 Full well the busy whisper circling round 
 Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught. 
 The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 
 The village all declared how much he knew : 
 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too j 
 Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
 And e'en the story ran that he could gauge : 210 
 
 In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill ; 
 For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 
 While words of learned length and thundering sound 
 Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
 And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 
 That one small head could carry all he knew. 
 
 But past is all his fame. The very spot 
 Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 
 Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high. 
 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220 
 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired. 
 Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired. 
 Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
 And news much older than their ale went round. 
 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
 The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
 The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor. 
 The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; 
 The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 230 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 33 
 
 The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
 The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 
 The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, 
 With aspen boughs and flowers and ferinel gay ; 
 While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 
 Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
 
 Vain transitory splendors ! could not all 
 Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? 
 Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 240 
 
 Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
 To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
 No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
 No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear. 
 Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear j 
 The host himself no longer shall be found 
 Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
 Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 
 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250 
 
 Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain. 
 These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
 To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
 One native charm, than all the gloss of art ; 
 Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play. 
 The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway j 
 Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
 Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
 But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. 
 With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, — 260 
 
34 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
 The toihng pleasure sickens into pain ; 
 And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, 
 The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 
 
 Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 
 The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
 ' 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand 
 Between a splendid and a happy land. 
 Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
 And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 270 
 Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 
 And rich men flock from all the world around. 
 Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name 
 That leaves our useful products still the same. 
 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
 Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 
 Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. 
 Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 
 The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
 Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 
 His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 2S1 
 
 Indignant spurns the cottage from the green : 
 Around the world each needful product flies, 
 For all the luxuries the world supplies ; 
 While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 
 In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 
 
 As some fair female unadorned and plain, 
 Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. 
 Slights every borrowed charm that dress supphes, 
 Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 290 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 35 
 
 But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, 
 
 When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
 
 She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
 
 In all the glaring impotence of dress. 
 
 Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed : 
 
 In Nature's simplest charms at first arrayed, 
 
 But verging to decline, its splendors rise, 
 
 Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
 
 While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 
 
 The mournful peasant leads his humble band, 3°° 
 
 And while he sinks, without one arm to save. 
 
 The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 
 
 Where then, ah ! where, shall poverty reside, 
 To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
 If to some common's fenceless limits strayed 
 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
 And even the bare-worn common is denied. 
 
 If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 
 To see profusion that he must not share ; 3^° 
 
 To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
 To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; 
 To see those joys the sons of pleasure know 
 Extorted from his fellow- creature's woe. 
 Here while the courtier glitters in brocade. 
 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
 Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, 
 There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
 The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign 
 Here richly deck'd admits the gorgeous train : 32° 
 
36 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, 
 
 The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
 
 Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 
 
 Sure these denote one universal joy 1 
 
 Are these thy serious thoughts ? — Ah, turn thine eyes 
 
 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 
 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, 
 
 Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; 
 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; ZZ'^ 
 
 Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled, 
 
 Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, 
 
 And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower. 
 
 With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
 
 When idly first, ambitious of the town, 
 
 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 
 
 Do thine, sweet Auburn, — thine, the loveliest train, — 
 Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
 Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 34° 
 
 Ah, no ! To distant chmes, 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. 
 Far different there from all that charmed before. 
 The various terrors of that horrid shore \ 
 Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
 And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
 Those matted woods, where birds forget to sing, 
 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 35° 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 37 
 
 Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 
 
 Where the dark scorpion gathers death around, 
 
 Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
 
 The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake, 
 
 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
 
 And savage men more murderous still than they ; 
 
 While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
 
 Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
 
 Far different these from every former scene, 
 
 The cooling brook, the grassy vested green, Z^° 
 
 The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
 
 That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 
 
 Good heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day. 
 That called them from their native walks away ; 
 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 
 Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, 
 And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
 For seats like these beyond the western main. 
 And shuddering still to face the distant deep. 
 Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 37° 
 The good old sire the first prepared to go 
 To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 
 But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 
 He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears. 
 The fond companion of his helpless years, 
 Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
 And left a lover's for her father's arms. 
 With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
 And blest the cot where every pleasure rose, 380 
 
38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 
 And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear. 
 Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
 In all the silent manhness of grief. 
 
 O luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 
 How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 
 How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
 Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
 Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown. 
 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 39° 
 
 At every draught more large and large they grow, 
 A bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe ; 
 Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
 Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 
 
 Even now the devastation is begun. 
 And half the business of destruction done ; 
 Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
 I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
 Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail. 
 That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400 
 
 Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
 Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 
 Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
 And kind connubial tenderness, are there j 
 And piety with wishes placed above, 
 And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 
 And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid 
 Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; 
 Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 
 To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 4^° 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE, 39 
 
 Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
 
 My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 
 
 Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 
 
 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 
 
 Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 
 
 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 
 
 Farewell, and O ! where'er thy voice be tried. 
 
 On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, 
 
 Whether where equinoctial fervors glow. 
 
 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 
 
 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time. 
 
 Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; 
 
 Aid sHghted truth with thy persuasive strain ; 
 
 Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain : 
 
 Teach him, that states of native strength possest. 
 
 Though, very poor, may still be very blest ; 
 
 That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay. 
 
 As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
 
 While self-dependent power can time defy. 
 
 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430 
 
RETALIATION: A POEM. 
 
RETALIATION: A POEM.^ 
 
 [As the cause o£ writing the following printed poem called 
 Retaliation has not yet been fully explained, a person concerned 
 in the business begs leave to give the following just and minute 
 account of the whole affair. 
 
 At a meeting of a company of gentlemen who were well 
 known to each other, and diverting themselves, among many 
 other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, who 
 never would allow a superior in any art, from writing poetry 
 down to dancing a hornpipe, the Doctor with great eagerness 
 insisted upon trying his epigrammatic powers with Mr. Gar- 
 rick, and each of them was to write the other's epitaph. Mr. 
 Garrick immediately said that his epitaph was finished, and 
 spoke the following distich extempore : — 
 
 " Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 
 Who wrote like an angel, but talked liked poor Poll." 
 
 Goldsmith, upon the company's laughing very heartily, grew 
 very thoughtful, and either would not or could not write anything 
 at that time ; however, he went to work, and some weeks after 
 produced the following printed poem called Retaliation, which 
 has been much admired, and gone through several editions. 
 The public in general have been mistaken in imagining that 
 this poem was written in anger by the Doctor : it was just the 
 contrary; the whole on all sides was done with the greatest 
 good humor.] 
 
 ^ This poem, the last work of Goldsmith, was not printed until after his 
 death. The above description of the manner of its writing was appended to 
 Cunningham's edition of Goldsmith, 
 
 43 
 
RETALIATION: A POEM. 
 
 (1774.) 
 
 Of old, when Scarron his companions invited, 
 Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united ; 
 If our landlord ^ supplies us with beef and with fish, 
 Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best 
 
 dish : 
 Our Dean ^ shall be venison, just Tresh from the plains ; 
 Our Burke ^ shall be tongue with the garnish of brains ; 
 Our Will 4 shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavor. 
 And Dick s with his pepper shall heighten the savor ; 
 Our Cumberland's ^ sweet-bread its place shall obtain. 
 And Douglas ? is pudding, substantial and plain ; ^o 
 
 ^ The master of the St. James's coffee-house, where the Doctor, and the 
 friends he has characterized in his poem, occasionally dined. 
 
 ^ Doctor Barnard, Dean of Derry and afterwards Bishop of Limerick. 
 
 3 The Right Hon. Edmund Burke. 
 
 4 Mr. William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, member for 
 Bedwin, and a relative of Edmund Burke. 
 
 5 Mr. Richard Burke, a barrister, and younger brother of the great states- 
 man. 
 
 6 Mr. Richard Cumberland, the dramatist. 
 
 7 Dr. Douglas, canon of Windsor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who 
 was made Bishop of Carlisle, and afterwards Bishop of Salisbury. 
 
 45 
 
46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Our Garrick's ^ a sallad, for in him we see 
 Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree ; 
 To make out the dinner, full certain I am, 
 That Ridge ^ is anchovy, and Reynolds 3 is lamb. 
 That Hickey's ^ a capon, and, by the same rule, 
 Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool. 
 At a dinner so various, at such a repast, 
 Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? 
 Here, waiter, more wine ! let me sit while I'm able, 
 Till all my companions sink under the table ; 20 
 
 Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head. 
 Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. 
 
 Here lies the good Dean,5 re-united to earth. 
 Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth : 
 If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt j 
 At least, in six weeks I could not find 'em out ; 
 Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied 'em. 
 That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. 
 
 Here lies our good Edmund,^ whose genius was such. 
 We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much ; 3^ 
 Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind. 
 And to party gave up what was meant for mankind ; 
 Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat 
 To persuade Tommy Townshend 7 to lend him a vote : 
 
 ^ David Garrlck. 
 
 2 Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar. 
 
 3 Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 4 An eminent Irish attorney. 
 
 5 See note 2, p. 45. 
 ^ See note 3, p. 45. 
 
 7 Mr. T. Townshend, M.P. for Whitchurch, afterwards Lord Sydney. 
 
RETALIATION: A POEM. 47 
 
 Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, 
 And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining ; 
 Though equal to all things, for all things unfit j 
 Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit, 
 For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient, 
 And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient 4° 
 In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, sir, 
 To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. 
 
 Here lies honest William,^ whose heart was a mint. 
 While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't ; 
 The pupil of impulse, it forced him along. 
 His conduct still right, with his argument wrong ; 
 Still aiming at honor, yet fearing to roam. 
 The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home ; 
 Would you ask for his merits ? — alas ! he had none : 
 What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his 
 own. 5° 
 
 Here lies honest Richard,^ whose fate I must sigh at ; 
 Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet ! 
 What spirits were his ! what wit and what whim ! 
 Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb ; 
 Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball, 
 Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all ! 
 In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, 
 That we wished him full ten times a day at Old Nick ; 
 But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein. 
 As often we wished to have Dick back again. 60 
 
 * See note 4, p. 45. 
 
 2 Mr. Richard Burke, see p. 45. At different times he fractured both an 
 arm and a leg. 
 
48 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, 
 The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ; 
 A flattering painter, who made it his care 
 To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. 
 His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, 
 And comedy wonders at being so fine ; 
 Like a tragedy-queen he has dizened her out, 
 Or rather like tragedy giving a rout. 
 His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd 
 Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud ; 1^ 
 
 And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone, 
 Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own. 
 Say, where has our poet this malady caught? 
 Or wherefore his characters thus without fault? 
 Say, was it that vainly directing his view 
 To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, 
 Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf. 
 He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? 
 
 Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, 
 The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks : So 
 Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, 
 Come and dance on the spot where your tyrant re- 
 clines : 
 When satire and censure encircled his throne, 
 I feared for your safety, I feared for my own ; 
 But now he is gone, and we want a detector. 
 Our Dodds ' shall be pious, our Kenricks ^ shall lecture, 
 
 * The Rev. Dr. Dodd, hanged for forgery in 1777. 
 
 2 Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of 
 " The School of Shakespeare," and one of Goldsmith's bitterest foes. 
 
RETALIATION : A POEM. 49 
 
 Macpherson ^ write bombast, and call it a style, 
 
 Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile ; 
 
 New Lauders and Bowers 2 the Tweed shall cross over. 
 
 No countryman living their tricks to discover ; 9° 
 
 Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, 
 
 And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark. 
 
 Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can ; 
 An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man. 
 As an actor, confessed without rival to shine : 
 As a wit, if not first, in the very first line : 
 Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, 
 The man had his failings, a dupe to his art. 
 Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread, 
 And beplastered with rouge his own natural red. 1°° 
 On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ; 
 'Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting. 
 With no reason on earth to go out of his way. 
 He turned and he varied full ten times a day : 
 Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick 
 If they were not his own by finessing and trick : 
 He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, 
 For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them 
 
 back. 
 Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came ; 
 And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame ; "o 
 Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, 
 Who peppered the highest, was surest to please. 
 
 1 Jamas Macpherson, Esq. Goldsmith is alluding to his translation of 
 Homer. 
 
 2 William Lauder and Archibald Bower, Scotch writers. 
 
50 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 But let us be candid, and speak out our mind : 
 
 If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. 
 
 Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,^ and Woodfalls^ so grave, 
 
 What a commerce was yours, while you got and you 
 
 gave ! 
 How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you 
 
 raised, 
 While he was be-Rosciused, and you were bepraised. 
 But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies. 
 To act as an angel and mix with the skies : ^^o 
 
 Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill 
 Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will ; 
 Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and v/ith love. 
 And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.^ 
 
 1 Mr, Hugh Kelly, author of " False Delicacy," " Word to the Wise," 
 " Clementina," ** School for Wives," etc., etc. 
 
 2 Mr, William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. 
 
 3 The following poems, composed in humorous revenge by Garrick, are 
 found in Davies's *' Life of Garrick," p. 17, top. 
 
 JUPITER AND MERCURY: A Fable. 
 
 Here Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, 
 
 Go, fetch me some clay; I will make an odd fellow ! 
 
 Right and wrong shall be jumbled, — much gold and some dross; 
 
 Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross; 
 
 Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions, 
 
 A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions! 
 
 Now mix these ingredients, which, warmed in the baking, 
 
 Turned to lear7iing2^xi(S. gaming, religion and raking. 
 
 With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste; 
 
 Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste; 
 
 That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail, 
 
 Set fire to his head, and set fire to his tail: 
 
 For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it. 
 
 This scholar, rake. Christian, dupe, gamester, ^.nd poets 
 
RETALIATION: A POEM. 5 1 
 
 Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant crea- 
 ture, 
 And slander itself must allow him good nature ; 
 He cherished his friend, and he relished a bumper ; 
 Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. 
 Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser : 
 I answer. No, no ; for he always was wiser. 13° 
 
 Too courteous, perhaps, or obhgingly flat ? 
 His very worst foe can't accuse him of that. 
 Perhaps he confided in men as they go. 
 And so was too foolishly honest? Ah no ! 
 Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn ye. 
 He was — could he help it? — a special attorney. 
 
 Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, 
 He has not left a wiser or better behind. 
 His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; 
 His manners were gentle, complying, and bland : 14° 
 Still born to improve us in every part. 
 His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. 
 To' coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering : 
 When they judged without skill, he was still hard of 
 hearing ; 
 
 Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame. 
 And among brother mortals — be Goldsmith his name. 
 When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear. 
 You, Hermes, shall fetch him — to make us sport here. 
 
 Otu Dr. Goldsmith' s Characteristical Cookery. 
 
 A JEU d'eSPRIT. 
 
 Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us ? 
 Is this the great poet whose works so content us ? 
 This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books ? 
 Heaven sends us good iiteat but the Devil sends cooks. 
 
52 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and 
 
 stuff, 
 He shifted his trumpet/ and only took snuff. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 [After the fourth edition of this Poem was printed, the pubHsher 
 received the following epitaph on Mr. Wliitefoord,^ from a friend of 
 the late Doctor Goldsmith.] 
 
 Here Whitefoord redines, and, deny it who can, 
 Though he merrily lived, he is now a grave man. 
 Rare compound of oddity, froHc, and fun ! 
 Who relished a joke, and rejoiced in a pun ; 
 Whose temper was generous, open, sincere j 
 A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear ; 
 Who scattered around wit and humor at will ; 
 Whose daily bo7i mots half a column might fill ; 
 A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free ; 
 A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. ^° 
 
 What pity, alas ! that so liberal a mind 
 Should so long be to newspaper essays confined ! 
 Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, 
 Yet content " if the table he set on a roar ; " 
 Whose talents to fill any station were fit, 
 Yet happy if Woodfall ^ confess'd him a wit. 
 
 1 Sir Joshua Reynolds was so deaf, as to be under the necessity of using 
 an ear-trumpet In company. 
 
 2 Mr, Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays. He was so 
 notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to 
 keep his company without being infected with the itch of punning. 
 
 3 Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser, and the Woodfall 
 of Junius. 
 
RETALIATION: A POEM. 53 
 
 Ye newspaper witlings ! ye pert scribbling folks ! 
 Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes ; 
 Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, 
 Still follow your master, and visit his tomb : 20 
 
 To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine. 
 And copious libations bestow on his shrine ; 
 Then strew all around it (you can do no less) 
 Cross-readings,^ ship-news, and mistakes of the press. 
 Merry Whitefoord, farewell ! for thy sake I admit 
 That a Scot may have humor, — I had almost said wit : 
 This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse, 
 "Thou best humored man with the worst humored 
 Muse." 
 
 ''Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humoious pieces 
 under those titles in the Public Advertiser. 
 
PICTURES OF LIFE. 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING 
 PLAYER. 
 
 I AM fond of amusement, in whatever company it 
 is to be found ; and wit, though dressed in rags, is 
 ever pleasing to me. I went some days ago to take a 
 walk in St. James's Park, about the hour in which 
 company leave it to go to dinner. There were but few 
 in the walks, and those who stayed seemed, by their 
 looks, rather more willing to forget that they had an 
 appetite than gain one. I sat down on one of the 
 benches, at the other end of which was seated a man 
 in very shabby clothes. 
 
 We continued to groan, to hem, and to cough, as 
 usual upon such occasions ; and at last ventured upon 
 conversation. " I beg pardon, sir," cried I, " but I 
 think I have seen you before ; your face is familiar to 
 me." ■ — " Yes, sir," replied he, " I have a good famihar 
 face, as my friends tell me. I am as well known in 
 every town in England as the dromedary or live croco- 
 dile. You must understand, sir, that I have been 
 these sixteen years Merry Andrew to a puppet-show ; 
 last Bartholomew Fair my master and I quarrelled, 
 
 57 
 
58 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 beat each other, and parted ; he to sell his puppets 
 to the pincushion- makers in Rosemary Lane, and I to 
 starve in St. James's Park." 
 
 " I am sorry, sir, that a person of your appearance 
 should labor under any difficulties." — " Oh, sir," re- 
 turned he, "my appearance is very much at your 
 service ; but though I cannot boast of eating much, 
 yet there are few that are merrier : if I had twenty 
 thousand a year, I should be very merry ; and, thank 
 the Fates, though not worth a groat, I am very merry 
 still. If I have threepence in my pocket, I never 
 refuse to be my three-halfpence ; and if I have no 
 money, I never scorn to be treated by any that are 
 kind enough to pay my reckoning. What think you, 
 sir, of a steak and a tankard? You shall treat me 
 now ; and I will treat you again, when I find you in 
 the Park in love with eating, and without money to 
 pay for a dinner." 
 
 As I never refuse a small expense for the sake of a 
 merry companion, we instantly adjourned to a neigh- 
 boring ale house, and in a few moments had a frothing 
 tankard and a smoking steak spread on the table 
 before us. It is impossible to express how much the 
 sight of such good cheer improved my companion's 
 vivacity, " I like this dinner, sir," says he, " for three 
 reasons : first, because I am naturally fond of beef; 
 secondly, because I am hungry ; and, thirdly and lastly, 
 because I get it for nothing : no meat eats so sweet as 
 that for which we do not pay." 
 
 He therefore now fell to, and his appetite seemed 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 59 
 
 to correspond with his inclination. After dinner was 
 over, he observed tliat the steak was tough : " and yet, 
 sir/' returns he, "bad as it was, it seemed a rump- 
 steak to me. Oh, the dehghts of poverty and a good 
 appetite ! We beggars are the very fondhngs of 
 Nature ; the ricli she treats hke an arrant stepmother ; 
 they are pleased with nothing : cut a steak from what 
 part you will, and it is insupportably tough ; dress it 
 up with pickles, and even pickles cannot procure them 
 an appetite. But the whole creation is filled with good 
 things for the beggar ; Calvert's butt out-tastes Cham- 
 pagne, and Sedgeley's home-brewed excels Tokay. 
 Joy, joy, my blood ! though our estates lie nowhere, 
 we have fortunes wherever we go. If an inundation 
 sweeps away half the grounds of Cornwall, I am con- 
 tent -^ I have no lands there ; if the stocks sink, that 
 gives me no uneasiness — I am no Jew." The fel- 
 low's vivacity, joined to his poverty, I own, raised my 
 curiosit)- to know something of his life and circum- 
 stances ; and I entreated that he would indulge my 
 desire. "That I will, sir," said he, "and welcome; 
 only let us drink to prevent our sleeping ; let us have 
 another tankard while v/e are awake — let us have 
 another tankard ; for, ah, how charming a tankard 
 looks when full ! 
 
 "You must know, then, that I am very well de- 
 scended : my ancestors have made some noise in the 
 world ; for my mother cried oysters, and my father 
 beat a drum : I am told we have even had some trum- 
 peters in our family. Many a nobleman' cannot show 
 
60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 SO respectable a genealogy ; but that is neither here 
 nor there. As I was their only child, my father designed 
 to breed me up to his own employment, which was 
 that of a drummer to a puppet-show. Thus the whole 
 employment of my younger years was that of inter- 
 preter to Punch, and King Solomon in all his glory. 
 But though my father was very fond of instructing me 
 in beating all the marches and points of war, I made 
 no very great progress, because I naturally had no ear 
 for music ; so at the age of fifteen I went and listed 
 for a soldier. As I had ever hated beating a dram, so 
 I soon found that I disliked carrying a musket also ; 
 neither the one trade nor the other was to my taste, 
 for I was by nature fond of being a gentleman : be- 
 sides, I was obliged to obey my captain : he has his 
 will, I have mine, and you have yours ; now I very 
 reasonably concluded, that it was much more comfort- 
 able for a man to obey his own will than another's. 
 
 " The life of a soldier soon, therefore, gave me the 
 spleen. I asked leave to quit the service ; but as I 
 was tall and strong, my captain thanked me for my 
 kind intention, and said, because he had a regard for 
 me, we should not part. I wrote to my father a very 
 dismal penitent letter, and desired that he would raise 
 money to pay for my discharge ; but the good man 
 was as fond of drinking as I was, — sir, my service to 
 you, — and those who are fond of drinking never pay 
 for other people's discharges ; in short, he never an- 
 swered my letter. What could be done ? If I have 
 not money, said I to myself, to pay for my discharge, 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING FLAYER. 6 1 
 
 I must find an equivalent some other way ; and that 
 must be by running away. I deserted, and that 
 answered my purpose every bit as well as if I had 
 bought my discharge. 
 
 '"^ Well, I was now fairly rid of my military employ- 
 ment ; I sold my soldier's clothes, bought worse, and, 
 in order not to be overtaken, took the most unfre- 
 quented roads possible. One evening, as I was enter- 
 ing a village, I perceived a man, whom I afterwards 
 found to be the curate of the parish, thrown from his 
 horse in a miry road, and almost smothered in the 
 mud. He desired my assistance ; I gave it, and drew 
 him out with some difficulty. He thanked me for my 
 trouble, and was going off; but I followed him home, 
 for I loved always to have a man thank me at his own 
 door^ The curate asked an hundred questions : as, 
 whose son I was ; from whence I came ; and whether 
 I would be faithful. I answered him greatly to his 
 satisfaction, and gave myself one of the best char- 
 acters in the world for sobriety, — sir, I have the honor 
 of drinking your health, — discretion, and fidelity. 
 To make a long story short, he wanted a servant, and 
 hired me. With him I lived but two months ; we 
 did not much like each other : I was fond of eating, 
 and he gave me but little to eat ; I loved a pretty 
 girl, and the old woman, my fellow-servant, was ill- 
 natured and ugly. As they endeavored to starve me 
 between them, I made a pious resolution to prevent 
 their committing murder : I stole the eggs as soon as 
 they were laid ; I emjDtied every unfinished bottle that 
 
62 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 I could lay my hands on ; whatever eatable came in 
 my way was sure to disappear, — in short, they found 
 I would not do ; so I was discharged one morning, 
 and paid three shillings and sixpence for two months' 
 wages. 
 
 "While my money was getting ready, I employed 
 myself in making preparations for my departure. Two 
 hens were hatching in an outhouse — I went and took 
 the eggs from habit ; and not to separate the parents 
 from the children, I lodged hens and all in my knap- 
 sack. After this piece of frugality, I returned to re- 
 ceive my money, and with my knapsack on my back, 
 and a staff in my hand, I bade adieu, with tears in my 
 eyes, to my old. benefactor. I had not gone far from 
 the house when I heard behind me the cry of ' Stop 
 thief ! ' but this only increased my despatch : it would 
 have been foolish to stop, as I knew the voice could 
 not be levelled at me — But hold, I think I passed 
 those two months at the curate's without drinking. 
 Come, the times are dry, and may this be my poison, 
 if ever I spent two more pious, stupid months in all 
 my life ! 
 
 " Well, after travelling some days, whom should I 
 light upon but a company of strolling players ! The 
 moment I saw them at a distance my heart warmed to 
 them ; I had a sort of natural love for every thing of 
 the vagabond order. They were employed in settling 
 their baggage, which had been overturned in a narrow 
 way ; I offered my assistance, which they accepted ; 
 and we soon became so well acquainted, that they took 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 6^^ 
 
 me as a servant. This was a paradise to me : they 
 sang, danced, drank, eat, and travelled, all at the same 
 time. By the blood of the Mirabels, I thought I had 
 never lived till then ; I grew as merry as a grig, and 
 laughed at every word that was spoken. They liked 
 me as much as I liked them : I was a very good figure, 
 as you may see ; and though I was poor, I was not 
 modest. 
 
 " I love a straggling life above all things in the 
 world ; sometimes good, sometimes bad j to be warm 
 to-day, and cold to-morrow ; to eat when one can get 
 it, and drink when — the tankard is out — it stands 
 before me. We arrived that evening at Tenterden, 
 and took a large room at the Greyhound, where we 
 resolved to exhibit Romeo and Juliet, with the funeral 
 procession, the grave, and the garden scene. Romeo 
 was to be performed by a gentleman from the Theatre 
 Royal in Drury Lane ; Juliet by a lady who had never 
 appeared on any stage before ; and I was to snuff the 
 candles ; all excellent in our way. We had figures 
 enough, but the difficulty was to dress them. The 
 same coat that served Romeo, turned with the blue 
 lining outwards, served for his friend Mercutio ; a large 
 piece of crape sufficed at once for Juliet's petticoat 
 and pall; a pestle and mortar, from a neighboring 
 apothecary's, answered all the purposes of a bell ; and 
 our landlord's own family, wrapped in white sheets, 
 served to fill up the procession. In short, there were 
 but three figures among us that might be said to be 
 dressed with any propriety, — I mean the nurse, the 
 
64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Starved apothecary, and myself. Our performance 
 gave universal satisfaction : the whole audience were 
 enchanted with our powers. 
 
 '■'' There is one rule by which a strolling player may 
 be ever secure of success ; that is, in our theatrical way 
 of expressing it, to make a great deal of the character. 
 To speak and act as in common life is not playing, nor 
 is it what people come to see : natural speaking, like 
 sweet wine, runs glibly over the palate, and scarce 
 leaves any taste behind it ; but being high in a part 
 resembles vinegar, which grates upon the taste, and 
 one feels it while he is drinking. To please in town 
 or country the way is to cry, wring, cringe into atti- 
 tudes, mark the emphasis, slap the pockets, and labor 
 like one in the falling sickness : that is the way to work 
 for applause — that is the way to gain it. 
 
 " As we received much reputation for our skill on 
 this iirst exhibition, it was but natural for me to ascribe 
 part of the success to myself: I snuffed the candles, 
 and let me tell you, that without a candle-snuffer the 
 piece would lose half its embellishments. In this 
 manner we continued a fortnight, and drew tolerable 
 houses ; but the evening before our intended depart- 
 ure we gave out our very best piece, in which all our 
 strength was to be exerted. We had great expecta- 
 tions from this, and even doubled our prices, when, 
 behold, one of the principal actors fell ill of a violent 
 fever. This was a stroke like thunder to our little 
 company : they were resolved to go in a bod}', to scold 
 the man for falling sick at so inconvenient a time, and 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 65 
 
 that, too, of a disorder that threatened to be expen- 
 sive : I seized the moment, and offered to act the part 
 myself in his stead. The case was desperate : they 
 accepted my offer : and I accordingly sat down, with 
 the part in my hand, and a tankard before me, — sir, 
 your health, — and studied the character, which was 
 to be rehearsed the next day, and played soon after. 
 
 " I found my memory excessively helped by drink- 
 ing : I learned my part with astonishing rapidity, and 
 bade adieu to snuffing candles ever after. I found 
 that Nature had designed me for more noble employ- 
 ments, and 1 was resolved to take her when in the 
 humor. We got together, in order to rehearse ; and 
 I mformed my companions — masters now no longer 
 — of the surprising change I felt within me. ' Let 
 the sick man,' said I, '■ be under no uneasiness to get 
 well again ; I'll fill his place to universal satisfaction : 
 he may even die if he thinks proper ; I'll engage that 
 he shall never be missed.' I rehearsed before them, 
 strutted, ranted, and received applause. They soon 
 gave out that a new actor of eminence was to appear, 
 and immediately all the genteel places were bespoke. 
 Before I ascended the stage, however, I concluded 
 within myself, that as I brought money to the house 
 I ought to have my share in the profits. * Gentlemen,' 
 said I, addressing our company, '■ I don't pretend to 
 direct you ; far be it from me to treat you with so 
 much ingratitude : you have published my name in 
 the bills with the utmost good nature, and, as affairs 
 stand, cannot act without me : so, gentlemen, to show 
 
66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 you my gratitude, I expect to be paid for my acting 
 as much as any of you; otherwise I declare off; I'll 
 branish my snuffers and clip candles as usual.' This 
 was a very disagreeable proposal, but they found it 
 was impossible to refuse it ; it was irresistible, — it was 
 adamant; they consented, and I went on in King 
 Bajazet — my frowning brows bound with a stocking 
 stuffed into a turban, while on my captived arms I 
 brandished a jack-chain. Nature seemed to have fitted 
 me for the part ; I was tall, and had a loud voice ; my 
 very entrance excited universal applause ; I looked 
 round on the audience with a smile, and made a most 
 low and graceful bow, for that is the rule among us. 
 As it was a very passionate part, I invigorated my 
 spirits with three full glasses — the tankard is almost 
 out — of brandy. By Alia ! it is almost inconceivable 
 how I went through it ; Tamerlane was but a fool to 
 me ; though he was sometimes loud enough too, yet 
 I was still louder than he ; but then, besides, I had 
 attitudes in abundance: in general I kept my arms 
 folded up thus, upon the pit of my stomach ; it is the 
 way at Drury-lane, and has always a fine effect. The 
 tankard would sink to the bottom before I could get 
 through the whole of my merits : in short, I came off 
 like a prodigy ; and such was my success, that I could 
 ravish the laurels even from a sirloin of beef. The 
 principal gentlemen and ladies of the town came to 
 me, after the play was over, to compliment me upon 
 my success : one praised my voice, another my person. 
 * Upon my word,' says the Squire's lady, '■ he will make 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 6/ 
 
 one of . the finest actors in Europe ; I say it, and I 
 think I am something of a judge.' Praise in the be- 
 ginning is agreeable enough, and we receive it as a 
 favor ; but when it comes in great quantities, we re- 
 gard it only as a debt, which nothing but our merit 
 could extort : instead of thanking them, I internally 
 applauded myself. We were desired to give our piece 
 a second time : we obeyed : and I was applauded 
 even more than before. 
 
 " At last we left the town, in order to be at a horse- 
 race at some distance from thence. I shall never 
 think of Tenterden without tears of gratitude and re- 
 spect. The ladies and gentlemen there, take my word 
 for it, are very good judges of plays and actors. — 
 Come, let us drink their healths, if you please, sir. 
 We quitted the town, I say; and there was a wide 
 difference between my coming in and going out : I 
 entered the town a candle-snuffer, and I quitted it an 
 hero ! — Such is the world : Httle to-day, and great 
 to-morrow. I could say a great deal more upon that 
 subject — something truly sublime, upon the ups and 
 downs of fortune j but it would give us both the spleen, 
 and so I shall pass it over. 
 
 " The races were ended before we arrived at the 
 next town, which was no small disappointment to our 
 company ; however, we were resolved to take all we 
 could get. I played capital characters there too, and 
 came off with my usual brilliancy. I sincerely believe 
 I should have been the first actor in Europe, had my 
 growing merit been properly cultivated; but there 
 
6S OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 came an unkindly frost, which nipped me in the bud, 
 and levelled me once more down to the common 
 standard of humanity. I played Sir Harry Wildair ; 
 all the country ladies were ^harmed : if I but drew out 
 my snuff-box, the whole house was in a roar of rapture ; 
 when I exercised my cudgel, I thought they would 
 have fallen into convulsions. 
 
 " There was here a lady who had received an edu- 
 cation of nine months in London, and this gave her 
 pretensions to taste, which rendered her the indisputa- 
 ble mistress of the ceremonies wherever she came. 
 She was informed of my merits ; everybody praised 
 me, yet she refused at first going to see me perform. 
 She could not conceive, she said, anything but stuff 
 from a stroller ; talked something in praise of Garrick, 
 and amazed the ladies with her skill in enunciations, 
 tones, and cadences. She was at last, however, pre- 
 vailed upon to go ; and it was privately intimated to 
 me what a judge was to be present at my next exhibi- 
 tion. However, no way intimidated, I came on in 
 Sir Harry, one hand stuck in my breeches, and the 
 other in my bosom, as usual at Drury-lane ; but in- 
 stead of looking at me, I perceived the whole audi- 
 ence had their eyes turned upon the lady who had 
 been nine months in London ; from her they expected 
 the decision which was to secure the general's trun- 
 cheon in my hand, or sink me down into a theatrical 
 letter-carrier. I opened my snuff-box, took snuff; the 
 lady was solemn, and so were the rest : I broke my 
 cudgel on Alderman Smuggler's backj still gloomy, 
 
ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 69 
 
 melancholy all — the lady groaned and shrugged her 
 shoulders : I attempted, by laughing myself, to excite 
 at least a smile ; but the devil a cheek could I per- 
 ceive wrinkled into sympathy : I found it would not 
 do. All my good-humor now became forced ; my 
 laughter was converted into hysteric grinning; and 
 while I pretended spirits, my eye showed the agony 
 of my heart : in short, the lady came with an inten- 
 tion to be displeased, and displeased she was ; my 
 fame expired ; I am here, and — the tankard is no 
 more ! " 
 
A DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 
 
 I REMEMBER to have read in some philosopher (I 
 believe in Tom Brown's works) , that, let a man's char- 
 acter, sentiments, or complexion, be what they will, 
 he can find company in London to match them. If he 
 be splenetic, he may every day meet companions on 
 the seats in St. James's Park, with whose groans he 
 may mix his own, and pathetically talk of the weather. 
 If he be passionate, he may vent his rage among the 
 old orators at Slaughter's Coffee-house, and damn the 
 nation, because it keeps him from starving. If he be 
 phlegmatic, he may sit in silence at the Humdrum 
 Club in Ivy Lane ; and, if actually mad, he may find 
 very good company in Moorfields, either at Bedlam or 
 the Foundery, ready to cultivate a nearer acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 But, although such as have a knowledge of the town 
 may easily class themselves with tempers congenial to 
 their own, a countryman who comes to live in London 
 finds nothing more difficult. With regard to myself, 
 none ever tried with more assiduity, or came off with 
 such indifferent success. I spent a whole season in 
 70 
 
A DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 7 1 
 
 the search, during which time my name has been en- 
 rolled in societies, lodges, convocations, and meetings, 
 without number. To some I was introduced by a 
 friend, to others invited by an advertisement : to these 
 I introduced myself, and to those I changed my name 
 to gain admittance. In short, no coquette was ever 
 more solicitous to match her ribbons to her complex- 
 ion, than I to suit my club to my temper ; for I was 
 too obstinate to bring my temper to conform to it. 
 
 The first club I entered, upon coming to town, was 
 that of the Choice Spirits. The name was entirely 
 suited to my taste, — I was a lover of mirth, good- 
 humor, and even sometimes of fun, from my child- 
 hood. 
 
 As no other passport was requisite but the payment 
 of two shillings at the door, I introduced myself with- 
 out farther ceremony to the members, who were al- 
 ready assembled, and had for some time begun upon 
 business. The Grand, with a mallet in his hand, pre- 
 sided at the head of the table. I could not avoid, 
 upon my entrance, making use of all my skill in 
 physiognomy, in order to discover that superiority of 
 genius in men who had taken a title so superior to the 
 rest of mankind. I expected to see the lines of every 
 face marked with strong thinking ; but though I had 
 some skill in this science, I could for my life discover 
 nothing but a pert simper, fat, or profound stupidity. 
 
 My speculations were soon interrupted by the 
 Grand, who had knocked down Mr. Spriggins for a 
 song. I was upon this whispered by one of the com- 
 
72 ' OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 pany who sat next me, that I should now see some- 
 thing touched off to a nicety, for Mr. Spriggins was 
 going to give us "Mad Tom" in all its glory. Mr. 
 Spriggins endeavored to excuse himself; for as he 
 was to act a madman and a king, it was impossible to 
 go through the part properly without a crown and 
 chains. His excuses were overruled by a great majori- 
 ty, and with much vociferation. The president or- 
 dered up the jack-chain, and, instead of a crown, our 
 performer covered his brows with an inverted Jordan. 
 After he had rattled his chain and shook his head, to 
 the great delight of the whole company, he began his 
 song. As I have heard few young fellows offer to sing 
 in company that did not expose themselves, it was no 
 great disappointment to me to find Mr. Spriggins 
 among the number ; however, not to seem an -odd fish, 
 I rose from my seat in rapture, cried out " Bravo ! 
 Encore ! " and slapped the table as loud as any of the 
 rest. 
 
