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SYKES, M.A. THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, Limited 1893 IS 3^^%(o D Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-three, by The Copp, Clabk Company, Limited, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. ,^. lA Wl I CONTENTS. m INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER I. FAfiB. 5 CHAPTER II. SCHOOL ANI» COLLEGE CHAPTER III. IDLENESS, AND FOREIGN TRAVEL 16 CHAPTER IV. EARLY STRUGGLES.— HACK-WKITINO 21 CHAPTER. V. BEGINNING OF AUTHORSHIP.— THE BEE 29 PERSONAL TRATTS CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. — BEAU NASH CHA rCER VIII. THE ARREST 38 42 56 CHAPTER IX. THE TRAVELLER 63 VI. < ;ONTENTH. CHAPTEU X. I'AOK. MLSCELLANE(H'.S WKITIN(J ()8 CHAPTER XL THE VICAH OF WAKEFIELP 72 CHAPTER XII. THE (}() MAX 83 CHAPTER XIII. <}OLJ)SMITH IN SOriKTV - - 90 CHAPTER XIV. THE DESERTED VILLA«!E 98 CHAPTER XV. OCCASIONAL VVllITIN(}S 109 CHAPTER XVI. .SHE .STOOPS TO CONf^UBH 115 CHAPTER XVII. INCREASING DIFFICULTIES. — THE END 122 NOTES 135 APPENDIX - . . 1(53 J8 '2 i3 NOTE ON THE AUTHOR. )(> )8 )1» L5 J2 35 s;3 Mr. William Black was born in Glasgow in 1841. In his early years he manifested two characteristics — a love of botany and a love of art — which seem in some measure to have foretold the love of nature and the faculty of picturesque description that mark the mature man. He was introduced to literature, so to 8})eak, by writing essays on Ruskin, Kingsley, and Carlyle, which he contributed to a newspaper of his native town. This introduction led to an acquaintance with journalism in the form of the Weekly Citizen., riic staff" of which he joined. The year 1804 found him taking the Scotchman's 'noblest prospect,' and entering on newspaper life in Londci. where in two yeare he had made his murk, and had become special correspondent of the Moi'niny Star in the Prusso- Austrian War. Scents in this life as a war-correspondent prompted the publicatioi. of a novel Love or Marriage (1867). It was a failure. So in a mitigated sense were In Silk Attire, Kilmeny, and The Monarch of Mincing Lane. But here Mr. Black's appi'enticeshi}) ended, and from the publication of A Daughter of Heth in 1871, we have from his pen a series of novels, which, because of their variety and freshness of incident, their manly breezy atmosphere, their splendid and faithful picture of scenic effects, have given him a reputation that extends throughout the world, and falls little short of that of an VUl. XOTR ON THE AUTHOR. English classic. No reador of fiction to-day has failed to enjoy tlio quiet scenes of a driving excursion from FiOndon to Kle never tire of, and almost every year brings a welcome volume from Mr. Black's pen. Shandon Bella, Yolande, Judith Shakesjyeare, White Heather, In Far Lochaber, The New Prince Fortunatus ai-e all familiar names wherever English is i*ead. For over fifteen yeara Mr. Black has withdrawn from jour- nalism. In his chambers in Buckingham Square in London, or in his "Paston Place" at the sea port of Brighton, he spends his indoor life ; but his home is rather out of doors. One profors to picture the man — lithe, active, strong, though under middle height — in his swinging; walks over the moors of Brighton, or stag-hunting and salmon-fishing in the Highlands, or handling the tiller of his yacht, White Dove, as she sheers the waves of the stormy Hebrides. " You never need starve," said an old Highland skipper to him, "for you could always make a living as a pilot in the Western Highlands." Mr. Black the novelist so overshadows Mr. Black the biographer and critic, that the latter scai'cely attracts attention. Yet, in truth, this one critical work of our author is to such an extent apart from his real work as a writer, that this neglect is in no way surprising. Indeed, the reader of the present Life will be tempted to class it, not in the company of A Princess of Thule or Madcap Violet, where the author has put his exi>erience and his best spirit, but rather consign it to that department of work to which he himself consigns Goldsmith's critical contributions to the MorUhly and the Critical Review, 'I GOLDSMITH. CHAPTKR I. INTRODUCTORY. "Innocently to amuse the ima^'i nation in this dream of life is wisdom." So Mrrote Oliver Goldsmith ; and sinely among those who have earned the world's gratitude by this ministra- tion he must be accorded a conspicuous place. If, in these delightful writings of his, he mostly avoids the darker problems of existence — if the mystery of the tragic and a|)purently un- merited and unrequited suffering in the world is rarely touched upon — we can pardon the omission for the sake of the gentle optimism that would rather look on the kindly side of life. " You come hot and tired from the day's battle, and this sweet minstrel sings to you," says Mr. Thackeray. " Who could harm the kind vagrant harper 1 Whom did he ever hurt t He carries no weapon save the harp on which he plays to you; and with which he delights great and humble, young and old, the captains in the tents, or the soldiers round the iire, or the women and children in the villages, at whose porches he stops and sings his simple songs of love and beauty." And it is to be suspected — it is to be hoped, at least — that the cheerfulness which shines like sunlight through Goldsmith's writings, did not altogether desert himself even in the most trying hours of his wayward and troubled career. He had, with all his sensi- tiveness, a fine hai)py-go- lucky disposition ; was ready for a frolic when he had a guinea, and, when he had none, could turn a sentence on the humorous side cf starvation ; and certainly 6 GOLDSMITH. never attributed to the injustice or neglect of socioty misfor- tunes the origin of whi<^li lay nearer home. Of course a very dark picture might be drawn of Goldsmith's life ; and the suflforings that he undoubtedly endured have been made a whip with which to lash the ingratitude of a world not too quick to recognise the claims of geniua He has been put before us, without any brighter lights to the picture, as the most unfortunate of poor devils : the heart-broken usher ; the hack ground down by sordid booksellers ; the starving occupant of successive garrets. TMis is the aspect of Goldsmith's career which naturally attracts Mr. Forster. Mr. Forster seems to have been haunted throughout his life by the idea that Provi- dence had some especial spite against literary persona ; and that, in a measure to compensate them for their sad lot, society should be very kind to them, while the Government of the day might make them Companions of the Bath or give them posts in the Civil Service. In the otherwise copious, thorough, and valuable Life and Times of Oliver Cfoldamith, we find an almost humiliating insistance on the complaint that Oliver Goldsmith did not receive greater recognition and larger sums of money from his contemporaries. Goldsmith is here " the poor neg- lected sizar;" his "marked ill-fortune" attends him constantly; he shares " the evil destinies of men of letters ;" he was one of those who *' struggled into fame without the aid of English institutions;" in short, "he wrote, and paid the penalty." Nay, even Christianity itself is impeached on account of the persecu- tion suffered by poor Goldsmith. " There had been a Christian religion extant for seventeen hundred and fifty-seven years," writes Mr. Forster, "the world having been acquainted, for even 80 long, with its spiritual necessities and responsibilities; yet here, in the middle of the eighteenth century, was the eminence ordinarily conceded to a spiritual teacher, to one of those men who come upon the earth to lift their fellow -men above its miry ways. He is up in a garret, writing for bread he cannot get, INTRODUCTORY. and dunned for a milk-score he cannot pay/' Tlmt OhriatiHnity might have been worse employed than in paying the milkman's score is true enough, for then the milkman would have come by his own ; but that Christianity, or the state, or society should be scolded because an author sutTers the natural conHcquencos of bis allowing his expenditure to exceed his income, setmis a little hard. A.nd this is a sort of writing that is peculiarly inappropriate in the case of Goldsmith, who, if ever any iimii was author of his own misfortune, may fairly have the charge^ brought against him. " Men of genius," says Mr. Forster, " can more easily starve, than the world, with safety to itself, can contiii?ie to neglect and starve them." Perhaps so ; but the English nauioi?, which has always had a regard and even love for Oliver Goldsmith, that is quite peculiar in the history of literature, and which has been glad to overlook his faults and follies, and eager to sympathise with him in the many miseries of his career, will be slow to believe that it is responsible for any starvation tha : Goldsmith may have endured. However, the key-note has been firmly sti-uck, and it still vibrates. Goldsmith wns the unluckiest of mortals, the hapless victim of circumstances. " Yielding to that united pressure of labour, penury, and sorrow, with a frame exhausted by unre- mitting and ill-rewarded drudgery. Goldsmith was indebted to the forbearance of creditors for a peaceful burial." But what, now, if some foreigner strange to the traditions of English liter- ature — some Japanese student, for example, or the New Zea- lander come before his time — were to go over the ascertained facts of Goldsmith's life, and were suddenly to announce to us, with the happy audacity of ignorance, that he, Goldsmith was a quite exceptionally fortunate person 1 " Why," he might say, " I find that in a country wheie the vast majority of people are bom to labour, Oliver Goldsmith was never asked to do a stroke of work towards the earning of his own living until he arrived at man's estate. All that was expected of him, as a 8 GOLDSMITH. youth and as a jroung man, was that he should equip himself fully for the battle of life. He was maintained at college until he had taken his degree. Again and again he was furnished with funds for further study and foreign travel ; and again and again he gambled his opportunities away. The constant kind- ness of his unde only made him the best begging-letter- writer the world has seen. In the midst of his debt and distress as a bookseller's drudge, he receives £400 for three nights* perform- ance of The Good-Natured Man; he immediately purchases chambers in Brick Court for £400 ; and forthwith begins to borrow as before. It is true that he died owing £2000, and was indebted to the forbearance of creditors for a peaceful burial ; but it appears that during the last seven years of his life he had been earning an annual income equivalent to £800 of English curr.ncy.* He was a man liberally and affection- ately brought up, who had many relatives and many friends, and who had the proud satisfaction — which has been denied to many men of genius — of knowing for years before he died that his merits as a wiiter had been recognised by the great bulk of his countrymen. And yet this strange English nation is inclined to suspect that it treated him rather badly ; and Christianity is attacked because it did not pay Goldsmith's milk score." Our Japanese friend may be exaggerating j but his position is after all fairly tenable. It may at least be looked at, before entering on the following brief rSsumS of the leading facts in Goldsmith's life, if only to restore our equanimity. For, naturally, it is not pleasant to think that any previous gen- eration, however neglectful of the claims of literary pei-sons (as compared with the claims of such wretched creatures as physicians, men of science, artists, engineers, and so forth) should so cruelly have ill-treated one whom we all love now. Tb« oaloulatlon li Lord Maoaalay'B : im hli BiographietU Bt»aif$. 80HOOL AND OOLLBOB. 9 This inheritanoe of ingratitude is more than wo can bear. la it true that Goldsmith was so harahljr dealt with bj those barbarian ancestors of ours 1 CHAPTER TI. SCHOOL AND COLLEGE. The Goldamiths were of English descent ; Goldsmith's father was a Protestant clergyman in a poor little village in the county ot Longford ; and when Oliver, one of several children, was bom in this village of Pallas, or Pallasmore, on the 10th November, 1728, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith was passing rich on £40 a year. But a couple of years later Mr. (Goldsmith succeeded to a more lucrative living ; and forthwith removed his family to the village of Lissoy, in the county of Westmeath. Here at once our interest in the story begins : is this Lissoy the sweet Auburn that we have known and loved since our childhood 1 Lord Macaulay, with a great deal of vehemence, avers that it is not ; that there never was any such hamlet as Auburn in Ireland ; that The Deserted Village is a hopelessly incongruous poem; and that Goldsmith, in combining a descrip- tion of a probably Kentisli village with a description of an Irish ejectment, "has produced something which nevt^r was, and never will be, seen in any part of the world." This criticism is ingenious and plausible, but it is unsound, for it happens to overlook one of thf radiciil facts of human nature — the maofni- fying delight of the mind in what is long remembered and remote. What was it that the imagination of Goldsmith in his life-long banishment, could not see when he lookeJ back to the 10 GOLDSMITH. home of his childhood, and his early friends, and the sports and occupations of his youth; Lissoy was no doubt a poor enough Irish village; and perhaps the farms were not too well culti- vated ; and perhaps the village preacher, who was so dear to all the country round, had to administer many a thrashing to a certain graceless son of his ; and perhaps Paddy Byrne was something of a pedant; and no doubt pigs ran over the "nicely sanded floor" of the inn; and no doubt the village statesmen occasionally indulged in a free fight. But do you think that was the Lissoy that Goldsmith thought of in his dreary lodgings in Fleet-Street courts ? No. It was the Lissoy where the vagrant lad had first seen the " primrose peep beneath the thorn;" where he had listened to the njysterious call of the bittern by the unfrequented river; it was a Lissoy still ringing with the glad laughter of young p<^ople in the twilight hours ; it was a Lissoy for ever beautiful, ind tender, and far away. The grown-up Goldsmith had not to go to any Kentish village for a model ; the familiar scenes of his youth, regarded with all the wistfulness and longing of an exile, became glorified enough. " If I go to the opera where Si^iiora Oolomba pours out all the mazes of melody," he writes to Mr. Hodson, " I sit and sigh for Lissoy's fire-side, and Johnny Armsti'ong^s Last Good Night from Peggy Golden." There was but little in the circumstances of Goldsmith's early life likely to fit him for, or to lead him into, a literary career ; in fact, he did not take to literature until he had tried pretty nearly everything else as a method of earning a living. If he was intended for anythii^, it was no douV)t his father's wish that he should enter the Church ; and he got such education as the poor rish clergyman — who was not a very provident person — couid afford. The child Goldsmith was first of all taught his alphabet at home, by a maid-servant, who was also a relation of the family ; then, at the age of six, he was sent to that village school which, with its profound and learned master. SCHOOL AND COLLEGE. 11 .. 1 he has made fu miliar to all of us ; and after that he was sent further a-field for his learning, being moved from this to the other boarding-school as the occasion demanded. Goldsmith's school-life could not have been altogether a pleasant time for him. We hear, indeed, of his being concerned in a good many frolics — robbing orchards, and the like ; and it is said that he attained proficiency in the game of fives. But a shy and sen- sitive lad like Goldsmith, who was eagerly desirous of being thought well of, and whose appearance only invited the thoughtless but cruel ridicule of his schoolmates, must have suffered a good deal. He was little, pitted with the small-pox, and awkward ; and the schoolboys are amazingly frank. He was not strong enough to thrash them into respect of him ; he had no big brother to become his champion ; his pocket-money was not lavish enough to enable him to buy over enemies or subsidise allies. In similar circumstance it has sometimes happened that a boy physically inferior to his companions has consoled himself by proving his mental {)rowess — has scored off his failure at cricket by the taking of prizes, and has revenged himself for a drubbing by writing a lampoon. But even this last resource was not open to Goldsmith. He was a dull boy ; " a stupid, heavy blockhead," is Dr. Strean's phrase in summing up the estimate formed of young Goldsmith by his contemporaries at school. Of course, as soon as he became famous, everybody began to hunt up recollections of his having said or done this or that, in order to prove that there were signs of the coniin"' greatness. People b^gan to remember that he had been sus- pected of scribbling verbes, which he burned. What schoolboy has not done the like ] We knovr how the biographera of great paintei-s point out to us that their hero early showed the bent of his mind by drawing the figures of animals on doors and walls with a piece of chalk ; as to which it may be observed that, if every schoolboy who scribbled verses and sketched in 12 OOLDSlinH. chalk on a briok wall, were to grow up a geniiis, poems and pictures would be plentiful enough. However, there is the apparently authenticated anecdote of young Goldsmith's turn- ing the tables on the tiddler at his uncle's dancing- party. The fiddler, struck by the odd look of the boy who was capering about the room, called out "^sop!" whereupon Goldsmith is said to have instantly replied, " Onr herald hath proclaimed this saying, See i^op dancing and his monkey playing I " . But even if this story l)e true, it is worth nothing as an angary; for quickness of repartee was precisely the accomplishment which the adult Goldsmith conspicuously lacked. Put a pen into his hand, and shut him in a room ; then he was master of the situation — nothing could be more incisive, polished, and easy than his playful sarcasm. But in society any fool could get the better of him by a sudden question followed by a horse- laugh. All through his life — even after he had become one of the most famous of living writers — Goldsmith suffered from want of self-confidence. He was too ai)xious to please. In his eager acquiescence, he would blunder into any trap that was laid for him. A grain or two of the stolid self-sufiiciency of the blockheads who laughed at him would not only have improved his character, but would have considerable added to the happiness of his life. As a natural consequence of this timidity, Goldsmith, when opportunity served, assumed airs of magnificent importance. Every one knows the story of the mistake on which iShe Stoops to Conquer is founded. Getting free at last from all the turmoil, and anxieties, and mortifications of school-life, and returning home on a lent hack, the released schoolboy is feeling very grand indeed. He is now sixteen, would fain pass for a man, and has a whole golden guinea in his pocket. And so he takes the journey very leisurely until, getting benighted in a SCHOOL AND OOLLKOB. 13 certain Tillage, he ask Ihe way to the " best house," and is directed by a facetious person to the house of the squire. The squire by good luck falls in with the joke ; and then we have a very pretty comedy indeed — ^the impecunious schoolboy playing the part of a fine gentleman on the strength of his solitary guinea, ordering a bottle of wine after his supper, and inviting his landlord and his landloixi's wife and daughter to join him in the supper-room. The ocntrast, in She Stoops to Conqtwry between Harlow's embarrassed diffidence on certain occasions and his audacious effrontery on others, found many a parallel in the incidents of Goldsmith's own life ; and it is not impro- bable that the writer of the comedy was thinking of some of his own exper"T»ces, when he made Miss Hardcastle say to her timid suitor: ''A want of courage upon some occasions assumes the appearance of ignorance, and betrays us when we most want to excel." It was, perhaps, just as well that the supper, and bottle of wine, and lodging at Squire Featherston's had not to be paid for out of the schoolboy's guinea ; for young Goldsmith was now on his way to college, and the funds at the disposal of the Goldsmith family were not over abundant. Goldsmith's sister having married the son of a well-to-do man, her fietther con- sidered it a point of honour that she should have a dowry : and in giving her a sum of £400 he so crippled the means oi the family, that Goldsmith had to be sent to college not as a pensioner but as a sizar. It appears that the young gentleman's pride revolted against this proposal ; and that he was won over to consent only by the persuasion of his uncle Contarine, who himself had been a sizar. So Goldsmith, now in his eighteenth year, went to Dublin ; managed somehow or other — though he was the last in the list — to pass the necessary examination ; and entered upon his college career (1745). How he lived, and what he learned, at Trinity College, are both largely matters of conjecture ; the chief features of such 4,', t^i u GOLDSMITH. record as we have are the various means of raising a little money to which the poor sizar had to resort; a oontinuul quarrelling with his tutor, an ill-conditioned brute, who baited Goldsmith and occasionally beat him; and a chance frolic when funds were forthcoming. It was while he was at Tririty ^College that his father died ; so that Goldsmith was rendered more than ever dependent on the kindness of his uncle Con- taririe, who throughout seems to have taken much interest in his odd, ung linly nephew. A loan from a friend or a visit to the pawnbroker tided over the severer difficulties ; and then from time to time the writing of street-ballads, for which he got five shillings a-piece at a certain repository, came in to help. It was a happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth sort of exist- ence, involving a good deal of hardship and humiliation, but having its frolics and gaieties notwithstanding. One of these was pretty near to putting an end to his collegiate career altogether. He had, smarting under a public admonition for having been concerned in a riot, taken seriously to his studies and had competed for a scholarship. He missed the scholar- ship, but gained an exhibition of the value of thirty shillings; whereupon he collected a number of friends of both sexes in his rooms, and proceeded to have high jinks there. In the midst of the dancing and uproar, in comes his tutor, in such a passion that he knocks Goldsmith down. This insult, received before his friends, was too much for the unlucky sizar, who, the very next day, sold his books, ran away from college, and ultimately, after having been on the verge of starvation once or twice, made his way to Lissoy. Here his brother got hold of him ; pei-suaded him to go back ; and the escapade was con- doned somehow. Goldsmith remained at Trinity College until he took his degree (1749). He was again lowest in the list ; but still he had passed ; and he must have learned something. He was now twenty-one, with all the world before him; and the question was as to how he was to employ such knowledge as he had acquired IDLENESS, AND FOREIGN TRATSL. Ifi CHAPTER IIL IDLKNESS, AND FOREION TRAVEl- But Goldsmith was not in any hurry to acquii e either wealtli or fame. He had a happy knack of enjoying the present hour —especially when there were one or two boon companions with him, and a pack of cards to be found; and, after his return to his mother's house, he appears to have entered upon the business of idleness with much philosophical satisfaction. If he was not quite such an unlettered clown as he has de- scribed in Tony Lumpkin, he had at least all Tony Lumpkin's high spirits and love of joking and idling ; and he was sur- rounded at the ale-house by just such a company of admirers as used to meet at the famous Three Pigeons. Sometimes he helped in his brother's echool ; sometimes he went eirands for his mother; occasionally he would sit and meditatively play the flute — for the iay was to be passed somehow ; then in the evening came the assemblage in Conway's inn, with the glass, and the pipe, and the cards, and the uproarious jest or song. " But Scripture saith an ending to all fine things must be," and the friends of this jovial young " buckeen" began to tire of his idleness and his recurrent visits. They gave him hints that he might set about doing something to provide himself with a living ; and the first thing they thought of was that he should go into the Church — perhaps as a sort of purification-house after George Conway's inn. Accordingly Goldsmith, who ap- pears to have been a most good-natured and compliant youth, did make application to the Bishop of Elphin. There is some doubt about the precise reasons which induce! the Bishop to decline Goldsmith's application, but at any rate the Church was denied the aid nf the young man's eloquence and erudition. 16 aOLDSmTH. -/ / V Then he tried teacliing, and through the good offices of his iinole he obtained a tutorship which he held for a considemhle time — long enough, indeed^ to enable him to amass a sum of thirty pounds. When he quarrelled with his patron, and once more **took the world for his pillow," as the Gaflic stories say, he had this sum in his pocket and was possessed of a good horse. He started away from Ballymahon, where his mother was now living, with some vague notion of making his fortune as casual circumstance might direct. The expedition oame to a premature end ; and he returned witliout the money, and on the back of a wretched animal, telling his mother a cock- and-bull story of the most amusing simplicity. " If Uncle Contarine believed those letters," says Mr. Thackeray, " — if Oliver's mother believed that story which the youth related of his going to Cork, with the purpose of embarking for America ; of his having paid his passage money, and having sent his kit on board ; of the anonymous captain sailing away with Oliver's valuable luggage, in a nameless ship, never to return ; if Uncle Contarine and the mother at Ballymahon believed his stories, they must have been a very simple pair; as it was a very simple rogue indeed who cheated them. Indeed, if any one is anxious to fill up this hiatus in Goldsmith's life, the best thing he can do is to discard Goldsmith's suspicious record of his adventures, and put in its place the faithful record of the adventures of Mr. Barry Lyndon, when that modest youth left his mother's house and rode to Dublin, with a certain number of guineas in his pocket. Biit whether Uncle Contarine believed the story or no, he was ready to give the young gentleman another chance ; and this time it was the legal . profession that was chosen. Goldsmith got fifty pounds from his uncle, and reached Dublin. In a remarkably brief space of time he had gambled away the fifty pounds, and was on his way back to Ballymahon, where his mother's reception of him rDLEVISS, AND rORXION TRATKL. 17 was not very cordial^ though his uncle forgave him, and was once more ready to start him in life. But in what direction 1 ^ Teaching, the Church, and the law had lost their attractions for him. Well, this time it yrtm medicine. In fact, any sort of project was capable of drawing forth the good old uncle's, bounty. The funds were again '.rthcoraing; Goldsmith started for Edinburgh, and now (1752) saw Ireland for the last time. ' He lived, and he informed his uncle that he studied in Edinburgh for a year and a half ; at the end of which time it appeared to him that his knowledge of medicine would be much improved by foreign travel. There was Albinus, for example, " the great professor of Leyden," as he wrote to the credulous uncle, from whom he would doubtless learn much. When, having got another twenty pounds for travelling expenses, he did reach Ley den (1754), he mentioned Qaubius, the chemical professor. Gaubius is also a good name. That his intercourse with these learned persons, and the serious nature of his studies, were not incompatible with a little light relaxation in the way of gambling is not impossible. On one occasion, it is said, he was so lucky that he came to a fellow- student with his pockets full of money ; and was induced to resolve never to play again — a resolution broken about as soon as made. Of course he lost all his winnings, and more ; and had to borrow a trifling sum to get himself out of the place. Then an incident occurs which is highly characteristic of the better side of Goldsmith's nature. He had just got this money, and was about to leave Leyden, when, as Mr. Forster writes, *' he passed a florist's garden on his return, and seeing some rare and high-priced flower, which his uncle Cont>arine, an enthusiast of such things, had often spoken and been in search of, he ran in without other thought than of immediate pleasure to his kindest friend, bought a parcel uf the roots, and sent them off to Ireland." He had a guinea in his pocket when he started on the grand tour. 2 ''-•.:-■<.:. '^ IS OOtDlMITH. Hi lit Of thii notable period in Goldsmith's life (1755-6) very little is known, though a good deal has been guesHed. A minute record of all the personal adventures that befell the wayfarer as he trudged from country to country, a diary of the odd Jiuraours and fancies that must have occurred to him in his solitary pilgrimages, would be of quite inestimable value ; but even the letters that Goldsmith wrote home from time t«o tLmo are lost ; while TJis Traveller consists chiefly of a series of philosophical reflections on the government of various states, more likely to have engaged the attention of a Fleet-street author, living in an atmosphere of books, than to have occupied the mind of a tramp anxious about his supper and his night's lodging. Boswell says he " disputed" his way through Europe. It is much more probable that he begged his way through Europe. The romantic version, which has been made the subject of many a charming picture, is that he was enter- tained by the peasantry whom he had delighted with his playing on the flute. It is quite probable that Goldsmith, whose imagin.;tion had been captivated by the story of how Baron von Holberg had as a young man really passed through France, Germany, and Holland in this Orpheus-like manner, may have put a flute in his pocket when he left Leyden; but it is far from safe to assume, as is generally done, that Gold- smith was himself the hero of the adventures described in Chapter xx. of the Vioar of Wakefield. It is the more to be regretted that we have no authentic record of these devious wanderings, that by this time Goldsmith had acquired, as is shown in other letters, a polished, easy, and gract-ful style, with a very considerable faculty of humorous observation. Those ingenious lettera to his uncle (they usually included a little hint, about money) were, in fact, a trifle too literary both in substance and in form ; we could even now, looking at them with a pardonable curiosity, have spared a little of their formal antithesis for some more precise information about the writer and his surroundings. / IDLBNEP8, AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. tf The strangest thing about this strange journey all over Europe was the failure of Goldsmith to pick up even a com. mon and ordinary acquaintance with the familiar facts of natural history. The ignorance on this point of the author of the Animated Nature was a constant subject of jest among Goldsmith's friends. They declared he could not tell the differ- ence between any two sorts of barndoor fowl until he saw them cooked and on the table. But it may be said prematurely here that, even when he is wrong as to his facts or hia sweep- ing generalisations, one is inclined to forgive him on account of the quaint gracefulness and point of his style. When Mr. Burchell says, "This rule seems to extend even to other animals ; the little vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, whilst those endowed with strengtli and power are generous, brave, and g'entle," we scarcely stop to reflect that the merlin, which is not much bigger than a thrush, has an extraordinary courage and spirit, while the lion, if all stories be true, is unless when goaded by hunger, an abject skulker. Elsewhere, indeed; in the Animated Nature, Gold- smith gives credit to the smaller birds for a good deal of valour, and then goes on to say, with a charming freedom, — " But their contentions are sometimes of a gentler nature. Two male birds shall strive in song till, after a long struggle, the loudest shall entirely silence the other. During these contentioi. the female sits an attentive silent auditor, and often rewards the loudest songster with her company during the season." Yet even this description of the battle of the bards, with the queen of love as arbiter, is scarcely so amusing as his happy-go-lucky notions with regard to the variability of species. The philosopher, flute in hand, who went wandering from the canals of Holland to the ice- ribbed falls of the Rhine, may have heard from time to time that contest between singing-birds which he so imaginatively describes; but it was clearly the Fleet Street author, living among books, who arrived at the conclusion that intermarriage m so OOLDSMITR. / of Bpeoies is ooinmon nmong small birds and rare amon;;; big birdH. Quoting some iinoH of Addiuoti'H which expresa thu belief that birds are a virtuous raoe — that the nightingale, for example, does not covet the wife of his neighbour, the black- bird — Goldsmith goes on to observe, — " But whatever may be the poet's opinion, the probability is against this fidelity among the Rinaller tenants of the grove. Tiie great birds are much more true to their species than these ; and, of conse- quence, the varieties among them are more few. Of the ostrich, the cassowary, and tlie eagle, there are but few species; and no arts that man can use could probably induce them to mix with each other." What he did bring back from his foreign travels was a medical degree. Where he got it, and how he got it, are alike matters of pure conjecture; but it is extremely improl)able that — whatever he might have been willing to write home from Padua or Lou vain, in order to coax another remittance from his Irish friends — he would afterwards, in the presence of such men as Johnson, Bnrke, and Reynolds^ wear sham honours. It is much more probable that, on bis hnding those supplies from Ireland running ominously short, the philosophic vagabond determined to prove to his correspondents that he was really at work somewhere, instead of merely idling away his time, begging or borrowing the wherewithal to pass him from town to town. That he did see something of the foreign univei-sities is evident from his own writings ; they are touches of description here and there which he could not well have got from books. With this degree, and with such book-learning and such knowledge of nature and human nature as he had chosen or managed to pick up during all those years, he was now called upon to begin life for himself. The Irish supplies stopped altogether. His letters were left unanswered. And 80 Goldsmith somehow or other got back to London (February 1, 1756), and had to cast about for some way of earning hii daily bread. UABLY STaUUOUIi. — UA01&-WUI TING. 21 CHAPTER IV. ■I EAKLT 8TRUOQLE8. — IIACK-WRITINO. Hkre ensued a very dark period in his life. He was alone in London, without friends, without money, without introduc- tions ; his appearance was the reverse of prepossessing ; and, even des})ite that medical degree and his acqiiaintaiice with the learned Albinus and the learned Gaubius, he had practi- oally nothing of any value to offer for sale in the great labour- market of the world. How he managed to live at all is a mystery : it is certain that he must have endured a great deal of want; and one may well sympathise with so gentle and sensitive a creature reduced to such straits, without inquiring too curiously into the causes of his misfortunes. If, on the one hand, we cannot accuse society, or Christianity, or the English government of injustice and cruelty because Goldsmith had gambled away his chances and was now called on to pay the penalty, on the other hand, we had bett(;r, before blaming Goldi^mith himself, inquire into the origin of those defects of charai^ter which produceldsmith's best prose work. We find throughout his trick of antithesis; but here it is forced and formal, whereas afterwards he lent to this habit of writing the subtle sur- prise of epigram. They have the true manner of authority, nevertheless. He says of Home's Douglas — "Those parts of nature, and that rural simplicity with which the author was, perhaps, best acquainted, are not unhappily described ; and hence we are led to conjecture, that a more universal knowledge of nature will probably increase his powers of description." Tf the author had written otherwise, he would have written differently ; had he known more, he would not have been so ignorant ; the tragedy is a tragedy, but why did not the author make it a comedy 1 - this sort of criticism has been heard of even in our own day. However, Goldsmith pounded away at his newly-found work, under the eye of the exacting bookseller and his learned wife. We find him dealing with Scandinavian (hei-e called Celtic) mythology, though he does not adventure on much comment of hia own; then he^ engages Smollett's History of England^ but mostly in the way ■ "■ ■ • 'i^' it: EABLT 8TBU0GLES. — HAOX-WRITWO. V )f Id »t Id 18 Ih e g k of extract ; anon we find him reviewing A Jcyumal of Eight Days* Journey y by Jonas Han way, of whom Johnson SJiid that he made some reputation by travelling abroad, and lost it all by travelling at home. Then again we find him writing a dis- quisition on Son 9 Enquiries concerning the First Inhabitants^ Language^ Religion^ Learning, and Letters of Europe, by a Mr. Wise, who, along with his critic, appears to have got into hopeless confusion in believing Basque and Armorican to be the remains of the same ancient language. The last phitise of a note appended to this review by Goldsmith probably indi- cates his own humble estimate of his work at this time. '* It is more our business," he says, " to exhibit the opinions of the learned than to controvert them." In fact he was employed to boil down books for people who did not wish to spend more on literature than the price of a magazine. Though be was new to the trade, it is probable he did it as well as any other. At the end of five months, Goldsmith and Griffiths quar-/- relied and separated. Giiffitlis said Goldsmith was idle ; Gold- smith said Griffiths was impertinent; probably the editorial supervision exercised by Mrs. Griffiths had something to do with the dire contention. From Paternoster Row Goldsmith removed to a garret in Fleet Street; had his letters addressed to a coifee house ; and apparently supported himself by further hack-work, his connection with Griffiths not being quite severed. Then he drifted back to Peckham again ; and was once more installed as usher. Dr. Milner being in especial want of an assistant at this time. Goldsmith's lingering about the gates of literature had not inspired him with any great ambition to enter the enchanted land. But at the same time he thought he saw in literature a means by which a little ready money might be made, in order to help him on to something more definite and substantial ; and this goal was now put before him by Dr. Milner, in the shape of a medical appointment on the Ooromandel coast. It was in the hope of obtaining this 11 QOLDSMITR. it ;■ I m '•.it appointment, that he set about composing that JS^iquwy into tJie Present State of Polite Learning in Europe, which is now interesLing to us as the first of his more ambitious works. As the book grew under his hands, he began to cast about for subscribers; and from the Fleet-Street coffee-house — be had again left the Peckham school — he addressed to his friends and relatives a Series of letters of the most chartning humour, which might have drawn subscriptions from a millstone. To his brother-in-law, Mr. Hodson, he sent a glowing account ol the great fortune in store for him on the Coromandel coast. "The salary is but trifling," he writes, "namely JBIOO per annum, but the other advantages, if a person be prudent, are considerable. The practice of the place, if I am rightly informed, generally amounts to not less than jBl,000 per annum, for which the appointed physician has an exclusive privilege. This, with the advantages resulting from trade, and the high interest which money bears, viz., £20 per cent., are the inducements which persuade me to undergo the fatigues of sea, the dangers of war, and the still greater dangers of the climate ; which induce me to leave a place where I am every day gaining friends and esteem, and where I might enjoy all the conveniences of life." The surprising part of this episode in Goldsmith's life is that he did really receive the appointment in fact he was called upon to pay £10 for the appoint nient-v, arrant. In this emer- gency h*^ went to the proprietor of the Critical JRevlew^ the rival of the Monthly, and obtained some money for certain -. anonymous work which need not be mentioned in detail here. ' He also moved into another garret, this time in Green- Arbour Court, Fleet Street, in a wilderness of slums. The Coromandel project, however, on which so many hopes had been built, fell through. No explanation of the collapse could be got from either Goldsmith himself, or from Dr. Milner. Mr. Forster suggests that Goldsmith's inability to raise money for his outfit %■' BEGINNING OP AUTHORSHIP THE BSB. 29 may have been made the excuse for transferring the appoint- ment to another ; and that is probable enough ; but it is also probable that the need for such an excuse was based on the iliscovery that Goldsjuith was not properly qualitied for the post. And thi3 seems the more likely, that Goldsmith immedi- ately afterwards resolved to challenge examination at Surgeons' Hall. He undertook to write four articles for the Monthly Review ; Griffiths became surety to a tailor for a fine suit of clothes: and thus t»q nipped, Goldsmith presented himself at Surgeon*s Hall. He only wanted to be passed as hospital mate ; but even that modest ambition was unfulfilled. He was found not qualified ; and returned, with his fine clothes, 'o his Fleet-Street den. He was now thirty years of age (1758); and bad found no definite occupation in the world. revy all lat ler- Ithe tain 3re. lour ]del ifell km ber Ifit CHAPTER V. BEGINNING OP AUTHORSHIP. — THE BGE. During the period that now ensued, and amid much quar- relling with Griffiths and hack-writing for the Critical Review, Goldsmith managed to get his Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe completed ; and it is from the publication of that work, on the 2nd of April, 1759, that we may date the beginning of Goldsmith's career as an author. The book was published anonymously; but Goldsmith was not at all anxious to disclaim the parentage of his first-born ; and in Grub Street and its environs, at least, the authorship of the book was no secret. Moreover there was that in it which was likely to provoke the literary tribe to plenty of fierce talking. 30 GOLDSMITH. 