 The gentleman who sat next me seemed highly 
 pleased with my taste and the ardor of my approba- 
 tion ; and whispering, told me that I had suffered an 
 immense loss, for had I come a few minutes sooner, 
 I might have heard " Gee-ho Dobbin " sung in a tip- 
 top manner by the pimple-nosed spirit at the presi- 
 dent's right elbow ; but he was evaporated before I 
 came. 
 
 As I was expressing my uneasiness at this disap- 
 pointment, I found the attention of the company em- 
 ployed upon a fat figure, who, with a voice more rough 
 
A DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 73 
 
 than the Staffordshire giant's, was giving us the " Softly 
 sweet in Lydian measure " of Alexander's Feast. After 
 a short pause of admiration, to this succeeded a Welsh 
 dialogue, with the humors of Teague and Taffy ; after 
 that came on '' Old Jackson," with a story between 
 every stanza : next was sung the " Dust Cart," and 
 then " Solomon's Song." The glass begun now to cir- 
 culate pretty freely ; those who were silent when sober, 
 would now be heard in their turn ; every man had his 
 song, and he saw no reason why he should not be heard 
 as well as any of the rest : one begged to be heard 
 while he gave " Death and the Lady " in high taste ; 
 another sang to a plate which he kept trundling on 
 the edges. Nothing was now heard but singing; 
 voice rose above voice, and the whole became one 
 universal shout, when the landlord came to acquaint 
 the company that the reckoning was drunk out. 
 Rabelais calls the moments in which a reckoning is 
 mentioned the most melancholy of our lives : never 
 was so much noise so quickly quelled, as by this short 
 but pathetic oration of our landlord. " Drunk out 1 " 
 was echoed in a tone of discontent round the table : 
 " drunk out already ! that was very odd ! that so much 
 punch could be drunk out already — impossible!" 
 The landlord, however, seeming resolved not to re- 
 treat from his first assurances, the company was dis- 
 solved, and a president chosen for the night ensuing. 
 
 A friend of mine, to whom I was complaining some 
 time after the entertainment \ have been describing, 
 proposed to bring me to the club that he frequented, 
 
74 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 which he fancied would suit the gravity of my temper 
 exactly. "We have at the Muzzy Club," says he, "no 
 riotous mirth nor awkward ribaldry ; no confusion or 
 bawling ; all is conducted with wisdom and decency : 
 besides, some of our members are worth forty thou- 
 sand pounds — men of prudence and foresight every 
 one of them : these are the proper acquaintance, and 
 to such I will to-night introduce you." I was charmed 
 at the proposal : to be acquainted with men worth 
 forty thousand pounds, and to talk wisdom the whole 
 night, were offers that threw me into rapture. 
 
 At seven o'clock I was accordingly introduced by 
 my friend, not indeed to the company — for though I 
 made my best bow, they seemed insensible of my ap- 
 proach — but to the table at which they were sitting. 
 Upon my entering the room, I could not avoid feeling 
 a secret veneration from the solemnity of the scene 
 before me ; the members kept a profound silence, 
 each with a pipe in his mouth, and a pewter pot in 
 his hand, and with faces that might easily be construed 
 into absolute wisdom. Happy society, thought I to 
 myself, where the mem.bers think before they speak, 
 deliver nothing rashly, but convey their thoughts to 
 each other pregnant with meaning, and matured by 
 reflection ! 
 
 In this pleasing speculation I continued a full half- 
 hour, expecting each moment that somebody would 
 begin to open his mouth : every time the pipe was 
 laid down I expected it was to speak ; but it was only 
 to spit. At length, resolving to break the charm my- 
 
A DESCRIPTION- OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 75 
 
 self, and overcome their extreme diffidence — for to 
 this I imputed their silence — I rubbed my hands, 
 and, looking as wise as possible, observed that the 
 nights began to grow a little coolish at this time of 
 the year. This, as it was directed to none of the com- 
 pany in particular, none thought himself obhged to 
 answer ; wherefore I continued still to rub my hands 
 and look wise. My next effort was addressed to a 
 gentleman who sat next me ; to whom I observed, that 
 the beer was extremely good : my neighbor made no 
 reply, but by a large puff of tobacco smoke. 
 
 I now began to be uneasy in this dumb society, till 
 one of them a little relieved me, by observing, that 
 bread had not risen these three weeks. "Ay," says 
 another, still keeping the pipe in his mouth, " that 
 puts me in mind of a pleasant story about that — hem 
 — very well ; you must know — but before I begin — 
 sir, my service to you — where was I? " 
 
 My next club goes by the name of the Harmonical 
 Society ; probably from that love of order and friend- 
 ship which every person commends in institutions of 
 this nature. The landlord was himself the founder. 
 The money spent is fourpence each ; and they some- 
 times whip for a double reckoning. To this club few 
 recommendations are requisite, except the introduc- 
 tory fourpence, and my landlord's good word, which, 
 as he gains by it, he never refuses. 
 
 We all here talked and behaved as everybody else 
 usually does on his club night ; we discussed the topic 
 of the day, drank each other's healths, snuffed the 
 
^6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 candles with our fingers, and filled our pipes from the 
 same plate of tobacco. The company saluted each 
 other in the common manner : Mr. Bellows- mender 
 hoped Mr. Currycomb-maker had not caught cold 
 going home the last club night ; and he returned the 
 compliment by hoping that young Master Bellows- 
 mender had got well again, of the chin-cough. Dr. 
 Twist told us a story of a parliament-man with whom 
 he was intimately acquainted ; while the bag-man, at 
 the same time, was telling a better story of a noble 
 lord with whom he could do any thing. A gentleman 
 in a black wig and leather breeches, at t'other end 
 of the table, was engaged in a long narrative of the 
 Ghost in Cock Lane : he had read it in the papers of 
 the day, and was telling it to some that sat next him, 
 who could not read. Near him, Mr. Dibbins was dis- 
 puting on the old subject of religion with a Jew ped- 
 ler, over the table ; while the president vainly knocked 
 down Mr. Leathersides for a song. Besides the com- 
 binations of these voices, which I could hear alto- 
 gether, and which formed an upper part to the concert, 
 there were several others playing under parts by them- 
 selves, and endeavoring to fasten on some luckless 
 neighbor's ear, who was himself bent upon the same 
 design against some other. 
 
 We have often heard of the speech of a corpora- 
 tion, and this induced me to transcribe a speech of 
 this club, taken in short-hand, word for word, as it was 
 spoken by every member of the company. It may be 
 necessary to observe, that the man who told of the 
 
A DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 7/ 
 
 ghost had the loudest voice, and the longest story to 
 tellj so that his continuing narrative filled every chasm 
 in the conversation. 
 
 "So, sir, d'ye perceive me, the ghost giving three 
 loud raps at the bed-post — Says my lord to me, my 
 dear Smokeum, you know there is no man upon the 
 face of the yearth for whom I have so high — A 
 damnable false heretical opinion of all sound doctrine 
 and good learning ; for I'll tell it aloud, and spare 
 not, that — Silence for a song ; Mr. Leathersides for a 
 song — ' As I was a- walking upon the highway, I met 
 a young damsel ' — - Then what brings you here ? says 
 the parson to the ghost — Sanconiathon, Manetho, and 
 Berosus — The whole way from Islington turnpike to 
 Dog-house bar — Dam — As for Abel Drugger, sir, 
 he's damned low in it : my 'prentice boy has more of 
 the gentleman than he — For murder will out one 
 time or another ; and none but a ghost, you know, 
 
 gentlemen, can Damme, if I don't ; for my friend, 
 
 whom you know, gentlemen, and who is a parliament- 
 man, a man of consequence, a dear honest creature, 
 to be sure ; we were laughing last night at — Death 
 and damnation upon all his posterity, by simple barely 
 tasting — Sour grapes, as the fox said once when he 
 could not reach them : and I'll, I'll tell you a story 
 about that that will make you burst your sides with 
 laughing : a fox once — Will nobody listen to the song 
 — 'As I was a- walking upon the highway, I met a 
 young damsel both buxom and gay,' — No ghost, gen- 
 tlemen, can be murdered j nor did I ever hear but of 
 
yS OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 one ghost killed in all my life, and that was stabbed in 
 the belly with a — My blood and soul if I don't — 
 Mr. Bellows-mender, I have the honor of drinking 
 your very good health — Blast me if I do — dam — 
 blood — bugs — fire — whiz — blid — tit — rat — trip " 
 The rest all riot, nonsense, and rapid confu- 
 sion. 
 
 Were I to be angry at men for being fools, I could 
 here find ample room for declamation ; but, alas ! I 
 have been a fool myself; and why should I be angry 
 with them for being somethmg so natural to every 
 child of humanity? 
 
 Fatigued with this society, I was introduced the fol- 
 lowing night to a club of fashion. On taking my 
 place, I found the conversation sufficiently easy, and 
 tolerably good-natured : for my Lord and Sir Paul 
 were not yet arrived. I now thought myself com- 
 pletely fitted, and resolving to seek no farther, deter- 
 mined to take up my residence here for the winter ; 
 while my temper began to open insensibly to the 
 cheerfulness I saw diffused on every face in the room : 
 but the delusion soon vanished, when the waiter came 
 to apprise us that his Lordship and Sir Paul were just 
 arrived. 
 
 From this moment all our felicity was at an end ; 
 our new guests bustled into the room, and took their 
 seats at the head of the table. Adieu, now, all confi- 
 dence ! every creature strove who should most recom- 
 mend himself to our members of distinction. Each 
 seemed quite regardless of pleasing any but our new 
 
A DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 79 
 
 giiests ; and what before wore the appearance of 
 friendship, was now turned into rivalry. 
 
 Yet I could not observe that, amidst all this flattery 
 and obsequious attention, our great men took any 
 notice of the rest of the company. Their whole dis- 
 course was addressed to each other. Sir Paul told his 
 Lordship a long story of Moravia the Jew; and his 
 Lordship gave Sir Paul a very long account of his new 
 method of managing silk-worms : he led him, and 
 consequently the rest of the company, through all the 
 stages of feeding, sunning, and hatching ; with an epi- 
 sode on mulberry-trees, a digression upon grass seeds, 
 and a long parenthesis about his new postilion. In 
 this manner we travelled on, wishing every story to be 
 the last j but all in vain : 
 
 Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arose. 
 
 The last club in which I was enrolled a member was 
 a society of moral philosophers, as they called them- 
 selves, who assembled twice a week, in order to show 
 the absurdity of the present mode of religion, and 
 establish a new one in its stead. 
 
 I found the members very warmly disputing when I 
 arrived, not indeed about religion or ethics, but about 
 who had neglected to lay down his preliminary six- 
 pence upon entering the room. The president swore 
 that he had laid his own down, and so swore all the 
 company. 
 
 During this contest I had an opportunity of observ- 
 
80 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 ing the laws, and also the members, of the society. 
 The president, who had been, as I was told, lately a 
 bankrupt, was a tall pale figure, with a long black wig ; 
 the next to him was dressed in a large white wig and 
 a black cravat ; a third, by the brownness of com- 
 plexion, seemed a native of Jamaica ; and a fourth, 
 by his hue, appeared to be a blacksmith. But their 
 rules will give the most just idea of their learning and 
 principles. 
 
 I. We, being a laudable society of moral philosophers, in- 
 tends to dispute twice a week about religion and priestcraft ; 
 leaving behind us old wives' tales, and following good learning 
 and sound sense : and if so be, that any other persons has a 
 mind to be of the society, they shall be entitled so to do, upon 
 paying the sum of three shillings, to be spent by the company 
 in punch. 
 
 II. That no member get drunk before nine of the clock, 
 upon pain of forfeiting threepence, to be spent by the company 
 in punch. 
 
 III. That, as members are sometimes apt to go way without 
 paying, every person shall pay sixpence upon his entering the 
 room; and all disputes shall be settled by a majority; and all 
 fines shall be paid in punch. 
 
 IV. That sixpence shall be every night given to the presi- 
 dent, in order to buy books of learning for the good of the 
 society ■• the president has already put himself to a good deal 
 of expense in buying books for the club; particularly, the 
 works of Tully, Socrates, and Cicero, which he will soon read 
 to the society. 
 
 V. All them who brings a new argument against religion, 
 and who being a philosopher and a man of learning, as the rest 
 of us is, shall be admitted to the freedom of the society, upon 
 paying sixpence only, to be spent in punch. 
 
A DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 8 1 
 
 VI. Whenever we are to have an extraordinary meeting, it 
 shall be advertised by some outlandish name in the news- 
 papers. 
 
 Saunders MacWild, President. 
 
 Anthony Blewit, Vice-President. 
 
 his »J< mark. 
 
 William Turpin, Secretary. 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 
 
 A letter from Mr. *** in Tunh7'idge to Lord***"^ in 
 London^ found among the papei's of Mr. Nash, and 
 pj'epared by him for the press, 
 
 " My Lord, — What I foresaw has arrived ; poor 
 Jenners, after losing all his fortune, has shot himself 
 through the head. His losses to Bland were consider- 
 able, and his playing soon after with Spedding con- 
 tributed to hasten his ruin= No man was ever more 
 enamoured of play, or understood it less. At what- 
 ever game he ventured his money, he was most usually 
 the dupe, and still foolishly attributed to his bad luck 
 those misfortunes that entirely proceeded from his 
 want of judgment. 
 
 " After finding that he had brought on himself 
 irreparable indigence and contempt, his temper, for- 
 merly so sprightly, began to grow gloomy and unequal : 
 he grew more fond of solitude, and more liable to 
 take offence at supposed injuries ; in short, for a week 
 before he shot himself, his friends were of opinion that 
 he meditated some such horrid design. He was found 
 
 in his chamber fallen on the floor, the bullet having 
 82 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 83 
 
 glanced on the bone, and lodged behind his right 
 eye. 
 
 "You remember, my lord, what a charming fellow 
 this deluded man was once ; how benevolent, just, 
 temperate, and every way virtuous. The only faults 
 of his mind arose from motives of humanity : he was 
 too easy, credulous, and good-natured, and unable to 
 resist temptation, when recommended by the voice of 
 friendship. These foibles the vicious and the needy 
 soon perceived, and what was at first a weakness they 
 soon perverted into guilt ; he became a gamester, and 
 continued the infamous profession till he could sup- 
 port the miseries brought with it no longer. 
 
 " I have often been not a little concerned to see 
 the first introduction of a young man of fortune to 
 the gaming-table. With what eagerness his company 
 is courted by the whole fraternity of sharpers ; how 
 they find out his most latent wishes, in order to make 
 way to his affections by gratifying them, and continue 
 to hang upon him with the meanest degree of conde- 
 scension. The youthful dupe, no way suspecting, im- 
 agines himself surrounded by friends and gentlemen, 
 and, incapable of even suspecting that men of such 
 seeming good sense and so genteel an appearance 
 should deviate from the laws of honor, walks into 
 the snare, nor is he undeceived till schooled by the 
 severity of experience. 
 
 " As I suppose no man would be a gamester unless 
 he hoped to win, so I fancy it would be easy to reclaim 
 him, if he was once effectually convinced, that by con- 
 
84 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 tinuing to play he must certainly lose. Permit tne, my 
 lord, to attempt this task, and to show, that no young 
 gentleman by a year's run of play, and in a mixed 
 company, can possibly be a gainer. 
 
 " Let me suppose, in the first place, that the cliances 
 on both sides are equal, that there are no marked 
 cards, no pinching, shuffling, nor hiding ; let me sup- 
 pose that the players also have no advantage of each 
 other in point of judgment, and still further let me 
 grant, that the party is only formed at home, without 
 going to the usual expensive places of resort frequented 
 by gamesters. Even with all these circumstances in 
 the young gamester's favor, it is evident he cannot be 
 a gainer. With equal players, after a year's continu- 
 ance of any particular game it will be found that, 
 whatever has been played for, the winnings on either 
 side are very inconsiderable, and most commonly 
 nothing at all. Here then is a year's anxiety, pain, 
 jarring, and suspense, and nothing gained ; were the 
 parties to sit down and professedly play for nothing, 
 they would contemn the proposal ; they would call it 
 trifling away time, and one of the most insipid amuse- 
 ments in nature ; yet, in fact, how do equal players 
 differ? It is allowed that little or nothing can be 
 gained ; but much is lost ; our youth, our time, those 
 moments that may be laid out in pleasure or improve- 
 ment, are foolishly squandered away in tossing cards, 
 fretting at ill-luck, or, even with a run of luck in our 
 favor, fretting that our winnings are so small. 
 
 " I have now stated gaming in that point of view 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 85 
 
 in which it is alone defensible, as a commerce carried 
 on with equal advantage and loss to either party, and 
 it appears, that the loss is great, and the advantage 
 but small. But let me suppose the players not to be 
 equal, but the superiority of judgment in our own 
 favor. A person who plays under this conviction, 
 however, must give up all pretensions to the appro- 
 bation of his own mind, and is guilty of as much 
 injustice as the 'thief who robbed a blind man because 
 he knew he could not swear to his person. 
 
 "But, in fact, when I allowed the superiority of 
 skill on the young beginner's side, I only granted an 
 impossibility. Skill in gaming, like skill in making 
 a watch, can only be acquired by long and painful 
 industry. The most sagacious youth alive was never 
 taught at once all the arts and all the niceties of 
 gaming. Every passion must be schooled by long 
 habit into caution and phlegm ; the very countenance 
 must be taught proper discipline ; and he who would 
 practise this art with success, must practise on his own 
 constitution all the severities of a martyr, without any 
 expectation of the reward. It is evident, therefore, 
 every beginner must be a dupe, and can only be 
 expected to learn his trade by losses, disappointments, 
 and dishonor. 
 
 *' If a young gentleman, therefore, begins to game, 
 the commencements are sure to be to his disadvantage ; 
 and all that he can promise himself is, that the com- 
 pany he keeps, though superior in skill, are above 
 taking advantage of his ignorance, and unacquainted 
 
86 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 with any sinister arts to correct fortune. But this, 
 however, is but a poor hope at best, and, what is 
 worse, most frequently a false one. In general, I 
 might almost have said always, those who live by 
 gaming are not beholden to chance alone for their 
 support, but take every advantage which they can 
 practise without danger of detection. I know many 
 are apt to say, and I have once said so myself, that 
 after I have shuffled the cards, it is not in the power 
 of a sharper to pack them ; but at present I can con- 
 fidently assure your lordship that such reasoners are 
 deceived. I have seen men, both in Paris, the Hague, 
 and London, who, after tliree deals, could give what- 
 ever hands they pleased to all the company. How- 
 ever, the usual way with sharpers is to correct fortune 
 thus but once in a night, and to play in other respects 
 without blunder or mistake, and a perse v^erance in this 
 practice always balances the year in their favor. 
 
 " It is impossible to enumerate all the tricks and 
 arts practised upon cards ; few but have seen those 
 bungling poor fellows who go about at colTee-houses, 
 perform their clumsy feats, and yet, indifferently as 
 they are versed in the trade, they often deceive us. 
 When such as these are possessed of so much art, 
 what must not those be, who have been bred up to 
 gaming from their infancy, whose hands are not like 
 those mentioned above, rendered callous by labor, 
 who have continual practice in the trade of deceiving, 
 and where the eye of the spectator is less upon its 
 guard. 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 8/ 
 
 "Let the young beginner only reflect by what a 
 variety of methods it is possible to cheat him, and 
 perhaps it will check his confidence. His antagonists 
 may act by signs and confederacy, and this he can 
 never detect ; they may cut to a particular card after 
 three or four hands have gone about, either by having 
 that card pinched, or broader than the rest, or by hav- 
 ing an exceeding fme wire thrust between the folds of 
 the paper, and just peeping out at the edge. Or the 
 cards may be chalked with particular marks which 
 none but the sharper can understand, or a new pack 
 may be slipped in at a proper opportunity. I have 
 known myself, in Paris, a fellow thus detected with 
 a tin case, containing two packs of cards, concealed 
 within his shirt sleeve, and which, by means of a spring, 
 threw the cards ready packed into his hands. These 
 and an hundred other arts may be practised with 
 impunity and escape detection. 
 
 '' The great error lies in imagining every fellow with 
 a laced coat to be a gentleman. The address and 
 transient behavior of a man of breeding are easily 
 acquired, and none are better qualified than gamesters 
 in this respect. At first, their complaisance, civility, 
 and apparent honor is pleasing ; but upon examina- 
 tion few of them will be found to have their minds 
 sufficiently stored with any of the more refined ac- 
 complishments which truly characterize the man of 
 breeding. This will commonly serve as a criterion to 
 distinguish them, though there are other marks which 
 every young gentleman of fortune should be apprised 
 
88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 of. A sharper, when he plays, generally handles and 
 deals the cards awkwardly like a bungler ; he advances 
 his bets by degrees, and keeps his antagonist in spirits 
 by small advantages and alternate success at the begin- 
 ning : to show all his force at once, would but frighten 
 the bird he intends to decoy ; he talks of honor and 
 virtue, and his being a gentleman, and that he knows 
 great men, and mentions his coal-mines, and his estate 
 in the country ; he is totally divested of that mascu- 
 line confidence which is the attendant of real fortune ; 
 he turns, yields, assents, smiles, as he hopes will be 
 most pleasing to his destined prey ; he is afraid of 
 meeting a shabby acquaintance, particularly if in better 
 company ; as he grows richer he wears finer clothes ; 
 and if ever he is seen in an undress, it is most proba- 
 ble he is without money ; so that seeing a gamester 
 growing finer each day, is a certain symptom of his 
 success. 
 
 "The young gentleman who plays with such men 
 for considerable sums, is sure to be undone, and yet 
 we seldom see even the rook himself make a fortune. 
 A life of gaming must necessarily be a life of extrava- 
 gance ; parties of this kind are formed in houses where 
 the whole profits are consumed, and while those who 
 play mutually ruin each other, they only who keep the 
 house or the table acquire fortunes. Thus gaming 
 may readily ruin a fortune, but has seldom been found 
 to retrieve it. The wealth which has been acquired 
 with industry and hazard, and preserved for ages by 
 prudence and foresight, is swept away on a sudden ; 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 89 
 
 and when a besieging sharper sits down before an 
 estate, the property is often transferred in less time 
 than the writings can be drawn to secure the posses- 
 sion. The neglect of business, and the extravagance 
 of a mind which has been taught to covet precarious 
 possession, bring on premature destruction : though 
 poverty may fetch a compass and go somewhat about, 
 yet will it reach the gamester at last ; and though his 
 ruin be slow, yet it is certain. 
 
 " A thousand instances could be given of the fatal 
 tendency of this passion, which first impoverishes the 
 mind, and then perverts the understanding. Permit 
 me to mention one, not caught from report, or dressed 
 up by fancy, but such as has actually fallen under my 
 own observation, and of the truth of which I beg your 
 lordship may rest satisfied. 
 
 "At Tunbridge, in the year 1715, Mr. J. Hedges 
 made a very brilliant appearance. He had been mar- 
 ried about two years to a young lady of great beauty 
 and large fortune ; they had one child, a boy, on whom 
 they bestowed all that affection which they could spare 
 from each other. He knew nothing of gaming, nor 
 seemed to have the least passion for play ; but he was 
 unacquainted with his own heart ; he began by degrees 
 to bet at the tables for trifling sums, and his soul took 
 fire at the prospect of immediate gain : he was soon 
 surrounded with sharpers, who with calmness lay in 
 ambush for his fortune, and coolly took advantage of 
 the precipitancy of his passions. 
 
 " His lady perceived the ruin of her family approach- 
 
90 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 ing, but at first without being able to form any scheme 
 to prevent it. She advised with his brother, who at 
 that time was possessed of a small fellowship in Cam- 
 bridge. It was easily seen that whatever took the lead 
 in her husband's mind, seemed to be there fixed un- 
 alterably ; it was determined, therefore, to let him pur- 
 sue fortune, but previously take measures to prevent 
 the pursuit being fatal. 
 
 " Accordingly, every night this gentleman was a 
 constant attender at the hazard tables ; he understood 
 neither the arts of sharpers nor even the allowed strokes 
 of a connoisseur, yet still he played. The consequence 
 is obvious : he lost his estate, his equipage, his wife's 
 jewels, and every other movable that could be parted 
 with, except a repeating watch. His agony upon this 
 occasion was inexpressible ; he was even mean enough 
 to ask a gentleman, who sat near, to lend him a few 
 pieces, in order to turn his fortune ; but this prudent 
 gamester, who plainly saw there were no expectations 
 of being repaid, refused to lend a farthing, alleging a 
 former resolution against lending. Hedges was at last 
 furious with the continuance of ill-success, and pulling 
 out his watch, asked if any person in company would 
 set him sixty guineas upon it : the company were 
 silent j he then demanded fifty ; still no ansv.'er : he 
 sunk to forty, thirty, twenty ; finding the company still 
 without answering, he cried out, 'By G — d it shall 
 never go for less,' and dashed it against the floor, at 
 the same time attempting to dash out his brains 
 against the marble chimney-piece. 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 9 1 
 
 "This last act of desperation immediately excited 
 the attention of the whole company; they instantly 
 gathered round, and prevented the effects of his 
 passion ; and after he again became cool, he was per- 
 mitted to return home, with sullen discontent, to his 
 wife. Upon his entering her apartment, she received 
 him with her usual tenderness and satisfaction ; while 
 he answered her caresses with contempt and severity ; 
 his disposition being quite altered with his misfortunes. 
 * But, my dear Jemmy,' says his wife, * perhaps you 
 don't know the news I have to tell : my mamma's old 
 uncle is dead ; the messenger is now in the house, and 
 you know his estate is settled upon you.' This account 
 seemed only to increase his agony, and looking angrily 
 at her, he cried, ' There you lie, my dear, his estate is 
 not settled upon me,' — ' I beg your pardon,' says she, 
 ' I really thought it was ; at least you have always told 
 me so.' ^No,' returned he, 'as sure as you and I are 
 to be miserable here, and our children beggars here- 
 after, I have sold the reversion of it this day, and have 
 lost every farthing I got for it at the hazard table.* 
 ' What, all ! ' replied the lady. ' Yes, every farthing,' 
 returned he, ' and I owe a thousand pounds more than 
 I have to pay.' Thus speaking, he took a few frantic 
 steps across the room. When the lady had a little 
 enjoyed his perplexity : 'No, my dear,' cried she, 'you 
 have lost but a trifle, and you owe nothing; our 
 brother and I have taken care to prevent the effects 
 of your rashness, and are actually the persons who 
 have won your fortune : we employed proper persons 
 
92 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 for this purpose, who brought their winnings to me ; 
 your money, your equipage, are in my possession, and 
 here I return them to you, from whom they were un- 
 justly taken. I only ask permission to keep my jewels, 
 and to keep you, my greatest jewel, from such dangers 
 for the future.' Her prudence had the proper effect ; 
 he ever after retained a sense of his former follies, and 
 never played for the smallest sums, even for amusement. 
 
 " Not less than three persons in one day fell a sacri- 
 fice at Bath to this destructive passion. Two gentle- 
 men fought a duel, in which one was killed- and the 
 other desperately wounded ; and a youth of great ex- 
 pectation and excellent disposition, at the same time 
 ended his own life by a pistol. If there be any state 
 that deserves pity, it must be that of a gamester ; but 
 the state of a dying gamester is of all situations the 
 most deplorable. 
 
 " There is another argument which your lordship, I 
 fancy, will not entirely despise : beauty, my lord, I own 
 is at best but a trifle, but such as it is, I fancy few 
 would willingly part with what little they have. A 
 man with a healthful complexion, how great a philoso- 
 pher soever he be, would not willingly exchange it for 
 a sallow hectic phiz, pale eyes, and a sharp wrinkled 
 visage. I entreat you only to examine the faces of all 
 the noted gamblers round one of our pubHc tables ; 
 have you ever seen anything more haggard, pinched, 
 and miserable? And it is but natural that it should 
 be so. The succession of passions flush the cheek 
 with red, and all such flushings are ever succeeded by 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 93 
 
 consequent paleness ; so that a gamester contracts the 
 sickly hue of a student, while he is only acquiring 
 the stupidity of a fool. 
 
 "Your good sense, my lord, I have often had an 
 occasion of knowing, yet how miserable is it to be in 
 a set of company where the most sensible is ever the 
 least skilful ; your footman, with a little instruction, 
 would, I dare venture to affirm, make a better and 
 more successful gamester than you. Want of passions, 
 and low cunning, are the two great arts ; and it is 
 peculiar to this science alone, that they who have the 
 greatest passion for it, are of all others the most unfit 
 to practise it. 
 
 "Of all the men I ever knew, Spedding was the 
 greatest blockhead, and yet the best gamester ; he saw 
 almost intuitively the advantage on either side, and 
 ever took it ; he could calculate the odds in a moment, 
 and decide upon the merits of a cock or a horse, bet- 
 ter than any man in England ; in short, he was such an 
 adept in gaming, that he brought it up to a pitch of 
 sublimity it had never attained before ; yet, with all 
 this, Spedding could not write his own name. What 
 he died worth I cannot tell, but of this I am certain, 
 he might have possessed a ministerial estate, and that 
 won from men famed for their sense, literature, and 
 patriotism. 
 
 " If, after this description, your lordship is yet re- 
 solved to hazard your fortune at gaming, I beg you 
 would advert to the situation of an old and luckless 
 gamester. Perhaps there is not in nature a more 
 
94 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 deplorable being : his character is too well marked, he 
 is too well known to be trusted. A man that has been 
 often a bankrupt, and renewed trade upon low com- 
 positions, may as well expect extensive credit as such 
 a man. His reputation is blasted : his constitution 
 worn, by the extravagance and ill hours of his profes- 
 sion ; he is now incapable of alluring his dupes, and, 
 like a superannuated savage of the forest, he is starved 
 for want of vigor to hunt after prey. 
 
 "Thus gaming is the source of poverty, and still 
 worse, the parent of infamy and vice. It is an inlet 
 to debauchery, for the money thus acquired is but 
 little valued. Every gamester is a rake, and his morals 
 worse than his mystery. It is his interest to be exem- 
 plary in every scene of debauchery ; his prey is to 
 be courted with every guilty pleasure ; but these are 
 to be changed, repeated, and embelhshed, in order to 
 employ his imagination, while his reason is kept 
 asleep ; a young mind is apt to shrink at the pros- 
 pect of ruin ; care must be taken to harden his cour- 
 age, and make him keep his rank ; he must be either 
 found a libertine, or he must be made one. And 
 when a man has parted with his money like a fool, he 
 generally sends his conscience after it like a villain, 
 and the nearer he is to the brink of destruction, the 
 fonder does he grow of ruin. 
 
 "Your friend and mine, my lord, had been thus 
 driven to the last reserve, for he found it impossible 
 to disentangle his affairs, and look the v/orld in the 
 face ; impatience at length threw him into the abyss 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 95 
 
 he feared, and life became a burthen, because he 
 feared to die. But I own that play is not always 
 attended with such tragical circumstances ; some have 
 had courage to survive their losses, and go on content 
 with beggary; and sure those misfortunes which are 
 of our own production, are of all others most pungent. 
 To see such a poor disbanded being an unwelcome 
 guest at every table, and often flapped off hke a fly, 
 is affecting ; in this case the closest alliance is forgot- 
 ten, and contempt is too strong for the ties of blood 
 to unbind. 
 
 " But, however fatal this passion may be in its con- 
 sequence, none allures so much in the beginning ; the 
 person once listed as a gamester, if not soon reclaimed, 
 pursues it through his whole life ; no loss can retard, 
 no danger awaken him to common sense ; nothing can 
 terminate his career but want of money to play, or of 
 honor to be trusted. 
 
 "Among the number of my acquaintance, I knew 
 but of two who succeeded by gaming ; the one a 
 phlegmatic, heavy man, who would have made a for- 
 tune in whatever way of life he happened to be placed ; 
 the other who had lost a fine estate in his youth by 
 play, and retrieved a greater at the age of sixty-five, 
 when he might be justly said to be past the power of 
 enjoying it. One or two successful gamesters are thus 
 set up in an age to allure the young beginner ; we all 
 regard such as the highest prize in a lottery, unmind- 
 ful of the numerous losses that go to the accumulation 
 of such infrequent success. 
 
96 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 " Yet I would not be so morose as to refuse your 
 youth all kinds of play ; the innocent amusements of 
 a family must often be indulged, and cards allowed to 
 supply the intervals of more real pleasure ; but the 
 sum played for in such cases should always be a trifle ; 
 something to call up attention, but not engage the pas- 
 sions. The usual excuse for laying large sums is, to 
 make the players attend to their game ; but, in fact, 
 he that plays only for shillings will mind his cards 
 equally well with him that bets guineas ; for the mind 
 habituated to stake large sun^s, will consider them as 
 trifles at last ; and if one shilhng could not exclude 
 indifference at first, neither will an hundred in the 
 end. 
 
 I have often asked myself, how it is possible that he 
 who is possessed of competence, can ever be induced 
 to make it precarious by beginning play with the odds 
 against him ; for wherever he goes to sport his money, 
 he will find himself over-matched and cheated. Either 
 at White's, Newmarket, the Tennis Court, the Cock 
 Pit, or the Billiard Table, he will find numbers who 
 have no other resource but their acquisitions there ; 
 and if such men live like gentlemen, he may readily 
 conclude it must be on the spoils of his fortune, or the 
 fortunes of ill-judging men like himself. Was he to 
 attend but a moment to their manner of betting at 
 those places, he would readily find the gamester sel- 
 dom proposing bets but with the advantage in his own 
 favor. A man of honor continues to lay on the side 
 on which he first won; but ganjesters shift, change, 
 
THE TRICKS OF GAMESTERS. 97 
 
 lie upon the lurch, and take every advantage, either of 
 our ignorance or neglect. 
 
 " In short, my lord, if a man designs to lay out his 
 fortune in quest of pleasure, the gaming table is, of all 
 other places, that where he can have least for his 
 money. The company are superficial, extravagant, 
 and unentertaining ; the conversation flat, debauched, 
 and absurd ; the hour unnatural and fatiguing ; the 
 anxiety of losing is greater than the pleasure of win- 
 ning ; friendship must be banished from that society 
 the members of which are intent only on ruining each 
 other ; every other improvement, either in knowledge 
 or virtue, can scarce find room in that breast which 
 is possessed by the spirit of play ; the spirits become 
 vapid, the constitution is enfeebled, the complexion 
 grows pale, till, in the end, the mind, body, friends, 
 fortune, and even the hopes of futurity sink together ! 
 Happy, if Nature terminates the scene, and neither 
 justice nor suicide are called in to accelerate her tardy 
 approach. I am, my lord, etc." 
 
MR. FUDGE, THE PUBLISHER. 
 
 As I was yesterday seated at breakfast over a pen- 
 sive dish of tea, my meditations were interrupted by 
 my old friend and companion, who introduced a 
 stranger, dressed pretty much Hke himself. The gen- 
 tleman made several apologies for his visit, begged of 
 me to impute his intrusion to the sincerity of his re- 
 spect and the warmth of his curiosity. 
 
 As I am very suspicious of my company when I 
 find them very civil without any apparent reason, I 
 answered the stranger's caresses at first with reserve ; 
 which my friend perceiving, instantly let me into my 
 visitant's trade and character, asking Mr. Fudge 
 whether he had lately pubhshed anything new? I 
 now conjectured that my guest was no other than a 
 bookseller, and his answer confirmed my suspicions. 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," says he, "it is not the season; 
 books have their time as well as cucumbers. I would 
 no more bring out a new work in summer, than I 
 would sell pork in the dogdays. Nothing in my 
 way goes off in summer, except very light goods 
 indeed. A review, a magazine, or a session's paper, 
 may amuse a summer reader; but all our stock of 
 
MR. FUDGE, THE PUBLISHER. 99 
 
 value we reserve for a spring and winter trade." — "I 
 must confess, sir," says I, " a curiosity to know what you 
 call a valuable stock, which can only bear a winter 
 perusal." — " Sir," replied the bookseller, "it is not my 
 way to cry up my own goods ; but, without exaggera- 
 tion, I will venture to show with any of the trade : my 
 books at least have the peculiar advantage of being 
 always new ; and it is my way to clear off my old to 
 the trunk- makers every season. I have ten new title- 
 pages now about me, which only want books to 
 be added to make them the finest things in nature. 
 Others may pretend to direct the vulgar ; but that is 
 not my way ; I always let the vulgar direct me ; 
 wherever popular clamor arises, I always echo the 
 million. For instance, should the people in general 
 say that such a man is a rogue, I instantly give orders 
 to set him down in print a villain ; thus every man 
 buys the book, not to learn new sentiments, but to 
 have the pleasure of seeing his own reflected." — " But, 
 sir," interrupted I, " you speak as if you yourself wrote 
 the books you published ; may I be so bold as to ask 
 a sight of some of those intended publications which 
 are shortly to surprise the world ? " — "As to that, sir," 
 replied the talkative bookseller, " I only draw out the 
 plans myself; and though I am very cautious of com- 
 municating them to any, yet, as in the end I have a 
 favor to ask, you shall see a few of them. Here, sir, 
 here they are ; diamonds of the first water, I assure 
 you. Imprimis, a translation of several medical pre- 
 cepts for the use of such physicians as do not under- 
 
lOO OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Stand Latin. Item, the young clergyman's art of 
 placing patches regularly, with a dissertation on 
 the different manners of smiling without distorting the 
 face. Item, the whole art of love made perfectly 
 easy, by a broker of Change Alley. Item, the proper 
 manner of cutting blacklead pencils, and making cray- 
 ons, by the Right Hon. the Earl of . Itei7i, the 
 
 muster-master-general, or the review of reviews." — 
 "Sir," cried I, interrupting him, "my curiosity with 
 regard to title-pages is satisfied ; I should be glad to 
 see some longer manuscript, a history or an epic 
 poem." — "Bless me," cries the man of industry, 
 ** now you speak of an epic poem, you shall see an 
 excellent farce. Here it is ; dip into it where you 
 will, it will be fomid replete with true modern humor. 
 Strokes, sir ; it is filled with strokes of wit and satire 
 in every line." — "Do you call these dashes of the 
 pen strokes? " replied I ; " for I must confess I can see 
 no other." — • "And pray, sir," returned he, " what do 
 you call them? Do you see anything good now-a- 
 days, that is not filled with strokes — and dashes ? — 
 Sir, a well-placed dash makes half the wit of our 
 writers of modern humor. I bought a piece last sea- 
 son that had no other merit upon earth than nine 
 hundred and ninety-five breaks, seventy-two ha-ha's, 
 three good things, and a garter. And yet it played off, 
 and bounced, and cracked, and made more sport than 
 a firework." — "I fancy, then, sir, you were a consid- 
 erable gainer ? " — "It must be owned the piece did 
 pay ; but, upon the whole, I cannot much boast of last 
 
MJ^. FUDGE, THE PUBLISHER. 1 01 
 
 winter's success : I gained by two murders ; but then 
 I lost by an ill-timed charity sermon. I was a consid- 
 erable sufferer by my Direct Road to an Estate, but 
 the Infernal Guide brought me up again. Ah, sir, 
 that was a piece touched off by the hand of a master ; 
 filled with good things from one end to the other. 
 The author had nothing but the jest in view ; no dull 
 moral lurking beneath, nor ill-natured satire to sour 
 the reader's good-humor \ he wisely considered, that 
 moral and humor at the same time were quite over- 
 doing the business." — " To what purpose was the book 
 then published ? " cried I. — " Sir, the book was pub- 
 lished in order to be sold ; and no book sold better, 
 except the criticisms upon it, which came out soon 
 after : of all kinds of writing, that goes off best at 
 present ; and I generally fasten a criticism upon every 
 selling book that is published. 
 