11 The Enquiry is neitlier more nor less than an endeavour to prove that criticism has lu all ages been the deadly enemy of ait and literature ; coupled with an appf.tal to authoi-s to dimw their inspiration from nature rather than from books, and varied here and there by a gentle sigh over the loss of that patronage, in the sunshine of which men of genius were wont to bask. Goldsmith, not having been an author himself, could not have suffered much at the hands of the critics ; so that it is not to be supposed that personal feeling dictated this fierce onslaught on the whole tribe of critics, compilers, and com- mentators. They are represented to us as rank weeds, growing up to choke all manifestations of true art. " Ancient learning," we ai*e told at the outset, " may be distinguished into three periods : its commencement, or the age of poets ; its maturity, or the age of philosophers; and its decline, or the age of critics." Then our guide carries us into the dark ages ; and, with lantern in hand, shows us the creatures swarming there in the sluggish pools — " commentators, compilers, polemic divines, and intricate metaphysicians." We come to Italy : look at the affectations with which the Virtuosi and Filosofi have enchained the free spirit of poetry." "Poetry is no longer among them an imitation of what we see, but of what a visionary might wish. The zephyr breathes the most exquisite perfume; the trees wear eternal verdure; fawns, and dryads, and hamadryads, stand ready to fan the sultry shepherdess, who has forgot, indeed, the prettiness with which G . wini's shepherdesses have been reproached, but is so simple and innocent as oftei to have no meaning. Happy country, where the pastoral age begins to revive! — where the wits even of Rome are united into a rural group of nymphs and swains, under the appellation of modern Arcadians! — where in the midst of porticoes, processions, cavalcades, abb^s turned shep- herds and shepherdesses without sheep indulge their innocent divertime/Ui/'* »8, Ire lof le BEOINNINO OF AUTHORSHIP. — THE BEE. 31 In Germany the ponderous volumrs of the comniontators next come in for aniraailvereion ; and here we find an epigram, the quaint simplicity of v/hich is peculiarly characteristic of Goldsmith. ** Were angels to write books," he remarks, " they never would write folios." But Germany gets credit for the money spent by her potentates on learned institutions ; and it is perhaps England that is delicately hinted at in these words : " Had the fourth part of the immense sum above-mentioned been given in projjer rewards to genius, in some neighbouring countries, it would have rendered the name of the donor im- mortal, and added to the real interests of society." Indeed, when we come to England, we find that men of letters are in a bad way, owing to the prevalence of critics, the tyranny of booksellers, and the absence of patrons. " The author, when unpatronized by the great, has naturally recourse to the book- seller. There cannot perhaps be imagined a combination more ])rejudicial to taste than this. It is the interest of the one to allow as little for writing, and of the other to write as much as [.ossible. Accordingly, tedious compilations and periodical magazines are the result of their joint endeavours. In these circumstances the author bids adieu to fame, writes for bread, and for that only. Imagination is seldom called ir He sits down to address the venal muse with the most phlegmatic apathy; and, as we are told of the Russian, courts his mistress by falling asleep in her lap. His reputation never spreads in a wider circle jLhan that of the trade, who generally value him, not for the fineness of his compositions, but the quantity he works off in a given time. " A long habit of writing for bread thus turns the ambition of every author at last into avarice. He finds that he has written many years, that the public are scarcely acquainted even with his name ; he des|>airs of applause, and turns to profit, which invites him. He finds that money procures all those advantages, that respect, and that ease which he vainly •« 32 GOLDSMITH. II 111'- ll I ex})ected from fame. Thus the man who, under ohe protection of the great, might have done honour to humanity, when only patronized by the bookseller, becomes a thing little superior to the fellow who works at the piess." Nor was he afraid to attack the critics of his own day, though he knew that the two Reviews for which he had recently been writing would have something to say about his own Enquiry. This is how he difiposea of the Critical and the Montldy : — " We have two literary Reviews in London, with critical newspapers and magazines without number. The com- pilers of these resemble the commoners of Rome ; they are all for levelling pro|)erty, not by increasing their own, but by diminishing that of others. The man who has any good-nature in his disposition must, however, be somewhat displeased to see distinguished reputations often the sport of ignorance, — to see, by one false pleasantry, the future peace of a worthy man's life disturbed, and this only because he has unsuccessfully at- tempted to instruct or amuse us. Though ill-nature is far from being wit, yet it is generally laughed at as such. The critic enjoys the triumph, and ascribes to his parts what is only due to his eifronteiy. I fire with indignation, when I see persons wholly destitute of education and genius indent to the press, and thus turn book-makers, adding to the sin of criticism the sin of ignorance also ; whose trade is a bad one, and who are bad workmen in the trade." Indeed there was a good deal of random hitting in the Enquiry, which was sure to provoke resentment. Why, for example, should he have gone out of his way to insult the highly respectable class of people who excel in mathematical studies] "This seems a science," he observes, ** to which the meanest intellects are equal. I forget who it is that says ' All men might understand mathematics if they would.'" There was also in the first edition of the Enquiry a somewhat ungenerous attack on stage-managers, actors, actresses, and theatrical things in general ; but this was BXOINNIMG OF AUTHORdHIP. — TUB BBF. 81 afterwards wisely excised. It is not to be wondered at that, on the whole, the Enquiry should have been severely handled in certain quarters. Smollett, who reviewed it in the Critical RevieWy appeai-s to have kept his temper pretty well for a Scotchman j but Kenrick, a hack employed by Griffiths to maltreat the book in the Monthly Review, flourished his bludgeon in a brave manner. The course personalities and malevolent insinuations of this bully no doubt hurt Goldsmith considerably; but, as we look at them now, they are only remarkable for their dullness. If Griffiths had had another Goldsmith to reply to Goldsmith, the retort would have been better worth reading : one can imagine the playful sarcasm that would have been dealt out to this new writer, who, in the very act of protesting against criticism, proclaimed himself a critic. But Goldsmiths are not always to be had when wanted ; while Kenricks can be bought at any moment for a guinea or two a head. €k>ldsmith had not chosen literature as the occupation of his life; he had only fallen back on it, when other projects failed. But it is quite possible that now, as he began to take up some slight position as an author, the old ambition of distinguishing himself — which had flickered before his imagination from time to time — began to entei into his calculations along with the more pressing business of earning a livelihood. And he was soon to have an opportunity of appealing to a wider public than could have been expected for that erudite treatise on the arts of Europe. Mr. Wilkie, a bookseller in St. Paul's Church yard, proposed to start a weekly magazine, price threepence, to contain essays, short stories, letters on the topics of the day, and so forti*, more or less after the manner of the Spectator. He asked Goldsmith to become sole contributor. Here, indeed, was a verjr good opening; for, although there were many magazines in the field, the public had just then a fancy for literature in small doses; while Goldsmith, in entering into 3 lb 34 OOLDSMITB. m iff the competition, wotild not be hampered by the dullness of coilaboi'atcurB. He closed with Wilkie's offer; and on the 6th of October, 1759, appeared the first number of the Bm. For us now there is a curious autobioa;rMp]iical interest in the opening sentences of the fiinst number; but surely even the public of the day must have imagined that the new writer who was now addressing them, was not to be confounded with the common herd of magazine-hacks. What could be more de- lightful than this odd mixture of modesty, humour, and an anxious desire to please 1 — "There is not, perhaps, a more whimsically dismal figure in nature than a man of real modesty, who assumes an air of impudence — who, while his heart beats with anxiety, studies ease and affects good-humour. In this situation, however, a periodical writer often finds himself upon his first attempt to address the public in form. All his power of pleasing is damped by solicitude, and his cheerfulness dashed with apprehension. Impressed with the terrors of the tribunal before which he is going to appear, his natural humour turns to pertness, and for real wit he is obliged to substitute vivacity. His first publication draws a crowd; they part dissatisfied; and the author, never more to be indulged with a favourable hearing, is left to condemn the indelicacy of his own address or their want of discernment. For my paii/, as I was never dis- tinguished for addre js, and have often even blundered in making my bow, such bodings as these had like to have totally repressed my ambition. I was at a loss whether to give the public specious promises, or give none ; whether to be merry or sad on this solemn occasion. If I should decline all merit, it was too probable the hasty reader might have taken me at my word. If, on the other hand, like labourers in the maga- zine trade, I had, with modest impudence, humbly presumed to promise an epitome of all the good things that ever were said or written, this might have disgusted those readers I most desire to please. Had I been merry, I might have been cen- BEOINNINO OF AUTHORSHIP. — THE BBI. 8ft lave Biued as vastly lov ; and had I been soiTowfiil I might hi beon left to mourn in solitude and silence ; in short, whiohc\ er way I turned, nothing presented but prospects of terror, despair, chandlera' shops, and waste paper." It is just possible that if Goldamith had kept to this vein of familiar cau^erie, the public might in time have been attracted by its quaintness. But no doubt Mr. Wilkio would hp.ve stared aghast ; and so we find Goldsmith, as soon as his intro- ductory bow is made, setting seriously about the business of magazine-makir.g. Very soon, however, both Mr. Wilkie and his editor perceived that the public had not been taken by their venture. The chief cause of the failure, as it appears to any one who looks ovei* the magazine now, would seem to be the lack of any definite purpose. There was no marked feature to arrest public attention, while many things were discarded on which the popularity of other periodicals had been based There was no scandal to appeal to the key-hole and back door element in human nature ; there were no I'bels and gross personalities to delight the mean and envious ; there were no fine airs of fashion to charm millinera anxiotis to know how the great talked, and posed, and drcvssed j and there was no solemn and pompous erudition to impress the minds of those serious and sensible people who buy literature as they buy butter, by its weight. At the beginning of No. IV. he admits that the new magazine has not been a success ; and, in doing so, returns to that vein of whimsical, personal humour with which he had started : " Were I to measure the merit of my present undertaking by its success or the rapidity of its sale, I might be led to form conclusions by no means favourable to the pride of an author. Should I estimate my fame by its extent, every newspaper and magazine would leave me far behind. Their fame is diffused in a very wide circle — that of some as fistr as Islington, and some yet further still; while mine, I sincerely believe, has hardly travelled beyond the I 4 X ti 1 i i lif se aOLDSHITH. Mtiiiul of Bow Roll ; and, while the workfi *">( others fly like imj)iinoii(Ml HWMiiH, I find my own move as heavily as a new- phickod gooHt>. iSiill, however, I have as much pride as they who have ton times as many readei-s. It is impossible to rej)oat all the agreeable doluaions in which a disappointed Hulhor is Mp( to find comfort. I conclude, that what ray repu- tation wants in extent is made np by its solidity. Minus JHvat gloria lata qiiam magna. I have great satisfaction in considering the delicacy and tliscernment of those readers I have, and in ascribing my want of popularity to the ignorance or inattention of those I have not. All the world may forsake an author, but vanity will never foi*sake him. Yet, notwith- stsniding so sincere a confession. I was once induced to show n»y indignation agjiinst the public, by discontinuing my ende^i- voui-s to please ; and was bravely resolved, like Rideigh, to vex them by burning my manuscri}it in a passion. Upon •tvollectioii. however, I considered w^liat set or body of people would be tlispleuseenetaotoi's of siviety. But even as he confesses the failure of his nevr mag;\2ine, he seems determined to show the public what sort of writer this is, whom ius yet they have not regarded tvt>iking the oocu|>ant of the lonely garret in the middle of tiie nighk The |M:esent tense, whicli he seldom used — and the abuse BBOINNINO OF AUTH0B8HIP. — THE BBB. 87 of which is one of the detestable vices of modern literature — adds to the mysterious solemnity of the recital : " The clock has just struck two, the expiring taper rises and sinks in the socket, the watchman forgets the hour in slumber, the laborious and the happy are at rest, and nothing wakes but meditation, guilt, revelry, and despair. The drunkard once more fills the destroying bowl, the robber walks his midnight round, and the suicide lifts his guilty arm against his own sacred person. " Let me no longer waste the night over the page of antiquity or the sallies of contemporary genius, but pursue the solitary walk, where Vanity, ever changing, but a few hours past walked before me — where she kept up the pageant, and now, like a fro ward child — seems hushed with their own impor- tunities. " What a gloom hangs al' around ! The dying lamp feebly emits a yellow gleam ; no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. All the bustle of human pride is forgotten ; an hour like this may well display the emptiness of human vanitv. " There will come a time, when this temporary solitude may be made continual, and the city itself, like its inhabitants, fade away, and leave a desert in its room. " What cities, as great as this, have once triumphed in exist- ence, had their victoiies as great, joy as just and as unbounded; and, with short-sighted presumption, promised themselves im- mortality 1 Posterity can hardly ti-ace the situation of some j the sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others ; and, as he beholds, he learns wisdom, and feels the transience of every subiunary possession. " * Here,* he cries, ' stood their citadel, now grown over with weeds ; there their senate-house, but now the haant of every noxious reptile : temples and theatres stood here, now it- I : i )nly 38 Q«LD8MITH. undistinguished heap of ruin. They are fallen, for luxury and avarice first made them feeble. The rewards of the state were conferred on amusing, and not on useful, merabers of society. Their riches and opulence invited the invaders, who, though at first repulsed, returned again, conquered by perse- verance, and at last swept the defendants into undistinguished destruction.* *' CHAPTER VI. PERSONAL TRAITS. - The foregoing extracts will sufficiently show what were the chief characteristics of Goldsmith's writing at this time — the grace and ease of style, a gentle and sometimes pathetic thoughtfulnebo, and, above all, when he speaks in the first person, a delightful vein of humorous self-disclosure. More- over, these qualities, if they were not immediately profitable to the booksellers, were beginning to gain for him the re( oj:^- nition of some of the well-known men of the day. Fdiey, afterwards Bishop of Dromore, had made his way to the miserable garret of the poor author. Smollett, whose novels Goldsmith preferred to his History, was anxious to secure his services as a contributor to the forthcoming British Magazine. Burke had spoken of the pleasure given him by Goldsmith's review of the Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sub- lime and Beautiful. But, to crown all, the great Cham himself sought out this obscure author, who had on several occasions spoken with reverence and admiration of his work ; and so bf|;an what is perhaps the most interesting literary friendship PSB80NAL TRAITS. 39 on record. At what precise date Johnson first made Qold- smith's acquaintance, is not known ; Mr. Porster is right in assui^ing that they had met before the supper in Wine-Office Court, at which Mr. Percy was present. It is a thousand pities that Bos well had not by this time made his appearance in London. Johnson, Goldsmith, and jtll the rest of them are only ghosts until the pertinacious young laird of Auchinleck comes on the scene to give them colour, and life, and form. It is odd enough that the very rirst remarks of Goldsmith's which Boswell jotted down in his notebook, should refer to Johnson's systematic kindness towards the poor and wretched. '* He had increased my admiration of the goodness of Johnson's heart by incidental remarks in the course of conversation, such as, when I mentioned Mr. Levett, whom he entertained under his roof, * He is poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson'; and when I wondered that he was very kind to a man of whom I had heard a very bad cha?:^cter, * He is now become miserable, and that ensures the protection of Johnson.' " For the rest, Boswell was not well-disposed towards Gold- smith, whom he regarded with a jealousy equal to his admira- tion of Johnson ; but it is probable that his description of the personal appearance of the awkward and ungainly Irishman is in the main correct. And here also it may be said that Boswell's love of truth and accuracy compelled him to make this admission : "It has been generally circulated and believed that he (Goldsmith) was a mere fjol in conversation; but, in truth, this has been greatly exaggerated." On this exaggera- tion — seeing that the contributor to the British Magazine and the Piihlic Ledg&r was now becoming better known among his fellow authors — a word or two may fitly be said here. It pleased Goldsmith's contemporaries, who were not all of them celebrated for their ready wit, to regard him as a hopeless and incurable fool, who by some strange chaiice could produce 40 GOLDSMITH. V if i Iiteratur3, the merits of which he oould not himself understand. To Horace Walpole we owe the phrase which describes Gold- smith as an " inspired idiot." Innumerable stories are told of Goldsmith's blunders ; of his forced attempts to shine in con- versation ; of poor Poll talking nonsense, when all the world was wondering at the beauty of his writL^^. In one case we are told he was content to admit, when dictated to, that this, and not that, was what he really had meant in a particular phrase. Now there can be no question that Goldsmith, con- scious of his pitted face, his brogue, and his ungainly figure, was exceedingly nervous and sensitive in society, and was anxious, as such people mostly are, to cover his shyness by an appearance of ease, if not even of swagger; and there can be as little question that he occasionally did and said very awkward and blundering things. But our Japanese friend, whom we mentioned in our opening pages, looking through the record that is preserved to us of those blunders which are supposed to be most conclusive as to this aspect of Goldsmith's character, would certainly stare. " Good heavens," he would cry, " did men ever live who were so thick-headed as not to see the humour of this or that 'blunder*; or were they so beset with the notion that Goldsmith was only a fool, that they must needs be blind 1" Take one well-known instance. He goes to France with Mrs. Homeck and her two daughters, the latter very handsome young ladies. At Lille the two girls and Gold- smith are standing at the window of the hotel, overlooking the square in which are some soldiers; and naturally the beautiful young Englishwomen attract some attention. There- upon Goldsmith turns indignantly away, remarking that else- , where he also has his admirers. Now what surgical instrument was needed to get this harmless little joke into any sane person's head? Boswell may perhaps be pardoned for pre- tending to take the incident au UrievM; for as has just been said, in his profound adoration of Johnson, he was devoured by 1 FBB80VAL TRAITS. 41 jealousy of Goldsmith ; but that any other mortal should have failed to see what was meant by this little bit of humorous flattery is almost incredible. No wonder that one of the sisters afterwards referring to this " playful jest," should have expressed her astonishment at finding it put down as a proof of Goldsmith's envious disposition. But even after that disclaimer, we find Mr. Croker, as quoted by Mr. Forster, solemnly doubt- ing "whether the vexation so seriously exhibited by Goldsmith was real or assumed"! Of course this is an extreme case ; but there are others very similar. ** He affected," says Hawkins, "Johnson's style and manner of conversation, and when he had uttered, as he often would, a laboured sentence, so tumid as to be scarce intelligible, would ask if that was not truly Johnsonian 1** Is it not truly dismal to find such an utterance coming from a presumably reasonable human being) It is not to be wondered at that Goldsm^'th grew shy - and in some cases had to ward off the acquaintance of certain of his neighboui'S as being too intrusive — if he ran the risk of having his odd and grave humours so densely mistranslated. The fact is this, that Goldsmith was possessed of a very subtle quality of humour, which is at all times rare, but which is perhaps more frequently to be found in Irishmen than among other folks. It consists in the satire of the pretence and pomposities of others by means of a sort of exaggerated and playful self -depreciation. It is a most delicate and most delightful form of humour ; but it is very apt to be misconstrued by the dull. Who can doubt that Goldsmith was good-naturedly laughing at himself, his own plain face, his vanity, and his blunders, when he professed to be jealous of the admiration excited by the Miss Hornecks; when he gravely drew attention to the splendid colours of his coat ; or when he no less gravely informed a company of his friends that he had heard a very good story, but would not repeat it, because they would be sure to mif« the point of it t •u •It 42 GOLDSMITH. «■ I ,11 1 This vein of playful and sarcastic self-depreciation is continu' ally cropping up in his essay writing, as, for example, in the passage already quoted from No. IV. of the Bee : "I conclude, ^hat what my reputation wants in extent, is made up by its solidity. Minus juvat gloria lata qttam magna. I have great satisfaction in considering the delicacy and discernment of those readers I have, and in ascribing my want of popularity to the ignorance or inattention of those 1 have not." But here, no doubt, he remc^mbers that he is addressing the world at large, which contains many foolish persons ; and so, that the delicate raillery may not be mistaken, he immediately adds, '' All the world may foi'sake an author, but vanity will never forsake him." That he expected a quicker apprehension on the part of his intimates and acquaintances, and that he was frequently disappointed, seems pretty clear from those very stories of his " blunders." We may reasonably suspect, at all events, that Goldsmith was not quite so much of a fool as he looked ; and it is far from improbable that when the ungainly Iristhman va called in to make sport for the Philistines —and there were a good many Philistines in those days, if all stories be true — and when they imagined they had put him out of countenance, he was really standing aghast, and wondering how it could have pleased Providence to create such helpless stupidity. M CHAPTER VU. THE CITIZEN OP THE WORLD. — BEAU NASH. Meanwhile, to return to his literary work, the Citizen of the World had grown out of his contributions to the Fvhlio Ledger, a daily newspaper started by Mr. Newbery, another IT THS CITIZEN OF TH£ WORLD, — BBAU NASH. iS bookseller in St. Paul's Churchyard. Goldsmith was engaged to write for this paper two letters a week at a guinea a-piece ; and these letters were, after a short time (1760), written in the character of a Chinese who had come to study European civilisation. It may be noted that Goldsmith had in the Monthly Review, in mentioning Voltaire's memoirs of French writers, quoted a passage about Montesquieu's Lettrea Peraanes as follows : '^ It is written in imitation of the Sxameaa Lette^a of Du Freny and of the Turkish Spy ; but it is an imitation which shows what the originals should have been. The success their works met with was, for the most part, owing to the foreign air of their performances ; the success of the Pwaian Lettera arose from the delicacy of their satire. That satire which in the mouth of an Asiatic is poignant, would lose all its force when coming from an European." And it must cer- tainly be said that the charm of the strictures of the Citizen of the World lies wholly in their delicate satire, and not at all in any foreign air which the author may have tried to lend to these performances. The disguise is very apparent. In those garrulous, vivacious, whimsical, and sometimes serious papers. Lien Chi Altangi, writing to Fum Hoam in Pekin, does not so much describe the aspects of European civilisation which would naturally surprise a Chinese, as he expresses the dissatisfaction of a European with certain phases of the civilisation visible everywhere around him. It is not a Chinaman, but a Fleet- Street author by profession, who resents the competition of noble amateurs whose works — otherwise bitter pills enough — are gilded by their titles : "A nobleman has but to take a pen, ink, and paper, write away through three large volumes, and then sign his name to the title-page ; though the whole might have been before more disgusting than his own rent-roll, yet sit'ning 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 44 GOLDSMITH I :' the author t Does he keep a coach t Where lies his estate t What sort of a table does he keei> 1 If he happens to be poor and unqualified for such a scrutiny, he and his works sink into irremediaWe 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 })ale in the study of nature and himself His works may please upon the perusal, but his f)retension8 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 gentleman per- former, though the most wretched scraper alive, throws the audience into raptures. The fiddler, indeed, may in such a case console himself by thinking, that while the other goes off with all the praise, he runs away with all the money. But here the parallel drops ; for while the nobleman triumphs in unmerited applause, the author by profession steals off" with — nothing." At the same time it must be allowed that the utterance of these strictures through the mouth of a Chinese admits of a certain nalvet4, which on occasion heightens the sarcasm. Lien Chi accompanies the Man in Black to a theatre to see an English play. Here is part of the performancf^ : — " I was going to second his remarks, when my attention was engrossed by a new object ; a man came in balancing a straw upon his nose, and the audience were clapping their hands in all the raptures of applause. * To what purpose,* cried I, * does this unmeaning figure make his appearance) is he a part of the plotl' — 'Unmeaning do you call him?* replied my friend in black; 'this is one of the most important characters of the whole play; nothing pleases the people more than seeing a straw balanced : there is a great deal of meaning in a straw : there is something suited to every apprehension in the sight ; ■>• . ' THK CITIZBM OF TBI WORLD. — BEAU NAtH. 45 i and a fellow possesRed of talents like these is sure of making his fortune. The third act now began wHh an actor who camo to inform us that he was the villain of tho play, and intended to show strange things before all was over. He was joined by another who seemed as much disposed for mischief as he ; their intrigues continued through this whole division. * If that be a villain/ said I, ' he must be a very stupid one to tell his secrets without being asked; such soliloquies of late are never admitted in China.* The noise of clapping inteirupted me once more ; a child six years old was learning to dance on the stage, which gave the ladies and mandarins infinite satisfaction. 'I am sorry,' said I, ' to see the i)ietty creature f.o et\rly learning so had a trade ; dancing being, I presume, as contt^mptible here as in China.* — * Quite the reverse,' interrupted my companion ; dancing is a very reputable and genteel employment here ; men have a greater chance for encouragement from the merit of their heels than their heads. One who jumps up and flourishes his toes three times before he comes to the ground may have three hundred a year : he who flourishes them four times, gets four hundred ; but he who arrives at five is inestimable, and may demand what salary he thinks proper. The female dancers, too, are valued for this sort of jumping and crossing ; and it is a cant word amongst them, that she deserves most who shows highest But the fourth act is begun ; let us be attentive.* " The Man in Black here mentioned is one of the notable features of this series of papers. The mysterious person whose acquaintance the Chinaman made in Westminster Abbey, and who concealed such a wonderful goodness of heart under a rough and forbidding exterior, is a charming character indeed ; and it is impossible to praise too highly the vein of subtle sarcasm in which he preaches worldly wisdom. But to assume that any part of his history which he disclosed to the Chinaman was a piece of autobiographical writing on the part of Gold- smith, is a very hazardous thing. A writer of fiction must X > 46 aOLDSMITH. necessarily use such materials as hare oome within his own experience; and Goldsmith's experience — or his use of thos(! materials — was extremely limited : witness how often a pet fancy, like his remembrance of Johnny Armstrong's Lcui Good Nighty is repeated. " That of these simple elements, writes Professor Mnsson, in his Memoir of Goldsmithy prefixed to an edition of his works, "he made so many charming combinations, really differing from each other, and all, though suggested by fact, yet hung so sweetly in an ideal air, proved what an artist he was, and was better than much that is commonly called invention. In short, if there is a sameness of effect in Gold- smith's writings, it is because they consist of poetry and truth, humour and pathos, from his own life, and the supply from such a life as his was not inexhaustible." The question of invention is easily disposed of. Any child can invent a world transcending human experience by the simple combination of ideas which are in themselves incon- gruous—a world in which the horses have each five feet, in which the grass is blue and the sky green, in which seas are balanced on the peiks of mountains. The result is unbelievable and worthless. But the writer of imaginative literature uses his own experiences and the experiences of others, so that his combination of ideas in themselves compatible shall appear so natnr 1 ft 1 believable that the reader — although these incidents and cliaraoters never did actually exist — is as much interested in them as if they had existed. The mischief of it is that the reader sometimes thinks himself very clever, and, recognising a little bit of the story as having happened to the aut! or, jumps to the conclusion that such and such a passage is nectsssarily autobiographical. Hence it is that Goldsmith has been hastily identified with the Philosophic Vagabond in the Vicar of Waka- field, and with the Man in Black in the Citizen of the World. That he may have used certain experiences in the one, and that he may perhaps have given in the other a sort of fancy sketch TBI CITIZEN or THB WORLD. — BBAU N4SB. 47 of a person snggested by some trait in his own oharaoter, is possible enough ; but further assertion of likeness is impos- sible. That the Man in Black had one of Goldsmith's little weaknesses is obvious enough : we find him just a trifle too conscious of his own kindliness of generosity. The Vicar of Wakefield himself is not without a spice of this amiable vanity. As for Goldsmith, every one must remember his reply to Griffiths' accusation : " No, sir, had 1 been a sharper, had 1 been possessed of less good nature and native generosity^ I might surely now have been in better circumstances." "The Man in Black, in any case, is a delightful character We detect the warm and generous nature even in his pretence' of having acquired worldly wisdom : " I now therefore pursued a course of uninterrupted fru.fj.dity, seldom wanted a dinner, and was consequently invited to twenty. I soon begwi to get the character of a saving hunks that had money, and insensibly grew into esteem. Neighbours 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 pawnbi*oker'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 look wise. If a charity is proposed I go about with the hat, but put nothing in myself. If a wretch solicits my pity, I observe that the world is filled with 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.** -/This is a very clever piece of writing, whether it is in strict accordant with the character of the Man in Black, or not. But there is in ,1 m / 48 GOLDSMITH. these Public Ledger papers another sketch of character, whicli is not only consistent in itself, and in every way admirable, but is of still fui-ther interest to us when we remember that at this time the vai:ous personages in the Vicar of Wakejidd were no doubt gradually assuming definite fo]-m in Goldsmith's mind. It is in the figure of Mr. Tibbs, introduced apparently at haphazard, but at once taking possession of us by its quaint relief, that we find Goldsmith showing a firmer hand in character-drawing. With a few happy dramatic touches Mr. Tibbs starts into life ; he speaks for himself ; he becomes one of the people whom we knew. And yet, with this concise and sharp portraiture of a human being, look at the graceful, almost garrulous, ease of the style : — " Our pursuer soon came up and joined us with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. * My dear Dr'bone,* cries he, shaking my friend's hand, ' where have yo en hiding this half a century 1 Positively I had fancied you were gone to cultivate matrimony and your estate in the country,* Dur- ing 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 riband, 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 peculiarity 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 appearance, and a course of venison will fatten ; and yet, faith, I despise the eat as much as you do ; but there are a great many damn'd T tBB CITIZEN or THR WOBLD. — BIAU NASH. 4$ honest fellovi^B 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 creatures that ever squeezfiid a lemon, I should myself be among the number of their admirers. I was yesterday to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord was there. " Nod," sava Vc "I'll hold gold to silver, I can tell you where you were p\ ach- ing last night." " Poaching, my lord 1 " says I : " faith, /ou have missed already ; for I staid 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 1 ' 'Improved!' replied ue 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 houuur for it. His lordship took me down in his own chariot yesterday, and we had a titedtHe dinner 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 sol' replied he, coolly ; * to be sure, if I said so, it was so. Dined in town I egad, now I do remember, I did dine in town ; but I dined in the country too; for you must know, my boys, I ate two dinners. By the bye, 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 Grogram's, — an affected piece, but let it go no farther — a secret. — Well, thei.e happened to be no asafoBtida in the sauce to a turkey, upon which, sajs I, I'll hold a thousand guineas, and say done, first, th?*^ — 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. "* t V: : *■ 60 GOLDSMITH. 'i-ii If '?!' I Ketniiimg from these performances to the author of them, we find him a busy man of letters, l)ecoming more and moi*e in request among the buoksellei'S, and obtaining recognition among his fellow-writers. He had moved into better lodgings in Wine Ofiice Court (1760-2) : and it was here that he entertained at supper, as has alre»;«dy been mentioned, no less distinguished guests than Bishop, then Mr. Percy, and Dr., then Mr. Johnson. Every one has heard of the suiprise of Percy, on calling for Johnson, to find the great Cham dreased with quite unusual smartness. On asking the cause of this " singular transforma- tion," Johnson replied, " Why, sir, I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard of cleanliness and decency by quoting my practice ; and I am desirious this night to show him a better example." That Goldsmith profited by this example — though the tailors did not — is clear enough. At times, indeed, he blossomed out into the splendours of a dandy ; and laughed at himself for doing so. But whether he was in gorgeous or in mean attire, he remained the same sort of happy- go-luoky ci'eatui'e ; working hard by tits and starts; continually getting money in advance from the booksellers ; enjoying the present hour ; and apparently happy enough when not pressed by debt. That he should have been thus pressed was no necessity of the case ; at all events we need not on this score begin now to abuse the booksellera or the public of that day. We may dismiss once for all the oft repeated charges of ingrati- tur e .and neglect. When Gk)ldsmith was writing those letters in the Public Ledger — with "pleasure and instruction for other*:," Mr. Forster gays, "though at the cost of suffering to himself" — he was receiving for them alone what would be equivalent in our day to j£200 a year. No man can affirm that £200 a year is not unply sufficient for all the material wants of life. Of course there are fine things in the world that that amount of annual wage cannot purchase. It is a i&ne thing to sit on the deck of THE CITIZEN OP THE WORLD. — BEAU NASH. 51 of a yaclit on a summer's day, and watch the far islands shining over the blue ; it is a tine thing to drive four-in-hand to Ascot — if you can do it ; it is a tine thing to cower breatldess behind a rock and tind a splendid stag coming slowly within sure range. But theso things are not necessary to human happiness : it is ]>ossible to do without them and yet not *' sutfer." Even if Goldsmith had given half of his substance away to the poor, thei-e was enough left to cover all the necessary wants of a human being ; and if he chose so to order his affairs as to incur the suffering of debt, why, that was his own businesss, about which nothing further needs be said. It is to be suspected, indeed, that he did not care to practise those excellent maxims of prudence and frugality which he frequently preached; but the world is not much concerned about that now. If Goldsmith had received ten times as much money as the booksellers gave him, he would still have died in debt. And it is just possible that we may exaggerate Goldsmith's sensitiveness on this score. He had had a life-long familiarity with duns and borrowing ; and seemed very contented when the exigency of the hour was tided ovev. An angry landlady is unpleasant, and an arrest is awkward; but in comes an < ^portuno guinea, and the bottle of , Madeira ii opened forthwith. In thes<) rooms in Wine Office Court, and at the suggestion or entreaty of Nowbery, Goldsmith produced a good deal of miscellaneous writing — pa»n[)hletvS, tracts, compilations, and what not — of a more or less marketjible kind. It can only be Hurmised that by this time he may have formed some idea of producing a book not solely meant for the market, and that the charaotera in the Vicar of Wakcjield were already engaging his attention ; but the surmise becomes probable enough when we remember that his project of writing the Traveller, which was not published till 1764, had been formed as far back as 1755, while he waa wandering aimlessly about Europe, and that a sketch of the poem was actually forwarded by him then to his t ONTARIO COLLEGE OF EDUOATinM m GOLDSMITH. I i? I r brother Henry m Ireland. But in the meantime this hack- work, and the habits of life connected with it, began to tell on Goldsmith's health ; and so, for a time, he left London (1762), and went to Tunbridge and then to Bath. It is scarcely possible that his modest fame had preceded him to the latter place of fashion ; but it may be that the distinguished folk of the town received this fiiend of the great Dr. Johnson with some small measure of distinction ; for we find that his next published work, The Life of Richard Nash, Esq., is respectfully dedicated to the Right Worshipful the Mayor, Recorder, Aldermen, and Common Council of the City of Bath. The Life of the recently deceased Master of Ceremonies was published anonymously (1762); but it was generally understood to be Goldsmith's ; and indeed tJie secret of the authorship was revealed in every successive line. Among the minor writings of Goldsmith there is none more delightful than this : the mock-heroic gravity, the half familiar contemptuous good-nature with which he composes this Funeral March of a Marionette, are extremely- whimsical and amusing. And then what an ad- mirable picture we get of ftishionable English society in the beginning of the eighteenth century, when Bath and Nash were alike in the heyday of their glory — the fine ladies with thei^ snuff-boxes, and their passion for play, and their extremely effec- tive language when they got angry ; young bucks come to flourish away their money, and gain by their losses the sympathy of the fair; sharpers on the look-out for guineas, and adventurers on the look-out for weak-minded heiresses ; duchesses writing letteiTS in the most doubtful English, and chairmen swearing at any one who dai'ed to walk home on foot at night. No doubt the Lifet of Beau Nash was a bookseller's book \ and it was made as attractive as possible by the recapitulation of all sorts of romantic stories about Miss S n, and Mr. -e, and Captain K g j but throughout we find the 0- historian very much inclined to laugh at his hero, and only refraining now and again in order to record in serioua language Tl THB CITIZEN OF THB WORLD. — BEAU NABH. m traits indicatiye of the real goodness of disposition of that fop and gambler. And the fine ladies and gentlemen, who lived in that atmosphere of scandal, and intrigue, and gambling, are also from time to time treated to a little decorous and respectful raillery. Who does not remember the famous laws of polite breeding written out by Mr. Nash — Goldsmith hints that neither Mr. Nash nor his fair correspondent at Blenheim, the Duchess of Marlborough, excelled in English composition — for the guidance o'i the ladies and gentlemen who were under the sway of the King of Bath 1 " But were we to give laws to a nursery, we should make them childish laws," Goldsmith writes gravely. ** His statutes, though stupid, were addressed to fine gentlemen and ladies, and were probably received with sympa- thetic 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." Nash, however, was not content with prose in enforcing good manners. Having waged deadly war against the custom of wearing boots, and having found his ordinary armory of no avail against the obduracy of the country squires, he assailed them in the impassioned language of poetry, and produced the following " Invitation to the Assembly," which, as Goldsmith remarks, was highly relished by the nobility at Bath on account of its keenness, severity, and particularly its good rhymes. '* 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. Gome, trollops and slatterns, Cocked hats and white aprons, The best our modesty suits ; For why should not we In dress be as free ■> . - * A* Hogs-Norton squires in boots ?" I: I I; f HM 54 GOLDSMITH. i I I 5.;: if The sarcasm was too much for the squires, who yielded in a body ; and when any stranger through inadvertence presented himself in the assembly-rooms in boots, Nash was so completely master of the situation that he would politely step up to the intruder and suggest that he had forgotten his horse. Goldsmith does not magnify the intellectual capacity of his hero ; but he gives him credit for a sort of rude wit that was sometimes effective enough. His physician, for example, having called on him to see whether he had followed a prescription that had been sent him the previous day, was greeted in this fashion : " Followed your prescription 1 No. Egad, if I had, I should have broken my neck, for I flung it out of the two pair of stairs window." For the rest, this diverting biography contains some excellent warnings against the vice of gambling ; with a particular account of the manner in which the Govern- ment of the day tried by statute after statute to suppress the tables at Tunbi idge and Bath, thereby only driving the sharpers to new subterfuges. That the Beau was in alliance with sharpers, or at least, that he was a sleeping partner in the firm, his biographer admits ; but it is urged on his behalf that he was the most generous of winners, and again and again interfered to prevent the ruin of some gambler by whose folly he would himself have profited. His constant charity was well known ; the money so lightly come by was at the disposal of any one who could prefer a piteous tale. Moreover he made no scruple about exacting from others that charity which they could well afford. One may easily guess who was the duchess mentioned in the following story of Goldsmith's narration : — " The sums he gave and collected for the Hospital were great, and his manner of doing it was no less admirable. I am told that he was once collecting money in Wiltshire's rooms for that purpose, when a lady entered, who is more remarkable for her wit than her charity, and not being able to pass by him unob- served, she gave him a pat with her fan, and said, < You must THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. — BEAU NASH. 55 put down a trifle for me, Nash, for I have no money in my pocket.' * Yes, madam,* says he, * that I will with pleasure, if your grace will tell me when to stop ; ' then taking a handful of guineas out of his pocket, he began to tell them into his white hat — * One, two, three, four, five ' * Hold, hold ! says the duchess, ' consider what you are about.' * Consider your rank and fortune, madam,* says Nash, and continues telling — * six, seven, eight, nine, ten.* Here the duchess called again, and seemed angry. ' Pray compose yourself, madam,* cried Nash, 'and don't interrupt the work of charity,— eleven, twelve* thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.