 " I once had an author who never left the least 
 opening for the critics : close was the word, always 
 very right and very dull, ever on the safe side of an 
 argument ; yet, with all his qualifications, incapable of 
 coming into favor. I soon perceived that his bent 
 was for criticism ; and, as he was good for nothing 
 else, supplied him with pens and paper, and planted 
 him, at the beginning of every month, as a censor on 
 the works of others. In short, I found him a treasure ; 
 no merit could escape him : but what is most remark- 
 able of all, he ever wrote best and bitterest when 
 drunk." — "But are there not some works," inter- 
 rupted I, " that, from the very manner of their com- 
 
I02 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 position, must be exempt from criticism ;. particularly 
 such as profess to disregard its laws?" — "There is 
 no work whatsoever but he can criticise," replied the 
 bookseller; "even though you wrote in Chinese, he 
 would have a pluck at you. Suppose you should take 
 it into your head to publish a book, let it be a volume 
 of Chinese letters, for instance ; write how you will, he 
 shall show the world you could have written better. 
 Should you, with the most local exactness, stick to the 
 manners and customs of the country from whence you 
 come ; should you confine yourself to the narrow limits 
 of Eastern knowledge, and be perfectly simple and 
 perfectly natural, he has then the strongest reason to 
 exclaim. He may, with a sneer, send you back to 
 China for readers. He may observe that, after the 
 first or second letter, the iteration of the same sim- 
 plicity is insupportably tedious ; but the worst of all is, 
 the public, in such a case, will anticipate his censures, 
 and leave you, with all your uninstructive simplicity, 
 to be mauled at discretion." 
 
 "Yes," cried I, "but in order to avoid his indigna- 
 tion, and, what I should fear more, that of the public, 
 I would, in such a case, write with all the knowledge I 
 was master of. As I am not possessed of much 
 learning, at least I would not suppress what little I 
 had ; nor would I appear more stupid than nature has 
 made me." — "Here, then," cries the bookseller, "we 
 should have you entirely in our power : unnatural, un- 
 Eastern, quite out of character, erroneously sensible, 
 would be the whole cry. Sir, we should then hunt 
 
MR. FUDGE, THE PUBLISHER. IO3 
 
 you down like a rat." — " Head of my father ! " said 
 I, '' sure there are but two ways j the door must either 
 be shut or it must be open. I must either be natural 
 or unnatural." — " Be what you will, we shall criticise 
 you," returned the bookseller, '^ and prove you a dunce 
 in spite of your teeth. But, sir, it is time that I should 
 come to business. I have just now in the press a his- 
 tory of China ; and if you will but put your name to it 
 as the author, I shall repay the obligation with grati- 
 tude." — "What, sir ! " replied I, *'put my name to a 
 work which I have not written ? Never ! while I 
 retain a proper respect for the public and myself." 
 The bluntness of my reply quite abated the ardor of 
 the bookseller's conversation ; and, after about half an 
 hour's disagreeable reserve, he, with some ceremony, 
 took his leave and withdrew. 
 
THE LITTLE BEAU. 
 
 Though naturally pensive, yet I am fond of gay 
 company, and take every opportunity of thus dis- 
 missing the mind from duty. From this motive I am 
 often found in the centre of a crowd ; and wherever 
 pleasure is to be sold, am always a purchaser. In 
 those places, without being remarked by any, I join in 
 whatever goes forward ; work my passions into a simil- 
 itude of frivolous earnestness, shout as they shout, 
 and condemn as they happen to disapprove. A mind 
 thus sunk for a while below its natural standard is quali- 
 fied for stronger flights, as those first retire who would 
 spring forward with greater vigor. 
 
 Attracted by the serenity of the evening, my friend 
 
 and I lately went to gaze upon the company in one of 
 
 the public walks near the city. Here we sauntered 
 
 together for some time, either praising the beauty of 
 
 such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had 
 
 nothing else to recommend them. We had gone thus 
 
 deliberately forward for some time, when, stopping on 
 
 a sudden, my friend caught me by the elbow, and led 
 
 me out of the public walk. I could perceive by the 
 
 quickness of his pace, and by his frequently looking 
 104 
 
THE LITTLE BEAU. 10$ 
 
 behind, that he was attempting to avoid somebody 
 who followed : we now turned to the right, then to the 
 left \ as we went forward, he still went faster ; but in 
 vain : the person whom he attempted to escape hunted 
 us through every doubling, and gained upon us each 
 moment, so that at last we fairly stood still, resolving 
 to face what we could not avoid. 
 
 Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all 
 the familiarity of an old acquaintance. " My dear 
 Drybone," cries he, shaking my friend's hand, "where 
 have you been hiding this half a century? Positively 
 I had fancied you were gone to cultivate matrimony 
 and your estate in the country." During the reply I 
 had an opportunity of surveying the appearance of 
 our new companion : his hat was pinched up with 
 peculiar smartness ; his looks were pale, thin, and 
 sharp ; round his neck he wore a broad black ribbon, 
 and in his bosom a buckle studded with glass ; his 
 coat was trimmed with tarnished twist ; he wore by 
 his side a sword with a black hilt ; and his stockings 
 of silk, though newly washed, were grown yellow by 
 long service. I was so much engaged with the pecul- 
 iarity of his dress, that I attended only to the latter 
 part of my friend's reply, in which he complimented 
 Mr. Tibbs on the taste of his clothes, and the bloom 
 in his countenance. " Pshaw, pshaw. Will," cried the 
 figure, " no more of that, if you love me : you know I 
 hate flattery, — on my soul I do ; and yet, to be sure, 
 an intimacy with the great will improve one's appear- 
 ance, and a course of venison will fatten; and yet, 
 
I06 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 faith, I despise the great as much as you do ; but 
 there are a great many damn'd honest fellows among 
 them, and we must not quarrel with one half, because 
 the other wants weeding. If they were all such as 
 my Lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured crea- 
 tures that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself be 
 among the number of their admirers. I was yester- 
 day to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord 
 was there. * Ned,' says he to me, ' Ned,' says he, ' I'll 
 hold gold to silver I can tell where you were poaching 
 last night.' — ' Poaching, my lord? ' says I : * faith, you 
 have missed already ; for I stayed at home, and let 
 the girls poach for me. That's my way : I take a fine 
 woman as some animals do their prey - — stand still, 
 and, swoop, they fall into my mouth.' " 
 
 "Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow," cried my 
 companion, with looks of infinite pity ; " I hope your 
 fortune is as much improved as your understanding in 
 such company? " — " Improved ! " replied the other : 
 " you shall know, — but let it go no farther — a great 
 secret — five hundred a year to begin with — my lord's 
 word of honor for it. His lordship took me down in 
 his own chariot yesterday, and we had a tcte-a-tete din- 
 ner in the country, where we talked of nothing else." 
 — "I fancy you forget, sir," cried I ; "you told us but 
 this moment of your dining yesterday in town." — 
 " Did I say so?" replied he coolly; "to be sure, if I 
 said so, it was so. Dined in town ! egad, now I do 
 remember, I did dine in to\vn ; but I dined in the 
 country too ; for you must know, my boys, I eat two 
 
THE LITTLE BEAU. 10/ 
 
 dinners. By the by, I am grown as nice as the devil 
 in my eating. I'll tell you a pleasant affair about that : 
 we were a select party of us to dine at Lady Gro- 
 gram's, — an affected piece, but let it go no farther — 
 a secret. — Well, there happened to be no assafoetida 
 in the sauce to a turkey, upon which, says I, I'll hold 
 a thousand guineas, and say done first, that — But, 
 dear Drybone, you are an honest creature ; lend me 
 
 half-a-crown for a minute or two, or so, just till ; 
 
 but hearkee, ask me for it the next time we meet, or it 
 may be twenty to one but I forget to pay you." 
 
 When he left us, our conversation naturally turned 
 upon so extraordinary a character. "His very dress," 
 cries my friend, "is not less extraordinary than his 
 conduct. If you meet him this day, you find him in 
 rags ; if the next, in embroidery. With those persons 
 of distinction of whom he talks so familiarly he has 
 scarcely a coffeehouse acquaintance. However, both 
 for the interests of society, and perhaps for his own. 
 Heaven has made him poor ; and while all the world 
 perceives his wants, he fancies them concealed from 
 every eye. An agreeable companion, because he un- 
 derstands flattery ; and all must be pleased with the 
 first part of his conversation, though all are sure of its 
 ending with a demand on their purse. While his youth 
 countenances the levity of his conduct, he may thus 
 earn a precarious subsistence ; but when age comes 
 on, the gravity of which is incompatible with buffoon- 
 ery, then will he find himself forsaken by all; con- 
 demned in the decline of life to hang upon some rich 
 
I08 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 family whom he once despised, there to undergo all 
 the ingenuity of studied contempt, to be employed 
 only as a spy upon the servants, or a bugbear to fright 
 the children into obedience." 
 
THE ARTS OF A MERCER. 
 
 The shops of London are as well furnished as those 
 of Pekin. Those of London have a picture hung at 
 their door, informing the passengers what they have to 
 sell, as those at Pekin have a board to assure the buyer 
 that they have no intent to cheat him. 
 
 I was this morning to buy silk for a nightcap. Im- 
 mediately upon entering the mercer's shop, the master 
 and his two men, with wigs plastered with powder, 
 appeared to ask my commands. They were certainly 
 the civillest people alive ; if I but looked, they flew to 
 the place where I cast my eye ; every motion of mine 
 sent them running round the whole shop for my satis- 
 faction. I informed them that I wanted what was 
 good, and they showed me not less than forty pieces, 
 and each was better than the former, the prettiest 
 pattern in nature, and the fittest in the world for night- 
 caps. " My very good friend," said I to the mercer, 
 " you must not pretend to instruct me in silks ; I know 
 these in particular to be no better than your mere 
 flimsy bungees." — "That may be," cried the mercer, 
 who, I afterwards found, had never contradicted a man 
 
 in his life : " I cannot pretend to say but they may ; 
 
 109 
 
no OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 but I can assure you, my Lady Trail has had a sack 
 from this piece this very morning." — "But, friend," 
 said I, " though my lady has chosen a sack from it, I 
 see no necessity that I should wear it for a nightcap." 
 — "That may be," returned he again; "yet what be- 
 comes a pretty lady, will at any time look well on a 
 handsome gentleman." This short compliment was 
 thrown in so very seasonably upon my ugly face, that 
 even though I disliked the silk, I desired him to cut 
 me off the pattern of a nightcap. 
 
 While this business was consigned to his journey- 
 men, the master himself took down some pieces of 
 silk still finer than any I had yet seen, and spreading 
 them before me, " There," cries he, " there's beauty ; 
 my Lord Snakeskin has bespoke the fellow to this for 
 the birthnight this very morning ; it would look charm- 
 ingly in waistcoasts." — "But I don't want a waist- 
 coat," replied I. " Not want a waistcoat ! " returned 
 the mercer : " then I would advise you to buy one ; 
 when waistcoats are wanted, you may depend upon it 
 they will come dear. Always buy before you want, 
 and you are sure to be well used, as they say in Cheap- 
 side." There was so much justice in his advice, that 
 I could not refuse taking it ; besides, the silk, which 
 was really a good one, increased the temptation ; so I 
 gave orders for that too. 
 
 As I was waiting to have my bargains measured and 
 cut, which, I know not how, they executed but slowly, 
 during the interval the mercer entertained me with the 
 modern manner of some of the nobility receiving com- 
 
THE ARTS OF A MERCER. Ill 
 
 pany in their morning gowns. "Perhaps, sir," adds 
 he, ''you have a mind to see what kind of silk is 
 universally worn." Without waiting for my reply, he 
 spreads a piece before me, which might be reckoned 
 beautiful even in China. " If the nobiHty," continues 
 he, " were to know I sold this to any under a Right 
 Honorable, I should certainly lose their custom ; you 
 see, my lord, it is at once rich, tasty, and quite the 
 thing." — "I am no lord," interrupted I. — "I beg 
 pardon," cried he ; " but be pleased to remember, 
 when you intend buying a morning gown, that you had 
 an offer from me of something worth money. Con- 
 science, sir, conscience is my way of dealing ; you 
 may buy a morning gown now, or you may stay till 
 they become dearer and less fashionable ; but it is not 
 my business to advise." In short, most reverend Fum, 
 he persuaded me to buy a morning gown also, and 
 would probably have persuaded me to have bought 
 half the goods in his shop, if I had stayed long 
 enough, or was furnished with sufficient money. 
 
 Upon returning home, I could not help reflecting, 
 with some astonishment, how this very man, with such 
 a confined education and capacity, was yet capable of 
 turning me as he thought proper, and moulding me to 
 his inclinations. I knew he was only answering his 
 own purposes, even while he attempted to appear so- 
 licitous about mine : yet, by a voluntary infatuation, 
 a sort of passion, compounded of vanity and good- 
 nature, I walked into the snare with my eyes open, 
 and put myself to future pain in order to give him 
 
112 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 immediate pleasure. The wisdom of the ignorant 
 somewhat resembles the instinct of animals ; it is dif- 
 fused in but a very narrow sphere, but within that 
 circle it acts with vigor, uniformity, and success. 
 
THE MAN IN BLACK. 
 
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEYJ 
 
 I AM just returned from Westminster Abbey, the 
 place of sepulture for the philosophers, heroes, and 
 kings of England. What a gloom do monumental 
 inscriptions and all the venerable remains of deceased 
 merit inspire ! Imagine a temple marked with the 
 hand of antiquity, solemn as religious awe, adorned 
 with all the magnificence of barbarous profusion, dim 
 windows, fretted pillars, long colonnades, and dark 
 ceilings. Think, then, what were my sensations at 
 being introduced to such a scene. I stood in the midst 
 of the temple, and threw my eyes round on the walls, 
 filled with the statues, the inscriptions, and the mon- 
 uments of the dead. 
 
 Alas ! I said to myself, how does pride attend the 
 puny child of dust even to the grave ! Even humble 
 as I am, I possess more consequence in the present 
 scene than the greatest hero of them all : they have 
 
 ^ These six essays, as indeed several others in this collection, are drawn 
 from the " Citizen of the World," which is made up of letters from or to Lien 
 Chi Altangi, a Chinese traveller, who was spending some little time in London. 
 Many of the letters are merely essays upon any subject that occurred. Ihese 
 in this division have all a certain connection and personal interest. 
 
 "5 
 
Il6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 toiled for an hour to gain a transient immortality, and 
 are at length retired to the grave, where they have 
 no attendant but the worm, none to flatter but the 
 epitaph. 
 
 As I was indulging such reflections, a gentleman 
 dressed in black, perceiving me to be a stranger, came 
 up, entered into conversation, and politely offered to 
 be my instructor and guide through the temple. " If 
 any monument," said he, "should particularly excite 
 your curiosity, I shall endeavor to satisfy your de- 
 mands." I accepted, with thanks, the gentleman's 
 offer, adding, that " I was come to observe the policy, 
 the wisdom, and the justice of the English, in confer- 
 ring rewards upon deceased merit. If adulation like 
 this," continued I, " be properly conducted, as it can 
 no ways injure those who are flattered, so it may be a 
 glorious incentive to those who are now capable of 
 enjoying it. It is the duty of every good government 
 to turn this monumental pride to its own advantage ; 
 to become strong in the aggregate from the weakness 
 of the individual. If none but the truly great have 
 a place in this awful repository, a temple like this will 
 give the finest lessons of morality, and be a strong in- 
 centive to true ambition. I am told, that none have 
 a place here but characters of the most distinguished 
 merit." The Man in Black seemed impatient at my 
 observations, so I discontinued my remarks, and we 
 walked on together to take a view of every particular 
 monument in order as it lay. 
 
 As the eye is naturally caught by the finest objects, 
 
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 11/ 
 
 I could not avoid being particularly curious about one 
 monument, which appeared more beautiful than the 
 rest. "That," said I to my guide, "I take to be the 
 tomb of some very great man. By the peculiar excel- 
 lence of the workmanship, and the magnificence of 
 the design, this must be a trophy raised to the memory 
 of some king who has saved his country from ruin, or 
 lawgiver who has reduced his fellow- citizens from 
 anarchy into just subjection." — "It is not requisite," 
 replied my companion, smiling, " to have such quali- 
 fications in order to have a very fine monument here : 
 more humble abilities will suffice." — " What ! I sup- 
 pose, then, the gaining two or three battles, or the 
 taking half a score of towns, is thought a sufficient 
 qualification?" — "Gaining battles, or taking towns," 
 replied the Man in Black, " may be of service ; but a 
 gentleman may have a very fine monument here with- 
 out ever seeing a battle or a siege." — "This, then, is 
 the monument of some poet, I presume — of one 
 whose wit has gained him immortality? " — " No, sir," 
 replied my guide, " the gentleman who lies here never 
 made verses ; and as for wit, he despised it in others, 
 because he had none himself." — " Pray tell me, then, 
 in a word," said I, peevishly, "what is the great man 
 who lies here particularly remarkable for?" — " Re- 
 markable, sir ! " said my companion; "why, sir, the 
 gentleman that lies here is remarkable, very remark- 
 able — for a tomb in Westminster Abbey." — "But, 
 head of my ancestors ! how has he got here ? I fancy 
 he could never bribe the guardians of the temple to 
 
Il8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 give him a place. Should he not be ashamed to be 
 seen among company where even moderate merit would 
 look like infamy? " — "I suppose," repHed the Man in 
 Black, " the gentleman was rich, and his friends, as is 
 usual in such a case, told him he was great. He 
 readily believed them; the guardians of the temple, 
 as they got by the self-delusion, were ready to believe 
 him too ; so he paid his money for a fine monument ; 
 and the workman, as you see, has made him one of 
 the most beautiful. Think not, however, that this gen- 
 tleman is singular in his desire of being buried among 
 the great ; there are several others in the temple, who, 
 hated and shunned by the great while alive, have come 
 here fully resolved to keep them company now they 
 are dead." 
 
 As we walked along to a particular part of the tem- 
 ple, " There," says the gentleman, pointing with his 
 finger, " that is the Poet's Corner ; there you see the 
 monuments of Shakspeare, and Milton, and Prior, and 
 Drayton." — " Drayton ! " I replied ; " I never heard 
 of him before ; but I have been told of one Pope — is 
 he there?" — " It is time enough," replied my guide, 
 " these hundred years ; he is not long dead ; people 
 have not done hating him yet." — " Strange," cried I ; 
 " can any be found to hate a man whose life was 
 wholly spent in entertaining and instructing his fellow- 
 creatures? " — " Yes," says my guide, " they hate him 
 for that very reason. There are a set of men called 
 answerers of books, who take upon them to watch 
 the republic of letters, and distribute reputation by the 
 
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. II9 
 
 sheet; they somewhat resemble the eunuchs in a se-' 
 ragho, who are incapable of giving pleasure themselves, 
 and hinder those that would. These answerers have 
 no other employment but to cry out Dunce and Scrib- 
 bler ; to praise the dead and revile the living ; to grant 
 a man of confessed abilities some small share of merit ; 
 to applaud twenty blockheads in order to gain the 
 reputation of candor; and to revile the moral char- 
 acter of the man whose writings they cannot injure. 
 Such wretches are kept in pay by some mercenary 
 bookseller, or more frequently the bookseller himself 
 takes this dirty work off their hands, as all that is re- 
 quired is to be very abusive and very dull. Every poet 
 of any genius is sure to find such enemies ; he feels, 
 though he seems to despise, their malice ; they make 
 him miserable here, and in the pursuit of empty fame, 
 at last he gains solid anxiety." 
 
 " Has this been the case with every poet I see 
 here?" cried I. — "Yes, with every mother's son of 
 them," replied he, " except he happened to be bom 
 a mandarine. If he has much money, he may buy 
 reputation from your book-answerers, as well as a 
 monument frOm the guardians of the temple." 
 
 " But are there not some men of distinguished taste, 
 as in China, who are willing to patronize men of merit, 
 and soften the rancor of malevolent dulness." 
 
 " I own there are many," replied the Man in Black ; 
 " but, alas ! sir, the book-answerers crowd about them, 
 and call themselves the writers of books ; and the 
 patron is too indolent to distinguish : thus poets are 
 
120 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 kept at a distance, while their enemies eat up all their 
 rewards at the mandarine's table." 
 
 Leaving this part of the temple, we made up to an 
 iron gate, through which my companion told me we 
 were to pass, in order to see the monuments of the 
 kings. Accordingly, I marched up without further 
 ceremony, and was going to enter, when a person who 
 held the gate in his hand told me I must pay first. I 
 was surprised at such a demand ; and asked the man, 
 whether the people of England kept a show? — whether 
 the paltry sum he demanded was not a national re- 
 proach? — whether it was not more to the honor of 
 the country to let their magnificence or their antiqui- 
 ties be openly seen, than thus meanly to tax a curiosity 
 which tended to their own honor? — "As for your 
 questions," replied the gate-keeper, "to be sure they 
 may be very right, because I don't understand them ; 
 but, as for that there threepence, I farm it from one — 
 who rents it from another — who hires it from a third 
 — who leases it from the guardians of the temple : and 
 we all must live." I expected, upon paying here, to 
 see something extraordinary, since what I had seen for 
 nothing filled me with so much surprise : but in this I 
 was disappointed ; there was little more within than 
 black coffins, rusty armor, tattered standards, and 
 some few slovenly figures in wax. I was sorry I had 
 paid, but I comforted myself by considering it would 
 be my last payment. A person attended us who with- 
 out once blushing told an hundred lies : he talked 
 of a lady who died by pricking her finger ; of a king 
 
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 121 
 
 with a golden head, and twenty such pieces of absurdity. 
 "Look ye there, gentlemen," says he, pointing to an 
 old oak chair, " there's a curiosity for ye ; in that chair 
 the kings of England were crowned : you see also a 
 stone underneath, and that stone is Jacob's pillow." 
 I could see no curiosity either in the oak chair or the 
 stone : could I, indeed, behold one of the old kings 
 of England seated in this, or Jacob's head laid upon 
 the other, there might be something curious in the 
 sight ; but in the present case, there was no more rea- 
 son for my surprise, than if I should pick a stone from 
 their streets, and call it a curiosity, merely because 
 one of the kings happened to tread upon it as he 
 passed in a procession. 
 
 From hence our conductor led us through several 
 dark walks and winding ways, uttering lies, talking to 
 himself, and flourishing a wand which he held in his 
 hand. He reminded me of the black magicians of 
 Kobi. After we had been almost fatigued with a 
 variety of objects, he at last desired me to consider 
 attentively a certain suit of armor, which seemed to 
 show nothing remarkable. " This armor," said he, 
 "belonged to General Monk." — "Very surprising 
 that a general should wear armor!" — "And pray," 
 added he, " observe this cap ; this is General Monk's 
 cap." — "Very strange indeed, very strange, that a 
 general should have a cap also ! Pray, friend, what 
 might this cap have cost originally?" — " That, sir," 
 says he, " I don't know ; but this cap is all the wages 
 I have for my trouble." — "A very small recompense, 
 
122 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 truly," said I. — " Not so very small," replied he, " for 
 every gentleman puts some money into it, and I spend 
 the money." — "What, more money! still more 
 money ! " — " Every gentleman gives something, sir." 
 — " I'll give thee nothing," returned I ; " the guardi- 
 ans of the temple should pay you your wages, friend, 
 and not permit you to squeeze thus from every specta- 
 tor. When we pay our money at the door to see a 
 show, we never give more as we are going out. Sure, 
 the guardians of the temple can never think they get 
 enough. Show me the gate ; if I stay longer, I may 
 probably meet with more of those ecclesiastical beg- 
 gars." 
 
 Thus leaving the temple precipitately, I returned to 
 my lodgings, in order to ruminate over what was great, 
 and to despise what was mean, in the occurrences of 
 the day. 
 
VIEWS OF PHILANTHROPY. 
 
 Though fond of many acquaintances, I desire an 
 intimacy only with a few. The Man in Black, whom 
 I have often mentioned, is one whose friendship I 
 could wish to acquire, because he possesses my esteem. 
 His manners, it is true, are tinctured with some strange 
 inconsistencies ; and he may be justly termed a hu- 
 morist in a nation of humorists. Though he is gener- 
 ous even to profusion, he affects to be thought a 
 prodigy of parsimony and prudence ; though his con- 
 versation be replete with the most sordid and selfish 
 maxims, his heart is dilated with the most unbounded 
 love. I have known him profess himself a man-hater, 
 while his cheek was glowing with compassion ; and, 
 while his looks were softened into pity, I have heard 
 him use the language of the most unbounded ill-nature. 
 Some affect humanity and tenderness, others boast of 
 having such dispositions from nature ; but he is the 
 only man I ever knew who seemed ashamed of his 
 natural benevolence. He takes as much pains to hide 
 his feelings, as any hypocrite would to conceal his in- 
 difference ; but on every unguarded' moment the mask 
 
 123 
 
124 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 drops off, and reveals him to the most superficial ob- 
 server. 
 
 In one of our late excursions into the country, hap- 
 pening to discourse upon the provision that was made 
 for the poor in England, he seemed amazed how any 
 of his countrymen could be so foolishly weak as to 
 relieve occasional objects of charity, when the laws 
 had made such ample provision for their support. 
 " In every parish-house," says he, " the poor are sup- 
 plied with food, clothes, fire, and a bed to lie on ; they 
 want no more, I desire no more myself; yet still they 
 seem discontented. I am surprised at the inactivity 
 of our magistrates, in not taking up such vagrants, who 
 are only a weight upon the industrious ; I am sur- 
 prised that the people are found to relieve them, when 
 they must be at the same time sensible that it in 
 some measure encourages idleness, extravagance, and 
 imposture. Were I to advise any man for whom I 
 had the least regard, I would caution him by all means 
 not to be imposed upon by their false pretences : let 
 me assure you, sir, they are impostors, every one of 
 them, and rather merit a prison than reHef." 
 
 He was proceeding in this strain, earnestly to dis- 
 suade me from an imprudence of which I am seldom 
 guilty, when an old man, who still had about him the 
 remnants of tattered finery, implored our compassion. 
 He assured us that he was no common beggar, but 
 forced into the shameful profession to support a dying 
 wife and five hungry children. Being prepossessed 
 against such falsehoods, his story had not the least in- 
 
VIEWS OF PHILANTHROPY. 1 25 
 
 fluence upon me ; but it was quite otherwise with the 
 Man in Black : I could see it visibly operate upon his 
 countenance, and effectually interrupt his harangue. I 
 could easily perceive, that his heart burned to relieve 
 the five starving children, but he seemed ashamed to 
 discover his weakness to me. While he thus hesitated 
 between compassion and pride, I pretended to look 
 another way, and he seized this opportunity of giving 
 the poor petitioner a piece of silver, bidding him at 
 the same time, in order that I should hear, go work 
 for his bread, and not tease passengers with such im- 
 pertinent falsehoods for the future. 
 
 As he had fancied himself quite unperceived, he 
 continued, as we proceeded, to rail against beggars 
 with as much animosity as before : he threw in some 
 episodes on his own amazing prudence and economy, 
 with his profound skill in discovering impostors ; he 
 explained the manner in which he would deal with 
 beggars were he a magistrate, hinted at enlarging 
 some of the prisons for their reception, and told two 
 stories of ladies that were robbed by beggar-men. He 
 was beginning a third to the same purpose, when a 
 sailor with a wooden leg once more crossed our walks, 
 desiring our pity, and blessing our limbs. I was for 
 going on without taking any notice, but my friend, 
 looking wistfully upon the poor petitioner, bid me stop, 
 and he would show me with how much ease he could 
 at any time detect an impostor. 
 
 He now, therefore, assumed a look of importance, 
 and in an angry tone began to examine the sailor, de- 
 
126 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 manding in what engagement he was thus disabled 
 and rendered unfit for service. The sailor replied, in 
 a tone as angrily as he, that he had been an officer on 
 board a private ship of war, and that he had lost his 
 leg aboard, in defence of those who did nothing at 
 home. At this reply, all my friend's importance van- 
 ished in a moment ; he had not a single question 
 more to ask ; he now only studied what method he 
 should take to relieve him unobserved. He had, how- 
 ever no easy part to act, as he was obliged to pre- 
 serve the appearance of ill-nature before me, and yet 
 relieve himself by relieving the sailor. Casting, there- 
 fore, a furious look upon some bundles of chips which 
 the fellow carried in a string at his back, my friend 
 demanded how he sold his matches ; but, not waiting 
 for a reply, desired, in a surly tone, to have a shilling's 
 worth. The sailor seemed at first surprised at his de- 
 mand, but soon recollecting himself, and presenting 
 his whole bundle, " Here, master," says he, " take all 
 my cargo, and a blessing into the bargain." 
 
 It is impossible to describe with what an air of tri- 
 umph my friend marched off with his new purchase : 
 he assured me, that he was firmly of opinion that those 
 fellows must have stolen their goods, who could thus 
 afford to sell them for half value. He informed me 
 of several different uses to which those chips might be 
 applied ; he expatiated largely upon the savings that 
 would result from lighting candles with a match, in- 
 stead of thrusting them into the fire. He averred, 
 that he would as soon have parted with a tooth as his 
 
VIEWS OF PHILANTHROPY. 1 2/ 
 
 money to those vagabonds, unless for some valuable 
 consideration. I cannot tell how long this panegyric 
 upon frugality and matches might have continued, had 
 not his attention been called off by another object 
 more distressful than either of the former. A woman 
 in rags, with one child in her arms, and another on 
 her back, was attempting to sing ballads, but with 
 such a mournful voice, that it was difficult to deter- 
 mine whether she was singing or crying. A wretch, 
 who in the deepest distress still aimed at good-humor, 
 was an object my friend was by no means capable of 
 withstanding : his vivacity and his discourse were in- 
 stantly interrupted ; upon this occasion, his very dis- 
 simulation had forsaken him. Even in my presence, 
 he immediately applied his hands to his pockets, in 
 order to relieve her ; but guess his confusion when he 
 found he had already given away all the money he 
 carried about him to former objects. The misery 
 painted in the woman's visage was not half so strongly 
 expressed as the agony in his. He continued to 
 search for some time, but to no purpose, till, at length 
 recollecting himself, with a face of ineffable good- 
 nature, as he had no money, he put into her hands his 
 shilhng's worth of matches. 
 
THE SAME, CONTINUED, 
 
 As there appeared something reluctantly good in the 
 character of my companion, I must own it surprised 
 me what could be his motives for thus concealing vir- 
 tues which others take such pains to display. I was 
 unable to repress my desire of knowing the history of 
 a man who thus seemed to act under continual re- 
 straint, and whose benevolence was rather the effect of 
 appetite than reason. 
 
 It was not, however, till after repeated solicitations 
 he thought proper to gratify my curiosity. " If you 
 are fond," says he, " of hearing hairbreadth 'scapes, 
 my history must certainly please ; for I have been for 
 twenty years upon the very verge of starving, without 
 ever being starved. 
 
 " My father, the younger son of a good family, was 
 possessed of a small living in the church. His educa- 
 tion was above his fortune, and his generosity greater 
 than his education. Poor as he was, he had his flat- 
 terers, still poorer than himself; for every dinner he 
 gave them they returned an equivalent in praise, and 
 this was all he wanted. The same ambition that actu- 
 128 
 
THE SAME, CONTINUED. 1 29 
 
 ates a monarch at the head of an army influenced my 
 father at the head of his table : he told the story of 
 the ivy-tree, and that was laughed at ; he repeated the 
 jest of the two scholars and one pair of breeches, and 
 the company laughed at that ; but the story of Taffy 
 in the sedan-chair was sure to set the table in a roar : 
 thus his pleasure increased in proportion to the pleasure 
 he gave ; he loved all the world, and he fancied all the 
 world loved him. 
 
 *' As his fortune was but small, he lived up to the 
 very extent of it ; he had no intentions of leaving his 
 children money, for that was dross ; he was resolved 
 they should have learning : for learning, he used to 
 observe, was better than silver or gold. For this pur- 
 pose, he undertook to instruct us himself ; and took as 
 much pains to form our morals as to improve our un- 
 derstanding. We were told, that universal benevolence 
 was what first cemented society : we were taught to 
 consider all the wants of mankind as our own ; to re- 
 gard the human face divine with affection and esteem ; 
 he wound us up to be mere machines of pity, and ren- 
 dered us incapable of withstanding the slightest im- 
 pulse made either by real or fictitious distress : in a 
 word, we were perfectly instructed in the art of giving 
 away thousands, before we were taught the more ne- 
 cessary qualifications of getting a farthing. 
 
 " I cannot avoid imagining, that thus refined by his 
 lessons out of all my suspicion, and divested of even 
 all the little cunning which nature had given me, I re- 
 sembled, upon my first entrance into the busy and in- 
 
I30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 sidious world, one of those gladiators who were exposed 
 without armor in the amphitheatre at Rome. My 
 father, however, who had only seen the world on one 
 side, seemed to triumph in my superior discernment ; 
 though my whole stock of wisdom consisted in being 
 able to talk like himself upon subjects that once were 
 useful, because they were then topics of the busy world, 
 but that now were utterly useless, because connected 
 with the busy world no longer. 
 
 " The first opportunity he had of finding his expec- 
 tations disappointed was in the very middling figure I 
 made in tlie university ; he had flattered himself that 
 he should soon see me rising into the foremost rank 
 in literary reputation, but was mortified to find me 
 utterly unnoticed and unknown. His disappointment 
 might have been partly ascribed to his having overrated 
 my talents, and partly to my dislike of mathematical 
 reasonings, at a time when my imagination and memory, 
 yet unsatisfied, were more eager after new objects than 
 desirous of reasoning upon those I knew. This did 
 not, however, please my tutor, who observed, indeed, 
 that I was a little dull ; but at the same time allowed, 
 that I seemed to be very good-natured, and had no 
 harm in me. 
 
 " After I had resided at college seven years, my father 
 died, and left me — his blessing. Thus shoved from 
 shore without ill-nature to protect, or cunning to guide, 
 or proper stores to subsist me in so dangerous a voyage, 
 I was obliged to embark in the wide world at twenty- 
 two. But, in order to settle in life, my friends advised 
 
THE SAME, CONTINUED. 131 
 
 (for they always advise when they begin to despise us) , 
 they advised me, I say, to go into orders. 
 
 " To be obhged to wear a long wig, when I liked a 
 short one, or a black coat, when I generally dressed in 
 brown, I thought was such a restraint upon my liberty, 
 that I absolutely rejected the proposal. A priest in 
 England is not the same mortified creature with a 
 bonze in China : with us, not he that fasts best, but 
 eats best, is reckoned the best liver ; yet I rejected a 
 life of luxury, indolence, and ease, from no other con- 
 sideration but that boyish one of dress. So that my 
 friends were now perfectly satisfied I was undone ; and 
 yet they thought it a pity for one who had not the least 
 harm in him and was so very good-natured. 
 
 " Poverty naturally begets dependence, and I Avas 
 admitted as flatterer to a great man. At first, I was 
 surprised that the situation of a flatterer at a great 
 man's table could be thought disagreeable : there was 
 no great trouble in listening attentively when his lord- 
 ship spoke, and laughing when he looked round for 
 applause. This even good manners might have obliged 
 me to perform. I found, however, too soon, that his 
 lordship was a greater dunce than myself ; and from 
 that very moment my power of flattery was at an end. 
 I now rather aimed at setting him right, than at re- 
 ceiving his absurdities with submission : to flatter those 
 we do not know is an easy task ; but to flatter our inti- 
 mate acquaintances, all whose fcibles are strongly in 
 our eye, is drudgery insupportable. Every time I now 
 opened my lips in praise, my falsehood went to my 
 
132 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 conscience ; his lordship soon perceived me to be unfit 
 for service ; I was therefore discharged ; my patron at 
 the same time being graciously pleased to observe, that 
 he believed I was tolerably good-natured, and had not 
 the least harm in me. 
 