* Here the duchess stormed, antl caught hold of his hand. ' Peace, madam,* says Nash, * you shall have your name written in lettei-s of gold, madam, and upon the front of the building, madam, — sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.' ' I won't pay a farthing more, says the duchess. ' Charity hides a multitude of sins,' replies N ash, — ' twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty- five.' * Nash,' says she, ' I protest you frighten me out of my wits, L — d, I shall die ! ' * Madam, you will never die with doing good ; and if you do, it will be the better for you, answered Nash, and was about to proceed ; but perceiving her grace had lost all patience, a parley ensued, when he, after much altercation, agreed to stop - is hand and compound with her grace for thirty guineas. The duchess, however, seemed displeased the whole evening, and when he came to the table where she was playing, bid him, * Stand farther, an ugly devil for she hated the sight of him.' But her grace afterwards having a run of good luck, called Nash to her. ' Come,' says she, * I will be friends with you, though you are a fool ; and to let you see I am not angry, there is ten guineas more for your charity. But this I insist on, that neither my name nor the sum shall be mentioned. ' " At the ripe age of eighty-seven the " beau of three genera- tions" breathed his last (1761); and, though he had fallen into I* 66 GOLDSMITH. :!i ! poor ways, there were those alive who remembered his former greatness, and who chronicled it in a series of epitaphs and lamentations. ''One thing is common almost with all of them," says Qoldsmith, ''and thj,t is that Venus, Oupid, and the Graces are commanded to weep, and that Bath shall never find such another." These effusions are forgotten now; and so would Beau Nash be also, but for this biography, which, no doubt meant merely for the book market of the day, lives and is of permanent Vflue by reason of the charm of its style, its pervading humour, and the vivacity of itr descriptions of the fashionable follies of the eighteenth century. Nullum fere genus scribendi ncn tetigit. Nullum quod tetigit nmi ornavit. Who but Goldsmith could nave written so delightful a book about such a poor creature as Beau Nash 1 CHAPTER Vin. THE ABBEST. /' It was no doubt owing to Newbery that Goldsmith, after his return to London, was induced to abandon, temporarily or altogetbor, his apartments in Wine Office Court, and take lodgings in the house of a Mrs. Fleming, who lived somewhere or other in Islington. Newbeiy had rooms in Canonbury House, a curious old building that still exists; and it may have occurred to the publisher that Goldsmith, in this suburban district, would not only be nearer him for consultation and so forth, but also might pay more attention to his duties than when he was among the temptations of Fleet Street. Gold- smith was working industriously in the service of Newbery Cj% .rv^ THB ABRB8T. 67 this time (1763-4) ; in fact, so completely was the bookseller in possession of the hack, that Goldsmith's board and lodging in Mrs. Fleming's house, arranged for at £50 a year, was paid by Newbery himself. Writing prefaces, revising new editions, contributing reviews — this was the sort of work he undertook, with more or less content, as the equivalent of the modest sums Mr. Newbery disbursed for him or handed over as pocket- money. In the midst of all this drudgery he was now secretly engaged on work that aimed at something higher than mere payment of bed and board. The smooth linea of the Traveller were receiving further polish; the gentle-natured Vica/r was writing his simple, quaint, tender story. And no doubt Goldsmith was spurred to try something better than hack-work by the associations that he was forming, v'ihiefly under the wise and benevolent friendship of Johnson. Anxious always to be thought well of, he was now beginning to meet people whose approval was worthy of being sought. He had been introduced to Reynolds. He had become the friend of Hogarth. He had even made the acquaintance of Mr. Boswell, from Scotia id. Moreover, he had been invited to become one of the ori; inal members of the famous Club of which so much hai-i bee a written; his fellow-members being Reynolds, Johnson, Burke, Hawkins, Beauclerk, Bennet Lang, ton, and Dr. Nugent. It is almost certain that it was at Joiinson's instigation that he had been admitted into this choice fellowship. Long before either the Traveller or the Vicar had been heard of, Johnson had perceived the literary genius that obscurely burned in the uncouth figure of this Iiishman ; and was anxious to impress on others Goldsmith's claims to respect and consideration. In the min 'e record kept by Boswell of his first evening with Johnson at the Mitre Tavern, we find Johnson saying, "Dr. Goldsmith is one of the firat men we now have as an author, and he is a very worthy man too. He has been loose in his principles, but he is coming right." .:i lit ,!1 08 eOLD8MlTH. Johnson took walks with Goldsmith ; did him the honour of disputing with him on all occasions ; bought a ccipy of the Life of Nash when it appeared — an unusual compiiment for one author to pay another, in their day or in ours; allowed him to call on Miss Williams, the blind old lady in Bolt Court ; and gene'-ally was his friend, counsellor, and champion. Accordingly, when Mr. Boswell entertained the great Cham to supper at the Mitre — a sudden quarrel with his landlord having made it impossible for hici to order the banquet at his own iiouse — he was careful to have Dr. Goldsmith of the company. His guests that evening were Johnson, Goldsmith, Davies, (the actor and bookseller who haJ conferred on Boswell the invaluable favour of an introduction to Johnson), Mr. Eccles, and the Rev. Mr. Ogilvie, a Scotch poet who deserves our gratitude because it was his inopportune patriotism that pro- voked, on this very evening, the memorable epigram about the high-road leading to England. Goldsmith," says Boswell, who had not got ov 'is envy at Goldsmith's being allowed to visit the blind ^1.. pensioner in Bolt-court, "aa usual, endeavoured with too much eagerness to shine, and disputed very warmly with Johnson against the well-known maxim of the British constitution, * The king can do no wrong."* It was a dispute not so much about facts as about phraseology; and, indeed, there seems to be no great warmth in the expressions used on either side. Goldsmith affirmed that " what was morally false could not be politically true;" and that, in short, the king could by the misuse of his regal power do wrong. Johnson replied, that, in such a case, the immediate agents of the king were the persons to be tried and punished for the ofience. " The king, though he should command, cannot force a judge to condemn a man unjustly; therefore it is the judge whom we prosecute and punish." But when he stated that the king "is above everything, and there is no power by which he can be tried," he was surely forgetting an important chapter in >, Tl THE ABKEST. 59 English history. "What did Cromwell do for hit; country 1" he himself asked, during his subsequent visit to Scotland, of old Auchinleck, Boswell's father. " God, Doctor," replied the vile Whig, "A« ga/rred kings ken they had a lith in their necks.'* For some time after this evening Goldsmith drops out of Boswell's famous memoir ; perhaps the compiler was not anxious to give him too much prominence. They had not liked each other from the outset. Boswc;ll, vexed by the greater intimacy of Goldsmith with Johnson, called him a blunderer, a feather-brained person ; and described his appearance in no flattering terms. Goldsmith, on the other hand, on being asked who was this Scotch cur that followed Johnson's heels, answered, " He is not a cur : you are too severe — he is only a bur. Tom Davis flung him at Johnson in sport, and he has the faculty of sticking." Boswell would probably have been more tolerant of Goldsmith as a rival, if he could have known that on a future day he was to have Johnson all to himself — to carry him to remote wilds and exhibit him as a portentous literary phenomenon to Highland lairds. It is true that Johnson, at an early period of his acquaintance with Boswell, did talk vaguely about a trip to the Hebiides; but the young Scotch idolater thought it all too good to be true. The mention of Sir James Macdonald, says Boswell, "led us to talk of the Western islands of Scotland, to visit which he expressed a wish that then appeared to ^e a very romantic fancy, which I little thought would be afterwards realized. He told me that his father had put Martux's account of those islands into his hands when he was very young, and that he was highly pleased with it, that he was particularly struck with, the St. Kilda man's notion that the high church of Glasgow had been hollowed out of a rock ; a circumstance to which old Mr. Johnson had directed his attention." Unfortunately Goldsmith not only disappears from the pages of Boswell's biography at this time, but also in a great measure from the ken of his companions. He was V I I; 'I *l f. V. 60 OOLDSMITH. deeply in iebt ; no doubt the fine clothes he had been ordering from Mr. Filby in order that he might '' shine " among those notable persons, had something to do with it ; he had tried the patience of the booksellers ; and he had been devoting a good deal of his timo to work not intended to elicit immediate payment. The most patient endeavours to trace out his changes of lodgings, and the fugitive writings that kept him in daily bread, have not been very successful. It is to be presumed that Goldsmith had occaBioniilly to go into hiding to escape from his creditora ; and so was missed from his familiar haunts. We only reach daylight again, to iind Goldsmith being under threat of arrest from his landlady ; and for the particulars of this famous affair it is nccoFisary to return to Boswell. BoBwell was not in London at that time; but his account was taken down subsequently from Johnson's narration : and his accuracy in other matters, his extraordinary memory, and scrupulous care, leave no doubt in the mind that his version of the story is to be preferred to those of Mrs. Piozsi and Sir John Hawkins. We may take it that these are Johnson's own words : — ** I received one morning a message from poor Gold- smith that he was in great distress, and, as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him diiectly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had ah'eady changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit ; told the landlady I should soon I'etum ; and, having gone to a bookseller, sold it for £60. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not Tl THB ARREST. 61 without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill." We do not know who this landlady was — it cannot now be made out whether the incident occurred at Islington, or in the rooms that Goldsmith partially occupied in the Temple ; but even if Mrs. Fleming be the landlady in question, she was deserving neither of Goldsmith's rating nor of the reprimands that have been bestowed upon her by later writers. Mre. Fleming had been exceedingly kind to Goldsmith. Again and again in her bills we find itf^ms significantly marked ;£0 0*. Od. And if her accounts with her lodger did get hopelessly into arrear j and if she was annoyed by seeing him go out in fine clothes to sup at the Mitre ; and if, at length, lier patience gave way, and she determined to have her rights in one way or another, she was no worse than landladies — who are only human beings, and not divinely api)ointed protectresses of genius — ordinarily are. Mrs. Piozzi says that when Johnson came back with the money, Goldsmith " called the woman of the house directly to partake of punch, and pass their time in merriment." This would be a dramatic touch; but, after Johnson's quietly corking the bottle of Madeira, it is more likely that no such thing occurred ; especially as Boswell quotes the statement as an *' extreme inaccuracy." The novel which Johnson had taken away and sold to Francis Newbery, a nephew of the elder bookseller, was, as every one knows, the Vicar of Wakefield. That Goldsmith, amidst all his pecuniary distresses, should have retained this piece in his desk, instead of pawning or promising it to one of his bookselling patrons, points to but one conclusion — that he was building high ho})es on it, and was determined to make it as good as lay within his power. Goldsmith put an anxious finish into all his better work ; perhaps that is the secret of the graceful ease that is now apparent in every line. Any young writer who may imagine that the power of clear and H ' i 62 GOLDSlilTH. conciHo literary expression comes by nature, cannot do better than study, in Mr. Cunninglium's h'u^ collection of Goldsmith's writings, the continual and minute alterations which the author considered necessaiy evon after the fimt edition — sometimes when the second and third editions — Lad been published Many of theae, especially in Aie [)oetical works, were merely improvements in sound as suggested by a singularly sensitive ear, as when he altered the line *' Amidst the ruin, heedless of the dead." which had appeared in tl^e first three editions of the Traveller, into " There in the rain, hefdlesa of the dead." which appeared in the fourth. But the majority of the omis- sions and corrections were prompted by a careful taste, that abhorred everything redundant and slovenly. It has been suggested that when Johnson carried off the Vicar of Wakefield to Francis Newbery, the manuscrij)t was not quite finished, but had to be completed afterwards. There was at least plenty of time for that. Newbery does not appear to have imagined that he had obtained a prize in the lottery of literature.. He paid the £60 for it — clearly on the assurance of the great father of learning of the day, that there was merit in the little story — somewhere about the end of 1764; but the tale was not issued to the public until March, 1766. "And, sir," remarked Johnson to Boswell, with regard to the sixty pounds, ** a sufficient price too, when it was sold ; for then the fame of Goldsmith had not been elevated, as it afterwards was, by his Traveller ; and the bookseller had such faint hopes of profit by his bargain, that he kept the manuscript by him a long time, and did not publish it till after the Traveller had appeared. Than, to be sure, it was accidentally worth more money." I , THE TRAVELLER. 63 ' II CHAPTKR IX. THE TRAVELLER. This poom of the Traveller, the fi-uit of niucli secret labour and the consutumation of the liopea of many years, was lying completed in Goldsmith's desk when the incident of the arrest occurred ; and the elder Newbery had undertaken to publish it. Then, as at other times, Johnson lent this wayward child of genius a friendly hand. He icad over the proof-sheets for Goldsmith ; was so kind as to ))ut in a line here or there where he thought fit ; and prepared a notice of the poem for the Critical Review, The time for the appearance of this new claimant for poetical honors was propitious. " There was per- haps no point in the century," says Professor Masson, " when the British Muse, such as she had come to be, was doing less, or had so nearly ceased to do anything, or to have any good opinion of herself, as precisely about the year 1764. Young was dying ; Gray was recluse and indolent ; Johnson had long given over his metrical experimentations on any except the most inconsiderable scale; A.kenside, Armstrong, Smollett, and others less known, had pretty well revealed the amount of their worth in poetry ; and Churchill, after his ferocious blaze of what was really rage and declamation in metre, though con- ventionally it was called poetry, was prematurely defunct. Into this lull came Goldsmith's short but carefully finished poem." '* There has not been so fine a poem since Pope's time," remarked Johnson to Boswell, on the very first evening after the return of young Auchinleck to London, It would have been no matter for surprise had Goldsmith dedicated this first work that he published under his own name to Johnson, who Lad for so long been his constant friend and adviser ; and such I \- t i 64 OOLD8MITA. !* dedication would have carried weight in certain quarters. ^ But there waa a tiner touch in Goldsmith's thought of inscribing ' the book to his brother Henry ; and no doubt the public were .- .prised and pleased to find a poor devil of an author dedicat- .ig a work to an Irish parson with £40 a year, from whom he could not well expect any return. It will be remembered that it was t.> his brother Henry that Goldsmith, ten years before, had Rent the first sketch of the poem ; and now the wanderer, *' Remote, unfriended, irelancholy, slow." declares how his heart untraipelled " Still to my brother turns, with oeaseless pain, And drags at each romove a lengthening chain.'' The very first line of the poem strikes a key-note — there ia in it a pathetic thrill of distance, and regret, and longing ; and it has the soft musical sound that pervades the whole composi tion. It is exceedingly interesting to note, as has already been m'intioned, how Goldsmith altered and altered these lines until he had got them full of gentle vowel sounds. Where, indeed, in the English language could one find more graceful melody than thisi — <*The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or sterna the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave." It ha'i been observed also that Goldsmith was the first to introduce into English poetry sonorous American — or rather Indian — names, as when he writes rzi this poem, *• Where wild Oswc^c spreads her swamps around And Niagara stuns wi^h thundering sound," — and if it be charged against him that he ought to have known the proper accentuation of Niagara, it may be mentioned "1 THE TBAVELLER. <^5 : aH a set-ofT that Sir Walter Scott, in dealing with his own country, Qini- accentuated "01enal4dale," to say nothing of his having made of Roseneath an island. Another characteristic of the Traveller is the extraordinary choicenesa and conciseness of the diction, which, instead of suggesting pedantry or affec- tation, betrays on the contrary nothing but a delightful ease and grace. The English people are very fond of good English; and thus it is that couplets from the Traveller and the Deserted Village have come into the common stock of oui* language, and ^^iii^ sometimes not so much on account of the ideas they conve}', as through their singular precision of epithet and musical f>..und. It is enough to make the angels weep, to tind such a couplet as this — *' Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes," murdered in several editions of Goldsmith's works by the substitution of the commonplace "breathes" for "breasts'" — and that, after Johnson had drawn particular attention to the line by quoting it in his Dictionary. Perhaps, indeed, it may be admitted that the literary charm of the Traveller is more apparent than the value of any doctrine, however profound or ingenious, which the poem was su|.{)o.sed to inculcate. Wo forget all about the " particular princi[)le of happiness" possessed by each European state, in listening to the melody of the singer, and iu watching the successive and delightful picturis that he calls up i>f;fore the imagination. "As in those du nothing that's good hereafter. " * If used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturally go elsewhere. Were it not worth your while, then, just to try how you may like the usage of another master, who gives you fair promises at least to come to him 1 Surely, my friends, of all stupidity in the world, his must be the greatest, who, after robbing a house, runs to the thief-takers for protection. And yet, how are you more wise 1 You are all seeking comfort from one that ha« already betrayed you, applying to a more malicious being than any thief-taker of them all ; for <^ey only decoy and then hang you ; but he decoys and hangs, and, what is worst of all, will not let you loose after the hangman nas done.' 80 GOLDSMITH. m m -tl:, m Ml: '■'■ When I liad concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some of whom came and shook m(; by the hand, swearing that I was a very honest fellow, and that they desired my further acquaintance. I therefore promised to repeat my lecture next day, and actually conceived some hopes of making a reformation here ; for it had ever been my opinion, that no mail was past the hour of amendment, every heart lying open to the shafts of reproof, if the archer could but take a proper aim." His wife and children, naturally dissuading him from an effort which seemed to them only to bring ridicule upon him, are met by a grave rebuke ; and on the next morning he descends to the common prison, where, he says, he found the prisoners very merry, expecting his arrival, and each prepared to play £'ome gaol-trick on the Doctor. " There was one whose trick gave more universal pleasure than all the rest; for, observing the manner in which T had disposed my books on the table before me, he very dexterously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of his own in the place. However, I took no notice of all that this mis- chievous group of little beings could do, but went on, perfectly sensible that what was ridiculous in my attempt would excite mirth only the first or second time, while what was serious would be permanent. My design succeeded, and in less than six days some were penitent, and all attentive. ** It was now that I applauded my perseverance and address, at thus giving sensibility to wretches divested of every moral feeling, and now began to think of doing them temporal ser- vices also, by rendering their situation somewhat more comfort- able. Theii" time had hitherto been divided between famine and excess, tumultuous riot and bitter repining. Their only employment was quarrelling among each other, playing at criblmge, and cutting tobacco-stoppers. From this last mode THE YICAB OF WAKEFIELD. . 