 " Disappointed in ambition, I had recourse to love. 
 A young lady, who lived with her aunt, and was pos- 
 sessed of a pretty fortune in her own disposal, had 
 given me, as I fancied, some reason to expect success. 
 The symptoms by which I was guided were striking. 
 She had always laughed with me at her awkward ac- 
 quaintance, and at her aunt among the number ; she 
 always observed, that a man of sense would make a 
 better husband than a fool, and I as constantly applied 
 the observation in my own favor. She continually 
 talked, in my company, of friendship and the beauties 
 of the mind, and spoke of Mr. Shrimp my rival's high- 
 heeled shoes with detestation. These were circum- 
 stances which I thought strongly in my favor ; so, after 
 resolving and resolving, I had courage enough to tell 
 her my mind. Miss heard my proposal with serenity, 
 seeming at the same time to study the figiu*es of her 
 fan. Out at last it came. There was but one small 
 objection to complete our happiness, which was no 
 more than — that she was married three months before 
 to Mr. Shrimp, with high-heeled shoes ! By way of 
 consolation, however, she observed, that, though I was 
 disappointed in her, my addresses to her aunt would 
 probably kindle her into sensibility ; as the old lady 
 always allowed me to be very good-natured, and not 
 to have the least share of harm in me. 
 
THE SAME, CONTINUED. 1 33 
 
 " Yet still I had friends, numerous friends, and to 
 them I was resolved to apply. O friendship ! thou 
 fond soother of the human breast, to thee we fly in 
 every calamity ; to thee the wretched seek for succor ; 
 on thee the care-tired son of misery fondly relies : 
 from thy kind assistance the unfortunate always hopes 
 reHef, and may be ever sure of — disappointment. 
 My first application was to a city scrivener, who had 
 frequently offered to lend me money, when he knew I 
 did not want it. I informed him, that now was the 
 time to put his friendship to the test ; that I wanted to 
 borrow a couple of hundred for a certain occasion, 
 and was resolved to take it up from him. ' And pray, 
 sir,' cried my friend, 'do you want all this money?' 
 — ' Indeed, I never wanted it more,' returned I. — 'I 
 am sorry for that,' cries the scrivener, ' with all my 
 heart ; for they who want money when they come to 
 borrow, will always want money when they should 
 come to pay.' 
 
 ^' From him I flew, with indignation, to one of the 
 best friends I had in the world, and made the same 
 request. * Indeed, Mr. Drybone,' cries my friend, ' I 
 always thought it would come to this. You know, sir, 
 I would not advise you but for your own good ; but 
 your conduct has hitherto been ridiculous in the high- 
 est degree, and some of your acquaintance always 
 thought you a very silly fellow. Let me see — you 
 want two hundred pounds. Do you only want two 
 hundred, sir, exactly?' — 'To confess a truth,' re- 
 turned I, ' I shall want three hundred ^ but then, I 
 
134 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 have another friend, from whom I can borrow the 
 rest.' — * Why, then,' rephed my friend, ' if you would 
 take my advice, (and you know I should not presume 
 to advise you but for your own good,) I would recom- 
 mend it to you to borrow the whole sum from that 
 other friend ; and then one note will serve for all, you 
 know.' 
 
 " Poverty now began to come fast upon me ; yet 
 instead of growing more provident or cautious as I 
 grew poor, I became every day more indolent and 
 simple. A friend was arrested for fifty pounds ; I was 
 unable to extricate him, except by becoming his bail. 
 When at liberty, he fled from his creditors, and left 
 me to take his place. In prison I expected greater 
 satisfactions than I enjoyed at large. I hoped to con- 
 verse with men in this new world, simple and believ- 
 ing like myself; but I found them as cunning and as 
 cautious as those in the world I had left behind. 
 They spunged up my money while it lasted, borrowed 
 my coals and never paid for them, and cheated me 
 when I played at cribbage. All this was done because 
 they believed me to be very good-natured, and knew 
 that I had no harm in me. 
 
 " Upon my first entrance into this mansion, which 
 is to some the abode of despair, I felt no sensations 
 different from those I experienced abroad. I was 
 now on one side the door, and those who were uncon- 
 fined were on the other : this was all the difference 
 between us. At first, indeed, I felt some uneasiness, 
 in considering how I should be able to provide this 
 
THE SAME, CONTINUED. 1 35 
 
 week - for the wants of the week ensuing ; but after 
 some time, if I found myself sure of eating one day, I 
 never troubled my head how I was to be supplied 
 another. I seized every precarious meal with the ut- 
 most good-humor ; indulged no rants of spleen at my 
 situation ; never called down Heaven and all the stars 
 to behold me dining upon a halfpenny-worth of rad- 
 ishes ; my very companions were taught to believe 
 that I liked salad better than mutton. I contented 
 myself with thinking, that all my life I should either 
 eat white bread or brown ; considered that all that 
 happened was best ; laughed when I was not in pain, 
 took the world as it went, and read Tacitus often for 
 want of more books and company. 
 
 " How long I might have continued in this torpid 
 state of simplicity I cannot tell, had I not been 
 roused by seeing an old acquaintance, whom I knew 
 to be a prudent blockhead, preferred to a place in the 
 government. I now found that I had pursued a 
 wrong track, and that the true way of being able to 
 relieve others was first to aim at independence myself : 
 my immediate care, therefore, was to leave my present 
 habitation and make an entire reformation in my con- 
 duct and behavior. For a free, open, undesigning 
 deportment, I put on that of closeness, prudence, and 
 economy. One of the most heroic actions I ever per- 
 formed, and for which I shall praise myself as long as I 
 live, was the refusing half-a-crowntoanold acquaintance, 
 at the time when he wanted it, and I had it to spare : 
 for this alone I deserve to be decreed an ovation. 
 
136 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 " I now therefore pursued a course of uninterrupted 
 frugality, seldom wanted a dinner, and was conse- 
 quently invited to twenty. I soon began to get the 
 character of a saving hunks that had money, and in- 
 sensibly grew into esteem. Neighbors have asked my 
 advice in the disposal of their daughters ; and I have 
 always taken care not to give any. I have contracted 
 a friendship with an alderman, only by observing, that 
 if we take a farthing from a thousand pounds, it will 
 be a thousand pounds no longer. I have been invited 
 to a pawnbroker's table, by pretending to hate gravy ; 
 and am now actually upon treaty of marriage with a 
 rich widow, for only having observed that the bread 
 was rising. If ever I am asked a question, whether I 
 know it or not, instead of answering, I only smile and 
 lookwise. If a charity is proposeci, I go about with 
 the hat, but put nothing in myself. If a wretch so- 
 licits my pity, I observe that the world is filled Avith 
 impostors, and take a certain method of not being 
 deceived by never relieving. In short, I now find the 
 truest way of finding esteem, even from the indigent, 
 is to give away nothing, and thus have much in our 
 power to give." 
 
IN THE MATTER OF OLD MAIDS 
 AND BACHELORS. 
 
 Lately, in company with my friend in black, whose 
 conversation is now both my amusement and instruc- 
 tion, I could not avoid observing the great numbers 
 of old bachelors and maiden ladies with which the 
 city seems to be overrun. " Sure, marriage," said I, 
 " is not sufficiently encouraged, or we should never 
 behold such crowds of battered beaux and decayed 
 coquettes, still attempting to drive a trade they have 
 been so long unfit for, and swarming upon the gayety 
 of the age. I behold an old bachelor in the most 
 contemptible light, as an animal that lives upon the 
 common stock without contributing his share : he is a 
 beast of prey, and the laws should make use of as 
 many stratagems, and as much force, to drive the re- 
 luctant savage into the toils, as the Indians when they 
 hunt the hyaena or the rhinoceros. The mob should 
 be permitted after him, boys might play tricks on him 
 with impunity, every well-bred company should laugh 
 at him ; and if, when turned of sixty, he offered to 
 make love, his mistress might spit in his face, or, what 
 
 137 
 
1^8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 would be perhaps a greater punishment, should fairly 
 grant the favor. 
 
 " As for old maids," continued I, " they should not 
 be treated with so much severity, because I suppose 
 none would be so if they could. No lady in her 
 senses would choose to make a subordinate figure at 
 christenings or lyings-in, when she might be the prin- 
 cipal herself; nor curry favor with a sister-in-law, 
 when she might command a husband ; nor toil in pre- 
 paring custards, when she might lie a-bed, and give 
 directions how they ought to be made ; nor stifle all 
 her sensations in demure formality, when she might, 
 with matrimonial freedom, shake her acquaintance by 
 the hand, and wink at a double e^itendre. No lady 
 could be so very silly as to live single, if she could 
 help it. I consider an unmarried lady, declining into 
 the vale of years, as one of those charming countries 
 bordering on China, that lies waste for want of proper 
 inhabitants. We are not to accuse the country, but 
 the ignorance of its neighbors, who are insensible of 
 its beauties, though at liberty to enter and cultivate 
 the soil." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," replied my companion, " you are 
 very little acquainted with the English ladies, to think 
 they are old maids against their will. I dare venture 
 to affirm, that you can hardly select one of them all, 
 but has had frequent offers of marriage, which either 
 pride or avarice has not made her reject. Instead of 
 thinking it a disgrace, they take every occasion to 
 boast of their former cruelty : a soldier does not exult 
 
OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 1 39 
 
 more when he counts over the wounds he has received, 
 than a female veteran when she relates the wounds she 
 has formerly given : exhaustless when she begins a 
 narrative of the former death-dealing power of her 
 eyes. She tells of the knight in gold lace, who died 
 with a single frown, and never rose again till — he was 
 married to his maid ; of the squire who, being cruelly 
 denied, in a rage flew to the window, and lifting up 
 the sash, threw himself, in an agony — into his arm- 
 chair ; of the parson, who, crossed in love, resolutely 
 swallowed opium, which banished the stings of de- 
 spised love by — making him sleep. In short, she 
 talks over her former losses with pleasure, and, like 
 some tradesmen, finds consolation in the many bank- 
 ruptcies she has suffered. 
 
 " For this reason, whenever I see a, superannuated 
 beauty still unmarried, I tacitly accuse her either of 
 pride, avarice, coquetry, or affectation. There's Miss 
 Jenny Tinderbox, I once remember her to have had 
 some beauty and a moderate fortune. Her elder sis- 
 ter happened to marry a man of quality, and this 
 seemed as a statute of virginity against poor Jane. 
 Because there was one lucky hit in the family, she was 
 resolved not to disgrace it by introducing a tradesman. 
 By thus rejecting her equals, and neglected or despised 
 by her superiors, she now acts in the capacity of tutor- 
 ess to her sister's children, and undergoes the drudge- 
 ry of three servants, without receiving the wages of 
 one. 
 
 " Miss Squeeze was a pawnbroker's daughter ; her 
 
I40 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 father had early taught her that money was a very 
 good thing, and left her a moderate fortune at his 
 death. She was so perfectly sensible of the value of 
 what she had got, that she was resolved never to part 
 with a farthing without an equality on the part of her 
 suitor : she thus refused several offers made her by 
 people who wanted to better themselves, as the saying 
 is, and grew old and ill-natured, without ever consider- 
 ing that she should have made an abatement in her 
 pretensions, from her face being pale, and marked with 
 the small-pox. 
 
 " Lady Betty Tempest, on the contrary, had beauty, 
 with fortune and family. But, fond of conquest, she 
 passed from triumph to triumph : she had read plays 
 and romances, and there had learned, that a plain man 
 of common sense was no better than a fool ; such she 
 refused, and sighed only for the gay, giddy, inconstant, 
 and thoughtless. After she had thus rejected hun- 
 dreds who liked her, and sighed for hundreds who de- 
 spised her, she found herself insensibly deserted : at 
 present she is company only for her aunts and cousins, 
 and sometimes makes one in a country-dance, with 
 only one of the chairs for a partner, casts off round a 
 joint-stool, and sets to a corner cupboard. In a word, 
 she is treated with civil contempt from every quarter, 
 and placed, hke a piece of old-fashioned lumber, 
 merely to fill up a corner. 
 
 " But Sophronia, the sagacious Sophronia, how shall 
 I mention her? She was taught to love Greek and 
 hate tne men from her very infancy; she has rejected 
 
OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 141 
 
 fine gentlemen because they were not pedants, and 
 pedants because they were not fine gentlemen; her 
 exquisite sensibility has taught her to discover every 
 fault in every lover, and her inflexible justice has pre- 
 vented her pardoning them : thus she rejected several 
 offers, till the wrinkles of age had overtaken her ; and 
 now, without one good feature in her face, she talks 
 incessantly of the beauties of the mind." 
 
A CASE AT WESTMINSTER HALL. 
 
 I HAD some intentions lately of going to visit Bed- 
 lam, the place where those who go mad are confined. 
 I went to wait upon the Man in Black to be my con- 
 ductor, but I found him preparing to go to West- 
 minster Hall, where the English hold their courts of 
 justice. It gave me some surprise to find my friend 
 engaged in a lawsuit, but more so when he informed 
 me that it had been pending for several years. " How 
 is it possible," cried I, " for a man who knows the 
 world to go to law ? I am well acquainted with the 
 courts of justice in China : they resemble rat-traps 
 every one of them ; nothing more easy than to get in, 
 but to get out again is attended with some difficulty, 
 and more cunning than rats are generally found to 
 possess ! " 
 
 " Faith," replied my friend, " I should not have 
 gone to law but that I was assured of success before 
 I began ; things were presented to me in so alluring a 
 light, that I thought by barely declaring myself a can- 
 didate for the prize, I had nothing more to do but to 
 enjoy the fruits of the victory. Thus have I been 
 
 upon the eve of an imaginary triumph every term 
 142 
 
A CASE AT WESTMINSTER HALL. I43 
 
 these ten years ; have travelled forward with victory 
 ever in my view, but ever out of reach ; however, at 
 present I fancy we have hampered our antagonist in 
 such a manner, that, without some unforeseen demur, 
 we shall this very day lay him fairly on his back." 
 
 " If things be so situated," said I, " I don't care if 
 I attend you to the courts, and partake in the pleas- 
 ure of your success. But prithee," continued I, as 
 we set forward, "what reasons have you to think an 
 affair at last concluded, which has given you so many 
 former disappointments?" — "My lawyer tells me," 
 returned he, " that 1 have Salkeld and Ventris strong 
 in my favor, and that there are no less than fifteen 
 cases in point." — "I understand," said I ; " those 
 are two of your judges who have already declared 
 their opinions." — "Pardon me," replied my friend, 
 " Salkeld and Ventris are lawyers who some hundred 
 years ago gave their opinions on cases similar to mine : 
 these opinions which make for me, my lawyer is to 
 cite ; and those opinions which look another way are 
 cited by the lawyer employed by my antagonist : as I 
 observed, I have Salkeld and Ventris for me ; he has 
 Coke and Hale for him ; and he that has most opin- 
 ions is most likely to carry his cause." — " But where 
 is the necessity," cried I, "of prolonging a suit by 
 citing the opinions and reports of others, since the 
 same good sense which determined lawyers in former 
 ages, may serve to guide your judges at this day? 
 They at that time gave their opinions only from the 
 light of reason ; your judges have the same light at 
 
144 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 present to direct them ; let me even add, a greater, as 
 in former ages there were many prejudices from which 
 the present is happily free. If arguing from authori- 
 ties be exploded from every other branch of learning, 
 why should it be particularly adhered to in this? I 
 plainly foresee how such a method of investigation 
 must embarrass every suit, and even perplex the stu- 
 dent ; ceremonies will be multiplied, formalities must 
 increase, and more time will thus be spent in learning 
 the arts of litigation, than in the discovery of right." 
 
 " I see," cries my friend, " that you are for a speedy 
 administration of justice ; but all the world will grant, 
 that the more time that is taken up in considering any 
 subject, the better it will be understood. Besides, it 
 is the boast of an Englishman, that his property is se- 
 cure, and all the world will grant, that a deliberate 
 administration of justice is the best way to secure his 
 property. Why have we so many lawyers, but to 
 secure our property? Why so many formalities, but 
 to secure our property ? Not less than one hundred 
 thousand families live in opulence, elegance, and ease, 
 merely by securing our property." 
 
 '^To embarrass justice," returned I, "by a multi- 
 plicity of laws, or to hazard it by a confidence in our 
 judges, are, I grant, the opposite rocks on which legis- 
 lative wisdom has ever split. In one case, the client 
 resembles that emperor who is said to have been suffo- 
 cated with the bed-clothes which were only designed 
 to keep him warm ; in the other, to that town which 
 let the enemy take possession of its walls, in order to 
 
A CASE AT WESTMINSTER HALL. I45 
 
 show the world how httle they depended upon aught 
 but courage for safety. But, bless me ! what numbers 
 do I see here — all in black ! — how is it possible that 
 half this multitude can find employment? " — " Noth- 
 ing so easily conceived," returned my companion ; 
 " they live by watching each other. For instance, the 
 catchpole watches the man in debt, the attorney 
 watches the catchpole, the counsellor watches the 
 attorney, the solicitor the counsellor, and all find suffi- 
 cient employment." — "I conceive you," interrupted 
 I ; " they watch each other, but it is the client that 
 pays them all for watching : it puts me in mind of 
 a Chinese fable, which is entitled, ' Five Animals at a 
 Meal.' " 
 
 " A grasshopper, filled with dew, was merrily singing 
 under a shade ; a whangam, that eats grasshoppers, 
 had marked it for its prey, and was just stretching 
 forth to devour it ; a serpent, that had for a long time 
 fed only on whangams, was coiled up to fasten on the 
 whangam ; a yellow bird was just upon the wing to 
 dart upon the serpent ; a hawk had just stooped from 
 above to seize the yellow bird ; all were intent on their 
 prey, and unmindful of their danger : so the whangam 
 ate the grasshopper, the serpent ate the whangam, the 
 yellow bird the serpent, and the hawk the yellow bird ; 
 when, sousing from on high, a vulture gobbled up the 
 hawk, grasshopper, whangam, and all in a- moment." 
 
 I had scarcely finished my fable, when the lawyer 
 came to inform my friend, that his cause was put off 
 till another term, that money was wanting to retain, 
 
146 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 and that all the world was of opinion, that the very- 
 next hearing would bring him off victorious. " If so, 
 then," cries my friend, " I believe it will be my wisest 
 way to continue the cause for another term ; and, in 
 the meantime, my friend here and I will go and see 
 Bedlam." 
 
A CONCLUSION. 
 
 After a variety of disappointments, my wishes are 
 at length fully satisfied. My son, so long expected, is 
 arrived ; at once, by his presence, banishing my anx- 
 iety, and opening a new scene of unexpected pleasure. 
 His improvements in mind and person have far sur- 
 passed even the sanguine expectations of a father. I 
 left him a boy, but he is returned a man ; pleasing in 
 his person, hardened by travel, and polished by adver- 
 sity. His disappointment in love, however, had in- 
 fused an air of melancholy into his conversation, which 
 seemed at intervals to interrupt our mutual satisfac- 
 tion. I expected that this could find a cure only from 
 time ; but fortune, as if willing to load us with her 
 favors, has, in a moment, repaid every uneasiness with 
 rapture. 
 
 Two days after his arrival the Man in Black, with 
 his beautiful niece, came to congratulate us upon this 
 pleasing occasion ; but guess our surprise, when my 
 friend's lovely kinswoman was found to be the very 
 captive my son had rescued from Persia, and who had 
 been wrecked on the Wolga, and was carried by the 
 Russian peasants to the port of Archangel. Were I 
 
 147 
 
148 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 to hold the pen of a novehst, I might be prolix in de- 
 scribing their feelings at so unexpected an interview ; 
 but you may conceive their joy without my assistance : 
 words were unable to express their transports ; then 
 how can words describe it ? 
 
 When two young persons are sincerely enamoured of 
 each other, nothing can give me such pleasure as see- 
 ing them married : whether I know the parties or not, 
 I am happy at thus binding one link more in the uni- 
 versal chain. Nature has, in some measure, formed 
 me for a match-maker, and given me a soul to sympa- 
 thize with every mode of human felicity. I instantly, 
 therefore, consulted the Man in Black, whether we 
 might not crown their mutual wishes by marriage : his 
 soul seems formed of similar materials with mine ; he 
 instantly gave his consent, and the next day was ap- 
 pointed for the solemnization of their nuptials. 
 
 All the acquaintances which I had made since my 
 arrival were present at this gay solemnity. The little 
 Beau was constituted master of the ceremonies, and his 
 wife, Mrs. Tibbs, conducted the entertainment with 
 proper decorum. The Man in Black and the pawn- 
 broker's widow were very sprightly and tender upon 
 this occasion. The widow was dressed up under the 
 direction of Mrs. Tibbs ; and as for her lover, his face 
 was set off by the assistance of a pig-tail wig, which 
 was lent by the little Beau, to fit him for making love 
 with proper formality. The whole company easily 
 perceived that it would be a double wedding before all 
 was over, and, indeed, my friend and the widow seemed 
 
A CONCLUSION. 1 49 
 
 to make no secret of their passion ; he even called me 
 aside, in order to know my candid opinion, whether I 
 did not think him a httle too old to be married. " As 
 for my own part," continued he, " I know I am going 
 to play the fool j but all my friends will praise my wis- 
 dom, and produce me as the very pattern of discretion 
 to others." 
 
 At dinner everything seemed to run on with good 
 humor, harmony, and satisfaction. Every creature in 
 company thought themselves pretty, and every jest 
 was laughed at. The Man in Black sat next his mis- 
 tress, 'helped her plate, chimed her glass, and jogging 
 her knees and her elbow, he whispered something arch 
 in her ear, on which she patted his cheek : never was 
 antiquated passion so playful, so harmless, and amus- 
 ing, as between this reverend couple. 
 
 The second course was now called for, and, among 
 a variety of other dishes, a fine turkey was placed 
 before the widow. The Europeans, you know, carve 
 as they eat ; my friend, therefore, begged his mistress 
 to help him to a part of the turkey. The widow, 
 pleased with an opportunity of showing her skill in 
 carving, (an art upon which it seems she piqued her- 
 self,) began to cut it up by first taking off the leg. 
 *' Madam," cries my friend, " if I might be permitted 
 to advise, I would begin by cutting off the wing, and 
 then the leg will come off more easily." — " Sir," re- 
 phes the widow, '^ give me leave to understand cutting 
 up a fowl : I always begin with the leg." — " Yes, 
 madam," replies the lover \ " but if the wing be the 
 
150 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 most convenient manner, I would begin with the wing." 
 — "Sir/' interrupts the lady, "when you have fowls 
 of your own, begin with the wing if you please, but 
 give me leave to take off the leg ; I hope I am not to 
 be taught at this time of day." — "Madam," inter- 
 rupts he, "we are never too old to be instructed." — 
 " Old, sir ! " interrupts the other; "who is old, sir? 
 when I die of age, I know of some that will quake for 
 fear. If the leg does not come off, take the turkey 
 to yourself." — " Madam," replied the Man in Black, 
 " I don't care a farthing whether the leg or the wing 
 comes off; if you are for the leg first, why, you shall 
 have the argument, even though it be as I say." — 
 "As for the matter of that," cries the widow, "I don't 
 care a fig whether you are for the leg off or on : and, 
 friend, for the future keep your distance." — " Oh," 
 replied the other, " that is easily done ; it is only re- 
 moving to the other end of the table ; and so, madam, 
 your most obedient humble servant." 
 
 Thus was this courtship of an age destroyed in one 
 moment; for this dialogue effectually broke off the 
 match between this respectable couple, that had been 
 but just concluded. The smallest accidents disappoint 
 the most important treaties. However, though it in 
 some measure interrupted the general satisfaction, it 
 no ways lessened the happiness of the youthful couple ; 
 and, by the young lady's looks, I could perceive she 
 was not entirely displeased with this interruption. 
 
 In a few hours the whole transaction seemed en- 
 tirely forgotten, and we have all since enjoyed those 
 
A conclusion: 151 
 
 satisfactions which result from a consciousness of mak- 
 ing each other happy. My son and his fair partner 
 are fixed here for Hfe : the Man in Black has given 
 them up a small estate in the country, which, added 
 to what I was able to bestow, will be capable of sup- 
 plying all the real, but not the fictitious, demands of 
 happiness. As for myself, the world being but one 
 city to me, I do not much care in which of the streets 
 I happen to reside : I shall, therefore, spend the 
 remainder of my days in examining the manners of 
 different countries, and have prevailed upon the Man 
 in Black to be my companion. " They must often 
 change," says Confucius, " who would be constant in 
 happiness or wisdom." 
 
BOOKS AND AUTHORS. 
 
THE BOOK-TAUGHT PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 Books, my son, while they teach us to respect the 
 interests of others, often make us unmindful of our 
 own ; while they instruct the youthful reader to grasp 
 at social happiness, he grows miserable in detail, and, 
 attentive to universal harmony, often forgets that he 
 himself has a part to sustain in the concert. I dislike, 
 therefore, the philosopher who describes the incon- 
 veniences of life in such pleasing colors that the pupil 
 grows enamoured of distress, longs to try the charms 
 of poverty, meets it without dread, nor fears its incon- 
 veniences till he severely feels them. 
 
 A youth who has thus spent his life among books, 
 new to the world, and unacquainted with man but by 
 philosophic information, may be considered as a being 
 whose mind is filled with the vulgar errors of the wise ; 
 utterly unqualified for a journey through life, yet con- 
 fident of his own skill in the direction, he sets out 
 with confidence, blunders on with vanity, and finds 
 himself at last undone. 
 
 He first has learned from books, and then lays it 
 down as a maxim, that all mankind are virtuous or 
 vicious in excess ; and he has been long taught to 
 
 155 
 
156 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 detest vice, and love virtue. Warm, therefore, in at- 
 tachments, and steadfast in enmity, he treats every 
 creature as a friend or foe ; expects from those he 
 loves unerring integrity, and consigns his enemies to 
 the reproach of wanting every virtue. On this prin- 
 ciple he proceeds; and here begin his disappoint- 
 ments. Upon a closer inspection of human nature he 
 perceives that he should have moderated his friend- 
 ship, and softened his severity ; for he often finds the 
 excellences of one part of mankind clouded with vice, 
 and the faults of the other brightened with virtue ; he 
 finds no character so sanctified that has not its fail- 
 ings, none so infamous but has somewhat to attract 
 our esteem ; he beholds impiety in lawn, and fidelity 
 in fetters. 
 
 He now, therefore, but too late, perceives that his 
 regards should have been more cool, and his hatred 
 less violent ; that the truly wise seldom court romantic 
 friendships with the good, and avoid, if possible, the 
 resentment even of the wicked : every moment gives 
 him fresh instances that the bonds of friendship are 
 broken, if drawn too closely, and that those whom he 
 has treated with disrespect more than retaliate the in- 
 jury ; at length, therefore, he is obliged to confess, 
 that he has declared war upon the vicious half of man- 
 kind, without being able to form an alliance among 
 the virtuous to espouse his quarrel. 
 
 Our book-taught philosopher, however, is now too 
 far advanced to recede ; and though poverty be the 
 just consequence of the many enemies his conduct 
 
THE BOOK-TAUGHT PHILOSOPHER, 1 5/ 
 
 has created, yet he is resolved to meet it without 
 shrinking. Philosophers have described poverty in 
 most charming colors, and even his vanity is touched 
 in thinking that he shall show the world, in himself, 
 one more example of patience, fortitude, and resigna- 
 tion. " Come, then, O Poverty ! for what is there in 
 thee dreadful to the Wise? Temperance, Health, and 
 Frugality walk in thy train ; Cheerfulness and Liberty 
 are ever thy companions. Shall any be ashamed of 
 thee, of whom Cincinnatus was not ashamed? The 
 running brook, the herbs of the field, can amply sat- 
 isfy nature ; man wants but little, nor that little long. 
 Come, then, O Poverty, while kings stand by and gaze 
 with admiration at the true philosopher's resignation." 
 
 The goddess appears ; for Poverty ever comes at 
 the call : but, alas ! he finds her by no means the 
 charming figure books and his warm imagination had 
 painted. As when an Eastern bride, whom her friends 
 and relations had long described as a model of perfec- 
 tion, pays her first visit, the longing bridegroom lifts 
 the veil to see a face he had never seen before ; but 
 instead of a countenance blazing with beauty like the 
 sun, he beholds deformity shooting icicles to his heart : 
 such appears Poverty to her new entertainer ; all the 
 fabric of enthusiasm is at once demolished, and a 
 thousand miseries rise up on its ruins, while Con- 
 tempt, with pointing finger, is foremost in the hideous 
 procession. 
 
 The poor man now finds that he can get no kings 
 to look at him while he is eating ; he finds that, in 
 
158 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 proportion as he grows poor, the world turns its back 
 upon him, and gives him leave to act the philosopher 
 in all the majesty of solitude. It might be agreeable 
 enough to play the philosopher while we are conscious 
 that mankind are spectators ; but what signifies wear- 
 ing the mask of sturdy contentment, and mounting the 
 stage of restraint, when not one creature will assist at 
 the exhibition ? Thus is he forsaken of men, while his 
 fortitude wants the satisfaction even of self- applause : 
 for either he does not feel his present calamities, and 
 that is natural insensibility ; or he disguises his feel- 
 ings, and that is dissimulation. 
 
 Spleen now begins to take up the man : not distin- 
 guishing in his resentments, he regards all mankind 
 with detestation, and commencing man-hater, seeks 
 solitude to be at liberty to rail. 
 
 It has been said, that he who retires to solitude is 
 either a beast or an angel. The censure is too severe, 
 and the praise unmerited ; the discontented being who 
 retires from society is generally some good-natured 
 man, who has begun Hfe without experience, and knew 
 not how to gain it in his intercourse with mankind. 
 
THE PROFITS OF POETRY. 
 
 I FANCY the character of a poet is in every country 
 the same : fond of enjoying the present, careless of the 
 future ; his conversation that of a man of sense, his 
 actions those of a fool ; of fortitude able to stand 
 unmoved at the bursting of an earthquake, yet of 
 sensibility to be affected by the breaking of a teacup. 
 Such is his character, which, considered in every light, 
 is the very opposite of that which leads to riches. 
 
 The poets of the ^^'est are as remarkable for their 
 indigence as their genius, and yet, among the numer- 
 ous hospitals designed to relieve the poor, I have 
 heard of but one erected for the benefit of decayed 
 authors. This was founded by Pope Urban VIIL, 
 and called The Retreat of the Incurables; inti- 
 mating, that it was equally impossible to reclaim the 
 patients who sued for reception from poverty or from 
 poetry. To be sincere, were I to send you an account 
 of the lives of the Western poets, either ancient or 
 modern, I fancy you would think me employed in col- 
 lecting materials for a history of human wretchedness. 
 
 Homer is the first poet and beggar of note among 
 the ancients : he was blind, and sung his ballads about 
 
 159 
 
l60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 the streets ; but it is observed, that his mouth was 
 more frequently filled with verses than with bread. 
 Plautus, the comic poet, was better off, — he had two 
 trades ; he was a poet for his diversion, and helped to 
 turn a mill in order to gain a livelihood. Terence 
 was a slave ; and Boethius died in a gaol. 
 
 Among the Italians, Paulo Borghese, almost as good 
 a poet as Tasso, knew fourteen different trades, and 
 yet died because he could get employment in none. 
 Tasso himself, who had the most amiable character 
 of all poets, has often been obliged to borrow a crown 
 from some friend, in order to pay for a month's sub- 
 sistence : he has left us a pretty sonnet, addressed to 
 his cat, in which he begs the light of her eyes to write 
 by, being too poor to afford himself a candle. But 
 Bentivoglio, poor Bentivoglio ! chiefly demands our 
 pity. His comedies will last with the Italian language : 
 he dissipated a noble fortune in acts of charity and 
 benevolence ; but, falling into misery in his old age, 
 was refused to be admitted into an hospital which he 
 himself had erected. 
 
 In Spain, it is said, the great Cervantes died of 
 hunger ; and it is certain that the famous Camoens 
 ended his days in an hospital. 
 
 If we turn to France, we shall there find even 
 stronger instances of the ingratitude of the public. 
 Vaugelas, one of the politest writers and one of the 
 honestest men of his time, was surnamed the Owl, 
 from his being obliged to keep within all day, and 
 venture out only by night, through fear of his credit- 
 
THE PROFITS OF POETRY, l6l 
 
 ors. His last will is very remarkable. After having 
 bequeathed all his worldly substance to the discharging 
 his debts, he goes on thus : " But, as there still may 
 remain some creditors unpaid, even after all that I 
 have shall be disposed of, in such a case it is my last 
 will, that my body should be sold to the surgeons to 
 the best advantage, and that the purchase should go 
 to the discharging those debts which I owe to society ; 
 so that if I could not, while living, at least when dead 
 I may be useful." 
 
 Cassandre was one of the greatest geniuses of his 
 time, yet all his merit could not procure him a bare 
 subsistence. Being by degrees driven into an hatred 
 of all mankind, from the little pity he found amongst 
 them, he even ventured at last ungratefully to impute 
 his calamities to Providence. In his last agonies, 
 when the priest entreated him to rely on the justice 
 of Heaven, and ask mercy from him that made him, 
 — "If God," replies he, "has shown me no justice 
 here, what reason have I to expect any from him 
 hereafter?" But being answered, that a suspension 
 of justice was no argument that should induce us to 
 doubt of its reality, — " Let me entreat you," contin- 
 ued his confessor, "by all that is dear, to be reconciled 
 to God, your father, your maker, and friend." — "No," 
 replied the exasperated wretch, " you know the man- 
 ner in which he left me to live ; and," pointing to the 
 straw on which he was stretched, " you see the manner 
 in which he leaves me to die ! " 
 
 But the sufferings of the poet in other countries is 
 
1 62 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 nothing when compared to his distresses here ; the 
 names of Spenser and Otway, Butler and Dryden, are 
 every day mentioned as a national reproach : some of 
 them lived in a state of precarious indigence, and 
 others literally died of hunger. 
 
 At present the few poets of England no longer 
 depend on the great for subsistence ; they have now 
 no other patrons but the public, and the public, col- 
 lectively considered, is a good and a generous master. 
 It is, indeed, too frequently mistaken as to the merits 
 of every candidate for favor ; but to make amends, it 
 is never mistaken long. A performance, indeed, may 
 be forced for a time into reputation, but, destitute of 
 real merit, it soon sinks ; time, the touchstone of what 
 is truly valuable, will soon discover the fraud, and an 
 author should never arrogate to himself any share of 
 success, till his works have been read at least ten years 
 with satisfaction. 
 
 A man of letters at present, whose works are valua- 
 ble, is perfectly sensible of their value. Every polite 
 member of the community, by buying what he writes, 
 contributes to reward him. The ridicule, therefore, 
 of living in a garret might have been wit in the last 
 age, but continues such no longer, because no longer 
 true. A writer of real merit now may easily be rich, 
 if his heart be set only on fortune ; and for those who 
 have no merit, it is but fit that such should remain in 
 merited obscurity. He may now refuse an invitation 
 to dinner, without fearing to incur his patron's dis- 
 pleasure, or to starve by remaining at home. He may 
 
THE PROFITS OF POETRY. 1 63 
 
 now venture to appear in company with just such 
 clothes as other men generally wear, and talk even to 
 princes with all the conscious superiority of wisdom. 
 Though he cannot boast of fortune here, yet he can 
 bravely assert the dignity of independence. 
 
THE LABORS OF THE LEARNED. 
 
 I AM amused, my dear Fum, with the labors of some 
 of the learned here. One shall write you a whole folio 
 on the dissection of a caterpillar ; another shall swell 
 his works with a description of the plumage on the 
 wing of a butterfly ; a third shall see a little world on 
 a peach leaf, and publish a book to describe what his 
 readers might see more clearly in two minutes, only 
 by being furnished with eyes and a microscope. 
 
 I have frequently compared the understandings of 
 such men to their own glasses. Their field of vision 
 is too contracted to take in the whole of any but minute 
 objects ; they view all nature bit by bit ; now the pro- 
 boscis, now the antennae, now the pinnae of — a flea. 
 Now the polypus comes to breakfast upon a worm ; 
 now it is kept up, to see how long it will live without 
 eating; now it is turned inside outward, and now it 
 sickens and dies. Thus they proceed, laborious in 
 trifles, constant in experiment, without one single ab- 
 straction, by which alone knowledge may be properly 
 said to increase ; till at last their ideas, ever employed 
 
 upon minute things, contract to the size of the dimin- 
 164 
 
THE LABORS OF THE LEARNED. 165 
 
 utive object, and a single mite shall fill the whole 
 mind's capacity. 
 
 Yet believe me, my friend, ridiculous as these men 
 are to the world, they are set up as objects of esteem 
 for each other. They have particular places appointed 
 for their meetings : in which one shows his cockle- 
 shell, and is praised by all the society ; another pro- 
 duces his powder, makes some experiments that result 
 in nothing, and comes off with admiration and ap- 
 plause ; a third comes out with the important discovery 
 of some new process in the skeleton of a mole, and is 
 set down as ihe accurate and sensible ; while one, still 
 more fortunate than the rest, by pickling, potting, and 
 preserving monsters, rises into unbounded reputation. 
 
 The labors of such men, instead of being calculated 
 to amuse the public, are laid out only in diverting each 
 other. The world becomes very little the better, or 
 the wiser, for knowing what is the peculiar food of an 
 insect, that is itself the food of another, which in its 
 turn is eaten by a third ; but there are men who have 
 studied themselves into a habit of investigating and 
 admiring such minutiae. To these such subjects are 
 pleasing, as there are some who contentedly spend 
 whole days in endeavoring to solve enigmas, or dis- 
 entangle the puzzling sticks of children. 
 
 But of all the learned, those who pretend to investi- 
 gate remote antiquity have least to plead in their own 
 defence, when they carry this passion to a faulty ex- 
 cess. They are generally found to supply by conjec- 
 ture the want of record, and then by perseverance are 
 
1 66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 wrought up into a confidence of the truth of opinions 
 which, even to themselves, at first appeared founded 
 only in imagination. 
 
 The Europeans have heard much of the kingdom 
 of China : its politeness, arts, commerce, laws, and 
 morals are, however, but very imperfectly known 
 among them. They have even now in their Indian 
 warehouses numberless utensils, plants, minerals, and 
 machines, of the use of which they are entirely igno- 
 rant ; nor can any among them even make a probable 
 guess for what they might have been designed. Yet, 
 though this people be so ignorant of the present real 
 state of China, the philosophers I am describing have 
 entered into long, learned, laborious disputes about 
 what China was two thousand years ago. China and 
 European happiness are but little connected even at 
 this day ; but European happiness and China two 
 thousand years ago have certainly no connection at all. 
 However, the learned have written on, and pursued 
 the subject through all the labyrinths of antiquity ; 
 though the early dews and the tainted gale be passed 
 away, though no footsteps remain to direct the doubt- 
 ful chase, yet still they run forward, open upon the 
 uncertain scent, and though in fact they follow noth- 
 ing, are earnest in the pursuit. In this chase, how- 
 ever, they all take different ways. One, for example, 
 confidently assures us, that China was peopled by a 
 colony from Egypt. Sesostris, he observes, led his 
 army as far as the Ganges ; therefore, if he went so 
 far, he might still have gone as far as China, which is 
 
THE LABORS OF THE LEARNED. 1 6/ 
 
 but about a thousand miles from thence ; therefore he 
 did go to China ; therefore China was not peopled 
 before he went there ; therefore it was peopled by 
 him. Besides, the Egyptians have pyramids ; the Chi- 
 nese have, in like manner, their porcelain tower : the 
 Egyptians used to light up candles upon every rejoi- 
 cing ; the Chinese have lanterns upon the same occa- 
 sion : the Egyptians had their great river ; so have the 
 Chinese. But what serves to put the matter past a 
 doubt is, that the ancient kings of China and those 
 of Egypt were called by the same names. The Em- 
 peror Ki is certainly the same with King Atoes ; for, 
 if we only change K into A, and i into toes, we shall 
 have the name Atoes : and, with equal ease, Menes 
 may be proved to be the same with the Emperor Yu ; 
 therefore the Chinese are a colony from Egypt. 
 
 But another of the learned is entirely different from 
 the last ; and he will have the Chinese to be a colony 
 planted by Noah, just after the Deluge. First, from 
 the vast similitude there is between the name of Fohi, 
 the founder of the Chinese monarchy, and that of 
 Noah, the preserver of the human race : Noah, Fohi, 
 — very like each other truly ; they have each but four 
 letters, and only two of the four happen to differ. 
 But, to strengthen the argument, Fohi, as the Chinese 
 chronicle asserts, had no father. Noah, it is true, had 
 a father, as the European Bible tells us ; but then, as 
 this father was probably drowned in the flood, it is 
 just the same as if he had no father at all ; therefore 
 Noah and Fohi are the same. Just after the flood the 
 
1 68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 earth was covered with mud ; if it was covered with 
 mud, it must have been incrustated mud ; if it was 
 incrustated, it was clothed with verdure : this was a 
 fine unembarrassed road for Noah to fly from his 
 wicked children ; he therefore did fly from them, and 
 took a journey of two thousand miles for his own 
 amusement ; therefore Noah and Fohi are the same. 
 
 Another sect of literati — for they all pass among 
 the vulgar for very great scholars — assert, that the 
 Chinese came neither from the colony of Sesostris, 
 nor from Noah, but are descended from Magog, 
 Meshec, and Tubal, and therefore neither Sesostris, 
 nor Noah, nor Fohi, are the same. 
 
 It is thus, my friend, that indolence assumes the 
 airs of wisdom, and while it tosses the cup and ball 
 with infantine folly, desires the world to look on, and 
 calls the stupid pastime philosophy and learning. 
 
THE ADVANTAGES OF A STRONG 
 TITLE-PAGE. 
 
 It is surprising what an influence titles shall have 
 upon the mind, even though these titles be of our own 
 making. Like children, we dress up the puppets in 
 finery, and then stand in astonishment at the plastic 
 wonder. I have been told of a rat-catcher here, who 
 strolled for a long time about the villages near town, 
 without finding any employment ; at last, however, he 
 thought proper to take the title of his Majesty's Rat- 
 catcher in ordinary, and thus succeeded beyond his 
 expectations : when it was known that he caught rats 
 at court, all were ready to give him countenance and 
 employment. 
 
 But of all the people, they who make books seem 
 most perfectly sensible of the advantages of titular 
 dignity. All seem convinced, that a book written by 
 vulgar hands can neither instruct nor improve ; none 
 but kings, chams, and mandarins can write with any 
 probability of success. If the titles inform me right, 
 not only kings and courtiers, but emperors themselves, 
 in this country, periodically supply the press. 
 
 169 
 
I/O OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 A man here who should write, and honestly confess 
 that he wrote, for bread, might as well send his manu- 
 script to fire the baker's oven ; not one creature will 
 read him : all must be court-bred poets, or pretend at 
 least to be court-bred, who can expect to please. 
 Should the caitiff fairly avow a design of emptying our 
 pockets and filling his own, every reader would in- 
 stantly forsake him : even those who write for bread 
 themselves would combine to worry him, perfectly 
 sensible that his attempts only served to take the 
 bread out of their mouths. 
 
 And yet this silly prepossession the more amazes 
 me, when I consider, that almost all the excellent pro- 
 ductions in wit that have appeared here were purely 
 the offspring of necessity ; their Drydens, Butlers, 
 Otways, and Farquhars, were all writers for bread. 
 Believe me, my friend, hunger has a most amazing 
 faculty of sharpening the genius ; and he who, with a 
 full belly, can tliink like a hero, after a course of fast- 
 ing, shall rise to the sublimity of a demi-god. 
 
 But what will most amaze is, that this very set of 
 men, who are now so much depreciated by fools, are, 
 however, the very best writers they have among them 
 at present. For my own part, were I to buy a hat, I 
 would not have it from a stocking-maker, but a hatter ; 
 were I to buy shoes, I should not go to the tailor's for 
 that purpose. It is just so with regard to wit : did I, 
 for my life, desire to be well served, I would apply 
 only to those who made it their trade, and lived by it. 
 You smile at the oddity of my opinion : but be assured, 
 
ADVANTAGES OF STRONG TITLE-PAGE. I /I 
 
 my friend, that wit is in some measure mechanical; 
 and that a man long habituated to catch at even its 
 resemblance, will at last be happy enough to possess 
 the substance. By a long habit of writing he acquires 
 a justness of thinking, and a mastery of manner, which 
 holiday writers, even with ten times his genius, may 
 vainly attempt to equal. 
 
 How then are they deceived who expect from title, 
 dignity, and exterior circumstance, an excellence, 
 which is in some measure acquired by habit, and 
 sharpened by necessity ! You have seen, like me, 
 many literary reputations, promoted by the influence 
 of fashion, which have scarce survived the possessor ; 
 you have seen the poor hardly earn the little reputa- 
 tion they acquired, and their merit only acknowledged 
 when they were incapable of enjoying the pleasures of 
 popularity : such, however, is the reputation worth 
 possessing; that which is hardly earned is hardly 
 lost. 
 
THE DISPUTES OF THE LEARNED. 
 
 The disputes among the learned here are now car- 
 ried on in a much more compendious manner than 
 formerly. There was a time when folio was brought 
 to oppose folio, and a champion was often listed for 
 life under the banners of a single sorites. At present 
 the controversy is decided in a summary way; an 
 epigram or an acrostic finishes the debate, and the 
 combatant, like the incursive Tartar, advances and 
 retires with a single blow. 
 
 An important literary debate at present engrosses 
 the attention of the town. It is carried on with sharp- 
 ness, and a proper share of this epigrammatical fury. 
 An author, it seems, has taken an aversion to the 
 faces of several players, and has written verses to 
 prove his dislike ; the players fall upon the author, 
 and assure the town he must be dull, and their faces 
 must be good, because he wants a dinner : a critic 
 comes to the poet's assistance, asserting that the 
 verses were perfectly original, and so smart, that he 
 could never have written them without the assistance 
 of friends ; the friends, upon this, arraign the critic, 
 
 and plainly prove the verses to be all the author's own. 
 172 
 
THE DISPUTES OF THE LEARNED. 1 73 
 
 So at it they are, all four together by the ears ; the 
 friends at the critic, the critic at the players, the play- 
 ers at the author, and the author at the players again. 
 It is impossible to determine how this many-sided 
 contest will end, or which party to adhere to. The 
 town, without siding with any, views the combat in 
 suspense, like the fabled hero of antiquity, who beheld 
 the earth-born brothers give and receive mutual wounds, 
 and fall by indiscriminate destruction. 
 
 This is, in some measure, the state of the present 
 dispute ; but the combatants here differ in one respect 
 from the champions of the fable. Every new wound 
 only gives vigor for another blow ; though they appear 
 to strike, they are in fact mutually swelling themselves 
 into consideration, and thus advertising each other 
 into fame. " To-day," says one, " my name shall be 
 in the Gazette, the next day my rival's ; people will 
 naturally inquire about us ; thus we shall at least make 
 a noise in the streets, though we have got nothing to 
 sell." I have read of a dispute of a similar nature, 
 which was managed here about twenty years ago. 
 Hildebrand Jacob, as I think he was called, and 
 Charles Johnson were poets, both at that time pos- 
 sessed of great reputation ; for Johnson had written 
 eleven plays, acted with great success ; and Jacob, 
 though he had written but five, had five times thanked 
 the town for their unmerited applause. They soon 
 became mutually enamoured of each other's talents ; 
 they wrote, they felt, they challenged the town for 
 each other. Johnson assured the public,'^that no poet 
 
1/4 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 alive had the easy simplicity of Jacob, and Jacob ex- 
 hibited Johnson as a masterpiece in the pathetic. 
 Their mutual praise was not without effect ; the town 
 saw their plays, were in raptures, read, and, without 
 censuring them, forgot them. So formidable an union, 
 however, was soon opposed by Tibbald. Tibbald 
 asserted that the tragedies of the one had faults, and 
 the comedies of the other substituted wit for vivacity : 
 the combined champions flew at him like tigers, 
 arraigned the censurer's judgment, and impeached his 
 sincerity. It was a long time a dispute among the 
 learned, which was in fact the greatest man, Jacob, 
 Johnson, or Tibbald ; they had all written for the stage 
 with great success, their names were seen in almost 
 every paper, and their works in every coffee-house. 
 However, in the hottest of the dispute, a fourth com- 
 batant made his appearance, and swept away the 
 three combatants, tragedy, comedy, and all, into un- 
 distinguished ruin. 
 
 From this time they seemed consigned into the 
 hands of criticism ; scarce a day passed in which they 
 were not arraigned as detested writers. The critics, 
 those enemies of Dryden and Pope, were their ene- 
 mies. So Jacob and Johnson, instead of mending by 
 criticism, called it envy ; and because Dryden and 
 Pope were censured, they compared themselves to 
 Dryden and Pope. 
 
 But to return. The weapon chiefly used in the 
 present controversy is epigram; and certainly never 
 was a keener made use of. They have discovered 
 
, THE DISPUTES OF THE LEARNED. 1/5 
 
 surprising sharpness on both sides. The first that 
 came out upon this occasion was a new kind of com- 
 position in this way, and might more properly be called 
 an epigrammatic thesis, than an epigram. It consists, 
 first, of an argument in prose ; next follows a motto 
 from Roscommon ; then comes the epigram ; and, 
 lastly, notes serving to explain the epigram. But you 
 shall have it with all its decorations. 
 
 AN EPIGRAM, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE GENTLEMAN REFLECTED ON IN THE 
 ROSCIAD, A POEM, BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Worried with debts , and past all hopes of bail. 
 
 His pen he prostitutes, f avoid a jail. — Roscommon. 
 
 Let not the hungry Bavius' angry stroke 
 Awake resentment, or your rage provoke ; 
 But pitying his distress, let virtue shine, 
 And giving each your bounty, let him dine ; 
 For, thus retained, as learned counsel can, 
 Each case, however bad, he'll new japan, 
 And, by a quick transition, plainly show 
 'Twas no defect of yours, but pocket low. 
 That caused his putrid kennel to o'erflow. 
 
 The last lines are certainly executed in a very mas- 
 terly manner. It is of that species of argumentation, 
 called the perplexing. It effectually flings the antago- 
 nist into a mist ; there is no answering it : the laugh 
 is raised against him, while he is endeavoring to find 
 out the jest. At once he shows, that the author has a 
 kennel, and that his kennel is putrid, and that his putrid 
 kennel overflows. But why does it overflow? It 
 
176 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 overflows, because the author happens to have low 
 pockets ! 
 
 There was also another new attempt in this way ; a 
 prosaic epigram which came out upon this occasion. 
 This is so full of matter, that a critic might split it 
 into fifteen epigrams, each properly fitted with its 
 sting. You shall see it. 
 
 TO G. C. AND R. L. 
 
 'Twas you, or I, or he, or all together ; 
 
 'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether. 
 
 This I believe, between us great or small, 
 
 You, I, he, wrote it not — 'twas Churchill's all. 
 
 There, there's a perplex ! I could have wished, to 
 make it quite perfect, the author, as in the case before, 
 had added notes. Almost every word admits a scho- 
 lium, and a long one too. I, YOU, HE ! Suppose 
 a stranger should ask, "and who are you?" Here 
 are three obscure persons spoken of, that may in a 
 short time be utterly forgotten. Their names should 
 have consequently been mentioned in notes at the 
 bottom. But when the reader comes to the words 
 great and small, the maze is inextricable. Here the 
 stranger may dive for a mystery, without ever reaching 
 the bottom. Let him know, then, that s?nall is a word 
 purely introduced to make good rhyme, and great was 
 a very proper word to keep small company. 
 
 Yet, by being thus a spectator of others' dangers, I 
 must own I begin to tremble in this literary contest for 
 my own. I begin to fear that my challenge to Dr. 
 
THE DISPUTES OF THE LEARNED. I'JJ 
 
 Rock was unadvised, and has procured me more 
 antagonists than I had at first expected. I have 
 received private letters from several of the literati 
 here, that fill my soul with apprehension. I may 
 safely aver, that I never gave any creature in this good 
 city offence, except only my rival Dr. Rock ; yet by 
 the letters I every day receive, and by some I have 
 seen printed, I am arraigned at one time as being a 
 dull fellow, at another as being pert j I am here petu- 
 lant, there I am heavy. By the head of my ancestors, 
 they treat me with more inhumanity than a flying-fish. 
 If I dive and run my nose to the bottom, there a de- 
 vouring shark is ready to swallow me up ; if I skim 
 the surface, a pack of dolphins are at my tail to snap 
 me ; but when I take wing, and attempt to escape 
 them by flight, I become a prey to every ravenous 
 bird that winnows the bosom of the deep. 
 
THE ECCENTRICITIES OF FASHION. 
 
A LADY OF DISTINCTION. 
 
 I WAS some days ago agreeably surprised by a mes- 
 sage from a lady of distinction, who sent me word, 
 that she most passionately desired the pleasure of my 
 acquaintance, and with the utmost impatience expected 
 an interview. I will not deny, my dear Fum Hoam, 
 but that my vanity was raised at such an invitation : I 
 flattered myself that she had seen me in some public 
 place, and had conceived an affection for my person, 
 which thus induced her to deviate from the usual de- 
 corums of her sex. My imagination painted her in 
 all the bloom of youth and beauty. I fancied her at- 
 tended by the Loves and Graces ; and I set out with 
 the most pleasing expectations of seeing the conquest 
 I had made. 
 
 When I was introduced into her apartment, my 
 expectations were quickly at an end : I perceived a 
 little shrivelled figure indolently reclined on a sofa, 
 who nodded, by way of approbation, at my approach. 
 This, as I was afterwards informed, was the lady her- 
 self, — a woman equally distinguished for rank, polite- 
 ness, taste, and understanding. As I was dressed after 
 the fashion of Europe, she had taken me for an Eng- 
 
 i8i 
 
1 82 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 lishman, and consequently saluted me in her ordinary 
 manner : but when the footman informed her grace 
 that I was the gentleman from China, she instantly 
 lifted herself from the couch, while her eyes sparkled 
 with unusual vivacity. " Bless me ! can this be the 
 gentleman that was bom so far from home ? What an 
 unusual share of somethingness in his whole appear- 
 ance ! Lord, how I am charmed with the outlandish 
 cut of his face ! how bewitching the exotic breadth of 
 his forehead ! I would give the world to see him in 
 his own country dress. Pray, turn about, sir, and let 
 me see you behind. There, there's a travelled air for 
 you ! You that attend there, bring up a plate of beef 
 cut into small pieces ; I have a violent passion to see 
 him eat. Pray, sir, have you got your chopsticks 
 about you? It will be so pretty to see the meat 
 carried to the mouth with a jerk. Pray, speak a little 
 Chinese : I have learned some of the language myself. 
 Lord ! have you nothing pretty from China about you ; 
 something that one does not know what to do with? 
 I have got twenty things from China that are of no use 
 in the world. Look at those jars ; they are of the 
 right pea-green : these are the furniture ! " — " Dear 
 madam," said I, " these, though they may appear fine 
 in your eyes, are but paltry to a Chinese ; but as they 
 are useful utensils, it is proper they should have a place 
 in every apartment." — " Useful, sir ! " replied the 
 lady ; " sure you mistake ; they are of no use in the 
 world." — " What ! are they not filled with an infusion 
 of tea, as in China?" replied L "Quite empty and 
 
A LADY OF DISTINCTION. 1 83 
 
 useless, upon my honor, sir." — "Then they are the 
 most cumbrous and clumsy furniture in the world, as 
 nothing is truly elegant but what unites use with 
 beauty." — "I protest," says the lady, "I shall begin 
 to suspect thee of being an actual barbarian. I sup- 
 pose you hold my two beautiful pagods in contempt." 
 — "What !" cried I, "has Fohi spread his gross super- 
 stitions here also ! Pagods of all kinds are my aver- 
 sion." — "A Chinese, a traveller, and want taste ! It 
 surprises me. Pray, sir, examine the beauties of that 
 Chinese temple which you see at the end of the gar- 
 den. Is there anything in China more beautiful?" — 
 " Where I stand, I see nothing, madam, at the end of 
 the garden, that may not as well be called an Egyp- 
 tian pyramid as a Chinese temple ; for that little build- 
 ing in view is as like the one as t'other." — "What, 
 sir ! is not that a Chinese temple ? you must surely be 
 mistaken. Mr. Freeze, who designed it, calls it one, 
 and nobody disputes his pretensions to taste." I now 
 found it vain to contradict the lady in anything she 
 thought fit to advance ; so was resolved rather to act 
 the disciple than the instructor. She took me through 
 several rooms, all furnished, as she told me, in the 
 Chinese manner ; sprawling dragons, squatting pagods, 
 and clumsy mandarins were stuck upon every shelf: 
 in turning round, one must have used caution not to 
 demolish a part of the precarious furniture. 
 
 In a house like this, thought I, one must live con- 
 tinually upon the watch ; the inhabitant must resemble 
 a knight in an enchanted castle, who expects to meet 
 
1 84 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 an adventure at every turning. " But, madam, -' said 
 I, " do not accidents ever happen to all this finery ? " 
 — " Man, sir," replied the lady, " is born to misfor- 
 tunes ; and it is but fit I should have a share. Three 
 weeks ago, a careless servant snapped off the head of 
 a favorite mandarin : I had scarce done grieving for 
 that, when a monkey broke a beautiful jar ; this I took 
 the more to heart, as the injury was done me by a 
 friend ! However, I survived the calamity ; when 
 yesterday crash went half a dozen dragons upon the 
 marble hearthstone : and yet I live ; I survive it all : 
 you can't conceive what comfort I find under afflic- 
 tions from philosophy. There is Seneca, and Boling- 
 broke, and some others, who guide me through life, 
 and teach me to support its calamities." I could not 
 but smile at a woman who makes her own misfortunes, 
 and then deplores the miseries of her situation. Where- 
 fore, tired of acting with dissimulation, and willing to 
 indulge my meditations in solitude, I took leave just 
 as the servant was bringing in a plate of beef, pursuant 
 to the directions of his mistress. 
 
THE DIFFERENCE OF CEREMONIES. 
 
 Ceremonies are different in every country ; but true 
 politeness is everywhere the same. Ceremonies, which 
 take up so much of our attention, are only artificial 
 helps which ignorance assumes in order to imitate 
 politeness, which is the result of good sense and good 
 nature. A person possessed of those qualities, though 
 he had never seen a court, is truly agreeable ; and if 
 without them, would continue a clown, though he had 
 been all his life a gentleman usher. 
 
 How would a Chinese, bred up in the formalities of 
 an Eastern court, be regarded should he carry all his 
 good manners beyond the Great Wall ? How would 
 an Englishman, skilled in all the decorums of Western 
 good breeding, appear at an Eastern entertainment? 
 Would he not be reckoned more fantastically savage 
 than even his unbred footman ? 
 
 Ceremony resembles that base coin which circulates 
 through a country by the royal mandate ; it serves 
 every purpose of real money at home, but is entirely 
 useless if carried abroad : a person who should at- 
 tempt to circulate his native trash in another country 
 would be thought either ridiculous or culpable. He is 
 
 185 
 
1 86 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 truly well-bred, who knows when to value and when to 
 despise those national peculiarities, which are regarded 
 by some with so much observance ; a traveller of taste 
 at once perceives that the wise are polite all the world 
 over, but that fools are polite only at home. 
 
 I have now before me two very fashionable letters 
 upon the same subject, both written by ladies of dis- 
 tinction j one of whom leads the fashion in England, 
 and the other sets the ceremonies of China : they are 
 both regarded in their respective countries by all the 
 beau monde, as standards of taste and models of true 
 politeness, and both give us a true idea of what they 
 imagine elegant in their admirers : which of them un- 
 derstands true politeness, or whether either, you shall 
 be at liberty to determine. The English lady writes 
 thus to her female confidant : — 
 
 " As I live, my dear Charlotte, I believe the Colonel will 
 carry it at last ; he is a most irresistible fellow, that is flat. So 
 well dressed, so neat, so sprightly, and plays about one so 
 agreeably, that I vow he has as much spirits as the Marquis of 
 Monkeyman's Italian greyhound. I first saw him at Ranelagh ; 
 he shines there: he is nothing without Ranelagh, and Rane- 
 lagh nothing without him. The next day he sent a card and 
 compliments, desiring to wait on mamma and me to the music 
 subscription. He looked ail the time with such irresistible 
 impudence, that positively he had something in his face gave 
 me as much pleasure as a pair-royal of naturals in my own 
 hand. He waited on mamma and me the next morning to 
 know how we got home : you must know the insidious devil 
 makes love to us both. Rap went the footman at the door ; 
 bounce went my heart : I thought he would have rattled the 
 house down. Chariot drove up to the window, with his foot- 
 
THE DIFFERENCE OF CEREMONIES. 1 8/ 
 
 men in the prettiest liveries ; he has infinite taste, that is flat. 
 Mamma had spent all the morning at her head ; but, for my 
 part, I was in an undress to receive him; quite easy, mind 
 that ; no way disturbed at his approach : mamma pretended to 
 be as degagee as I ; and yet I saw her blush in spite of her. 
 Positively he is a most killing devil ! We did nothing but 
 laugh all the time he staid with us ; I never heard so many 
 very good things before : at first he mistook mamma for my 
 sister, at which she laughed ; then he mistook my natural com- 
 plexion for paint, at which I laughed ; and then he showed us 
 a picture in the lid of his snuff-box, at which we all laughed. 
 He plays picquet so very ill, and is so very fond of cards, and 
 loses with such a grace, that positively he has won me ; I have 
 got a cool hundred, but have lost my heart. I need not tell 
 you that he is only a colonel of the train-bands. I am, dear 
 
 Charlotte, yours forever, 
 
 " BELINDA." 
 
 The Chinese lady addresses her confidant, a poor 
 relation of the family, upon the same occasion ; in 
 which she seems to understand decorums even better 
 than the Western beauty. You who have resided so 
 long in China will readily acknowledge the picture to 
 be taken from nature ; and, by being acquainted with 
 the Chinese customs, will better apprehend the lady's 
 meaning. 
 
 FROM YAOUA TO YAYA. 
 
 " Papa insists upon one, two, three, four hundred taels from 
 the colonel, my lover, before he parts with a lock of my hair. 
 Oh how I wish the dear creature may be able to produce the 
 money, and pay papa my fortune ! The colonel is reckoned 
 the politest man in all Shensi. The first visit he paid at our 
 house — ■ mercy, what stooping, and cringing, and stopping, and 
 fidgeting, and going back, and creeping forward, there was be- 
 
1 88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 tween him and papa ! one would have thought he had got the 
 
 seventeen books of ceremonies all by heart. When he was 
 come into the hall, he flourished his hands three times in a 
 very graceful manner. Papa, who would not be outdone, flour- 
 ished his four times ; upon this the colonel began again, and 
 both thus continued flourishing for some minutes in the politest 
 manner imaginable. I was posted in the usual place behind 
 the screen, where I saw the whole ceremony through a slit. 
 Of this the colonel was sensible, for papa informed him. I 
 would have given the world to have shown him my little shoes, 
 but had no opportunity. It was the first time I had ever the 
 happiness of seeing any man but papa, and I vow, my dear 
 Yaya, I thought my three souls would actually have fled from 
 my lips. Ho ! but he looked most charmingly : he is reckoned 
 the best shaped man in the whole province, for he is very fat 
 and very short; but even those natural advantages are im- 
 proved by his dress, which is fashionable past description. 
 His head was close shaven, all but the crown, and the hair of 
 that was braided into a most beautiful tail, that reached down 
 to his heels, and was terminated by' a bunch of yellow roses. 
 Upon his first entering the room, I could easily perceive he 
 had been highly perfumed with assafcetida. But then his looks 
 — his looks, my dear Yaya, were irresistible. He kept his eyes 
 steadfastly fixed on the wall during the whole ceremony, and I 
 sincerely believe no accident could have discomposed his grav- 
 ity, or drawn his eyes away. After a polite silence of two 
 hours, he gallantly begged to have the singing women intro- 
 duced, purely for my amusement. After one of them had for 
 some time entertained us with her voice, the colonel and she 
 retired for some minutes together. I thought they would never 
 have come back : I must own he is a most agreeable creature. 
 Upon his return they again renewed the concert, and he con- 
 tinued to gaze upon the wall as usual, when, in less than half 
 an hour more, ho ! but he retired out of the room with another. 
 He is, indeed, a most agreeable creature. 
 " When he came to take his leave, the whole ceremony be- 
 
THE DIFFERENCE OF CEREMONIES, 1 89 
 
 gan afresh : papa would see him to the door ; but the colonel 
 swore he would rather see the earth turned upside down than 
 permit him to stir a single step, and papa was at last obliged 
 to comply. As soon as he was got to the door, papa went out 
 to see him on horseback : here they continued half an hour 
 bowing and cringing, before one would mount or the other go 
 in ; but the colonel was at last victorious. He had scarce 
 gone an hundred paces from the house, when papa running 
 out hallooed after him, 'A good journey ;' upon which the 
 colonel returned, and would see papa into his house before 
 ever he would depart. He was no sooner got home than he 
 sent me a very fine present of duck eggs painted of twenty 
 different colors. His generosity, I own, has won me. I have 
 ever since been trying over the eight letters of good fortune, and 
 have great hopes. All I have to apprehend is, that after he 
 has married me, and that I am carried to his house close shut 
 up in my chair, when he comes to have the first sight of my 
 face, he may shut me up a second time, and send me back to 
 papa. However, I shall appear as fine as possible : mamma 
 and I have been to buy the clothes for my wedding. I am to 
 have a new foong hoang in my hair, the beak of which will 
 reach down to my nose ; the milliner from whom we bought 
 that and our ribbons cheated us as if she had no conscience, 
 and so, to quiet mine, I cheated her. All this is fair, you 
 know. I remain, my dear Yaya, your ever faithful 
 
 " YAOUA." 
 
ON LITERATURE AND TASTE. 
 
SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 
 
 The theatre, like all other amusements, has its fash- 
 ions and its prejudices ; and when satiated with its 
 excellence, mankind begin to mistake change for im- 
 provement. For some years tragedy was the reigning 
 entertainment ; but of late it has entirely given way to 
 comedy, and our best efforts are now exerted in these 
 lighter kinds of composition. The pompous train, 
 the swelling phrase, and the unnatural rant are dis- 
 placed for that natural portrait of human folly and 
 frailty, of which all are judges, because all have sat 
 for the picture. 
 
 But as in describing nature it is presented with a 
 double face, either of mirth or sadness, our modern 
 writers find themselves at a loss which chiefly to copy 
 from ; and it is now debated, whether the exhibition 
 of human distress is likely to afford the mind more 
 entertainment than that of human absurdity? 
 
 Comedy is defined by Aristotle to be a picture of 
 the frailties of the lower part of mankind, to dis- 
 tinguish it from tragedy, which is an exhibition of the 
 misfortunes of the great. When comedy, therefore, 
 ascends to produce the characters of princes or gen- 
 
 193 
 
194 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 erals upon the stage, it is out of its walk, since low 
 life and middle life are entirely its object. The prin- 
 cipal question therefore is, whether, in describing low 
 or middle life, an exhibition of its follies be not pref- 
 erable to a detail of its calamities? Or, in other 
 words, which deserves the preference, — the weeping 
 sentimental comedy so much in fashion at present, 
 or the laughing and even low comedy which seems 
 to have been last exhibited by Vanbrugh and Gibber ? 
 If we apply to authorities, all the great masters in 
 the' dramatic art have but one opinion. Their rule is, 
 that as tragedy displays the calamities of the great, 
 so comedy should excite our laughter by ridiculously 
 exhibiting the follies of the lower part of mankind. 
 Boileau, one of the best modern critics, asserts that 
 comedy will not admit of tragic distress : — 
 
 Le comique, ennemi des soupirs et des pleurs, 
 N'admet point dans ses vers de tragiques douleurs. 
 
 Nor is this rule without the strongest foundation in 
 nature, as the distresses of the mean by no means 
 affect us so strongly as the calamities of the great. 
 When tragedy exhibits to us some great man fallen 
 from his height, and struggling with want and adver- 
 sity, we feel his situation in the same manner as we 
 suppose he himself must feel, and our pity is increased 
 in proportion to the height from which he fell. On 
 the contrary, we do not so strongly sympathize with 
 one born in humbler circumstances, and encountering 
 
SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 1 95 
 
 accidental distress ; so that while we melt for Belisa- 
 rius, we scarce give halfpence to the beggar who ac- 
 costs us in the street. The one has our pity; the 
 other our contempt. Distress, therefore, is the proper 
 object of tragedy, since the great excite our pity by 
 their fall; but not equally so of comedy, since the 
 actors employed in it are originally so mean, that they 
 sink but little by their fall. 
 
 Since the first origin of the stage, tragedy and 
 comedy have run in distinct channels, and never till 
 of late encroached upon the provinces of each other. 
 Terence, who seems to have made the nearest ap- 
 proaches, always judiciously stops short before he 
 comes to the downright pathetic ; and yet he is even 
 reproached by Caesar for wanting the vis co7nica. All 
 the other comic writers of antiquity aim only at ren- 
 dering folly or vice ridiculous, but never exalt their 
 characters into buskined pomp, or make what Vol- 
 taire humorously calls a tradesman^ s tragedy. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding this weight of authority, and the 
 universal practice of former ages, a new species of 
 dramatic composition has been introduced, under the 
 name of sentimental comedy, in which the virtues of 
 private life are exhibited, rather than the vices exposed ; 
 and the distresses rather than the faults of mankind 
 make our interest in the piece. These comedies have 
 had of late great success, perhaps from their novelty, 
 and also from their flattering every man in his favorite 
 foible. In these plays almost all the characters are 
 good, and exceedingly generous ; they are lavish 
 
196 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 enough of their tin money on the stage ; and though 
 they want humor, have abundance of sentiment and 
 feehng. If they happen to have faults or foibles, the 
 spectator is taught, not only to pardon, but to ap- 
 plaud them, in consideration of the goodness of their 
 hearts ; so that folly, instead of being ridiculed, is 
 commended, and the comedy aims at touching our 
 passions without the power of being truly pathetic. 
 In this manner we are likely to lose one great source 
 of entertainment on the stage ; for while the comic 
 poet is invading the province of the tragic muse, he 
 leaves her lovely sister quite neglected. Of this, how- 
 ever, he is no way solicitous, as he measures his fame by 
 his profits. 
 
 But it will be said that the theatre is formed to amuse 
 mankind, and that it matters little, if this end be an- 
 swered, by what means it is obtained. If mankind find 
 delight in weeping at comedy, it would be cruel to 
 abridge them in that or any other innocent pleasure. 
 If those pieces are denied the name of comedies, yet 
 call them by any other name, and if they are delight- 
 ful, they are good. Their success, it will be said, is a 
 mark of their merit, and it is only abridging our hap- 
 piness to deny us an inlet to amusement. 
 
 These objections, however, are rather specious than 
 solid. It is true that amusement is a great object of 
 the theatre, and it will be allowed that these senti- 
 mental pieces do often amuse us ; but the question is, 
 whether the true comedy would not amuse us more ? 
 The question is, whether a character supported through- 
 
SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 1 9/ 
 
 out a piece with its ridicule still attending, would not 
 give us more delight than this species of bastard tra- 
 gedy, which only is applauded because it is new? 
 
 A friend of mine, who was sitting unmoved at one 
 of these sentimental pieces, was asked how he could 
 be so indifferent? *'Why, truly," says he, "as the hero 
 is but a tradesman, it is indifferent to me whether he 
 be turned out of his counting-house on Fish-street Hill, 
 since he will still have enough left to open shop in St. 
 Giles's." 
 
 The other objection is as ill-grounded ; for though we 
 should give these pieces another name, it will not mend 
 their efficacy. It will continue a kind of mulish pro- 
 duction, with all the defects of its opposite parents, 
 and marked with sterility. If we are permitted to 
 make comedy weep, we have an equal right to make 
 tragedy laugh, and to set down in blank verse the jests 
 and repartees of all the attendants in a funeral pro- 
 cession. 
 
 But there is one argument in favor of sentimental 
 comedy, which will keep it on the stage, in spite of all 
 that can be said against it. It is, of all others, the 
 most easily written. Those abilities that can hammer 
 out a novel are fully sufficient for the production of a 
 sentimental comedy. It is only sufficient to raise the 
 characters a little ; to deck out the hero with a ribbon, 
 or give the heroine a title ; then to put an insipid dia- 
 logue, without character or humor, into their mouths, 
 give them mighty good hearts, very fine clothes, fur- 
 nish a new set of scenes, make a pathetic scene or two, 
 
198 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 with a sprinkling of tender melancholy conversation 
 through the whole, and there is no doubt but all the 
 ladies will cry, and all the gentlemen applaud. 
 
 Humor at present seems to be departing from the 
 stage, and it will soon happen that our comic players 
 will have nothing left for it but a fine coat and a song. 
 It depends upon the audience whether they will ac- 
 tually drive those poor merry creatures from the stage, 
 or sit at a play as gloomy as at the tabernacle. It is 
 not easy to recover an art when once lost ; and it will 
 be but a just punishment, that when, by our being too 
 fastidious, we have banished humor from the stage, we 
 should ourselves be deprived of the art of laughing. 
 
TASTE. 
 
 AMrosT the frivolous pursuits and pernicious dissipa- 
 tions of the present age a respect for the quahties of 
 the understanding still prevails to such a degree, that 
 almost every individual pretends to have a taste for the 
 Belles Lettres. The spruce apprentice sets up for a 
 critic, and the puny beau piques himself upon being 
 a connoisseur. Without assigning causes for this uni- 
 versal presumption, we shall proceed to observe, that 
 if it was attended with no other inconvenience than 
 that of exposing the pretender to the ridicule of those 
 few who can sift his pretensions, it might be unneces- 
 sary to undeceive the public, or to endeavor at the 
 reformation of innocent folly, productive of no evil 
 to the commonwealth. But in reality this folly is pro- 
 ductive of manifold evils to the community. If the 
 reputation of taste can be acquired, without the least 
 assistance of literature, by reading modern poems and 
 seeing modern plays, what person will deny himself 
 the pleasure of such an easy qualification? Hence 
 the youth of both sexes are debauched to diversion, 
 and seduced from much more profitable occupations 
 into idle endeavors after literary fame ; and a super- 
 
 199 
 
200 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 ficial, false taste, founded on ignorance and conceit, 
 takes possession of the public. The acquisition of 
 learning, the study of nature, is neglected as superflu- 
 ous labor ; and the best faculties of the mind remain 
 unexercised, and indeed unopened, by the power of 
 thought and reflection. False taste will not only diffuse 
 itself through all our amusements, but even influence 
 our moral and political conduct ; for what is false taste 
 but want of perception to discern propriety and dis- 
 tinguish beauty? 
 