81 of idle industry I took the hint of Betting auch as choose to work at cutting [legs for tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood being bought by a general subscription, and, when manufactured, sold by my appointment; so tbat each earned something every day — a trifle indeed, but suflicient to maintain him. " I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the punisliraent of immorality, and rewards for peculiar industry. Thus, in less than a fortnight I had formed them into something social and humane, and had the pleasure of regarding myself as a legislator who had brought men from their native ferocity into friendship and obedience." Of course, all this about gaols and thieves was calculated to shock the nerves of those who liked their litei'ature perfumed with rose-water. Madame Kiccoboni, to whom Burke had sent the book, wrote to Garrick, " Le plaidoyer en faveur des voleurs, des petits larrons, des gens de mauvaises moeurs, est fort dloign^ de me plair." Others, no doubt, considered the introduction of Miss Skeggs and Lady Blarney as " vastly low." But the curious thing is that the literary critics of the day seem to have been altogether silent about the book — perhaps they were "puzzled" by it, as Southey has suggested. Mr. Forster, who took the trouble to search the periodical literature of the time, says that, " apart from bald recitals of the plot, not a word was said in the way of criticism about the book, either in praise or blame." The St. James's Chronicle did not condescend to notice its appearance, and the Monthly Review confessed frankly that nothing was to be made of it. The better sort of newspapers, as well as the more dignified reviews, contemptuously left it to the patronage of Lloyd's Evening Fost, the London Chronicle, and journals of that class ; which simply informed their readers that a new novel, called the Vicar of Wakefield, had been published, that "the editor is Doctor Qoldsmith, who has afiixed his name to an introductory 6 82 GOLDSMITH. m [Hi: m f r,.i Advertisement, and that such and such were the incidenls of the story." Even his friends, with the exception of Burke, did not seem to consider that any remarkable new birth in literature had occurred j and it is probable that this was a still greater disappointment to Groldsmith, who was so anxious to be thought well of at the Club. However, the public took to the story. A second edition was published in May ; a third in August. Goldsmith, it is true, received no })ecuniary gain from this success, for, as we have seen, Johnson had sold the novel outright to Fr:incis Newbeiy ; but "^is name was growing in importance with the booksellers. There was need that it should, for his ^creasing expenses — his fine clothes, his supi)ers, his whist at the Devil Tavern — were involving him in deeper and deeper difficulties. How was he to extricate himself? — or rather the question that would naturally occur to Goldsmith was how was he to con- tinue that hand-to-mouth existence that had itr compensations along with its troubles 1 Novels like the Vicar c, . "^akefield are not written at a moment's notice, even though any Newbery, judging by results, is willing to double that £60 which Johnson considered to be a fair price for the story at the time. There was the usual resource hack-writing; and, no doubt, Gold- smith was com})elled to fall back on that, if only to keep the elder Newbery, in whose debt he was, in a good humouv. But the author of the Vicar of Wakefield may be excused if ho looked round to see if there was not some more profitable work for him to turn his hand to. It was at this time that iie began to think of writing a comedy. h I l>'i TUE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 83 CHAPTER XTI. THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. Amid much miscellaneous work, mostly of the compilation order, the [Any of the Good-Natured Man began to assume con- crete form ; insomuch that Johnson, always the friend of this erratic Iiishman, had promised to write a Prologue for it. It is with regard to tliis Piologue that Boswell tells a foolish and untrustworthy story about Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson had re- cently been honoured by an intorvlew with his Sovereign; and the members of the Club were in the habit of flattering him bv begging for a repetition of his account of th i famous event. On one occasion, during this recital, Bosweii ^elates. Goldsmith " remained unmoved upon a sofa at some distance, affecting not to join in the least in the eager curiosity of the com})any. He assigned as a reasou for his fdoom and seeminc: inattention that he apprehended Johnson had relinquished his purpose of furnish-, inghim with a Prologue to his i)lay, with the hopes of which he had been flattered ; but it w;is strongly suspected that he was fretting with chagrin and envy at the singular honour Dr. ^hnson had lately enjoyed. At length the frankness and simplicity of his natural character prevailed. He sprang from the sofa, advanced to Johns-^ri and. in a kind of flutter, from imagining himself in the situation which he had just been hearing described, exclaimed, * Well, you acquitted youiself in this conversation better than I should have done j for I should have bowed and stammered thiough the wliole of it.'" It is ob- vious enough that the only part of this anecdote which is quite worthy of credence is the actual phrase used by Goldsmith, which is full of i. oustoraary generosity and selt-depreciation. Ail those " susDicions " of his envy of his friend may safely be Hi? m m ,■ ■■. ;:« ill: 84 GOLDSMITH. discarded, for tlif^y are mere guesswork ; even (hough it might have been natural enough for a man like Goldsmith, conscious of his singular and original genius, to measure himself against Johnson, who was merely a man of keen perception and shrewd reasoning, and to compare the deference paid to Johnson with the scant courtesy shown to himself. As a matter of fact, the Prologue was written by Dr. John- son; and the now complete comedy was, after some little arrangement of personal differences between Goldsmith and Garrick, very kindly undertaken by Reynolds, submitted for Garrick's approval. But nothing came of Reynold's interven tion. Perhaps Goldsmith resented Garrick's airs of patronage towards a poor devil of an author; perhaps Garrick was surprised by the manner in which well-intentioned criticisms were taken; at all events, after a good deal of shilly-shallying, the play was taken out of Garrick's hands. Fortunately, a project was just at this moment on foot for starting the rival theatre in Covent Garden, under the management of George Colman ; and to Colman Goldsmith's play was forth witL consigned. The play was accepted ; but it was a long time before it was produced ; and in that interval it may fairly be presumed the res angusta domi of Goldsmith did not become any more free and generous than before. It was in this interval that the elder Newbery died; Goldsmith had one patron the less. Another patron who offered himself was civilly bowed to the door. This is an inci- dent in Goldsmith's career which, like his interview with the Earl of Northumberland, should ever be remembered in his honour The Government of the day were desirous of enlisting on their behalf the services of writers of somewhat better position than the mere libellers whose pens were the slaves of anybody's purse; and a Mr. Scott, a chaplain of Lord Sandwich, appears to have imagined that it would be worth while to buy Goldsmith. He applied to Goldsmith in due course ; and this is an account of the interview ''I found him in a miserable : THE OOOD-NATUBED MAN. 85 Bet of chambers in the Temple. I told him my authority : I told him I was empowered to pay most liberally for hia exertions ; and, would you believe it 1 he waa so absurd as to say, ' I can earn as much as will supply my wants without writing for any party ; the assistance you offer is therefore unnecessary to me.' And T left him in his garret" Needy as he was, Goldsmith had too much self-respect to become a paid libeller and cutthroat of public reputations. On the evening of Friday, the 29th of January, 1768, when Goldsmith had now reached the age of forty, the comedy of The Good-naturid Man was produced at Coven t Garden Theatre. Tlie Prologue had, according to promise, been written by John- son ; and a very singular prologue it was. Even Boswell was struck by the odd coritra.^t between the sonorous piece of melan- choly and the fun that was to follow. " The first lines of this Prologue," he conscientiously remarks, " arc strongly character- istic of the dismal gloom of his mind ; which, in his case, as in the case of all who are distressed with the same malady of imagination, transfei-s to others its own feelings. Who could suppose it waa to introduce a comedy, when Mr. Bensley solemnly began — " * Pressed with the load of life, the weary inind Surveys the general toil of humankind.' ? But this dark ground might make Goldsmith's humour shine the more." When we come to the comedy itself, we find but little bright humor in the opening passages. Tiie author is obviously timid, anxious, and constrained. There is nothing o! the brisk, confident vivacity with wiiich She Stoops to Conquer opens. The novice does not yet understand the art of makinnr his characters exjdain themselves ; and ao(;ordingly che benevo- lent uncle and honest Jarvis indulge in a conversation which, laboriously descriptive of the character of young Honey wood, is spoken "at" the audience. With the entrance of young 86 GOLDSMITH. Honeywood himsolf, Goldsmith endoavours to become a little more sprightly ; Imt tluu-e is still anxiety hanging over him, and the epigrams are little more than merely formal antitheses. " Janris. This bill from your tailor ; this from your mercer ; and this from the little broker in Crooked Lane. He says he has been at a great deal of trouble to get back the money you borrowed. Hon. That I don't know ; but I'm sure we were at a great deal of trouble in getting him to lend it. Jar. He has lost all patience. Hon. Then he has lost a very good thing. Jar. There's that ten giiinias you were seuiiing to the poor gentle- man and his children in the Fleet. 1 believe that would stop his iriouth for a while at least. Hon. Ay, Jarvis, but what will fill their mouths in the mean time ?" This young Honeywood, the hero of the play, is, and remains throughout, a somewhat ghostly personage. He has attributes, but no flesh or blood. There is much more substance in the next character introduced — the inimitable Croaker, who revels in evil forebodings and drinks dee[) of the luxury of woe. These are the two chief characters ; but then a play must have a plot. And perha|>s it would not be fair, .so far as the plot is con- cerned, '^o judge llie Good-natured Man merely as a literary production. Intricacies that seem tedious and puzzling on paper appear to be clear enough on the stage ; it is much more easy to remember the history and circumstances of a person whom we see Vjefore us, than to attach these to a mere name — especially as the name is sure to be clipped down fi'om Honey- wood to Hon. and from Leontine to Leo7i. However it is in the midst of all the cross-pur})o les of the lovers that we once more come upon our old friend Beau Tibbs — though Mr. Tibbs is now in much better circumstances, and has been re-named by his creator Jack Lofty. Garrick had objected to the introduc- tion of Jack on the ground that he was only a distraction. But Goldsmith, whether in writing a novel or a play, was more anxious to represent human nature than to prune a plot, and '> TliK GOOD NATURED MAN. 8^ paid but little respect to the unities, if only he could arouse oui interest. And who is not delighted with this Jack Lofty and his " duchessy " talk — his airs of patronage, his mysterious hints, his gay familiarity with the great, his audacious lying? " Lotfy. Wailor ? Waller ? Is he of the house ? Mrs. Croaker, The modern poet of that name, sir. Lof. Oh, a modern ! We men of business despise the moderns ; and as for the ancients, we have no time to read them. E'oetry is a pretty thing enough for our wives and daaghtera ; but not for ub. Why now, here I stand that know nothing of books. I say, madam, I know nothing of books ; and yet, I believe, upon a land-carriage fishery, a siamp act, or a jag-hire, I can talk my two hours without feeling the want of them. Mrs. O) 0. The world is no stranger to Mr. Lof ty's eminence in every capaf'ifcy. /////". I vow to gad, madam, you make me blush. I'm nothing, nothing, uofchi/ig in the world ; a mere obscure gentleman. To be sure, indeed, one or two of the present ///inisters are pleased to represent me as a formidubJe man. I know they arc pleased to bespatter me at all their little dirty leV'jeg. Yet, upon my soul, / wonder what they see in me to treat me so ! Meaaures, not men, have always been my mark ; and I vow, by all tnat's honourable, my ri- tion from Kelly, who was his rival of the hour : " I would - OULDSHITH IN SOCIETY. 91 with pleasure accept your kind invitation, but to tell you the truth, my dear boy, my Tra eller has found me a home in so many places, that I am engaged, \ believe, three days. Let me see. To-day I dine with Edmund Burke, to-morrow with Dr. Nugent, and the next day with Tof^ham Beauclero ; but I'll tell you what I'll do for you, I'll dine with you on Saturday." Kelly told this story i?s against Goldsmith ; but surely there is not so much ostentation in the reply. Directly alter Tristram Shandy was published, Sterne found himself fourteen deep in dinner engagements ; why should not the author of the Traveller and the Vicar and the Good-natured- Man have his engagements also ? And perhaps it was but right that Mr. Kelly, who was after all only a critic and scribbler, though he had written a play which was for the moment enjoying an undeserved popularity, should be given to under- stand that Dr. Goldsmith was not to be asked to a hole-and- corner shop at a moment's notice. To-day he dines with Mr. Burke; to-morrow with Dr. Nugent; the day after with Mr. Beauclerc. If you wish to have the honour of his com- pany, you may choose a day after that; and then, with his new wig, with his coat of Tyrian bloom and blue silk breeches, with a smart sword at his side, his gold-headed cane in his hand, and his hat under his elbow, he will present himself in due course. Dr. Goldsmith is announced, and makes his grave bow : this is the man of genius about whom all, the town is talking; the friend of Burke, of Reynolds, of Johnson, of Hogarth ; this is not the ragged Irishman who was some time ago earning a crust by running errands for an apothecary. Goldsmith's grand airs, however, were assumed but seldom ; and they never imposed on anyVjody. His acqujiintances treated him with a familiarity which testified rather to his good nature than to their good taste. Now and j.^ain, indeed, he was prompted to resent this familiarity ; but the effort was not successful. In the " high jinks" to which he good-humoradly 92 GOLDSMITH. leRorted for the entertainment of his guests he permitted a free- dom which it was afterwards not very easy to discard ; and as he was always ready to make a hutt of himself for the amuse- ment of his friends and acquaintances, it came to be recognized that anybody was allowed to play off a joke on *' Goldy." The jokes, such of them as have been put on record, are of the poorest sort. The horse- collar is never far off. One gladly turns from these dismal humours of tlie tavern and the club to the picture of Goldsmith's enjoying what he called a *' Shoe- maker's Holiday " in the company of one or two chosen inti- mates. Goldsmith, baited and bothered by the wits of a public- house, became a different being when he had assumed the guidance of a small party of chosen friends bent on having a day's frugal pleasure. We are indebted to one Cooke, a neigh- bour of Goldsmith's in the Temple, not only for a more interest- ing description of one of those shoemaker's holidays, but also for the knowledge that Goldsmith had even now begun writing the Deserted Village, which was not published till 1770, two years later. Goldsmith, though he could turn out plenty of manufactured stuff for the booksellers, worked slowly at the special story or poem with which he meant to " strike for honest fame." This Mr. Cooke, calling on him one morning, discovered that Goldsmith had that day written these ten lines of the Deserted Village : ** 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 happinr ^ 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 neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made I ** I GOLDSMITH IN SOOIBTT. 93 \ ' •* Come," said he, " let me tell yon this is no bad morning's work ; and now, my dear boy, if you are not better engaged, I should be glad to enjoy a shoemaker's holiday with you." "A shoemaker's holiday," continues the writer of these reminis- cences, " was a day of great festivity to poor Gbldsmith, and was spent in the following innocent manner. Three or four of his intimate friends rendezvoused at his chambers to breakfast about ten o'clock in the morning ; at eleven they proceeded by the City Road and through the fields to Highbury Barn to dinner ; about six o'clock in the evening they adjourned to White Conduit House to drink tea; and concluded by supping at the Grecian or Temple Exchange coffee-house or at the Globe in Fleet Sti eet. There was a very good ordinary of two dldhes and pastry kept at Highbury Barn about this time at tenpence per head, including a penny to the waiter; and the company generally consisted of literary characters, a few Templars, and some citizens who had left off trade. The whole expenses of the day's fete never exceeded a crown, and oftener were from three-and-sixpence to four shillings; for which the party obtained good air and exercise, good living, the example of simple manners, and good conversation." It would have been well indeed for Goldsmith had he been possessed of sufficient strength of character to remain satisfied with these simple pleasures, and to have lived the quiet and modest life of a man of letters on such ^income as he could derive from the best work he could produce. But it is this same Mr. Cooke who gives decisive testimony as to Goldsmith's increasing desire to "shine" by imitating the expenditure of the great; the natural consequence of which was that he only plunged himself into a morass of debt, advances, contracts for hack-work, and misery. "His debts rendered him at times so melancholy and dejected, that I am sure he felt himself a very unhappy man." Perhaps it was n aOLDSMlTU. with some sudden resolve to flee from temptation, and gi'Hpple with the difficulties that beset him, that he, in conjunction with another Temple neighbour, Mr. Bott, rented a cMita^e some eight miles down the Edgware Road; and here he set to work on the History of Rome, which he was writing for Da vies. , Apart from this hack-work, now rendeied necessary by his debt, it is probable that one strong inducement leading him to this occasional seclusion was the progress he might be able to niak<5 with the Deserted Village. Amid all his town gaieties and country excursions, amid his dinners and suppers and dances, his borrowings, and contracts, and the hurried literary produce of the moment, he never forgot what was due to his reputation as an English poet. The journalistic bullies of the day might vent their spleen and envy on him; his best friends might smile at his conversational failures; the wits of the tavern might put up the horse-collar as before; but at least he had the consolation of his art. No one better knew than himself the value of those finislied and musical lines he was gmdually adding to the beautiful poem, the grace, and sweet- ness, and tender, pathetic charm of which make it one of the literary treasures of the English people. The sorrows of debt were not Goldsmith's only trouble at this time. For some reason or other he seems to have become the especial object of spiteful attack on the part of the literary cut-throats of the day. And Goldsmith, though he might listen with respect to the wise advice of Johnson on such mattei-s. was never able to cultivate Johnson's habit of absolute indifftirenc:* to anything that might be said or sung of h mi. "The Kenricks, Campbells, MacNicols, and Hendersons," says Lord Macaulay speaking of Johnson, 'Mid their best to annoy him, ill the hope that he would give them importance by answering them. But the reader will in vain search his works for any allusion to Kenrick or Camjibell, to MacNicol or Henderson. One Scotchman, bent on vindicating the fame of GOLDSMITH IN SOCIETY. 95 Scutcli leurning, defied him to the combat in detestable Latin hexameter — ' Maxime, si tu vis, cc pio contendere tecum/ I3ut Johnson took no notice of the challenge. He had learned, both from his own observation and from literary history, in which ^ he was deeply read, that the place of books in the public estima- tion is fixed, not by what is written about them, but by what is written in them ; and that an author whose works are likely to live, is very unvvise if he stoops to wranldsmith " Forsitan et nostrtim nomen miscebitur istis," and of Goldsmith subsequently repeating the quotation when, having walked towards Fleet Street, they were confionted by the heads on Temple Bar. Even- when Goldsmith was opinion- ated and wrong, Johnson's contradiction was in a manner gentle. " If you put a tub full of blood into a stable tho hoi-ses are like to go mad," observed Goldsmith. " I doubo that," was Johnson's reply. '* Nay, sir, it is a fact well authenticated." Here Thrale interposed to suggest that Goldsmith should have the experiment tried in the stable ; but Johnson merely said that, if Goldsmith began making these experiments, he would never get his book written at all. Occasionally, of course, Goldsmith waa tossed and gored just like another. " But, sir," he had ventured to say, in opposition to Johnson, *' when people live together who have something as to which they disagree, and which they want to shun, they will be in the situation mentioned in tHe story of Bluebeard, < You may look into all the chambers but one.' But we should have the greatest incli- nation t.0 look into that chamber, to talk of that subject." 98 OOLDMIITH. Here, according to Boswell, Johnaon answered in a loud yoioe, *' Sir, I am not saying that you could live in friendship with a man from whom you diii'or as to one point ; I am only saying that / could do it." But then again he could easily obtain pardon from the gentle Goldsmith for any occasional rudeness. One evening they had a sharp passage of arms at dinner ; and there* after the company adjourned to the Club, where Qoldsmith sate Hilent and depressed. " Johnson perceived this," says Boswell, ** and said aside to soine of us, ' I'll make Goldsmith forgive me '; and then culled to him in a loud voice, * Dr. Goldsmith, some thing passed to-day where you and I dined: I ask your pardon/ Goldsmith answered placidly, * It must be much from you, sir, that I take ill.' And so at once the difference was over, and they were on as easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual." For the rest, Johnson was the constant and doughty champion of Goldsmith as a man of letters. He would suffer no one to doubt the power and versatility of that genius which he had been amongst the first to recognise and encourage. " Whether, indeed, we take him as a poet, as a comic writer, or as an historian," he announced to an assemblage of distinguished persons met together at dinner at Mr. Beauclerc's, *' he stands in the first class" And there was no one living who dared dispute the verdict — at least in Johnson's hearing. CHAPTER XIV. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. But it is time to return to the literary performances that gained for this uncouth Irishman so great an amount of con- sideration from the fint men of his time. The engagement with Griffin about the Histwy of AnimaUd Naturs was made £BK DB8BRTBD VILLAOB. 10 .<^ at the beginning of 1769. The work was to oooupy eight volumes; and Dr. Goldsmith was to receive eight hundred guineas for the complete copyright. Whether the undei*takini; was originally a suggestion of Griffin's, or of Goldsmith's own docB not apjiear. If it was the author's, it was probably onls the firat means that occurred to him of getting anothei advance ; and that advance — £r)00 on account — he did actual I; get. But if it was the suggestion of the publisher, Griffin mus have been a bold man. A writer whose acquaintance wit animated nature was such as to allow him to make the 'Mnsidi ous tiger " a denizen of the backwoods of Canada,' was not a very Biife authority. But perhaps Griffin had consulted Johnson before making this bargain ; and we know that Johnson, thougli continually remarking on Goldsmith's extraordinary ignorance of facts, was of opinion that the Hiitory of Animated JVatur. would be *'as entertaining as a Persian tale." However, Qohl- smith — no doubt after he had spent the five hundred guineas — tackled the work in earnest. When Boswell subsequently went out to call on him at another ruml retreat he had taken on the Edgware Road, Boswell and Mickle, the translator of the Luaidd, found Goldsmith from home ; but, having a curiosity to see his apartment, we went in and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled upon the wall with a black- ' lead pencil.