 It has often been alleged, that taste is a natural tal- 
 ent, as independent of art as strong eyes or a delicate 
 sense of smelling ; and, without all doubt, the princi- 
 pal ingredient in the composition of taste is a natural 
 sensibility, without which it cannot exist : but it differs 
 from the senses in this particular, that they are finished 
 by nature, whereas taste cannot be brought to perfec- 
 tion without proper cultivation ; for taste pretends to 
 judge, not only of nature, but also of art ; and that 
 judgment is founded upon observation and comparison. 
 
 What Horace has said of genius is still more ap- 
 plicable to taste : — 
 
 Naturi fieret laudabile carmen, an arte, 
 Quaesitum est. Ego nee studium sine divite vena, 
 Nee rude quid prosit video ingenium : alterius sic 
 Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice. 
 
 HoR. Art Poet. 
 
 'Tis long disputed, whether poets claim 
 From art or nature their best right to fame. 
 
TASTE. 201 
 
 But art^ if not enriched by nature's vein, 
 
 And a rude genius of uncultured strain, 
 
 Are useless both , but when in friendship joined, 
 
 A mutual succor in each other find. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 We have seen genius shine without the help of art, 
 but taste must be cultivated by art before it will pro- 
 duce agreeable fruit. This, however, we must still 
 inculcate with Quintilian, that study, precept, and ob- 
 servation, will nought avail, without the assistance of 
 nature : — 
 
 Illud tamen imprimis testandum est, nihil praecepta atque 
 artes valere, nisi adjuvante natura. 
 
 Yet even though nature has done her part, by im- 
 planting the seeds of taste, great pains must be taken, 
 and great skill exerted, in raising them to a proper 
 pitch of vegetation. The judicious tutor must gradu- 
 ally and tenderly unfold the mental faculties of the 
 youth committed to his charge. He must cherish his 
 delicate perception j store his mind with proper ideas ; 
 point out the different channels of observation ; teach 
 him to compare objects ; to estabhsh the limits of 
 right and wrong, of truth and falsehood ; to distin- 
 guish beauty from tinsel, and grace from affectation: 
 in a word, to strengthen and improve by culture, ex- 
 perience, and instruction those natural powers of feel- 
 ing and sagacity which constitute the faculty called 
 taste, and enable the professor to enjoy the delights 
 of the Belles Lettres. 
 
202 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 We cannot agree in opinion with those who imagine, 
 that nature has been equally favorable to all men, in 
 conferring upon them a fundamental capacity, which 
 may be improved to all the refinement of taste and 
 criticism. Every day's experience convinces us of the 
 contrary. Of two youths educated under the same 
 preceptor, instructed with the same care, and culti- 
 vated with the same assiduity, one shall not only com- 
 prehend, but even anticipate, the lessons of his master, 
 by dint of natural discernment, while the other toils 
 in vain to imbibe the least tincture of instruction. 
 Such, indeed, is the distinction between genius and 
 stupidity, which every man has an opportunity of see- 
 ing among his friends and acquaintance. Not that 
 we ought too hastily to decide upon the natural capa- 
 cities of children, before we have maturely considered 
 the pecuharity of disposition, and the bias by which 
 genius may be strangely warped from the common 
 path of education. A youth incapable of retaining 
 one rule of grammar, or of acquiring the least knowl- 
 edge of the classics, may nevertheless make great 
 progress in mathematics — nay, he may have a strong 
 genms for the mathematics, without being able to 
 comprehend a demonstration of Euclid ; because his 
 mind conceives in a peculiar manner, and is so intent 
 upon contemplating the object in one particular point 
 of view, that it cannot perceive it in any other. We 
 have known an instance of a boy, who, while his mas- 
 ter complained that he had not capacity to compre- 
 hend the properties of a right-angled triangle, had 
 
TASTE. 203 
 
 actually, in private, by the power of his genius, formed 
 a mathematical system of his own, discovered a series 
 of curious theorems, and even applied his deductions 
 to practical machines of surprising construction. Be- 
 sides, in the education of youth we ought to remem.- 
 ber, that some capacities are like the pyra prcEcocia, 
 ■ — they soon blow, and soon attain to all the degree of 
 maturity which they are capable of acquiring ; while, 
 on the other hand, there are geniuses of slow growth, 
 that are late in bursting the bud, and long in ripening. 
 Yet the first shall yield a faint blossom and insipid 
 fruit ; whereas the produce of the other shall be dis- 
 tinguished and admired for its well concocted juice 
 and exquisite flavor. We have known a boy of five 
 years of age surprise everybody by playing on the violin 
 in such a manner as seemed to promise a prodigy in 
 music. He had all the assistance that art could afford ; 
 by the age of ten his genius was at the aKr^TJ ; yet after 
 that period, notwithstanding the most intense applica- 
 tion, he never gave the least signs of improvement. At 
 six he was admired as a miracle of music ; at six-and- 
 twenty he was neglected as an ordinary fiddler. The 
 celebrated Dean Swift was a remarkable instance in 
 the other extreme. He was long considered as an 
 incorrigible dunce, and did not obtain his degree at 
 the University but ex speciali gratia ; yet when his 
 powers began to unfold, he signalized himself by a 
 very remarkable superiority of genius. When a youth 
 therefore appears dull of apprehension, and seems to 
 derive no advantage from study and instruction, the 
 
204 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 tutor must exercise his sagacity in discovering whether 
 the soil be absolutely barren, or sown with seed repug- 
 nant to its nature, or of such a quality as requires re- 
 peated culture and length of time to set its juices in 
 fermentation. These observations, however, relate to 
 capacity in general, which we ought carefully to dis- 
 tinguish from taste. Capacity implies the power of 
 retaining what is received ; taste is the power of relish- 
 ing or rejecting whatever is offered for the entertain- 
 ment of the imagination. A man may have capacity 
 to acquire what is called learning and philosophy ; but 
 he must have also sensibility before he feels those 
 emotions with which taste receives the impressions of 
 beauty. 
 
 Natural taste is apt to be seduced and debauched 
 by vicious precept and bad example. There is a 
 dangerous tinsel in false taste, by which the unwary 
 mind and young imagination are often fascinated. 
 Nothing has been so often explained, and yet so httle 
 understood, as simplicity in writing. Simplicity, in 
 this acceptation, has a larger signification than either 
 the ajtXoov of the Greeks or the simplex of the Latins ; 
 for it implies beauty. It is the aiikoov koI rjSvv of 
 Demetrius Phalereus, the simplex munditiis of Horace, 
 and expressed by one word, naivete, in the French 
 language. It is, in fact, no other than beautiful nature, 
 without affectation or extraneous ornament. In stat- 
 uary it is the Venus of Medicis ; in architecture the 
 Pantheon. It would be an endless task to enumerate 
 all the instances of this natural simplicity that occur 
 
TASTE. 205 
 
 in poetry and painting, among the ancients and mod- 
 erns. We shall only mention two examples of it, the 
 beauty of which consists in the pathetic. 
 
 Anaxagoras the philosopher, and preceptor of Peri- 
 cles, being told that both his sons were dead, laid his 
 hand upon his heart, and, after a short pause, consoled 
 himself with a reflection couched in thtee words, ^3ety 
 $vr]Tov<; yeyewrjKm, " I knew they were mortal." The 
 other instance we select from the tragedy of Macbeth. 
 The gallant Macduff, being informed that his wife and 
 children were murdered by order of the tyrant, pulls 
 his hat over his eyes, and his internal agony bursts out 
 into an exclamation of four words, the most expressive 
 perhaps that ever were uttered : " He has no chil- 
 dren." This is the energetic language of simple 
 nature, which is now grown into disrepute. By the 
 present mode of education we are forcibly warped 
 from the bias of nature, and all simplicity in manners 
 is rejected. We are taught to disguise and distort our 
 sentiments, until the faculty of thinking is diverted 
 into an unnatural channel ; and we not only relinquish 
 and forget, but also become incapable of, our original 
 dispositions. We are totally changed into creatures 
 of art and affectation. Our perception is abused, and 
 even our senses are perverted. Our minds lose their 
 native force and flavor. The imagination, sweated by 
 artificial fire, produces nought but vapid bloom. The 
 genius, instead of growing like a vigorous tree, ex- 
 tending its branches on every side, and bearing deli- 
 cious fruit, resembles a stunted yew, tortured into 
 
206 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 some wretched form, projecting no shade, displaying 
 no flower, diffusing no fragrance, yielding no fruit, and 
 affording nothing but a barren conceit for the amuse- 
 ment of the idle spectator. 
 
 Thus debauched from nature, how can we relish her 
 genuine productions? As well might a man distin- 
 guish objects through a prism, that presents nothing 
 but a variety of colors to the eye ; or a maid pining 
 in the green sickness prefer a biscuit to a cinder. It 
 has been often alleged, that the passions can never be 
 wholly deposited, and that by appealing to these a 
 good writer will always be able to force himself into the 
 hearts of his readers : but even the strongest passions 
 are weakened — nay, sometimes totally extinguished — 
 by mutual opposition, dissipation, and acquired in- 
 sensibihty. How often at the theatre is the tear of 
 sympathy and the burst of laughter repressed by a 
 ridiculous species of pride, refusing approbation to 
 the author and actor, and renouncing society with the 
 audience ! This seeming insensibility is not owing to 
 any original defect. Nature has stretched the string, 
 though it has long ceased to vibrate. It may have 
 been displaced and distracted by the violence of 
 pride ; it may have lost its tone through long disuse, 
 or be so twisted or overstrained as to produce th' 
 most jarring discords. 
 
 If so Httle regard is paid to nature when she knocks 
 so powerfully at the breast, she must be altogether 
 neglected and despised in her calmer mood of serene 
 tranquillity, when nothing appears to recommend her 
 
TASTE. 207 
 
 but simplicity, propriety, and innocence. A person 
 must have delicate feelings that can taste the cele- 
 brated repartee in Terence : " Homo sum ; nihil hu- 
 man! a me alienum puto," — "I am a man ; therefore 
 think I have an interest in everything that concerns 
 humanity." A clear blue sky, spangled with stars, will 
 prove an insipid object to eyes accustomed to the 
 glare of torches and tapers, gilding and glitter ; eyes 
 that will turn with disgust from the green mantle of 
 the spring, so gorgeously adorned with buds and foli- 
 age, flowers and blossoms, to contemplate a gaudy 
 silken robe, striped and intersected with unfriendly 
 tints, that fritter the masses of light, and distract the 
 vision, pinked into the most fantastic forms, flounced, 
 and furbelowed, and fringed with all the littleness of 
 art unknown to elegance. 
 
 Those ears that are offended by the notes of the 
 thrush, the blackbird, and the nightingale will be re- 
 galed and ravished by the squeaking fiddle, touched 
 by a musician who has no other genius than that which 
 lies in his fingers : they will even be entertained with 
 the rattling of coaches, and the alarming knock by 
 which the doors of fashionable people are so loudly 
 distinguished. The sense of smelling that delights in 
 the scent of excrement! tious animal juices, such as 
 musk, civet, and urinous salts, will loathe the fragrance 
 of new mown hay, the sweetbriar, the honeysuckle, 
 and the rose. The organs that are gratified with the 
 taste of sickly veal bled into a palsy, crammed fowls, 
 and dropsical brawn, peas without substance, peaches 
 
208 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 without taste, and pine-apples without flavor, will cer- 
 tainly nauseate the native, genuine, and salutary taste 
 of Welch beef, Banstead mutton, and barn-door fowls, 
 whose juices are concocted by a natural digestion, and 
 whose flesh is consolidated by free air and exercise. 
 In such a total perversion of the senses the ideas must 
 be misrepresented, the powers of the imagination dis- 
 ordered, and the judgment, of consequence, unsound. 
 The disease is attended with a false appetite, which 
 the natural food of the mind will not satisfy. It will 
 prefer Ovid to TibuUus, and the rant of Lee to the 
 tenderness of Otway. The soul sinks into a kind of 
 sleepy idiotism, and is diverted by toys and baubles, 
 which can only be pleasing to the most superficial 
 curiosity. It is enlivened by a quick succession of 
 trivial objects, that glisten and dance before the eye, 
 and, like an infant, is kept awake and inspirited by the 
 sound of a rattle. It must not only be dazzled and 
 aroused, but also cheated, hurried, and perplexed, by 
 the artifice of deception, business, intricacy, and in- 
 trigue, — a kind of low juggle, which may be termed 
 the legerdemain of genius. 
 
 In this state of depravity the mind cannot enjoy, nor 
 indeed distinguish, the charms of natural and moral 
 beauty and decorum. The ingenious blush of native 
 innocence, the plain language of ancient faith and sin- 
 cerity, the cheerful resignation to the will of Heaven, 
 the mutual affection of the charities, the voluntary re- 
 spect paid to superior dignity or station, the virtue of 
 beneficence, extended even to the brute creation — 
 
TASTE. 209 
 
 nay, the very crimson glow of health, and swelling 
 lines of beauty, are despised, detested, scorned, and 
 ridiculed, as ignorance, rudeness, rusticity, and super- 
 stition. Thus we see how moral and natural beauty 
 are connected, and of what importance it is, even to 
 the formation of taste, that the manners should be 
 severely superintended. This is a task which ought 
 to take the lead of science : for we will venture to say, 
 that virtue is the foundation of taste ; or rather, that 
 virtue and taste are built upon the same foundation of 
 sensibihty, and cannot be disjoined without offering 
 violence to both. But virtue must be informed, and 
 taste instructed ; otherwise they will both remain im- 
 perfect and ineffectual : — 
 
 Qui didicit patriae quid debeat, et quid amicis ; 
 Quo sit amore parens, quo f rater amandus, et hospes ; 
 Quod sit conscripti, quod judicis officium quae 
 Partes in helium missi ducis ; ille profecto 
 Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique. 
 
 HOR. 
 
 The critic who with nice discernment knows 
 What to Ills country and his friends he owes ; 
 How various nature warms the human breast, 
 To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest ; 
 What the great functions of our judges are, 
 Of senators, and generals sent to war ; 
 He can distinguish, with unerring art. 
 The strokes peculiar to each different part. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 Thus we see taste is composed of nature improved 
 by art, of feeling tutored by instruction. 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 
 
 Having explained what we conceive to be true taste, 
 and in some measure accounted for the prevalence of 
 vitiated taste, we should proceed to point out the most 
 effectual manner in which a natural capacity may be 
 improved into a delicacy of judgment, and an inti- 
 mate acquaintance with the Belles Lettres. We shall 
 take it for granted that proper means have been used 
 to form the manners, and attach the mind to virtue. 
 The heart, cultivated by precept, and warned by ex- 
 ample, improves in sensibility, which is the foundation 
 of taste. By distinguishing the influence and scope of 
 morality, and cherishing the ideas of benevolence, it 
 acquires a habit of sympathy, which tenderly feels re- 
 sponsive, like the vibration of unisons, every touch of 
 moral beauty. Hence it is that a man of a social 
 heart, entendered by the practice of virtue, is awak- 
 ened to the most pathetic emotions by every uncom- 
 mon instance of generosity, compassion, and greatness 
 of soul. Is there any man so dead to sentiment, so 
 lost to humanity, as to read unmoved the generous be- _ 
 havior of the Romans to the states of Greece, as it is 
 recounted by Livy, or embellished by Thomson in his 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 211 
 
 poem of Liberty ? Speaking of Greece in the decline 
 of her power, when her freedom no longer existed, he 
 says : — 
 
 As at her Isthmian games — a fading pomp — 
 
 Her full assembled youth innumerous swarmed, 
 
 On a tribunal raised Flaminius sat : 
 
 A victor he, from the deep phalanx pierced 
 
 Of iron-coated Macedon, and back 
 
 The Grecian tyrant to his bounds repelled. 
 
 In the high thoughtless gaiety of game, 
 
 While sport alone their unambitious hearts 
 
 Possessed, the sudden trumpet, sounding hoarse, 
 
 Bade silence o'er the bright assembly reign. 
 
 Then thus a herald, — "To the states of Greece 
 
 The Roman people unconfined restore 
 
 Their countries, cities, liberties, and laws : 
 
 Taxes remit, and garrisons withdraw." 
 
 The crowd, astonished half, and half informed, 
 
 Stared dubious round; some questioned, some exclaimed, 
 
 (Like one who, dreaming between hope and fear, 
 
 Is lost in anxious joy,) " Be that again — 
 
 Be that again proclaimed distinct and loud ! " 
 
 Loud and distinct it was again proclaimed ; 
 
 And, still as rnidnight in the rural shade, 
 
 When the gale slumbers, they the words devoured. 
 
 Awhile severe amazement held them mute. 
 
 Then, bursting broad, the boundless shout to heaven 
 
 From many a thousand hearts ecstatic sprung ! 
 
 On every hand rebellowed to their joy 
 
 The swelling sea, the rocks, and vocal hills. 
 
 Like Bacchanals they flew. 
 
 Each other straining in a strict embrace ; 
 
 Nor strained a slave •• and loud acclaims till night 
 
 Round the proconsul's tent repeated rung. 
 
212 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 To one acquainted with the genius of Greece, the 
 character and disposition of that pohshed people, ad- 
 mired for science, renowned for an inextinguishable 
 love of freedom, nothing can be more affecting than 
 this instance of generous magnanimity of the Roman 
 people, in restoring them unasked to the full fruition 
 of those liberties which they had so unfortunately lost. 
 
 The mind of sensibility is equally struck by the 
 generous confidence of Alexander, who drinks without 
 hesitation the potion presented by his physician Philip, 
 even after he had received intimation that poison was 
 contained in the cup : a noble and pathetic scene, 
 which hath acquired new dignity and expression under 
 the inimitable pencil of a Le Sueur. Humanity is 
 melted into tears of tender admiration by the deport- 
 ment of Henry IV. of France, while his rebellious 
 subjects compelled him to form the blockade of his 
 capital. In chastising his enemies, he could not but 
 remember they were his people ; and knowing they 
 were reduced to the extremity of famine, he gener- 
 ously connived at the methods practised to supply 
 them with provision. Chancing one day to meet two 
 peasants who had been detected in these practices as 
 they were led to execution, they implored his clem- 
 ency, declaring, in the sight of Heaven, they had no 
 other way to procure subsistence for their wives and 
 children ; he pardoned them on the spot, and giving 
 them all the money that was in his purse, '•' Henry of 
 Bearne is poor," said he ; " had he more money to af- 
 ford, you should have it : go home to your families in 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE, 213 
 
 peace ;. and remember your duty to God and your 
 allegiance to your sovereign." Innumerable examples 
 of the same kind may be selected from history both 
 ancient and modern, the study of which we would 
 therefore strenuously recommend. 
 
 Historical knowledge, indeed, becomes necessary 
 on many other accounts, which in its place we will 
 explain : but as the formation of the heart is of the 
 first consequence, and should precede the cultivation 
 of the understanding, such striking instances of supe- 
 rior virtue ought to be culled for the perusal of the 
 young pupil, who will read them with eagerness, and 
 revolve them with pleasure. Thus the young mind 
 becomes enamoured of moral beauty, and the passions 
 are Ksted on the side of humanity. Meanwhile, knowl- 
 edge of a different species will go hand in hand with 
 the advances of morality, and the understanding be 
 gradually extended. Virtue and sentiment recipro- 
 cally assist each other, and both conduce to the im- 
 provement of perception. While the scholar's chief 
 attention is employed in learning the Latin and Greek 
 languages, and this is generally the task of childhood 
 and early youth, it is even then the business of the 
 preceptor to give his mind a turn for observation, to 
 direct his powers of discernment, to point out the dis- 
 tinguishing marks of character, and dwell upon the 
 charms of moral and intellectual beauty, as they may 
 chance to occur in the classics that are used for his 
 instruction. In reading Cornelius Nepos and Plutarch's 
 Lives, even with a view to grammatical improvement 
 
214 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 only, he will insensibly imbibe, and learn to compare, 
 ideas of great importance. He will become enamoured 
 of virtue and patiotism, and acquire a detestation for 
 vice, cruelty, and corruption. The perusal of the 
 Roman story in the works of Florus, Sallust, Livy, and 
 Tacitus will irresistibly engage his attention, expand 
 his conception, cherish his memory, exercise his judg- 
 ment, and warm him with a noble spirit of emulation. 
 He will contemplate with love and admiration the dis- 
 interested candor of Aristides, surnamed the Just, 
 whom the guilty cabals of his rival Themistocles exiled 
 from his ungrateful country by a sentence of ostracism. 
 He will be surprised to learn, that one of his fellow- 
 citizens, an illiterate artisan, bribed by his enemies, 
 chancing to meet him in the street without knowing 
 his person, desired he would write Aristides on his 
 shell (which was the method those plebeians used to 
 vote against delinquents), when the innocent patriot 
 wrote his own name without complaint or expostulation. 
 He will with equal astonishment applaud the inflexible 
 integrity of Fabricius, who preferred the poverty of 
 innocence to all the pomp of affluence with which Pyr- 
 rhus endeavored to seduce him from the arms of his 
 country. He will approve with transport the noble 
 generosity of his soul in rejecting the proposal of that 
 Prince's physician, who offered to take him ofl" by poi- 
 son ; and in sending the caitiff bound to his sovereign, 
 whom he would have so basely and cruelly betrayed. 
 
 In reading the ancient authors, even for the purposes 
 of school education, the unformed taste will begin to 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 215 
 
 relish the irresistible energy, greatness, and sublimity 
 of Homer ; the serene majesty, the melody, and pathos 
 of Virgil ; the tenderness of Sappho and Tibullus ; the 
 elegance and propriety of Terence ; the grace, vivacity, 
 satire, and sentiment of Horace. 
 
 Nothing will more conduce to the improvement of 
 the scholar in his knowledge of the languages, as well 
 as in taste and morality, than his being obliged to 
 translate choice parts and passages of the most ap- 
 proved classics, both poetry and prose, especially the 
 latter : such as the orations of Demosthenes and Isoc- 
 rates, the treatise of Longinus on the Sublime, the 
 Commentaries of Csesar, the Epistles of Cicero and 
 the younger Pliny, and the two celebrated speeches in 
 the Catilinarian conspiracy by Sallust. By this practice 
 he will become more intimate with the beauties of the 
 writing and the idioms of the language from which he 
 translates ; at the same time, it will form his style, and, 
 by exercising his talent of expression, make him a more 
 perfect master of his mother tongue. Cicero tells us, 
 that in translating two orations which the most cele- 
 brated orators of Greece pronounced against each 
 other, he performed this task, not as a servile interpret- 
 er, but as an orator ; preserving the sentiments, forms, 
 and figures of the original, but adapting the expression 
 to the taste and manners of the Romans : " In quibus 
 non verbum pro verbo necesse habui reddere, sed genus 
 omnium verborum vimque servavi," — "in which I 
 did not think it was necessary to translate literally word 
 for word, but I preserved the natural and full scope of 
 
2l6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 the whole." Of the same opinion was Horace, who 
 says, in his Art of Poetry : — 
 
 Nee verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus 
 
 Interpres 
 
 Nor word for word translate with painful care. 
 
 Nevertheless, in taking the liberty here granted, we are 
 apt to run into the other extreme, and substitute equiv- 
 alent thoughts and phrases, till hardly any features of 
 the original remain. The metaphors of figures, es- 
 pecially in poetry, ought to be as rehgiously preserved 
 as the images of painting, which we cannot alter or 
 exchange without destroying, or injuring at least, the 
 character and style of the original. 
 
 In this manner the preceptor will sow the seeds of 
 that taste which will soon germinate, rise, blossom, and 
 produce perfect fruit by dint of future care and culti- 
 vation. In order to restrain the luxuriancy of the 
 young imagination, which is apt to run riot, to enlarge 
 the stock of ideas, exercise the reason, and ripen the 
 judgment, the pupil must be engaged in the severer 
 study of science. He must learn geometry, which 
 Plato recommends for strengthening the mind, and 
 enabling it to think with precision. He must be made 
 acquainted with geography and chronology, and trace 
 philosophy through all her branches. Without geog- 
 raphy and chronology he will not be able to acquire a 
 distinct idea of history ; nor judge of the propriety of 
 many interesting scenes, and a thousand illusions, that 
 present themselves in the works of genius. Nothing 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 21/ 
 
 opens the mind so much as the researches of philoso- 
 phy : they inspire us with subUme conceptions of the 
 Creator, and subject, as it were, all nature to our com- 
 mand. These bestow that liberal turn of thinking, and 
 in a great measure contribute to that universality in 
 learning, by which a man of taste ought to be eminent- 
 ly distinguished. But history is the inexhaustible 
 source from which he will derive his most useful knowl- 
 edge respecting the progress of the human mind, the 
 constitution of government, the rise and decline of 
 empires, the revolution of arts, the variety of character, 
 and the vicissitudes of fortune. 
 
 The knowledge of history enables the poet not only 
 to paint characters, but also to describe magnificent 
 and interesting scenes of battle and adventure. Not 
 that the poet or painter ought to be restrained to the 
 letter of historical truth. History represents what has 
 really happened in nature ; the other arts exhibit what 
 might have happened, with such exaggeration of cir- 
 cumstance and feature as may be deemed an improve- 
 ment on nature : but this exaggeration must not be 
 carried beyond the bounds of probability ; and these, 
 generally speaking, the knowledge of history will ascer- 
 tain. It would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, 
 to find a man actually existing, whose proportions 
 should answer to those of the Greek statue distinguished 
 by the name of the Apollo of Belvedere, or to produce 
 a woman similar in proportion of parts to the other 
 celebrated piece called the Venus de Medicis j there- 
 fore it may be truly affirmed, that they are not con- 
 
2l8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 formable to the real standard of nature ; nevertheless, 
 every artist will own, that they are the very archetypes 
 of grace, elegance, and symmetry ; and every judg- 
 ing eye must behold them with admiration, as improve- 
 ments on the lines and lineaments of nature. The 
 truth is, the sculptor or statuary composed the various 
 proportions in nature from a great number of different 
 subjects, every individual of which he found imperfect 
 or defective in some one particular, though beautiful 
 in all the rest ; and from these observations, corrobo- 
 rated by taste and judgment, he formed an ideal pattern, 
 according to which his idea was modelled, and pro- 
 duced in execution. 
 
 Everybody knows the story of Zeuxis, the famous 
 painter of Heraclea, who, according to Pliny, invented 
 the chiaro oscu7'o, or disposition of light and shade, 
 among the ancients, and excelled all his contempora- 
 ries in the chromatique, or art of coloring. This 
 great artist being employed to draw a perfect beauty 
 in the character of Helen, to be placed in the temple 
 of Juno, culled out five of the most beautiful damsels 
 the city could produce, and selecting what was excel- 
 lent in each, combined them in one picture according 
 to the predisposition of his fancy, so that it shone 
 forth an amazing model of perfection. In like man- 
 ner every man of genius, regulated by true taste, enter- 
 tains in his imagination an ideal beauty, conceived 
 and cultivated as an improvement upon nature : and 
 this we refer to the article of invention. 
 
 It is the business of art to imitate nature, but not 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 2ig 
 
 with a servile pencil ; and to choose those attitudes 
 and dispositions only which are beautiful and en- 
 gaging. With this view, we must avoid all disagree- 
 able prospects of nature, which excite the ideas of 
 abhorrence and disgust. For example, a painter would 
 not find his account in exhibiting the resemblance of 
 a dead carcase half consumed by vermin, or of swine 
 wallowing in ordure, or of a beggar lousing himself on 
 a dunghill, though these scenes should be painted 
 never so naturally, and all the world must allow that 
 the scenes were taken from nature, because the merit 
 of the imitation would be greatly overbalanced by the 
 vile choice of the artist. There are nevertheless many 
 scenes of horror which please in the representation, 
 from a certain interesting greatness, which we shall 
 endeavor to explain when we come to consider the 
 sublime. 
 
 Were we to judge every production by the rigorous 
 rules of nature, we should reject the Iliad of Homer, 
 the ^neid of Virgil, and every celebrated tragedy of 
 antiquity and the present times, because there is no 
 such thing in nature as a Hector or Turnus talking in 
 hexameter, or an Othello in blank verse : we should 
 condemn the Hercules of Sophocles, and the Miser of 
 Moliere, because we never knew a hero so strong as 
 the one, or a wretch so sordid as the other. But if 
 we consider poetry as an elevation of natural dialogue, 
 as a delightful vehicle for conveying the noblest senti- 
 ments of heroism and patriot virtue, to regale the sense 
 with the sounds of musical expression, while the 
 
220 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 fancy is ravished with enchanting images, and the 
 heart warmed to rapture and ecstasy, we must allow 
 that poetry is a perfection to which nature would 
 gladly aspire ; and that, though it surpasses, it does 
 not deviate from her, provided the characters are 
 marked with propriety, and sustained by genius. 
 Characters, therefore, both in poetry and painting, 
 may be a little over-charged, or exaggerated, without 
 oifering violence to nature ; nay, they must be exag- 
 gerated in order to be striking, and to preserve the 
 idea of imitation, whence the reader and spectator 
 derive, in many instances, their chief delight. If we 
 meet a common acquaintance in the street, we see 
 him without emotion; but should we chance to spy 
 his portrait well executed, we are struck with pleasing 
 admiration. In this case the pleasure arises entirely 
 from the imitation. We every day hear unmoved the 
 natives of Ireland and Scotland speaking their own dia- 
 lects ; but should an Englishman mimic either, we are 
 apt to burst out into a loud laugh of applause, being 
 surprised and tickJed by the imitation alone ; though, 
 at the same time, we cannot but allow that the imita- 
 tion is imperfect. We are more affected by reading 
 Shakspeare's description of Dover Cliff, and Otway's 
 picture of the Old Hag, than we should be were we 
 actually placed on the summit of the one, or met in 
 reality with such a beldame as the other ; because in 
 reading these descriptions we refer to our own experi- 
 ence, and perceive, with surprise, the justness of the 
 imitations. But if it is so close as to be mistaken for 
 
CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 221 
 
 nature, the pleasure then will cease, because the 
 yw-t/iTycrt?, or imitation, no longer appears. 
 
 Aristotle says, that all poetry and music is imitation, 
 whether epic, tragic, or comic, whether vocal or instru- 
 mental, from the pipe or the lyre. He observes, that 
 in man there is a propensity to imitate, even from his 
 infancy; that the first perceptions of the mind are 
 acquired by imitation \ and seems to think, that the 
 pleasure derived from imitation is the gratification of 
 an appetite implanted by nature. We should rather 
 think the pleasure it gives arises from the mind's con- 
 templating that excellency of art, which thus rivals 
 nature, and seems to vie with her in creating such a 
 striking resemblance of her works. Thus the arts may 
 be justly termed imitative, even in the article of inven- 
 tion : for, in forming a character, contriving an inci- 
 dent, and describing a scene, he must still keep nature 
 in view, and refer every particular of his invention to 
 her standard ; otherwise his production will be desti- 
 tute of truth and probability, without which the beauties 
 of imitation cannot subsist. It will be a monster of 
 incongruity, such as Horace alludes to in the begin- 
 ning of his Epistle to the Pisos : — 
 
 Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam 
 Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas 
 Undique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrum 
 Desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne ; 
 Spectatum admissi risum teneatis amici? 
 
 Suppose a painter to a human head 
 
 Should join a horse's neck, and wildly spread 
 
222 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 The various plumage of the feather'd kind 
 O'er limbs of different beasts, absurdly join'd; 
 Or if he gave to view a beauteous maid, 
 Above the waist with every charm array'd, 
 Should a foul fish her lower parts unfold. 
 Would you not laugh such pictures to behold ? 
 
 The magazine of nature supplies all those images 
 which compose the most beautiful imitations. This 
 the artist examines occasionally, as he would consult 
 a collection of masterly sketches ; and selecting par- 
 ticulars for his purpose, mingles the ideas with a kind 
 of enthusiasm, or to OeLov, which is that gift of Heaven 
 ^ye call genius, and finally produces such a whole as 
 commands admiration and applause. 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF LETTERS. 
 
 The Republic of Letters is a very common expression 
 among the Europeans ; and yet when apphed to the 
 learned of Europe is the most absurd that can be 
 imagined ; since nothing is more unUke a republic 
 than the society which goes by that name. From this 
 expression one would be apt to imagine that the learned 
 were united into a single body, joining their interests, 
 and concurring in the same design. From this one 
 might be apt to compare them to our literary societies 
 in China, where each acknowledges a just subordina- 
 tion, and all contribute to build the temple of science, 
 without attempting, from ignorance or envy, to obstruct 
 each other. 
 
 But very different is the state of learning here : 
 3very member of this fancied republic is desirous 
 of governing, and none willing to obey; each looks 
 upon his fellow as a rival, not an assistant in the same 
 pursuit. They calumniate, they injure, they despise, 
 they ridicule each other ; if one man writes a book 
 that pleases, others shall write books to show that he 
 might have given still greater pleasure, or should not 
 have pleased. If one happens to hit upon something 
 
224 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 new, there are numbers ready to assure the public that 
 all this was no novelty to them or the learned ; that 
 Cardanus, or Brunus, or some other author too dull 
 to be generally read, had anticipated the discovery. 
 Thus, instead of uniting like the members of a com- 
 monwealth, they are divided into almost as many fac- 
 tions as there are men ; and their jarring constitution, 
 instead of being styled a republic of letters, should 
 be entitled an anarchy of literature. 
 
 It is true, there are some of superior abilities, who 
 reverence and esteem each other; but their mutual 
 admiration is not sufficient to shield off the contempt 
 of the crowd. The wise are but few, and they praise 
 with a feeble voice ; the Vulgar are many, and roar in 
 reproaches. The truly great seldom unite in societies ; 
 have few meetings, no cabals;- the dunces hunt in full 
 cry, till they have run down a reputation, and then 
 snarl and fight with each other about dividing the 
 spoil. Here you may see the com^pilers and the book- 
 answerers of every month, when they have cut up 
 some respectable name, most frequently reproaching 
 each other with stupidity and dulness ; resembling the 
 wolves of the Russian forest, who prey upon venison, 
 or horse-flesh, when they can get it ; but in cases of 
 necessity, lying in wait to devour each other. While 
 they have new books to cut up, they make a hearty 
 meal ; but if this resource should unhappily fail, then 
 it is that critics eat up critics, and compilers rob from 
 compilations. 
 
 Confucius observes, that it is the duty of the learned 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF- LETTERS. 225 
 
 to unite society more closely, and to persuade men to 
 become citizens of the world ; but the authors I refer 
 to are not only for disuniting society, but kingdoms 
 also : if the English are at war with France, the dunces 
 of France think it their duty to be at war with those 
 of England. Thus Freron, one of their first-rate 
 scribblers, thinks proper to characterize all the Eng- 
 lish writers in the gross : " Their whole merit," says 
 he, "consists in exaggeration, and often in extrava- 
 gance : correct their pieces as you please, there still 
 remains a leaven which corrupts the whole. They 
 sometimes discover genius, but not the smallest share 
 of taste : England is not a soil for the plants of genius 
 to thrive in." This is open enough, with not the least 
 adulation in the picture : but hear what a Frenchman 
 of acknowledged abilities says upon the same subject : 
 " I am at a loss to determine in what we excel the 
 English, or where they excel us ; when I compare the 
 merits of both in any one species of literary composi- 
 tion, so many reputable and pleasing writers present 
 themselves from either country, that my judgment 
 rests in suspense : I am pleased with the disquisition, 
 without finding the object of my inquiry." But lest 
 you should think the French alone are faulty in this 
 respect, hear how an English journalist delivers his 
 sentiments of them : "We are amazed," says he, "to 
 find so many works translated from the French, while 
 we have such numbers neglected of our own. In our 
 opinion, notwithstanding their fame throughout the 
 rest of Europe, the French are the most contemptible 
 
226 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 reasoners (we had almost said writers) that can be 
 imagined. However, nevertheless, excepting," etc. 
 Another English writer, Shaftesbury, if I remember, 
 on the contrary, says that the French authors are 
 pleasing and judicious, more clear, more methodical 
 and entertaining, than those of his own country. 
 
 From these opposite pictures you perceive that the 
 good authors of either country praise, and the bad 
 revile, each other ; and yet, perhaps, you will be sur- 
 prised that indifferent writers should thus be the most 
 apt to censure, as they have the most to apprehend 
 from recrimination : you may, perhaps, imagine, that 
 such as are possessed of fame themselves should be 
 most ready to declare their opinions, since what they 
 say might pass for decision. But the truth happens 
 to be, that the great are solicitous only of raising their 
 own reputations, while the opposite class, alas ! are 
 solicitous of bringing every reputation down to a level 
 with their own. 
 
 But let us acquit them of malice and envy. A critic 
 is often guided by the same motives that direct his 
 author : the author endeavors to persuade us, that he 
 has written a good book ; the critic is equally solici- 
 tous to show that he could write a better had he 
 thought proper. A critic is a being possessed of all 
 the vanity, but not the genius, of a scholar : incapable, 
 from his native weakness, of lifting himself from the 
 ground, he applies to contiguous merit for support ; 
 makes the sportive sallies of another's imagination his 
 serious employment; pretends to take our feelings 
 
THE REPUBLIC OF LETTERS. 22/ 
 
 under his care ; teaches where to condemn, where to 
 lay the emphasis of praise ; and may with as much 
 justice be called a man of taste as the Chinese who 
 measures his wisdom by the length of his nails. 
 
 If, then, a book, spirited or humorous, happens to 
 appear in the repubhc of letters, several critics are in 
 waiting to bid the public not to laugh at a single line 
 of it ; for themselves had read it, and they know what 
 is proper to excite laughter. Other critics contradict 
 the fulminations of this tribunal, call them all spiders, 
 and assure the public, that they ought to laugh without 
 restraint. Another set are in the meantime quietly 
 employed in writing notes to the book, intended to 
 show the particular passages to be laughed at : when 
 these are out, others still there are who write notes 
 upon notes : thus a single new book employs not only 
 the paper-makers, the printers, the pressmen, the book- 
 binders, the hawkers, but twenty critics, and as many 
 compilers. In short, the body of the learned may be 
 compared to a Persian army, where there are many 
 pioneers, several sutlers, numberless servants, women 
 and children in abundance, and but few soldiers. 
 
LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 I HAVE frequently admired the manner of criticising 
 in China, where the learned are assembled in a body 
 to judge of every new publication; to examine the 
 merits of the work, without knowing the circumstances 
 of the author; and then to usher it into the world 
 with proper marks of respect or reprobation. 
 
 In England there are no such tribunals erected ; 
 but if a man thinks proper to be a judge of genius, 
 few will be at the pains to contradict his pretensions. 
 If any choose to be critics, it is but saying they are 
 critics, and from that time forward they become in- 
 vested with full power and authority over every caitiff 
 who aims at their instruction or entertainment. 
 
 As almost every member of society has, by this 
 means, a vote in literary transactions, it is no way sur- 
 prising to find the rich leading the way here, as' in 
 other common concerns of life ; to see them either 
 bribing the numerous herd of voters by their interest, 
 or browbeating them by their authority. 
 
 A great man says, at his table, that such a book is 
 no bad thing. Immediately the praise is carried off 
 by five flatterers, to be dispersed at twelve different 
 228 
 
LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 229 
 
 coffee-houses, from whence it circulates, still improv- 
 ing as it proceeds, through forty-five houses where 
 cheaper liquors are sold ; from thence it is carried 
 away by the honest tradesman to his own fireside, 
 where the applause is eagerly caught up by his wife 
 and children, who have been long taught to regard his 
 judgment as the standard of perfection. Thus, when 
 we have traced a wide-extended literary reputation up 
 to its original source, we shall find it derived from 
 some great man, who has perhaps received all his edu- 
 dation and English from a tutor of Berne or a dancing 
 master of Picardy. 
 
 The English are a people of good sense, and I am 
 the more surprised to find them swayed in their opin- 
 ions by men who often from their very education are 
 incompetent judges. Men who, being always bred in 
 affluence, see the world only on one side, are surely 
 improper judges of human nature. They may, indeed, 
 describe a ceremony, a pageant, or a ball ; but how 
 can they pretend to dive into the secrets of the human 
 heart, who have been nursed up only in forms, and 
 daily behold nothing but the same insipid adulation 
 smiling upon every face? Few of them have been 
 bred in that best of schools, the school of adversity ; 
 and, by what I can learn, fewer still have been bred in 
 any school at all. 
 
 From such a description one would think that a 
 droning duke, or a dowager duchess, was not possessed 
 of more just pretensions to taste than persons of less 
 quality ; and yet whatever the one or the other may 
 
230 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 write or praise shall pass for perfection, without farther 
 examination. A nobleman has but to take a pen, ink, 
 and paper, write away through three large volumes, 
 and then sign his name to the titlepage ; though the 
 whole might have been before more disgusting than his 
 own rent-roll, yet signing his name and title gives value 
 to the deed, title being alone equivalent to taste, 
 imagination, and genius. 
 
 As soon as a piece, therefore, is published, the first 
 questions are. Who is the author? Does he keep a 
 a coach? Where lies his estate? What sort of a 
 table does he keep ? If he happens to be poor and 
 unqualified for such a scrutiny, he and his works sink 
 into irremediable obscurity, and too late he finds, that 
 having fed upon turtle is a more ready way to fame, 
 than having digested Tully. 
 
 The poor devil against whom fashion has set its 
 face vainly alleges that he has been bred in every part 
 of Europe where knowledge was to be sold ; that he 
 has grown pale in the study of nature and himself. 
 His works may please upon the perusal, but his pre- 
 tensions to fame are entirely disregarded. He is 
 treated like a fiddler, whose music, though liked, is 
 not much praised, because he lives by it ; while a gen- 
 tleman performer, though the most wretched scraper 
 alive, throws the audience into raptures. The fiddler, 
 indeed, may in such a case console himself by think- 
 ing, that while the other goes off with all the praise, 
 he runs away with all the money. But here the par- 
 allel drops ; for while the nobleman triumphs in un- 
 
LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 23 1 
 
 merited applause, the author by profession steals off 
 with — nothing. 
 
 The poor, therefore, here, who draw their pens 
 auxihary to the laws of their country, must think 
 themselves very happy if they find, not fame, but for- 
 giveness : and yet they are hardly treated ; for as 
 every country grows more pohte, the press becomes 
 more useful, and writers become more necessary as 
 readers are supposed to increase. In a poHshed 
 society, that man, though in rags, who has the power 
 of enforcing virtue from the press, is of more real use 
 than forty stupid brahmins, or bonzes, or guebres, 
 though they preached never so often, never so loud, 
 or never so long. That man, though in rags, who is 
 capable of deceiving even indolence into wisdom, and 
 who professes amusement, while he aims at reformation, 
 is more useful in refined society than twenty cardinals, 
 with all their scarlet, and tricked out in all the fop- 
 peries of scholastic finery. 
 
ON VARIOUS MAITERS. 
 
RECOMPENSES OF MEDIOCRITY. 
 
 The princes of Europe have found out a manner of 
 rewarding their subjects who have behaved well, by 
 presenting them with about two yards of blue ribbon, 
 which is worn about the shoulder. They who are hon- 
 ored with this mark of distinction are called knights, 
 and the king himself is always the head of the order. 
 This is a very frugal method of recompensing the most 
 important services ; and it is very fortunate for kings 
 that their subjects are satisfied with such trifling re- 
 wards. Should a nobleman happen to lose his leg in 
 a battle, the king presents him with two yards of rib- 
 bon, and he is paid for the loss of his limb. Should 
 an ambassador spend all his paternal fortune in sup- 
 porting the honor of his country abroad, the king 
 presents him with two yards of ribbon, which is to be 
 considered as an equivalent to his estate. In short, 
 while an European king has a yard of blue or green 
 ribbon left, he need be under no apprehensions of 
 wanting statesmen, generals^ and soldiers. 
 
 I cannot sufficiently admire those kingdoms in which 
 men with large patrimonial estates are willing thus to 
 undergo real hardships for empty favors. A person, 
 
 235 
 
236 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 already possessed of a competent fortune, who under- 
 takes to enter the career of ambition, feels many real 
 inconveniences from his station, while it procures him 
 no real happiness that he was not possessed of before. 
 He could eat, drink, and sleep, before he became a 
 courtier, as well, perhaps better, than when invested 
 with his authority. He could command flatterers in 
 a private station, as well as in his public capacity, and 
 indulge at home every favorite inclination, uncensured 
 and unseen by the people. 
 
 What real good, then, does an addition to a fortune 
 already sufficient procure? Not any. Could the 
 great man, by having his fortune increased, increase 
 also his appetites, then precedence might be attended 
 with real amusement. 
 
 Was he, by having his one thousand made two, thus 
 enabled to enjoy tv/o wives, or eat two dinners, then 
 indeed he might be excused for undergoing some pain 
 in order to extend the sphere of his enjoyments. But, 
 on the contrary, he finds his desire for pleasure often 
 lessen, as he takes pains to be able to improve it ; and 
 his capacity of enjoyment diminishes as his fortune 
 happens to increase. 
 
 Instead, therefore, of regarding the great with envy, 
 I generally consider them with some share of com- 
 passion. I look upon them as a set of good-natured, 
 misguided people, who are indebted to us, and not to 
 themselves, for all the happiness they enjoy. For our 
 pleasure, and not their own, they sweat under a cum- 
 brous heap of finery ; for our pleasure, the lackeyed 
 
RECOMPENSES OF MEDIOCRITY. 237 
 
 train, the slow-parading pageant, with all the gravity 
 of grandeur, moves in review : a single coat, or a sin- 
 gle footman, answers all the purposes of the most 
 indolent refinement as well ; and those who have 
 twenty, may be said to keep one for their own pleasure, 
 and the other nineteen merely for ours. So true is 
 the observation of Confucius, " That we take greater 
 pains to persuade others that we are happy, than in 
 endeavoring to think so ourselves." 
 
 But though this desire of being seen, of being made 
 the subject of discourse, and of supporting the digni- 
 ties of an exalted station, be troublesome enough to 
 the ambitious, yet it is well for society that there are 
 men thus willing to exchange ease and safety for dan- 
 ger and a ribbon. We lose nothing by their vanity, 
 and it would be unkind to endeavor to deprive a child 
 of its rattle. If a duke or a duchess are willing to 
 carry a long train for our entertainment, so much the 
 worse for themselves ; if they choose to exhibit in 
 public, with a hundred lackeys and mamelukes in their 
 equipage, for our entertainment, still so much the worse 
 for themselves ; it is the spectators alone who give and 
 receive the pleasure ; they only are the sweating fig- 
 ures that swell the pageant. 
 
 A mandarine, who took much pride in appearing 
 with a number of jewels on every part of his robe, 
 was once accosted by an old sly bonze, who, following 
 him through several streets, and bowing often to the 
 ground, thanked him for his jewels. " What does the 
 man mean?" cried the mandarine. "Friend, I never 
 
238 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 gave thee any of my jewels." — "No," replied the 
 other ; " but you have let me look at them, and that 
 is all the use you can make of them yourself; so there 
 is no difference between us, except that you have the 
 trouble of watching them, and that is an employment 
 I don't much desire." 
 
HAPPINESS IN A GREAT MEASURE 
 DEPENDENT ON CONSTITUTION. 
 
 When I reflect on the unambitious retirement in 
 which I passed the earher part of my Ufe in the coun- 
 try, I cannot avoid feehng some pain in thinking that 
 those happy days are never to return. In that retreat 
 all nature seemed capable of affording pleasure : I 
 then made no refinements on happiness, but could be 
 pleased with the most awkward efforts of rustic mirth ; 
 thought cross purposes the highest stretch of human 
 wit, and questions and commands the most rational 
 amusement for spending the evening. Happy could 
 so charming an illusion still continue. I find age and 
 knowledge only contribute to sour our dispositions. 
 My present enjoyments may be more refined, but they 
 are infinitely less pleasing. The pleasure Garrick 
 gives can no way compare to that I have received 
 from a country wag, who imitated a Quaker's sermon. 
 The music of Mattel is dissonance to what I felt when 
 our old dairy-maid sang me into tears with Johnny 
 Armstrong's Last Good Night, or the cruelty of Bar- 
 bara Allen. 
 
 Writers of every age have endeavored to show that 
 
 239 
 
240 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 pleasure is in us, and not in the objects offered for 
 our amusement. If the soul be happily disposed, 
 everything becomes a subject of entertainment, and 
 distress will almost want a name. Every occurrence 
 passes in review like the figures of a procession : some 
 may be awkward, others ill-dressed ; but none but a 
 fool is for this enraged with the master of the ceremo- 
 nies. 
 
 I remember to have once seen a slave in a fortifica- 
 tion in Flanders, who appeared no way touched with 
 his situation. He was maimed, deformed, and chained ; 
 obliged to toil from the appearance of day till night- 
 fall, and condemned to this for life ; yet with all these 
 circumstances of apparent wretchedness, he sang, 
 would have danced, but that he wanted a leg, and 
 appeared the merriest, happiest man of all the garri- 
 son. What a practical philosopher was here ! an 
 happy constitution supplied philosophy, and -though 
 seemingly destitute of wisdom, he was really wise. 
 No reading or study had contributed to disenchant 
 the fairy-land around him. Everything furnished 
 him with an opportunity of mirth ; and though some 
 thought him, from his insensibility, a fool, he was 
 such an idiot as philosophers might wish in vain to 
 imitate. 
 
 They who, like him, can place themsel/es on that 
 side of the world in which everything appears in a 
 ridiculous or pleasing light, will find something in 
 every occurrence to excite their good humor. The 
 most calamitous events, either to themselves or others, 
 
HAPPINESS. 241 
 
 can bring no new affliction : the whole world is to 
 them a theatre, on which comedies only are acted. 
 All the bustle of heroism or the rants of ambition serve 
 only to heighten the absurdity of the scene, and make 
 the humor more poignant. They feel, in short, as 
 little anguish at their own distress, or the complaints 
 of others, as the undertaker, though dressed in black, 
 feels sorrow at a funeral. 
 
 Of all the men I ever read of, the famous Cardinal 
 de Retz possessed this happiness of temper in the 
 highest degree. As he was a man of gallantry, and 
 despised all that wore the pedantic appearance of 
 philosophy, wherever pleasure was to be sold he was 
 generally foremost to raise the auction. Being an 
 universal admirer of the fair sex, when he found one 
 lady cruel, he generally fell in love with another, from 
 whom he expected a more favorable reception ; if she 
 too rejected his addresses, he never thought of retiring 
 into deserts, or pining in hopeless distress : he per- 
 suaded himself that, instead of loving the lady, he only 
 fancied he had loved her, and so all was well again. 
 When Fortune wore her angriest look, when he at last 
 fell into the power of his most deadly enemy. Cardinal 
 Mazarine, and was confined a close prisoner in the 
 Castle of Valenciennes, he never attempted to sup- 
 port his distress by wisdom or philosophy, for he pre- 
 tended to neither. He laughed at himself and his 
 persecutor, and seemed infinitely pleased at his new 
 situation. In this mansion of distress, though secluded 
 from his friends, though denied all the amusements, 
 
242 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 and even the conveniences, of life, teased every hour 
 by the impertinence of wretches who were employed 
 to guard him, he still retained his good humor, laughed 
 at all their litde spite, and carried the jest so far as to 
 be revenged, by writing the life of his gaoler. 
 
 All that philosophy can teach is to be stubborn or 
 sullen under misfortunes. The Cardinal's example 
 will instruct us to be merry in circumstances of the 
 highest affliction. It matters not whether our good 
 humor be construed by others into insensibility, or 
 even idiotism : it is happiness to ourselves ; and none 
 but a fool would measure his satisfaction by what the 
 world thinks of it. 
 
 Dick Wildgoose was one of the happiest silly fel- 
 lows I ever knew. He was of the number of those 
 good-natured creatures that are said to do no harm to 
 any but themselves. Whenever Dick fell into any 
 misery, he usually called it " seeing life." If his head 
 was broke by a chairman, or his pocket picked by a 
 sharper, he comforted himself by imitating the Hiber- 
 nian dialect of the one, or the more fashionable cant 
 of the other. Nothing came amiss to Dick. His in- 
 attention to money matters had incensed his father to 
 such a degree, that all the intercession of friends in 
 his favor was fruitless. The old gentleman was on 
 his deathbed. The whole family, and Dick among 
 the number, gathered round him. " I leave my second 
 son Andrew," said the expiring miser, "my whole 
 estate, and desire him to be frugal." Andrew in a 
 sorrowful tone, as is usual on these occasions, " prayed 
 
HAPPINESS. 243 
 
 Heaven to prolong his life and health to enjoy it him- 
 self." — "I recommend Simon, my third son, to the 
 care of his elder brother, and leave him beside four 
 thousand pounds." — "Ah, father !" cried Simon, (in 
 great affliction to be sure,) " may Heaven give you 
 life and health to enjoy it yourself! " At last, turning 
 to poor Dick, " As for you, you have always been a 
 sad dog — you'll never come to good, you'll never be 
 rich; I'll leave you a shilling to buy an halter." — 
 "Ah, father ! " cries Dick, without any emotion, "may 
 Heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself ! " 
 This was all the trouble the loss of fortune gave this 
 thoughtless, imprudent creature. However, the ten- 
 derness of an uncle recompensed the neglect of a 
 father ; and Dick is not only excessively good-humored, 
 but competently rich. 
 
 The world, in short, may cry out at a bankrupt who 
 appears at a ball ; at an author who laughs at the pub- 
 lic which pronounces him a dunce ; at a general who 
 smiles at the reproach of the vulgar ; or the lady who 
 keeps her good humor in spite of scandal : but such 
 is the wisest behavior they can possibly assume. It is 
 certainly a better way to oppose calamity by dissipa- 
 tion, than to take up the arms of reason or resolution 
 'to oppose it : by the first method we forget our 
 miseries, by the last we only conceal them from others. 
 By struggling with misfortunes we are sure to receive 
 some wounds in the conflict : the only method to 
 come off victorious is by running away. 
 
ON THE INSTABILITY OF WORLDLY 
 GRANDEUR. 
 
 An alehouse keeper near Islington, who had long 
 lived at the sign of the French King, upon the com- 
 mencement of the last war with France pulled down 
 his old sign, and put up the Queen of Hungary-o Un- 
 der the influence of her red face and golden sceptre, 
 he continued to sell ale till she v/as no longer the 
 favorite of his customers ; he changed her therefore, 
 some time ago, for the King of Prussia, who may prob- 
 ably be changed in turn for the next great man that 
 shall be set up for vulgar adniiration. 
 
 Our publican in this imitates the great exactly, who 
 deal out their figures, one after the other, to the gazing 
 crowd beneath them. When we have sufficiently won- 
 dered at one, that is taken in, and another exhibited 
 in its room, which seldom holds its station long, for 
 the mob are ever pleased with variety. 
 
 I must own I have such an indifferent opinion of the 
 vulgar, that I am ever led to suspect that merit which 
 raises their shout ; at least I am certain to find those 
 great and sometimes good men, who find satisfaction 
 in such acclamations, made worse by it ; and history 
 244 
 
INSTABILITY OF GRANDEUR. 245 
 
 has too frequently taught me, that the head which. has 
 grown this day giddy with the roar of the milHon has 
 the very next been fixed upon a pole. 
 
 As Alexander VI. was entering a little town in the 
 neighborhood of Rome, which had just been evacuated 
 by the enemy, he perceived the townsmen busy in the 
 market-place in pulling down from a gibbet a figure 
 which had been designed to represent himself. There 
 were also some knocking down a neighboring statue of 
 one of the Orsini family, with whom he was at war, in 
 order to put Alexander's efiigy, when taken down, in 
 its place. It is possible a man who knew less of the 
 world would have condemned the adulation of those 
 barefaced flatterers ; but Alexander seemed pleased at 
 their zeal, and, turning to Borgia his son, said with a 
 smile, VideSj mi fill, quam leve discrimen patibidum 
 inter et statuam. — " You see, my son, the small differ- 
 ence between a gibbet and a statue." If the great 
 could be taught any lesson, this might serve to teach 
 them upon how weak a foundation their glory stands, 
 which is built upon popular applause ; for as such praise 
 what seems like merit, they as quickly condemn what 
 has only the appearance of guilt. 
 
 Popular glory is a perfect coquette : her lovers must 
 toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice, and 
 perhaps at last be jilted into the bargain. True glory, 
 on the other hand, resembles a woman of sense : her 
 admirers must play no tricks j they feel no great anx- 
 iety, for they are sure in the end of being rewarded in 
 proportion to their merit. When Swift used to appear 
 
246 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 in public, he generally had the mob shouting in his 
 train. " Pox take these fools ! " he would say : " how 
 much joy might all this bawling give my Lord Mayor ! " 
 
 We have seen those virtues which have, while living, 
 retired from the public eye, generally transmitted to 
 posterity as the truest objects of admiration and praise. 
 Perhaps the character of the late Duke of Marlborough 
 may one day be set up, even above that of his more 
 talked of predecessor ; since an assemblage of all the 
 mild and amiable virtues is far superior to those vul- 
 garly called the great ones. I must be pardoned for 
 this short tribute to the memory of a man who, while 
 living, would as much detest to receive anything that 
 wore the appearance of flattery, as I should to offer it. 
 
 I know not how to turn so trite a subject out of the 
 beaten road of commonplace, except by illustrating it 
 rather by the assistance of my memory than my judg- 
 ment, and, instead of making reflections, by telling a 
 story. 
 
 A Chinese who had long studied the works of Con- 
 fucius, who knew the characters of fourteen thousand 
 words, and could read a great part of every book that 
 came in his way, once took it into his head to travel 
 into Europe, and observe the customs of a people 
 whom he thought not very much inferior even to his 
 own countrymen in the arts of refining upon every 
 pleasure. Upon his arrival at Amsterdam, his passion 
 for letters naturally led him to a bookseller's shop ; 
 and, as he could speak a Httle Dutch, he civilly asked 
 the bookseller for the works of the immortal Ilixofou. 
 
INSTABILITY OF GRANDEUR. 24/ 
 
 The bookseller assured him he had never heard the 
 book mentioned before. " What ! have you never heard 
 of that immortal poet? " returned the other, much sur- 
 prised ; " that light of the eyes, that favorite of kings, 
 that rose of perfection ! I suppose you know nothing 
 of the immortal Fipsihihi, second cousin to the moon ?" 
 — " Nothing at all, indeed, sir," returned the other. — 
 " Alas ! " cries our traveller, " to what purpose, then, 
 has one of these fasted to death, and the other offered 
 himself up as a sacrifice to the Tartarean enemy, to 
 gain a renown which has never travelled beyond the 
 precincts of China ! " 
 
 There is scarcely a village in Europe, and not one 
 university, that is not thus furnished with its little great 
 men. The head of a petty corporation, who opposes 
 the designs of a prince who would tyrannically force 
 his subjects to save their best clothes for Sundays — 
 the puny pedant who finds one undiscovered property 
 in the polype, describes an unheeded process in the 
 skeleton of a mole, and whose mind, like his micro- 
 scope, perceives nature only in detail — the rhymer who 
 makes smooth verses, and paints to our imagination 
 when he should only speak to our hearts, — all equally 
 fancy themselves walking forward to immortality, and 
 desire the crowd behind them to look on. The crowd 
 takes them at their word. Patriot, philosopher, and 
 poet are shouted in their train. Where was there ever 
 so much merit seen? no times so important as our 
 own ! ages yet unborn shall gaze with wonder and ap- 
 plause ! To such music the important pigmy moves 
 
248 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 forward, bustling and swelling, and aptly compared to 
 a puddle in a storm. 
 
 I have lived to see generals who once had crowds 
 hallooing after them wherever they went, who were be- 
 praised by newspapers and magazines, those echoes of 
 the voice of the vulgar, and yet they have long sunk 
 into merited obscurity, with scarcely even an epitaph 
 left to flatter. A few years ago the herring fishery em- 
 ployed all Grub Street ; it was the topic in every coffee- 
 house, and the burden of every ballad. We were to 
 drag up oceans of gold from the bottom of the sea ; 
 we were to supply all Europe with herrings upon our 
 own terms. At present we hear no more of all this. 
 We have fished up very little gold that I can learn ; 
 nor do we furnish the world with herrings, as was ex- 
 pected. Let us wait but a few years longer, and we 
 shall find all our expectations an herring fishery. 
 
EXTRACTS FROM THE LIFE OF 
 RICHARD NASH, ESO. 
 
PEEFAOE. 
 
 The following Memoir is neither calculated to inflame the 
 reader's passions with descriptions of gallantry, nor to gratify 
 his malevolence with details of scandal. The amours of cox- 
 combs and the pursuits of debauchees are as destitute of 
 novelty to attract us as they are of variety to entertain ; they 
 still present us but the same picture, a picture we have seen a 
 thousand times repeated. The life of Richard Nash is incapa- 
 ble of supplying any entertainment of this nature to a prurient 
 curiosity. Though it was passed in the very midst of de- 
 bauchery, he practised but few of those vices he was often 
 obliged to assent to. Though he lived where gallantry was 
 the capital pursuit, he was never known to favor it by his 
 example, and what authority he had was set to oppose it. 
 Instead, therefore, of a romantic history filled with warm pic- 
 tures and fanciful adventures, the reader of the following ac- 
 count must rest satisfied with a genuine and candid recital 
 compiled from the papers he left behind, and others equally 
 authentic ; a recital neither written with a spirit of satire nor 
 panegyric, and with scarcely any other art than that of arran- 
 ging the materials in their natural order. 
 
 But though little art has been used, it is hoped that some 
 entertainment may be collected from the life of a person so 
 much talked of, and yet so little known, as Mr. Nash. The 
 history of a man who for more than fifty years presided over 
 the pleasures of a polite kingdom, and whose life, though with- 
 out anything to surprise, was ever _ marked with singularity, 
 deserves the attention of the present age ; the pains he took 
 in pursuing pleasure, and the solemnity he assumed in adjust- 
 ing trifles, may one day claim the smile of posterity. At least 
 
 251 
 
252 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 such a history is well calculated to supply a vacant hour with 
 innocent amusement, however it may fail to open the heart, or 
 improve the understanding. 
 
 Yet his life, how trifling soever it may appear to the inat- 
 tentive, was not without its real advantages to the public. He 
 was the first who diffused a desire of society and an easiness 
 of address among a whole people, who were formerly censured 
 by foreigners for a reservedness of behavior and an awkward 
 timidity in their first approaches. He first taught a familiar 
 intercourse among strangers at Bath and Tunbridge, which still 
 subsists among them. That ease and open access first acquired 
 there, our gentry brought back to the metropolis, and thus the 
 whole kingdom by degrees became more refined by lessons 
 originally derived from him. 
 
 Had it been my design to have made this history more pleas- 
 ing at the expense of truth, it had been easily performed ; but 
 I chose to describe the man as he was, not such as imagination 
 could have helped in completing his picture ; he will be found 
 to have been a weak man, governing weaker subjects, and may 
 be considered as resembling a monarch of Cappadocia, whom 
 Cicero somewhere calls, " the little king of a little people." 
 
 But while I have been careful in describing the monarch, his 
 dominions have claimed no small share of my attention. I 
 have given an exact account of the rise, regulation, and nature 
 of the amusements of the city of Bath ; how far Nash contrib- 
 uted to establish and refine them, and what pleasure a stranger 
 may expect there upon his arrival. Such anecdotes as are at 
 once true and worth preserving are produced in their order, 
 and some stories are added, which, though commonly known, 
 more necessarily belong to this history than to the places from 
 whence they have been extracted. But it is needless to point 
 out the pains that have been taken, or the entertainment that 
 may be expected from the perusal of this performance. It is 
 but an indifferent way to gain the reader's esteem, to be my 
 own panegyrist ; nor is this preface so much designed to lead 
 him to beauties, as to demand pardon for defects. 
 
LIFE OF MCHARD NASH, ESQ. 
 
 History owes its excellence more to the writer's 
 manner than to the materials of which it is composed. 
 The intrigues of courts, or the devastation of armies, 
 are regarded by the remote spectator with as little at- 
 tention as the squabbles of a village, or the fate of a 
 malefactor, that fall under his own observation. The 
 great and the little, as they have the same senses and 
 the same affections, generally present the same picture 
 to the hand of the draughtsman : and whether the hero 
 or the clown be the subject of the memoir, it is only 
 man that appears with all his native minuteness about 
 him ; for nothing very great was ever yet formed from 
 the little materials of humanity. 
 
 Thus no one can properly be said to write history, 
 but he who understands the human heart, and its 
 whole train of affections and follies. Those affections 
 and follies are properly the materials he has to work 
 upon. The relations of great events may surprise in- 
 deed ; they may be calculated to instruct those very 
 few who govern the million beneath : but the general- 
 ity of mankind find the most real improvement from 
 relations which are levelled to the general surface of 
 
 2S3 
 
254 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 life, which tell — not how men learned to conquer, bnt 
 how they endeavored to live — not how they gained 
 the shout of the admiring crowd, but how they ac- 
 quired the esteem of their friends and acquaintance. 
 
 Every man's own life would perhaps furnish the 
 most pleasing materials for history, if he only had 
 candor enough to be sincere, and skill enough to select 
 such parts as once making him more prudent, might 
 serve to render his readers more cautious. There are 
 few who do not prefer a page of Montaigne or CoUey 
 Gibber, who candidly tell us what they thought of the 
 world and the world thought of them, to the more 
 stately memoirs and transactions of Europe, where we 
 see kings pretending to immortality, that are now 
 almost forgotten, and statesmen planning frivolous ne- 
 gotiations that scarcely outlive the signing. 
 
 It were to be wished that ministers and kings were 
 left to write their own histories : they are truly useful 
 to few but themselves ; but for men who are contented 
 with more humble stations, I fancy such truths only 
 are serviceable as may conduct them safely through 
 life. That knowledge which we can turn to our real 
 benefit should be most eagerly pursued. Treasures 
 which we cannot use but little increase the happiness 
 or even the pride of the possessor. 
 
 I profess to write the history of a man placed in the 
 middle rank of life ; of one whose vices and virtues 
 were open to the eye of the most undiscerning specta- 
 tor ; who was placed in public view without power to 
 repress censure or command adulation ; who had too 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 255 
 
 much merit not to become remarkable, yet too much 
 folly to arrive at greatness. I attempt the character 
 of one who was just such a man as probably you or I 
 may be ; but with this difference, that he never per- 
 formed an action which the world did not know, or 
 ever formed a wish which he did not take pains to 
 divulge. In short, I have chosen to write the life of 
 the noted Mr. Nash, as it will be the delineation of a 
 mind without disguise, of a man ever assiduous with- 
 out industry, and pleasing to his superiors without any 
 superiority of genius or understanding. 
 
 Yet, if there be any who think the subject of too 
 little importance to command attention, and who would 
 rather gaze at the actions of the great than be directed 
 in guiding their own, I have one undeniable claim to 
 their attention. Mr. Nash was himself a King. In 
 this particular, perhaps no biographer has been so 
 happy as I. They who are for a delineation of men 
 and manners may find some satisfaction that way, and 
 those who delight in adventures of kings and queens 
 may perhaps find their hopes satisfied in another. 
 
 It is a matter of very little importance who were 
 the parents, or what was the education, of a man who 
 owed so little of his advancement to either. He seldom 
 boasted of family or learning, and his father's name and 
 circumstances were so Httle known, that Dr. Cheyne 
 used frequently to say that Nash had no father. The 
 Duchess of Marlborough one day rallying him in public 
 company upon the obscurity of his birth, compared 
 him to Gil Bias, who was ashamed of his father. " No, 
 
25.6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 madam," replied Nash, " I seldom mention my father 
 in company ; not because I have any reason to be 
 ashamed of him, but because he has some reason to 
 be ashamed of me." 
 
 However, though such anecdotes be immaterial, to 
 go on in the usual course of history, it may be proper 
 to observe, that Richard Nash, Esq., the subject of 
 this memoir, was born in the town of Swansea, in Gla- 
 morganshire, on the 1 8th of October, in the year 1674. 
 His father was a gentleman whose principal income 
 arose from a partnership in a glass-house ; his mother 
 was niece to Colonel Poyer, who was killed by Oliver 
 Cromwell, for defending Pembroke Castle against the 
 rebels. He was educated under Mr. Haddocks at 
 Carmarthen School, and from thence sent to Jesus 
 College, Oxford, in order to prepare him for the study 
 of the law. His father had strained his little income 
 to give his son such an education ; but from the boy's 
 natural vivacity, he hoped a recompense from his 
 future preferment. In college, however, he soon 
 showed that though much might be expected from his 
 genius, nothing could be hoped from his industry. A 
 mind strongly turned to pleasure always is first seen at 
 the university : there the youth first finds himself freed 
 from the restraint of tutors, and being treated by his 
 friends in some measure as a man, assumes the pas- 
 sions and desires of riper age, and discovers in the 
 boy what are likely to be the affections of his maturity. 
 
 The first method Mr. Nash took to distinguish him- 
 self at college was not by application to study, but by 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 257 
 
 his assiduity to intrigue. In the neighborhood of 
 every university there are girls who with some beauty, 
 some coquetry, and Httle fortune, he upon the watch 
 for every raw youth, more inchned to make love than 
 to study. Our hero was quickly caught, and went 
 through all the mazes and adventures of a college in- 
 trigue, before he was seventeen : he offered marriage, 
 the offer was accepted, but the whole affair coming to 
 the knowledge of his tutors, his happiness, or perhaps 
 his future misery, was prevented, and he was sent 
 home from college, with necessary advice to him, and 
 proper instructions to his father. 
 
 When a man knows his power over the fair sex, he 
 generally commences their admirer for the rest of life. 
 That triumph which he obtains over one only makes 
 him the slave of another, and thus he proceeds con- 
 quering and conquered, to the closing of the scene. 
 The army seemed the most likely profession in which 
 to display this inclination for gallantry ; he therefore 
 purchased a pair of colors, commenced a professed 
 admirer of the sex, and dressed to the very edge of 
 his finances. But the life of a soldier is more pleasing 
 to the spectator at a distance than to the person who 
 makes the experiment. Nash soon found that a red 
 coat alone would never succeed, that the company of 
 the fair sex is not to be procured without expense^ 
 and that his scanty commission could never procure 
 him the proper reimbursements. He found, too, that 
 the profession of arms required attendance and duty, 
 and often encroached upon those hours he could have 
 
258 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 wished to dedicate to softer purposes. In short, he 
 soon became disgusted with the Hfe of a soldier, quitted 
 the army, entered his name as a student in the Temple 
 books, and here went to the very summit of second- 
 rate luxury. Though very poor, he was very fine ; he 
 spread the little gold he had in the most ostentatious 
 manner, and though the gilding was but thin, he laid 
 it on as far as it would go. They who know the town 
 cannot be unacquainted with such a character as I 
 describe j one who, though he may have dined in 
 private upon a banquet served cold from a cook's 
 shop, shall dress at six for the side box ; one of those 
 whose wants are only known to their laundress and 
 tradesmen, and their fine clothes to half the nobility ; 
 who spend more in chair hire than housekeeping, and 
 prefer a bow from a lord to a dinner from a commoner. 
 In this manner Nash spent some years about town, 
 till at last, his genteel appearance, his constant civility, 
 and still more, his assiduity, gained him the acquaint- 
 ance of several persons qualified to lead the fashion 
 both by birth and fortune. To gain the friendship of 
 the young nobility, little more is requisite than much 
 submission and very fine clothes ; dress has a mechani- 
 cal influence upon the mind, and we naturally are 
 awed into respect and esteem at the elegance of those 
 whom even our reason would teach us to contemm. 
 He seemed early sensible of human weakness in this 
 respect ; he brought a person genteelly dressed to 
 every assembly : he always made one of those who 
 are called very good company, and assurance gave 
 him an air of elegance and ease. 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 259 
 
 When King William was upon the throne, Mr. Nash 
 was a member of the Middle Temple. It had been 
 long customary for the Inns of Court to entertain our 
 monarchs upon their accession to the crown, or some 
 such remarkable occasion, with a revel and pageant. 
 In the earlier periods of our history, poets were the 
 conductors of these entertainments : plays were ex- 
 hibited, and complimentary verses were then written ; 
 but by degrees the pageant alone was continued, Sir 
 John Davis being the last poet that wrote verses upon 
 such an occasion, in the reign of James I. 
 
 This ceremony, which has been at length totally 
 discontinued, was last exhibited in honor of King 
 William, and Mr. Nash was chosen to conduct the 
 whole with proper decorum. He was then but a very 
 young man ; but we see at how early an age he was 
 thought proper to guide the amusements of his coun- 
 try, and be the Arbiter Elega7itiarmn of his time ; we 
 see how early he gave proofs of that spirit of regu- 
 larity for which he afterwards became famous, and 
 showed an attention to those little circumstances, of 
 which, though the observance be trifling, the neglect 
 has often interrupted men of the greatest abilities in 
 the progress of their fortunes. 
 
 In conducting this entertainment, Nash had an op- 
 portunity of exhibiting all his abilities, and King Wil- 
 liam was so well satisfied with his performance, that 
 he made him an offer of knighthood. This, however, 
 he thought proper to refuse ; which in a person of his 
 disposition seems strange. " Please your Majesty," 
 
260 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 replied he, when the offer was made him, " if you in- 
 tend to make me a knight, I wish it may be one of 
 your Poor Knights of Windsor, and then I shall have 
 a fortune at least able to support my title." Yet we 
 do not find that the King took the hint of increasing 
 his fortune ; perhaps he could not ; he had at that 
 time numbers to oblige, and he never cared to give 
 money without important services. 
 
 But though Nash acquired no riches by his late 
 office, yet he gained many friends, or, what is more 
 easily obtained, many acquaintances, who often answer 
 the end as well. In the populous city where he re- 
 sided, to be known was almost synonymous with 
 being in the road to fortune. How many little things 
 do we see, without merit or without friends, push 
 themselves forward into public notice, and by self- 
 advertising attract the attention of the day ! The 
 wise despise them, but the public are not all wise. 
 Thus they succeed, rise upon the wing of folly or of 
 fashion, and by their success give a new sanction to 
 effrontery. 
 