** Meanwhile, this Animated Nature being in hand, the Roman Histdhf was published, and was very well received by the critics and by the public. " Goldsmith'^s abridgment," Johnson declared, is better than that of Lucius Florus or Eutropius ; and I will venture to say that if you compare him with Yertot, in the same places of the Roman History ^ you will find that he excels Yertot. Sir, he has the art of compiling, and of saying everything he has to say in a pleasing manner.** So thought the booksellers too; and the success of the Roman -■••,.)' iflM OMun tf (A« World, Letter XVII. 100 GOLDSMITH. ffiHory only involved him in fresh projects of compilation. By an offer of £500 Duvios induo d him to lay aside for tho moDMUt the Animated Nature and begin " An Histoiy of England, from the Birth of the British Empire to the Death of GJeorge the Second, in four volumes octavo." He also about this time undertook to write a Life of Thomas Parnell. Here, indeed, was plenty of work, and work promising good pay ; but the doprosning thing is tliat Goldsmith should have been the man who had to do it. He may have done it belter than any one else could have done — indeed, looking over the results of all that drudgery, we recognize now the happy turns of expression which were never long absent from Goldsmith's prose-writing — but the world could well afford to sacrifice all the task-work thus got through for another poem like tho Deserted VUlaije or the Traveller. Perhaps Goldsmith con- sidered he was making a fair compromise when, for the sake of his reputation, he devoted a certain portion of his time to his poetical work, and then, to have money for fine clothes and high jinks, gave the rest to the booksellers. One critic, on tho .ippearance of the Roman History ^ referred to the Traveller ^ and remarked that it was a pity that the " author of one of the best poems that has appeared since those of Mr. Pope, should not apply wholly to works of imagination." We may echo that regret now ; but Goldsmith would at the time have no doubt replied th^t, if he had tiiisted to his. poems, he would never have been nble to pay £400 for chambers in the Temple. In fact he said as much to Lord Lisburn at one uf the Academy dinners : " I cannot afford to court the draggle-tail muses, my Lord ; they would let me starve ; but by my other labours I can make shift to eat, and drink, and have good clothes." And there is little use in our regretting now that Goldsmith was not cast in a more heroic mould ; we have to take him as he is ; and be grateful for what he has left us. It is a grateful relief to turn from these booksellers' contraota TUB DESERTED VILLAQB. 101 and foroed laboura to the svireet olear note of singing that one finds in the Deserted Village, This poem, after having been rei^eatedly announced and as often withdrawn fur further revision, was at last published on the 26th of May, 1770, when QoldHmith was in his forty-second year. The loading idea of it he had already thrown out in certain lines in the TraoeUer : — y** Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, Her useful sons exohanged for useless ore ? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, like flcring tapers brightening as they waste ? Seen opulenctt, her grandeur to maintain. Lead stem depopulation in her train, And over fields where scattered hamlets rose In barren solitary pomp repose ? Have we not seen at pleasure's lordl;^ call The smiling 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 ; Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around. And Niagara stuns with thundering sound ? " — and elsewhere, in recoi'ded conversations of his, we find that he had somehow got it into his head that the accumulation of wealth in a country was the parent of all evils, including depopu- lation. We need not stay here to discuss Goldsmith's position as a political economist ; even although Johnson seems to sanc- tion his theory in the four lines he contributed to the end of the poem. Nor is it worth while returning to that objection of Lord Macaulay's which has already been mentioned in these pages, fuHher than to repeat that the poor Irish village in which Goldsmith was brought up, no doubt looked to him as charming as any Auburn, when he regarded it through tho softening and beautifymg miut of years. It is enough that die un GOLDSMITH. iiUaiul«>nmot\t by a number of poor people of the homes in which tliey rttul thoirn \\t\\\ \\\oy\ thoir lives, is one of the most pathetic fnotn in our oivilisutiou; ttiui ihat out of the various circum- ntatUHW eunxxmdiu^ thin foix^eti migration Goldsmith has made oue of tho nu>Rt jfmooftjl and touching p; ems in the English Unguft((<«. It is v^lortr bii\i-8inging, but there is a pathetic note in it. Th«t inxa^inarv ramble through the Lii«oy that is &r rtxvay h«i» itH^alUni uu-)!^ than his boyish sports; it ha.s made him Wk lv»ck over his own lift?! — the life of an exile. *' I utill h«ti bopes, my Ut<»»t hours to crown, Amu^st thejto hntnble K-iwersi to lay me down ; To hnsbAnd otit life's taper at the dose, Aihi keep the flame from wasting by repoee : I stall hak-leArrjed skill, Ai>oun i my tire an evening group to draw, Aihi t<*n of aU 1 felt, and all T saw ; ,\»«i. as a hare Mhom h^^nnds and horns pursue Tarts to the pi act from wben^ at first be flew, 1 1*111 had hopes, my long r^ rations past, Hwx' t'O n:-»tum — and die at home at laft." Vr>y» «iai A>»ibt thst it was of Tissoy he was thinking) Sir \Vs'«*r ^^tt. ^Titinc a gerter&tion ago, said rhit *• xht cLnr^ %'K>.^h t«nni: hiii,*' ti»e miil and the brook were WtH *f- W i»«Nr. in tb<» Ittj^ village ; and tlttt «^«l ** TW haw0>Mf% b««r!» b<%inc ^Hit to pi'X«fti t/> mskf soTivf^airs. Bet izvaeoc it it <« )it*k» ^ 1.brng is tr»€ in it^^lL Aad ^nt kaov i^an '%pm' . h ts ikM thut one sw* the iklace as «. |ttpro?«L. htf^ it^~ THE DB8KBTED TILLAGE. 103 LO 1- le ih be nr le 'M- tsre ftf seems to be breathing its very atmosphere, and listeniug to the> various cries that thrill the " hollow silence." " Sweet WM the sound, when oft at evening's dose, Up yonder hill the village murmnr rose. Thero, as I passed 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, The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind. And the loud laugh that spake the vacant mind." Nor is it any romantic and impossible peasantry that is gradually brought before us. There are no Norvals in Lissoy. There is the old womun — Catherine Geraghty, they say, was her name — who gathered cresses in the ditches near her cabin. There is the village preacher whom Mrs. Hodson, Gk>ldsmith'8 sister, took to be a portrait of their father ; but whom othei-s have identified as Henry Goldsmith, and even as the uncle Oontarine : they may all have oonti'ibuted. And then oomes Paddy Byrne. Amid all the pensive tenderness of the {X>eni this description of the schoolmaster, with its strokes of demure humour, is introduced with delightful effect. " Beside yon struggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze uiiproiitably gay. There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to mle, The village master taught his little schouL 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 ; Fnll well they laughed with con uterfeitcd glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisp j circling round Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 104 GOLDSMITH. The love he bore to learning was in fanlt ; The village all declared ho\^ much he knew : Twas certain he could write, and cipher too : Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage. And e'en the story ran that he could gauge : In arguing, too, the parson 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 oould carry all he knew. " All this is RO simple and natural that we cannot fail tc believe in the reality of Auburn, or Lissoy, or whatever the village may be supposed to be. We visit the clergyman's cheerful fireside ; and look in on the noisy school ; and sit in the evening in the ale-house to listen to the profound politics talked there. But the crisis comes. Auburn delenda eat. Here, no doubt, occurs the least probable part of the poem. Poverty of soil is a common cause of emigration ; land that produces oats (when it can produce oats at all) three-fourths mixed with weeds, and hay chiefly consifitiiig of rushes, naturally discharges its surplus population as families increase; and though the wrench of parting is painful enough, the usual result is a change from starvation to competence. It more rarely happens that a district of peace and plenty, such as Auburn was supposed to see around it, is depopulated to add to a great man's estate. " The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that ~ lany poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his )ark's extended bounds, Space for his horses, etj[uipage, and hounds : His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage &om the green : " — and so forth. This seldom happens ; but it does happen ; ■( • ,--i THE DU8EBTED VILLAGE. 105 and it has happened, in our own day, in England. It is within the last twenty years that an English landlord, having faith in his riches, bade a village to be removed and cast elsewhere, so that it should no longer be visible from his windows : and it was forthwith removed. But any solitary instance like this is not sufficient to support the theory that wealth and luxury are inimical to the existence of a hardy peasantry ; and so we must admit, after all, that it is poetical exigency rather than political economy that has decreeu the destruction of the loveliest village of the plain. Where, asks the poet, are the driven poor to find refuge, when even the fenceless commons are seized upon and divided by the rich ) In the great cities t — ** To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury and thin mankind. " It is in this description of a life in cities that there occurs an often-quoted passage, which has in it one of the most perfect lines in English poetry : — " Ah, turn thine «yes Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. She onoe, 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 ; 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 brow?*."' Qoldsmith wrote in a pre-Wordsworthian age, when, even in the realms of poetry, a primrose was not much more than a primrose j but it is doubtful whether, either before, during, or since Wordsworth's time the sentiment that the imagination ■"f^ 106 GOLDSMITH. can infuse into the common and familiar things around ma ever reoeived more happy expression than in the well-known line, " Stoeet iie poem, bids her i passionate and tender farevirell : — " And thon, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest mud, StiU first to fly where sensual joys invade ; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried. My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That fouud'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 1 Farewell, and I where'er thy voice be tried, On Tomo's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time. Redress the rigours of the inclement clime ; Aid slighted truth with thy pursu&sive 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 laboured mole away : While self-dependent power can time dety. As rocks resist the billows and the sky." So ends this graceful, melodious, tender poeni, the position of which in English literature, and in the estimation of all who love English literature, has not been disturbed by any fluctu- ations of literary fashion. We may give more attention at the moment to the new experiments of the poetic method ; but we return only with renewed gratitude to the old familiar strain, not the least merit of v/hich is that it has nothing about it of foreign tricks or graces. In English literature there is nothing more thoroughly English than these writings produced by an Irishman. And whether or not it was Paddy Byrne and Catherine Geraghty, and the Lissoy ale-house that Goldsmith ' \ 108 GOLDSMITH. I I had in his mind when he was writing the poem, is not of mxioh consequence: the manner and language and feeling are all essentially English ; so that we never think of calling Gold- smith anything but an English poeb. The poem met with great and immediate success. Of course everything that Dr. Goldsmith now wrote was read by the public ; he had not to wait for the recomn «ndation of the reviews ; but, in this case, even the reviews had scarcely any- thing but praise in the welcome of hia new book. It was dedi- cated, in graceful and ingenious terms, to Sir Joshua Reynolds, who returned the compliment by painting a picture and placing on the engraving of it this description : *' This attempt to express a character in the Deserted Village is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere friend and admirer, Sir Joshua Reynolds." What Gk>ldsmith got from Griffin for the poem is not accurately known ; and this is a misfortune, for the know- ledge would have enabled us to judge whether at that time it was possible for a poet to court the draggle-tail muses without risk of starvation. But if fame were his chief object in the composition of the poem, he was sufficiently rewarded ; and it is to be surmised that by this time the people in Ireland — no longer implored to get subscribers — had heard of the proud position won by the vagrant youth who had " taken the world for his pillow " some eighteen years before. That his own thoughts had sometimes wandered back to the scenes and friends of his youth during this labour of love, we know from his letters. In January of this year, while as yet the Deserted Village was not quite through the press, he wrote to his brother Maurice ; and expressed himself as most anxious to hear all about the relatives from whom he had been so long parted. He has something to say about himself too ; wishes it to be known that the King has lately been pleased to make him Professor of Ancient History " in a Royal Academy of Painting which he has just eetablished;" but gives no very flourishing In OCCASIONAL WRITINGS 103 account of his circumstances. " Hononra to one in my situation are something like rujffles to a man that wants a shirt." However there is some small legacy of fourteen or fifteen pounds left him by his uncle Oontarine, which he understands to be in the keep- mg of his cousin Lawder ; and to this wealth he is desirous of foregoing all claim ; his relations must settle how it may be best expended. But there is not a reference to his literary achieve- ments, or the position won by them j not the slightest yielding to even a pardonable vanity ; it is a modest, atfectionate letter. The only hint that Maurice Goldsiiiith receives of the esteem in which his brother is held in London, is contained in a brief mention of Johnson, Burke, and othei'S as his friends. *' I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I believe 't is the most acceptable present I can offer. I have ordered it to be left for her at (George Faulkenor'u, folded in a letter. The face, you well know, is ugly enough; but it is finely painted. I will shortly also send my friends over the Shannon some mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Oolman. I believe I have written an hundred letters to different friends in your country, and never received an answer from any of them. I do not know how to account for this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards which I must ever retain for them." The letter winds up with an appeal for news, new% news. CHAPTER XV. OOOASIONAL WKITINOS. Some two months after the publication of the Deserted VUl(ige, when its success had been well assured. Goldsmith pro- posed to himself the relaxation of a little Continental tour ; and It aim 110 GOLDSMITH. ^1 I .,'■ i ii ! ill he was accompanied by three ladies, Mrs. Horneck and her two pretty daughters, who doubtless took more charge of him than he did of them. This Mrs. Horneck, the widow of a certain Capt^ain Horneck, was connected with Reynolds, while Burke was the guardian of the two girls ; so that it was natural that > they should make the acquaintance of Dr. Goldsmito. A foolish attempt has been made to weave out of the relations . sup{)osed to exist between the younger of the girls and Gold- smith an imaginary romance; but there is not the slightest actual foundation for anything of the kind. Indeed the best guide we can have to the friendly and familiar terms on which he stood with regard to the Hornecks and their circle, is the following careless and jocular reply to a chance invitation sent him by the two sisters : — ** Your mandate I got, You may all go to pot j Had your senses been right, You'd have sent before night ; As I hope to be saved, I put off being shaved ; For I could not make bold, While the matter was cold, To meddle in suds. Or to put on my duds ; So tell Horneck and Nesbitt, And Baker and his bit, And KaufiEman beside, And the Jessamy bride ; With the rest of the crew. The Reynoldses two. Little Comedy's face k And the Captain in laoe. '-^-^ Yet how can I when vext Thus stray from my text 7 Tell each other to rue Your Devonshire crew. OCCASIONAL WRITINOB. Ill For sending bo late To one of my state. But 'tis Heynolds'a way From Mrisdom to stray, And Angelica's whim To be frolic like him. But, alas I your good worships, how could they be wiser, When both have been spoiled in to-day's Advertiser ? " " The Jessamy Bride " waa the pet nickname he had bestowed on the younger Miss Horneok — the heroine of the speculative romance just mentioned ; " Little Comedy " was her sister ; " The Captain in lace " their brother, who was in the Quards. No doubt Mrs. Homeck and her daughters were very pleased to have with them on this Continental trip so distinguished a person as Dr. Goldsmith ; and he must have been very ungrate- ful if he was not glad to be provided with such charming com- panions. The story of the sudden envy he displayed of the admiration excited by the two handsome young Englishwomen as they stood at a hotel-window in Lille, is so incredibly foolish that it needs scarcely be repeated here ; unless to repeat the warning that, if ever anybody was so dense as not to see the humour of that piece of acting, one had better look with grave suspicion on every one of the stories told about Gold- smith's vanities and absurditiea Even with such pleasant companions, the trip to Paris was not everything he had hoped. " I find," he wrote to Reynolds from Paris, " that travelling at twenty and at forty are very different things. I set out with all my confirmed habits about me, and can find nothing on the Continent so good as when I formerly left it. One of our chief amusements here is scolding at everything we meet with, and praising every thing and every jierson we left at home. You may judge therefore whether your name is not frequently bandied at table among us. To tell you the truth, I rever thought I could regret your absence so much, as our vaiious mortifications on the road have often Il2 GOLDSMITH. \n I > ]■■ i ■ ! taught uie to do. I couM tell you of disasters and adventures without number, of oui' lying in barns, and of my being half poisoned with a dish of gi-een [leas, of our quarreling with postilions and being cheated by our landladies, but I reserve all this for a happy hour which I expect to share with you upon my return." The fact is that although Goldsmith had .seen a good deal of foreign travel, the manner of his making the grand tour in his youth was not such as to fit him for acting as courier to a party of ladies. However, if they increased his troubles, they also shared them ; and in this same letter he bears explicit testimony to the value of their companionship. " I will soon be among you, better pleased with my situation at home than I ever was before. And yet I must say, that if anything oould make France pleasant, the very good women with whom I am at present would certainly do it. I could say more about that, but I intend showing them this letter before I send it away." Mrs. Horneck, Little Comedy, the Jessamy Bride, and the Professor of Ancient History at the Royal Academy, all returned to London ; the last to resume his round of convivialities at taverns, excursions into regions of more fashionable amusement along with Reynolds, and task-work aimed at the pockets of the booksellers. It was a happy-go-lucky sort of life. We find him now showing off his fine clothes and his sword and wig at Ranelagh Gardens, and again shut up in his chambers compiling memoirs and histories in hot haste ; now the guest of Lord Clare, and figuring at Bath, and again delighting some small domestic circle by his quips and cranks ; playing jokes for the amuse- ment of children, and writing comic letters in verse to their elders ; everywhere and at all times merry, thoughtless good natured. And, of course, we find also his humorous pleasant- ries being mistaken for blundering stupidity. In perfect good faith Boswell describes how a number of people burst out laugh- ing when Goldsmith publicly complained that he had met Lord 5 ' ( OCCASIONAL WRITINGS. 113 Oamden at Lord 01ar«*8 house in the oountry, " and be took no mora notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man." Goldsmith's claiming to be a very extraordinary person wa.s precisely a stroke of that humourouR self-depreciation in which he was continually indulging ; and the Jessamy Bride has left it on record that ** on many occasions, from the peculiar manner of bis humour, and assumed frown of countenance, what was often uttered in jest was mistaken by those who did not know him for earnest." This would appear to have been one of those occasions. The company burst out laughing at Qold- smith's having made a fool of himself ; and Johnson was com- pelled to con.e to his rescue. '' Nay, gentlemen, Dr. Gold- smith is in the right. A nobleman ought to have made up to such a man as Goldsmith ; and I think it is much against Lord Camden that he neglected him." Mention of Lord Glare naturally recalls the ffauneh of Venison. Goldsmith was particularly happy in writing bright and airy verses ; the grace and lightness of his touch has rarely been approached. It must be coiifessed, however, that in this direction he was somewhat of an Autolycus; unconsidered trifles he freely appropriated ; but he committed these thefts with scarcely any concealment, and with the most charming air in the world. In fact some of the snatches of verse which he contributed to the Bee scarcely profess to be anything else than translations, though the originals are not given. But who is likely to complain when we get as the result such a delight- ful piece of nonsense as the famous Elegy on that Gloiy of het- Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize, which has been the parent of a vast progeny since Goldsmith's time 1 « Good people all, with one accord. Lament for Madam Blaize, Whb never wanted a good word. From those who spoke her praise. 