 But besides his assurance, Mr. Nash had in reality 
 some merit and some virtues. He was, if not a bril- 
 liant, at least an easy companion. He never forgot 
 good manners, even in the highest warmth of famil- 
 iarity, and, as I hinted before, never went in a dirty 
 shirt to disgrace the table of his patron or his friend. 
 These qualifications might make the furniture of his 
 head ; but for his heart, that seemed an assemblage of 
 the virtues which display an honest, benevolent mind, 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 26 1 
 
 with the vices which spring from too much good-nat- 
 ure. He had pity for every creature's distress, but 
 wanted prudence in the apphcation of his benefits. 
 He had generosity for the wretched in the higliest de- 
 gree, at a time when his creditors complained of his 
 justice. He often spoke falsehoods, but never had 
 any of his harmless tales tinctured with malice. 
 
 An instance of his humanity is told us in The Spec- 
 tator, though his name is not mentioned. When he 
 was to give in his accounts to the Masters of the Tem- 
 ple, among other articles, he charged "For making 
 one man happy, 10/." Being questioned about the 
 meaning of so strange an item, he frankly declared, 
 that happening to overhear a poor man declare to his 
 wife and a large family of children that 10/. would 
 make him happy, he could not avoid trying the experi- 
 ment. He added, that if they did not choose to ac- 
 quiesce in his charge, he was ready to refund the 
 money. The Masters, struck with such an uncommon 
 instance of good-nature, publicly thanked him for his 
 benevolence, and desired that the sum might be doubled, 
 as a proof of their satisfaction. 
 
 Another instance of his unaccountable generosity, 
 and I shall proceed. In some transactions with one of 
 his friends, Nash was brought in debtor twenty pounds. 
 His friend frequently asked for the money, and was 
 as often denied. He found at last that assiduity was 
 likely to have no effect, and therefore contrived an hon- 
 orable method of getting back his money without dis- 
 solving the friendship that subsisted between them. 
 
262 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 One day, returning from Nash's chamber with the usual 
 assurance of being paid to-morrow, he went to one of 
 their mutual acquaintance, and related the frequent dis- 
 appointments he had received, and the little hopes he 
 had of being ever paid. " My design," continues he, 
 '' is that you should go and try to borrow twenty pounds 
 from Nash, and bring me the money. I am apt to 
 think he will lend to you, though he will not pay me. 
 Perhaps we may extort from his generosity what I have 
 failed to receive from his justice." His friend obeyed, 
 and going to Nash, assured him, that unless relieved 
 by his friendship, he should certainly be undone ; he 
 wanted to borrow twenty pounds, and had tried all his 
 acquaintance without success. Nash, who had but 
 some minutes before refused to pay a just debt, was in 
 raptures at thus giving an instance of his friendship, 
 and instantly lent what was required. Immediately 
 upon the receipt, the pretended borrower goes to the 
 real creditor, and gives him the money, who met Mr. 
 Nash the day after. Our hero upon seeing him imme- 
 diately began his usual excuses, that the billiard-room 
 had stripped him ; that he was never so damnably out 
 
 of cash, but that in a few days " My dear sir, be 
 
 under no uneasiness," replied the other, '"'■ I would not 
 interrupt your tranquillity for the world ; you lent 
 twenty pounds yesterday to our friend of the back 
 stairs, and he lent it to me ; give him your receipt, and 
 you shall have mine." — " Perdition seize thee ! " cried 
 Nash, " thou hast been too many for me. You de- 
 manded a debt, he asked a favor ; to pay thee would 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 263 
 
 not increase our friendship ; but to lend him was pro- 
 curing a new friend, by conferring a new obhgation." 
 
 Whether men, at the time I am now talking of, had 
 more wit than at present, I will not take upon me 
 to determine ; but certain it is, they took more pains to 
 show what they had. In that age, a fellow of high 
 humor would drink no wine but what was strained 
 through his mistress's smock. He would eat a pair of 
 her shoes tossed up in a fricasee ; he would swallow 
 tallow candles instead of toasted cheese, and even run 
 naked about town, as it was then said, to divert the 
 ladies. In short, that was the age of such kind of wit 
 as is the most distant of all others from wisdom. 
 
 Mr. Nash, as he sometimes played tricks with others, 
 upon certain occasions received very severe retaliations. 
 Being at York, and having lost all his money, some of 
 his companions agreed to equip him with fifty guineas, 
 upon this proviso, that he would stand at the great 
 door of the Minster in a blanket, as the people were 
 coming out of church. To this proposal he readily 
 agreed ; but the Dean passing by, unfortunately knew 
 him. "What I " cried the divine, " Nash in masquer- 
 ade?" — "Only a Yorkshire penance, Mr. Dean, for 
 keeping bad company," said Nash, pointing to his 
 companions. 
 
 Some time after this, he won a wager of still greater 
 consequence, by riding naked through a village upon 
 a cow. This was then thought a harmless frolic ; at 
 present it would be looked upon with detestation. 
 
 He was once invited by some gentlemen of the navy 
 
264 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 on board a man-of-war, that had sailing-orders for the 
 Mediterranean. This was soon after the affair of the 
 revels, and being ignorant of any design against him, 
 he took his bottle with freedom. But he soon found, 
 to use the expression then in fashion, that he was abso- 
 lutely "bitten." The ship sailed away before he was 
 aware of his situation, and he was obliged to make the 
 voyage in the company where he had spent the night. 
 
 Many lives are often passed without a single adven- 
 ture, and I do not know of any in the life of our hero 
 that can be called such, except what we are now relat- 
 ing. During this voyage, he was in an engagement, 
 in which his particular friend was killed by his side, 
 and he himself wounded in the leg. For the anecdote 
 of his being wounded we are solely to trust to his own 
 veracity ; but most of his acquaintance were not much 
 inclined to believe him, when he boasted on those occa- 
 sions. Telling one day of the wound he had received 
 for his country, in one of the public rooms at Bath 
 (Wiltshire's, if I do not forget), a lady of distinction 
 that sat by, said it was all false. '•'■ I protest, madam," 
 replied he, '^ it is true ; and if I cannot be believed, 
 your ladyship may, if you please, receive farther infor- 
 mation, and feel the ball in my leg." 
 
 Nash was now fairly for life entered into a new course 
 of gaiety and dissipation, and steady in nothing but in 
 pursuit of variety. He was thirty years old, without 
 fortune, or useful talents to acquire one. He had 
 hitherto only led a life of expedients ; he thanked 
 chance alone for his support, and having been long 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 265 
 
 precariously supported, he became, at length, totally 
 a stranger to prudence or precaution. Not to disguise 
 any part of his character, he was now by profession a 
 gamester, and went on from day to day, feeling the 
 vicissitudes of rapture and anguish, in proportion to 
 the fluctuations of fortune. 
 
 At this time London was the only theatre in England 
 for pleasure or intrigue. A spirit of gaming had been 
 introduced in the licentious age of Charles II., and 
 had by this time thriven surprisingly. Yet all its de- 
 vastations were confined to London alone. To this 
 great mart of every folly, sharpers from every country 
 daily arrived for the winter j but were obliged to leave 
 the kingdom at the approach of summer, in order to 
 open a new campaign at Aix, Spa, or the Hague. Bath, 
 Tunbridge, Scarborough, and other places of the same 
 kind here, were then frequented only by such as really 
 went for relief : the pleasures they afforded were merely 
 rural ; the company splenetic, rustic, and vulgar. In 
 this situation of things, people of fashion had no agree- 
 able summer retreat from the town, and usually spent 
 that season amidst a solitude of country squires, par- 
 sons' wives, and visiting tenants, or farmers ; they 
 wanted some place where they might have each other's 
 company, and win each other's money, as they had 
 done during the winter in town. 
 
 To a person who does not thus calmly trace things 
 to their source, nothing will appear more strange, than 
 how the healthy could ever consent to follow the sick 
 to those places of spleen, and live with those whose 
 
266 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 disorders are ever apt to excite a gloom in the specta- 
 tor. The truth is, the gaming-table was properly the 
 salutary font to which such numbers flocked. Gaming 
 will ever be the pleasure of the rich, while men con- 
 tinue to be men ; while they fancy more happiness is 
 being possessed of what they want, than they experi- 
 ence pleasure in the fruition of what they have. The 
 wealthy only stake those riches which give no real con- 
 tent, for an expectation of riches in which they hope 
 for satisfaction. By this calculation, they cannot lose 
 happiness, as they begin with none ; and they hope to 
 gain it, by being possessed of something they have not 
 had already. 
 
 Probably upon this principle, and by the arrival of 
 Queen Anne there, for her health, about the year 1 703, 
 the city of Bath became in some measure frequented 
 by people of distinction. The company was numerous 
 enough to form a country-dance upon the bowling- 
 green : they were amused with a fiddle and hautboy, 
 and diverted with the romantic walks round the city. 
 They usually sauntered in fine weather in the grove, 
 between two rows of sycamore-trees. Several learned 
 physicians, Dr. Jorden and others, had even then 
 praised the salubrity of the wells, and the amuse- 
 ments were put under the direction of a master of the 
 ceremonies. 
 
 Captain Webster was the predecessor of Mr. Nash. 
 This I take to be the same gentleman whom Mr. Lucas 
 describes in his history of the lives of the Gamesters, 
 by which it appears that Bath, even before the arrival 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 267 
 
 of Nash, was found a proper retreat for men of that 
 profession. This gentleman, in the year 1 704, carried 
 the balls to the Town-hall, each man paying half-a- 
 guinea each ball. 
 
 Still, however, the amusements of this place were 
 neither elegant, nor conducted with delicacy. General 
 society among people of rank or fortune was by no 
 means established. The nobility still preserved a 
 tincture of Gothic haughtiness, and refused to keep 
 company with the gentry at any of the public enter- 
 tainments of the place. Smoking in the rooms was 
 permitted ; gentlemen and ladies appeared in a dis- 
 respectful manner at pubHc entertainments in aprons 
 and boots. With an eagerness common to those 
 whose pleasures come but seldom, they generally con- 
 tinued them too long ; and thus they were rendered 
 disgusting by too free an enjoyment. If the company 
 liked each other, they danced till morning; if any 
 person lost at cards, he insisted on continuing the 
 game till luck should turn. The lodgings for visitants 
 were paltry, though expensive ; the dining-rooms and 
 other chambers were floored with boards, colored 
 brown with soot and small-beer, to hide the dirt ; the 
 walls were covered with unpainted wainscot ; the fur- 
 niture corresponded with the meanness of the archi- 
 tecture ; a few oak chairs, a small looking-glass, with 
 a fender and tongs, composed the magnificence of 
 these temporary habitations. The city was in itself 
 mean and contemptible ; no elegant buildings, no 
 open streets, nor uniform squares ! The pump-house 
 
268 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 was without any director ; the chairmen permitted no 
 gentlemen or ladies to walk home by night without 
 insulting them ; and to add to all this, one of the 
 greatest physicians of his age conceived a design of 
 ruining the city, by writing against the efficacy of the 
 waters. It was from a resentment of some affronts he 
 had received there, that he took this resolution ; and 
 accordingly published a pamphlet, by which he said, 
 " he would cast a toad into the spring." 
 
 In this situation of things it was that Nash first came 
 into that city, and hearing the threat Of this physician, 
 he humorously assured the people, that if they would 
 give him leave, he would charm away the poison of the 
 doctor's toad, as they usually charmed the venom of 
 the tarantula, by music. He therefore was immediately 
 empowered to set up the force of a band of music, 
 against the poison of the doctor's reptile. The com- 
 pany very sensibly increased ; Nash triumphed, and 
 the sovereignty of the city was decreed to him by every 
 rank of people. 
 
 We are; now to behold this gentleman as arrived at 
 a new dignity, for which nature seemed to have formed 
 him : we are to see him directing pleasures, which none 
 had better learned to share ; placed over rebellious 
 and refractory subjects, that were to be ruled only by 
 the force of his address, and governing such as had 
 been long accustomed to govern others. We see a 
 kingdom beginning with him, and sending off Tun- 
 bridge as one of its colonies. 
 
 But to talk more simply, when we talk at best of 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 269 
 
 trifles, None could possibly conceive a person more 
 fit to fill this employment than Nash. He had some 
 wit, as I have said once or twice before ; but it was 
 of that sort which is rather happy than permanent. 
 Once a week he might say a good thing : this the 
 little ones about him took care to divulge ; or if they 
 happened to fotget the joke, he usually remembered 
 to repeat it himself. In a long intercourse with the 
 world he had acquired an impenetrable assurance; 
 and the freedom with which he was received by the 
 great, furnished him with vivacity which could be com- 
 manded at any time, and which some mistook for wit. 
 His former intercourse among people of fashion in 
 town had let him into most of the characters of the 
 nobility ; and he was acquainted with many of their 
 private intrigues. He understood rank and prece- 
 dence with the utmost exactness ; was fond of show 
 and finery himself, and generally set a pattern of it to 
 others. These were his favorite talents, and he was 
 the favorite of such as had no other. 
 
 But to balance these which some may consider as 
 foibles, he was charitable himself, and generally shamed 
 his betters into a similitude of sentiment, if they were 
 not naturally so before. He was fond of advising 
 those young men who, by youth and too much money, 
 are taught to look upon extravagance as a virtue. He 
 was an enemy to rudeness in others, though in the 
 latter part of his life he did not much seem to encour- 
 age a dislike of it by his own example. None talked 
 with more humanity of the foibles of others, when ab- 
 
270 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 sent, than he, nor kept those secrets with which he was 
 entrusted more inviolably. But above all (if moralists 
 will allow it among the number of his virtues)' though 
 he gamed high, he always played very fairly. These 
 were his qualifications. Some of the nobility regarded 
 him as an inoffensive, useful companion, the size of 
 whose understanding was, in general, level with their 
 own ; but their little imitators admired him as a per- 
 son of fine sense, and great good breeding. Thus 
 people became fond of ranking him in the number of 
 their acquaintance, told over his jests, and Beau Nash 
 at length became the fashionable companion. 
 
 His first care when made Master of the Ceremonies, 
 or King of Bath, as it is called, was to promote a mu- 
 sic subscription of one guinea each, for a band, which 
 was to consist of six performers, who were to receive 
 a guinea a week each for their trouble. He allowed 
 also two guineas a week for hghting and sweeping the 
 rooms ; for which he accounted to the subscribers by 
 receipt. 
 
 The pump-house was immediately put under the 
 care of an officer, by the name of the pumper ; for 
 which he paid the corporation an annual rent. A row 
 of new houses was begun on the south side of the 
 gravel-walks, before which a handsome pavement was 
 then made for the company to walk on. Not less 
 than seventeen or eighteen hundred pounds were raised 
 this year and in the beginning of 1 706 by subscription, 
 and laid out in repairing the roads near the city. The 
 streets began to be better paved, cleaned, and lighted ; 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 2/1 
 
 the licenses of the chairmen were repressed, and by 
 an Act of Parliament procured on this occasion, the 
 invalids, who came to drink or bathe, were exempted 
 from all manner of toll, as often as they should go out 
 of the city for recreation. 
 
 The houses and streets now began to improve, and 
 ornaments were lavished upon them even to profusion. 
 But in the midst of this splendor, the company still 
 were obliged to assemble in a booth to drink tea and 
 chocolate, or to game. Mr. Nash undertook to 
 remedy this inconvenience, and by his direction, one 
 Thomas Harrison erected a handsome assembly-house 
 for these purposes. A better band of music was also 
 procured, and the former subscription of one guinea 
 was raised to two. Harrison had three guineas a week 
 for the room and candles, and the music two guineas 
 a man. The money Mr. Nash received and accounted 
 for with the utmost exactness and punctuality. To 
 this house were also added gardens for people of rank 
 and fashion to walk in ; and the beauty of the suburbs 
 continued to increase, notwithstanding the opposition 
 that was made by the corporation ; who at that time 
 looked upon every useful improvement, particularly 
 without the walls, as dangerous to the inhabitants 
 within. 
 
 His dominion was now extensive and secure, and 
 he determined to support it with the strictest attention. 
 But in order to proceed in everything like a King, he 
 was resolved to give his subjects a law, and the following 
 Rules were accordingly put up in the pump-room : — 
 
27? OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 RULES TO BE OBSERVED AT BATH. 
 
 1. "That a visit of ceremony at first coming, and another at 
 going away, are all that is expected or desired by ladies of 
 quality and fashion, — except impertinents. 
 
 2. " That ladies coming to the ball appoint a time for their 
 footmen coming to wait on them home, to prevent disturbance 
 and inconveniences to themselves and others. 
 
 3. " That gentlemen of fashion never appearing in a morn- 
 ing before the ladies in gowns. and caps, show breeding and 
 respect. 
 
 4. " That no person take it ill that any one goes to another's 
 play or breakfast, and not theirs, — except captious by nature. 
 
 5. "That no gentleman give his ticket for the balls to any 
 but gentlewomen. — N.B. Unless he has none of his acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 6. " That gentlemen crowdirig before the ladies at the ball, 
 show ill-manners ; and that none do so for the future, — except 
 such as respect nobody but themselves. 
 
 7. " That no gentleman or lady take it ill that another 
 dances before them, — except such as have no pretence to 
 dance at all. 
 
 8. " That the elder ladies and children be content with a 
 second bench at the ball, as being past or not come to per- 
 fection. 
 
 9. "That the younger ladies take notice how many eyes 
 observe them. — N.B. This does not extend to the Have-at- 
 alls. 
 
 10. "That all whisperers of lies and scandal be taken for 
 their authors. 
 
 11. " That all repeaters of such lies and scandal be shunned 
 by all company, — except such as have been guilty of the same 
 crime. — N.B. Several men of no character, old women and 
 young ones of questioned reputation, are great authors of lies 
 in these places, being of the sect of levellers." 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 273 
 
 These laws were written by Mr. Nash himself, and 
 by the manner in which they are drawn up, he un- 
 doubtedly designed them for wit. The reader, how- 
 ever, it is feared, will think them dull. But Nash was 
 not born a writer ; for whatever humor he might have 
 in conversation, he used to call a pen his torpedo : 
 whenever he grasped it, it benumbed all his faculties. 
 
 But were we to give laws to a nursery, we should 
 make them childish laws ; his statutes, though stupid, 
 were addressed to fine gentlemen and ladies, and were 
 probably received with sympathetic approbation. It 
 is certain they were in general religiously observed by 
 his subjects, and executed by him with impartiality; 
 neither rank nor fortune shielded the refractory from 
 his resentment. 
 
 The balls, by his directions, were to begin at six, 
 and to end at eleven. Nor would he suffer them to 
 continue a moment longer, lest invalids might commit 
 irregularities, to counteract the benefit of the waters. 
 Everything was to be performed in proper order. 
 Each ball was to open with a minuet, danced by two 
 persons of the highest distinction present. When the 
 minuet concluded, the lady was to return to her seat, 
 and Nash was to bring the gentleman a new partner. 
 This ceremony was to be observed by every succeed- 
 ing couple ; every gentleman being obliged to dance 
 with two ladies till the minuets were over, which gen- 
 erally continued two hours. At eight the country- 
 dances were to begin ; ladies of quality, according to 
 their rank, standing up first. About nine o'clock a 
 
274 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 short interval was allowed for rest, and for the gentle- 
 men to help their partners to tea. That over, the com- 
 pany were to pursue their amusements till the clock 
 struck eleven. Then the master of the ceremonies 
 entering the ball-room, ordered the music to desist by 
 lifting up his finger. The dances discontinued, and 
 some time allowed for becoming cool, the ladies were 
 handed to their chairs. 
 
 Even the royal family themselves had not influence 
 enough to make him deviate from any of these rules. 
 The Princess Amelia once applying to him for one 
 dance more, after he had given the signal to withdraw, 
 he assured her royal highness, that the established rules 
 of Bath resembled the laws of Lycurgus, which would 
 admit of no alteration, without an utter subversion of 
 all his authority. 
 
 He was not less strict with regard to the dresses in 
 which ladies and gentlemen were to appear. He had 
 the strongest aversion to a white apron, and absolutely 
 excluded all who ventured to appear at the assembly 
 dressed in that manner. I have known him on a ball 
 
 night strip even the Duchess of Q , and throw 
 
 her apron at one of the hinder benches among the 
 ladies' women : observing, that none but Abigails ap- 
 peared in white aprons. This from another would be 
 an insult ; in him it was considered as a just repri- 
 mand, and the good-natured duchess acquiesced in 
 his censure. 
 
 But he found more difficulty in attacking the gentle- 
 man's irregularities ; and for some time strove, but in 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD J^ASH. 2/5 
 
 vain/ to prohibit the use of swords. Disputes arising 
 from love of play were sometimes attended with fatal 
 effects. To use his own expression, he was resolved 
 to hinder people from doing " what they had no mind 
 to ; " but for some time without effect. However, 
 there happened about that time a duel between two 
 gamesters, whose names were Taylor and Clarke, which 
 helped to promote his peaceable intentions. They 
 fought by torchlight, in the grove ; Taylor was run 
 through the body, but lived seven years after, at which 
 time his wound breaking out afresh, it caused his death. 
 Clarke from that time pretended to be a Quaker, but 
 the orthodox brethren never cordially received him 
 among their number ; and he died at London, about 
 eighteen years after, in poverty and contrition. From 
 that time it was thought necessary to forbid the wear- 
 ing of swords at Bath, as they often tore the ladies 
 clothes, and frightened them, by sometimes appearing 
 upon trifling occasions. Whenever, therefore, Nash 
 heard of a challenge given or accepted, he instantly 
 had both parties arrested. The gentleman's boots 
 also made a very desperate stand against him ; the 
 country squires were by no means submissive to his 
 usurpations, and probably his authority alone would 
 never have carried him through, had he not reinforced 
 it with ridicule. He wrote a song upon the occasion, 
 which, for the honor of his poetical talents, the world 
 shall see. 
 
276 . OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 FRONTINELLA'S INVITATION TO THE ASSEMBLY. 
 
 Come, one and all, to Hoyden Hall, 
 For there's the assembly this night ; 
 
 None but prude fools 
 
 Mind manners and rules ; 
 We Hoydens do decency slight. 
 
 Come, trollops and slatterns, 
 
 Cocked hats and white aprons, 
 This best our modesty suits ; 
 
 For why should hot we 
 
 In dress be as free 
 As Hogs-Norton squires in boots ? 
 
 The keenness, severity, and particularly the good 
 rhymes of this little morgeau, which was at that time 
 highly relished by many of the nobility at Bath, gained 
 him a temporary triumph. But to push his victories, 
 he got up a puppet-show, in which Punch came in 
 booted and spurred, in the character of a country 
 squire. He was introduced as courting his mistress, 
 and having obtained her consent to comply with his 
 wishes, upon going to bed, he is desired to pull off his 
 boots. " My boots ! " replies Punch; "why, madam, 
 you may as well bid me pull off my legs. I never go 
 without boots ; I never ride, I never dance, without 
 them, and this piece of politeness is quite the thing at 
 Bath. We always dance at our town in boots, and the 
 ladies often move minuets in riding- hoods." Thus he 
 goes on, till his mistress, grown impatient, kicks him 
 off the stage. 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 2// 
 
 From that time few ventured to be seen at the assem- 
 blies in Bath in a riding-dresS ; and whenever any 
 gentleman, through ignorance or haste, appeared in 
 the rooms in boots, Nash would make up to him, and 
 bowing in an arch manner, would tell him that he had 
 " forgot his horse." Thus he was at last completely- 
 victorious. 
 
 " Dolisque coacti 
 Quos neque Tydides nee Larissaeus Achilles 
 Non anni domuere decern." 
 
 Every season brought some new accession of honor 
 to Nash ; and the corporation now universally found 
 that he was absolutely necessary for promoting the 
 welfare of the city ; so that this year seems to have 
 been the meridian of his glory. About this time he 
 arrived at such a pitch of authority, that I really be- 
 lieve Alexander was not greater at Persepolis. The 
 countenance he received from the Prince of Orange, 
 the favor he was in with the Prince of Wales, and the 
 caresses of the nobility, all conspired to lift him to 
 the utmost pitch of vanity. The exultation of a little 
 mind, upon being admitted to the familiarity of the 
 great, is inexpressible. The Prince of Orange had 
 made him a present of a very fine snuff-box. Upon 
 this some of the nobility thought it would be proper 
 to give snuff-boxes too ; they were quickly imitated by 
 the middling gentry, and it soon became the fashion 
 to give Nash snuff-boxes, who had in a little time a 
 nnmber sufficient to have furnished a good toy-shop. 
 
2/8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 To add to his honors, there was placed a full-length 
 picture of him in Wiltshire's Ball-room, between the 
 busts of Newton and Pope. It was upon this occa- 
 sion that the Earl of Chesterfield wrote the following 
 severe but witty epigram : — 
 
 " Immortal Newton never spoke 
 
 More truth, than here you'll find, 
 Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd a joke 
 More cruel on mankind. 
 
 " The picture placed the busts between 
 Gives satire its full strength ; 
 Wisdom and Wit are little seen, 
 But Folly at full length." 
 
 There is also a full-length picture of Mr. Nash in 
 Simpson's Ball-room, and his statue at full-length in the 
 Pump-room, with a plan of the Bath Hospital in his 
 hand. He was now treated in every respect like a 
 great man ; he had his levee, his flatterers, his buf- 
 foons, his good-natured creatures, and even his dedi- 
 cators. A trifling, ill-supported vanity was his foible ; 
 and while he received the homage of the vulgar and 
 enjoyed the familiarity of the great, he felt no pain for 
 the unpromising view of poverty that lay before him : 
 he enjoyed the world as it went, and drew upon con- 
 tent for the deficiencies of fortune. If a cringing 
 wretch called him " his Honor," he was pleased ; in- 
 ternally conscious that he had the justest pretensions 
 to the title. If a beggar called him " my Lord," he 
 was happy, and generally sent the flatterer ofl" happy 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 279 
 
 too. I have known him, in London, wait a whole day 
 at a window in the Smyrna Coffee-house, in order to 
 receive a bow from the Prince, or the Duchess of 
 Marlborough, as they passed by where he was stand- 
 ing, and he would then look round upon the company 
 for admiration and respect. 
 
 But perhaps the reader desires to know who could 
 be low enough to flatter a man who himself Hved in 
 some measure by dependence. Hundreds are ready 
 upon those occasions. The very needy are almost 
 ever flatterers. A man in wretched circumstances 
 forgets his own value, and feels no pain in giving up 
 superiority to every claimant. The very vain are ever 
 flatterers ; as they find it necessary to make use of all 
 their arts to keep company with such as are superior 
 to themselves. But particularly the prodigal are prone 
 to adulation, in order to open new supplies for their 
 extravagance. The poor, the vain, and the extrava- 
 gant are chiefly addicted to this vice : and such hung 
 upon his good-nature. When these three characters 
 are found united in one person, the composition gen- 
 erally becomes a great man's favorite. It was not 
 difficult to collect such a group in a city that was the 
 centre of pleasure. Nash had them of all sizes, from 
 the half-pay captain in laced clothes, to the humble 
 boot-catcher at the Bear. 
 
 Among other stories of Nash's telling, I remember 
 one, which I the more cheerfully repeat, as it tends to 
 correct a piece of impertinence that reigns in almost 
 every country assembly. The principal inhabitants of 
 
28o OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 a certain market-town at a distance from the capital, 
 in order to encourage that harmony which ought to 
 subsist in society, and to promote a mutual intercourse 
 between the sexes, so desirable to both and so neces- 
 sary for all, had established a monthly assembly in the 
 town-hall, which was conducted with such decency, 
 decorum, and politeness, that it drew the attention of 
 the gentlemen and ladies in the neighborhood, and a 
 nobleman and his family continually honored them 
 with their presence. This naturally drew others, and 
 in time the room was crowded with what the world 
 calls good company ; and the assembly prospered, till 
 some of the newly admitted ladies took it into their 
 heads that the tradesmen's daughters were unworthy 
 of their notice, and therefore refused to join hands 
 with them in the dance. This was complained of by 
 -the town ladies, and that complaint was resented 
 by the country gentlemen ; who, more pert than wise, 
 publicly advertised that they would not dance with 
 tradesmen's daughters. This the most eminent trades- 
 men considered as an insult on themselves, and being 
 men of worth, and able to live independently, they in 
 return advertised that they would give no credit out of 
 their town, and desired all others to discharge their 
 accounts. A general uneasiness ensued ; some writs 
 were actually issued out, and much distress would have 
 happened, had not my lord, who sided with no party, 
 kindly interfered and composed the difference. The 
 assembly however was ruined, and the families, I am 
 told, are not friends yet, though this affair happened 
 thirty years ago. 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, 28 1 
 
 Nothing debases human nature so much as pride. 
 This Nash knew, and endeavored to stifle every emo- 
 tion of it at Bath. When he observed any ladies so 
 extremely delicate and proud of a pedigree, as to only 
 touch the back of an inferior's hand in the dance, he 
 always called to order, and desired them to leave the 
 room or behave with common decency; and when 
 any ladies arid gentlemen drew off, after they had 
 gone down a dance, without standing up till the dance 
 was finished, he made up to them, and after asking 
 whether they had done dancing, told them they should 
 dance no more unless they stood up for the rest ; and 
 on these occasions he always was as good as his word. 
 
 Nash, though no great wit, had the art of sometimes 
 saying rude things with decency, and rendering them 
 pleasing by an uncommon turn. But most of the good 
 things attributed to him, Which have found their way 
 into the jest-books, are no better than puns. The 
 smartest things I have seen are against him. One day 
 in the Grove he joined some ladies, and asking one of 
 them who was crooked, whence she came? she re- 
 plied, "Straight from London." — "Confound me, 
 madam," said he, " then you must have been dam- 
 nably warped by the way." 
 
 She soon, however, had ample revenge. Sitting the 
 following evening in one of the rooms, he once more 
 joined her company, and with a sneer and bow asked 
 her if she knew her catechism, and could tell the 
 name of Tobit's dog? "His name, sir, was Nash," 
 replied the lady, "and an impudent dog he was." This 
 
282 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Story is told in a celebrated romance ; I only repeat it 
 here to have an opportunity of observing, that it actu- 
 ally happened. 
 
 Queen Anne once asked him, why he would not 
 accept of knighthood ? To which he replied, lest Sir 
 William Read, the mountebank, who had been just 
 knighted, should call him brother. 
 
 A house in Bath was said to be haunted by the 
 devil, and a great noise was made about it, when Nash 
 going to the minister of St. Michael's, entreated him 
 to drive the devil out of Bath forever, if it were only to 
 oblige the ladies. 
 
 Nash used sometimes to visit the great Doctor Clarke. 
 The doctor was one day conversing with Locke, and 
 two or three more of his learned and intimate com- 
 panions, with that freedom, gaiety, and cheerfulness, 
 which is ever the result of innocence. In the midst 
 of their mirth and laughter, the doctor, looking from 
 the window, saw Nash's chariot stop at the door. 
 " Boys, boys," cried the philosopher to his friends, 
 " let us now be wdse, for here is a fool coming." 
 
 Nash was one day complaining in the following man- 
 ner to the Earl of Chesterfield, of his bad luck at 
 play. "Would you think it, my lord, that damned 
 bitch fortune, no later than last night, tricked me out 
 of five hundred. Is it not surprising," continued he, 
 " that my luck should never turn — that I should thus 
 eternally be mauled ? " — "I don't wonder at your los- 
 ing money, Nash," said his lordship, "but all the 
 world is surprised where you get it to lose." 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, 2%l 
 
 Dr. Cheyne once, when Nash was ill, drew up a 
 prescription for him, which was sent in accordingly. 
 The next day the doctor coming to see his patient, 
 found him up and well ; upon which he asked if he 
 had followed his prescription. " Followed your pre- 
 scription," cried Nash, " no. Egad, if I had, I should 
 have broke my neck, for I flung it out of the two pair 
 of stairs window." 
 
 It would have been well had he confined himself to 
 such sallies ; but as he grew old he grew insolent, and 
 seemed, in some measure, insensible of the pain his 
 attempts to be a wit gave others. Upon asking a lady 
 to dance a minuet, if she refused he would often de- 
 mand if she had got bandy legs. He would attempt 
 to ridicule natural defects ; he forgot the deference 
 due to birth and quality, and mistook the manner of 
 settling rank and precedence upon many occasions. 
 He now seemed no longer fashionable among the 
 present race of gentry ; he grew peevish and fretful, 
 and they who only saw the remnant of a man, severely 
 returned that laughter upon him which he had once 
 lavished upon others. 
 
 Poor Nash was no longer the gay, thoughtless, idly 
 industrious creature he once was ; he now forgot how 
 to supply new modes of entertainment, and became 
 too rigid to wind with ease through the vicissitudes of 
 fashion. The evening of his life began to grow cloudy. 
 His fortune was gone, and nothing but poverty lay in 
 prospect. To embitter his hopes, he found himself 
 abandoned by the great, whom he had long endeav- 
 
284 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 ored to serve ; and was obliged to fly to those of hum- 
 bler stations for protection, whom he once affected to 
 despise. He now began to want that charity which 
 he had never refused to any ; and to find that a life 
 of dissipation and gaiety is ever terminated by misery 
 and regret. Even his place of master of the ceremo- 
 nies (if I can trust the papers he has left behind him) 
 was sought after. 
 
 He found poverty now denied him the indulgence 
 not only of his favorite follies, but of his favorite vir- 
 tues. The poor solicited him in vain ; for he was 
 himself a more pitiable object than they. The child 
 of the public seldom has a friend, and he who once 
 exercised his wit at the expense of others, must nat- 
 urally have enemies. Exasperated at last to the high- 
 est degree, an unaccountable whim struck him. Poor 
 Nash was resolved to become an author ; he who, in 
 the vigor of manhood, was incapable of the task, now 
 at the impotent age of eighty-six, was determined to 
 write his own history ! From the many specimens 
 already given of his style, the reader will not much re- 
 gret that the historian was interrupted in his design. 
 Yet, as Montaigne observes, as the adventures of an 
 infant, if an infant could inform us of them, would be 
 pleasing, so the life of a beau, if a beau could write, 
 would certainly serve to regale curiosity. 
 
 Whether he really intended to put this design in 
 execution, or did it only to alarm the nobility, I will 
 not take upon me to determine ; but certain it is, that 
 his friends went about collecting subscriptions for the 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 285 
 
 work, and he received several encouragements from 
 such as were willing to be poKtely charitable. It was 
 thought by many, that this history would reveal the 
 intrigues of a whole age; that he had numberless 
 secrets to disclose ; but they never considered, that 
 persons of public character like him were the most 
 unlikely in the world to be made partakers of those 
 secrets which people desired the public should not 
 know. In fact, he had few secrets to discover, and 
 those he had are buried with him in the grave. 
 
 For some time before his decease nature gave warn- 
 ing of his approaching dissolution. The worn machine 
 had run itself down to an utter impossibility of repair ; 
 he saw that he must die, and shuddered at the thought. 
 His virtues were not of the great, but the amiable 
 kind ; so that fortitude was not among the number. 
 Anxious, timid, his thoughts still hanging on a reced- 
 ing world, he desired to enjoy a little longer that life, 
 the miseries of which he had experienced so long. 
 The poor unsuccessful gamester husbanded the wast- 
 ing moments with an increased desire to continue the 
 game, and to the last eagerly wished for one yet more 
 happy throw. He died at his house in St. John's 
 Court, Bath, on the 12th of February, 1761, aged 
 eighty-seven years, three months, and some days. 
 
 His death was sincerely regretted by the city, to 
 which he had been so long and so great a benefactor. 
 The day after he died, the mayor called the corpora- 
 tion together, when they granted fifty pounds towards 
 burying their sovereign with proper respect. After 
 
286 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 the corpse had lain four days, it was conveyed to the 
 Abbey church in that city, with a solemnity somewhat 
 peculiar to his character. About five the procession 
 moved from his house ; the charity-girls, two and two, 
 preceded ; next the boys of the charity-school, sing- 
 ing a solemn occasional hymn. Next marched the 
 city music, and his own band, sounding at proper in- 
 tervals a dirge. Three clergymen immediately pre- 
 ceded the coffin, which was adorned with sable plumes, 
 and the pall supported by the six senior aldermen. 
 The masters of the assembly-rooms followed as chief 
 mourners ; the beadles of that hospital which he had 
 contributed so largely to endow, went next ; and last 
 of all the poor patients themselves, the lame, the ema- 
 ciated, and the feeble, followed their old benefactor to 
 his grave, shedding unfeigned tears, and lamenting 
 themselves in him. 
 
 The crowd was so great, that not only the streets 
 were filled, but, as one of the journals in a rant ex- 
 presses it, " even the tops of the houses were covered 
 with spectators. Each thought the occasion affected 
 themselves most ; as when a real king dies, they asked 
 each other, * Where shall we find such another? * Sor- 
 row sate upon every face, and even children lisped 
 that their Sovereign was no more. The awfulness of 
 the solemnity made the deepest impression on the 
 minds of the distressed inhabitants. The peasant 
 discontinued his toil, the ox rested from the plough ; 
 all nature seemed to sympathize with their loss, and 
 the muffle4 bells rung a peal of bob-majors." 
 
LIFE OF RICHARD NASH. 28/ 
 
 Our deepest solemnities have something truly ridic- 
 ulous in them. There is somewhat ludicrous in the 
 folly of historians, who thus declaim upon the death 
 of kings and princes, as if there was anything dismal, 
 or anything unusual, in it. "For my part," says 
 Poggi, the Florentine, " I can no more grieve for an- 
 other's death than I could for my own. I have ever 
 regarded death as a very trifling affair, nor can black 
 staves, long cloaks, or mourning coaches, in the least 
 influence my spirits. Let us live here as long and as 
 merrily as we can ; and when we must die, why, let us 
 die merrily too, but die so as to be happy."