114 GOLDSMITH >i i: i ■ ill " The needy seldom passed her door, And always found her kind ; She freely lent to all the poor, — Who left a pledge behind. " She strove the neighliourliood to please, With manners wondrous winning ; And never followed wicked ways,— Unless when she was sinning. • " At chiych, in silks and satins new. With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumbered in her pew, — But when she shut her eyes. " Her love was sought, I do aver. By twenty beaux or more ; The king himself has followed her,-- When she has walked before. " But now her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on out short all ; The doctors found, when she was dead,— Her last disorder mortal " Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say. That had she lived a twelvemonth more^— She had not died to*day." Tht Haunch of Venison^ on the other hand, is a poetical letter of thanks to Lord Clare — an easy jocular epistle, in which , the writer has a cut or two at certain of his literary brethren. Then, as he is looking at the venison, and determining not to send it to any such people as Heffernan or Higgins, who should step in but our old friend Beau Tibbs, or some oii« remarkably like him in manner and speech % — " While ihu8 I debated, in reverie centered. An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself, entered ; An nnder-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he. And he smiled as he looked at the venison and me. ' What have we got here t — Why this is good eating ! tHB STOOPS TO CONQUBR. 115 Tonr own T suppose— or is it in waiting T ' * Why, whose should it bo ? ' cried I with a flonnoe ; ' I get these things often ' but that was a bounce : ' Some lords, my acquaiutance, that settle the nation, Are pleased to be kind, but I hate ostentation.' * If that be the case then,' cried he, very gay, * I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. To-morrow you take a poor dinnor M'ith me ; No words — I insist on't — precisely at three ; We'll have Johnson, and Burke ; all the wits will be there ; My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare. And now that I think on't, as I am a sinner I We wanted this venisoa to make out the dinner. What say you — a pasty ? It shall and it must, And my vidfe, little Kitty, is famous for crust. Here, porter ! this venison with me to Mile End ; No stirring — 1 beg — ray dear friend — my dear friend ! ' Thus, snatching his hat, he brushed off like the wind, And the porter and eatables followed bahind." We need not follow the vanished venison — which did not make its appearance at the banquet any more than did Johnson or Burke — further than, to say that if Lord Clare did not make it good to the poet he did not deserve to have his name associated with such a clever and careless jeu cVesprit, tical nich iren. •t to who J CHAPTER XVI. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. But the writing of smart versos could not keep Dr. Gold- smith alive, more especially as dinner-parties, Banelagh uiasque- rades, and similar diversions pressed heavily on his iinanoes. When his History of England appeared, the literary cut-throats of the day accused him of having been bribed by the Govern- 116 GOLDSMITH. t;; i;! 1-..^ ;i11 uient to betray the liberties of the people;* a foolish charge. What Goldsmith got for the English History was the sum originally stipulated for, and now no doubt all spent ; with a further sum of fifty guineas for an abridgment of the work. Then; by this time, he had persuaded GrilHn to advance him the whole of the eight hundred guineas for the Animated Natwef though he had only done about a third part of the book. At the instigation of Newbery he bad begun a story after the manner of the Vicar of Wahgfield ; but it appears that such chapters as he had written were not deemed to be promising ; and the undertaking was abandoned. The fact is, Goldsmith was now thinking of another method of replenishing his purse. The Vicar of W'aA;«/2«W had brought him little but reputation; the Good-Natured Man had brought him £500. It was to the stage that he now looked for assistance out of the financial slough in which he was plunged. He was engaged in writing a comedy ; and that comedy was She Stoops to Conqtier. In the Dedication to Johnson which was prefixed to this play on its appearance in type, Goldsmith hints that the attempt to write a comedy not of a sentimental order then in fashion, was a hazaradous thing ; and also that Oolman, who saw the piece in its various stages, was of this opinion too, Colman threw cold water on the undertaking from the very beginning. It was only extreme pressure on the part of Gold- smith's friends that induced — or rather compelled — him to accept the comedy ; and that, after he had kept the unfortunate author in the tortures of sus})ense for month after month. Buc although Goldsmith knew the danger he was resolved to face it. He hated the sentimentalists and all their works ; and deter- mined to keep his new comedy faithful to nature, whether people called it low or not. His object was to raise a genuine» * " Ood knows I had no thought for or as:ttin8t liberty in my head ; my whola aim being to make up n boolt of a decent lize that, as Squire Richards layt, * woald dc no harir to nobody.' "— Ooldsmiih to Laagton, September, 1771. SHE STOOPS TO OONQUEB 117 hearty laugh ; not to write a piece for school declamation ; and he had enough confidence in himself to do the work in his own way. Moreover he took the earliest possible opportunity, in writing this piece, of poking fun at the sensitive ci-eatures who had been shocked by the " vulgarity " of The Good-N attired Man. " Bravo ! Bravo ! " cry the jolly companions of Tony Lumpkin, when that promising buckeen has tinished his song at the Three Pigeons ; then follows criticism : " Fir^ Fellow. The squire has got spunk in him. Second Fel. I loves to hear hi:n sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low. TMrd Fel, damn anything that's low, I cannot bear it. Fourth Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing anytime : if so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly. Third Fel, I likes the maxum of it, Master Muggins. What, though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that May this be my poison, if my bear ever dances but to the very genleelest of tunes ; ' Water Parted,' or the ' The Minuet in Ariadne.' " Indeed, Goldsmith, however he might figure in society, was always capable of holding his own when he had his pen in his hand. And even at the outsol of this comedy one sees how much he has gained m literary confidence since the writing of the Good-Natured Man. Here there is no anxious stiffness at all ; but a brisk, free conversation, full of point that is not too formal, and yet conveying all the information that has usually to be crammed Into a first scene. In taking as the ground- work of hiw plot that old adventure that ha^i befallen himself — his mistaking a squire's house for an inn — he was hampering himself with something that was not the less impiobable because it had actually happened ; l)ut we begin to forget all the improbabilities through the naturalness of the people to whom we are introduced, and the I > risk movement and life of the pieoa Fashions in dramatic literaturo uiay come and go ; but the ii 118 GOLDSMITH »» : wholesome good-natured fun of She Stoops to Conquer is as capable of producing a hearty laugh now, as it was when it first saw the light in Covent Garden. Tony Lumpkin is one of the especial favourites of the theatre-going public ; and no wonder. With all the young cub's jibes and jeers, his impudence and grimaces, one has a sneaking love for the scapegrace ; we laugh with him, rather than at him ; how can we fail to enjoy those malevolent tricks of his when he so obviously enjoys them him- self 1 And Diggory — do we not owe an eteinal debt of grati- tude to honest Diggory for telling us about Ould Grouse in the gunroom, that immortal joke at which thousands and thousands ot people have roared witli laughter, though they never any one of them could tell what the story was about 1 The scene in which the old squire lectures his faithful attendants on their manners and duties, is one of the truest bits of comedy on the English stage: — ii I " Mr. Hardcastle. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets Roger ; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stifi", indeed but that's no great matter. Diggory, Ay, mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this way when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talk- ing ; you must see us drink, and not thing of drinking ; you must see us eat, and not think of eating. Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossiblc. When- ever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's always v^ishing for a mouthful himself. Hard. Blockhead ! Is not a bellyful in the kitchen as good as a belly- ful in the parlour ? Stay your stomach with that reflection. Dig. Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry. ^ Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. — Then, if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out a- laughing, as if you made part of the company. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. no Dig. Then ecod your worship must not tell the story of Ould Oroupe in the gunroom : I can't help laughing at that — he ! he ! he 1 — for the soul of me. We have laughed at that these twenty years — ha ! ha ! ha ! Hard. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The story is a good one Wei', honest Dig- gory, you may laugh at that — but still remember to be attentive. Sup- pose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave ? A glass of wine, sir, if you please {to Diogory). — Eh, why don't you move ? Dig. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. Hard. What, will nobody move ? First 8erv. I'm not to leave this pleace. Secottd Serv. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine. Third Serv. Nor mine, for sartain. Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine." No doubt all tliis is very " low " indeed ; and perhaps Mr. Oolman may be forgiven for suspecting that the refined wits of the day would be shocked by these rude humours of a parcel of servants. Bui all that can be said in this direction was said at the time by Horace Walpole, in a letter to a friend of his ; and this criticism is so amusing in its pretence and imbecility that it is worth quoting at large. " Dr. Goldsmith has written a comedy," says this profound critic, " — no, it is the lowest of all farces ; it is not the subject T condemn, though very vulgar, but the execution. The drift tends to no moral, no edification of any kind —the situations, however, are well imagined, and make one laugh in spite of the grossness of the dialogue, the forced witticisms, and total improbability of the whole plan and con- duct. But what disgusts me most is, that though '^he characters are very low, and aim at low humoar, not one of them says a sentence that is natural, or marks any character at all." Horace Walpole sighing for edification — from a Covent Garden comedy ! Surely, if the old gods have any laugliter left, and if they take any notice of what is done in the literary ^/orld here below, there must have rumbled through the courts c i Olympus a guffaw of sardonic laughter, when that solemn criticism was put down on paper. 120 GOLDSMITH. % I IS m I' Meanwhile Col man's original fears had developed into a sort of stupid obstinacy. He was so convinced that the play would not succeed, that he would spend no money in putting it on the stage ; while far and wide he announced its failure as a foregone conclusion. Under this gloom of vaticination the reheai'sals were nevertheless proceeded with — the brunt of the quarrels among the players falling wholly on Goldsmith, for the manager seems to have withdrawn in despair; while all the uohnson con- fiaternity were determined to do what they could for Goldsmith on the opening night. That was the 15th of March, 1773. His friends invited the author to dinner as a prelude to the play; Dr. Johnson was in the chair ; there was plenty of gaiety. But this means of keeping up the anxious author's spirits was not very successful. Goldsmith's mouth, we are told by Reynolds, became so parched "from the agitation of his mind, that he was unable to swallow a single mouthful." Moreover, he could not face the ordeal of sitting through the play; when his friends left the tavern and betook themselves to the theatre, ho went away by himself; and was subsequently found walking in St. James's Park. The friend who discovered him there persuaded him that his presence in the theatre might be useful in case of an emergency ; and ultimately got him to accompany him to Covent Garden. When Goldsmith reached the theatre, the fifth act had been begun. Oddly enough, the first thing he heard on entering the stage- door was a hiss The story goes that the poor author was dreadfully frightened; and that in answer to a hurried question, Colraan exclaimed, " Psha ! Doctor, don't be afraid of a squib, when we have been sitting these two hours on a barrel of gunpowder." If this was meant as a hoax, it was a cruel one ; if meant seriously, it was untrue. For the piece had turned out a great hit. From beginning to end of the performance the audience were in a roar of laughter ; and the single hiss that Goldsmith unluckily heard was so markedly exceptional, SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 121 that «fc became the talk of the town, and was variously attributed to one or other of Goldsmith's rivals. Colmau, too, suffered at the hands of the wits for his gloomy and falsified predictions ; and had, indeed, to beg Goldsmith U> intercede for him. It is a gi'eat pity that Bos well was not in London at this time; for then we might have had a description of the supper that naturally would follow the play, and of Goldsmith's demeanour under this new success. Besides the gratification, moreover, of his choice of materials being approved by the public, there was the material benefit accruing to him from the three " author's nights." These are supposed to have produced nearly five hundred pounds — a substantial sum in those days. Boswell did not come to London till the second of April following; and the first mention we find of Goldsmith is in connection ^vith an incident which has its ludicrous as well as its regrettable aspect. The further success of She Stoops to Conquer was not likely to propitiate the wi*etched hole-and- corner cut-throats that infested the journalism of that day. More especially was Kenrick driven mad with envy ; and so, in a letter addressed to the London Packet, this poor creature determined once more to set aside the judgment of the public, and show Dr. Goldsmith in his true colours. The letter is a wretched production, full of personalities only tit for an angry washerwoman, and of rancour without point. But there was one passage in it that effectually roused Goldsmith's rage ; for here the Jessamy Bride was introduced as '• the lovely H — k." The letter was anonymous; but the publisher of the print, a man called Evans, was known ; and so Goldsmith thought he would go and give Evans a beating. If he had asked Johnson's advice about the matter, he would no doubt have been told to pay no heed at all to anonymous scurrility — certainly not to attempt to reply to it with a cudgel. When Johnson heard that Foote meant to " take him off," he turned to Da vies and asked him what was the common price of an oak stick ; but an ■-A 122 GOLDSMITH. oak stick in Johnson's hands, aud an oak stick in Goldsmith's hands, were two different things. However, to the bookseller'^s shop the indignant poet proceeded, in company with a friend ; got hold of Evans ; accused him of having insulted a young lady by putting her name in his paper; and, when the publisher would fain have shifted the responsibility on to the editor, forthwith denounced him as a rascal, and hit him over the back with his cane. The publisher, however, was quite a match for Goldsmith ; and there is no saying how the deadly combat might have ended, had not a lamp been broken overhead, the oil of which drenched both the warriors. This intervention of the superior gods was just as successful as a Homeric cloud ; the fray ceased ; Goldsmith and his friend withdrew ; and ultimately an action for assault was compromised by Goldsmith's [)aying fifty pounds to a charity. Then the howl of the journals arose. Their prerogative had been assailed. " Attacks upon private character were the most liberal existing source of newspaper income," Mr. Forster writes; and so the pack turned with one cry on the unlucky poet. There was nothing of "the Monument" about poor Goldsmith; and at last he was worried into writing a letter of defence addressed to the public. " He has indeed done it very well," said Johnson to Boswell, "but it is a foolish thing well done." And further he remarked, "Why, sir, I believe it is the fii-st time he has beat; he may have been beaten before. This, sir, is a new plume to him." CHAPTER XVII. 11 i H I:: INCREASING DIFFICULTIES. — THE BND. The pecuniary success of She Stoops to Gonqu&r did but little to relieve Goldsmith from those financial embaiTassments which were now weighing heavily on his mind. And now he had less INCREASING DIFFICULTIES. 123 of the old high spirits that had enabled him to laugh off the cares of debt. His health became disordered ; an old disease renewed its attacks, and was grown more violent because of his long-continued sedentary habits. Indeed, from this point to the day of his death — not a long interval, either — we find little but a record of successive endeavours, some of them wild and hopeless enough, to obtain money anyhow. Of course he went to the Club, as usual; and gave dinner parties; and had a laugh or a song ready for the occasion. It is possible, also, to trace a certain growth of confidence in himself, no doubt the result of the repeated proofs of his genius he had put before his friends. It was something more than mere personal intimacy that justi- fied the rebuke he administered to Reynolds, when the latter painted an allegorical picture representing the triumph of Beattie and Truth over Voltaire and Scepticism. " It very ill becomes a man of your eminence and chamcter," he said, " to debase so high a genius as Voltaire before so mean a writer as Beattie. Beattie and his book will be forgotten in ten years, while Vol- taire's fame will last forever. Take care it does not perpetuate this picture, to the shame of such a man as you." He was aware, too, of the position he had won for himself in English literature. He knew that people in after-days would ask about him J and it was with no sort of unwarrantable vainglory that he gave Percy certain materials for a bio<]jraphy which he wished him to undertake. Hence tne Percy Memoir, He was only forty -five when he made this request ; and he had not sufiered much from illness during his life ; so that there was apparently no grounds for imagining that the end was near. But at this time Goldsmith began to suffer severe fits of depres- sion ; and he grew irritable and capricious of temper — no doubt another result of failing health. He was embroiled in disputes with the Booksellers ; and, on one occasion, seems to have been much hurt because Johnson, who had been asked to step in as arbiter, decided against him. He was offended with Johnson m Vi 124 GOLDSMITH. on another occasion because of bis sending away certain disbes at a dinner given to him by Goldsmith, as a hint tbat these entertainments were too hixuiious for one in Goldsmith's posi- tion. It was probably owing to some temporary feeling of this sort — perhaps to some expression of it on Goldsmith's part- that Johnson spoke of Goldsmith's "malice" towards him. Mrs. Thrale had suggested that Goldsmith would be the best person to write Johnson's biography. " The dog would write it best, to be sure," said Johnson, " but his particular malice towards me, and general disregard of truth, would make the book useless to all and injurious to my character.** Of course it is always impossible to say what measure of jocular exaggera- tion there may not be in a chance phrase such as this ; of the fact that there was no serious or permai^ent quarrel between the two friends we have abundant proof in Boswell's faithful pages. To return to the various endeavours made by Goldsmith and his friends to meet the difficulties now closing in around him, we find, first of all, the familiar hack-work. For two volumes of a History of Greece he had received from Griffin \£250. Then his friends tried to get him a pension from the Govern- ment ; but this was definitely refused. An expedient of his own seemed to promise well at first. He thought of bringing out a Popular Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, a series of contributions mostly by his friends, with himself as editor ; and among those who offered to assist him were Johnson, Reynolds Burke, and Dr. Bumey. But the booksellers were afraid. The project would involve a large expense : and they had no high opinion of Goldsmith's business habits. Then he offered to alter The Good-natured Man for Garrick ; but Garrick preferred to treat with him for a new comedy, and generously allowed him to draw on him for the money in advance. This last help enabled him to go to Barton for a brief holiday ; but the relief was only temporary. On his return to London even his nearest friends began to observe the change in his manner. In the old » t INCRBAIINO DinriOULTIBS. 12ft days Goldsmith had faced pecuniary difficulties with a light heart ; but now, his health broken, and every avenue of escape apparently closed, he waa giving way to despair. His friend Gradock, coming up to town, found Goldsmith in a most despon* dent condition : and also hints that the unhappy author was trying to conceal the true state of affairs. " I believe," says Cradock, " he died miserable, and that his friends were not entirely aware of his distress." And yet it was during this closing period of anxiety, despon- dency, and gloomy foreboding, that the brilliant and humorous lines of Retaliation were written — that last scintillation of the bright and happy genius that was soon to be extinguished for ever. The most varied accounts have been given of the origin of this jeu (Vesprit ; and even Garrick's, which was meant to supersede and correct all others, is self-contradictory. For according to this version of the story, wliich was found among the Garrick papers, and which is printed in Mr. Cunningham's edition of Goldsmith's works, the whole thing arose out of Goldsmith and Garrick resolving one evening at the St. James's Coffee House to write each other^s epitaph. Garrick's well- known couplet was instantly produced : " Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortneas called Noll, Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor PolL", Goldsmith, according to Garrick, either would not or could not retort at the moment ; " but went to work, and some weeks after produced the following printed poem, called Retaliation.'^ But Garrick himself goes on to say, " The following poems in manuscript were written by several of the gentlemen on purpose to provoke the Doctor to an answer, which came forth at last with great credit to him in Retaliation." The most probable version of the story, which may be pieced together from various sources, is that at the coffee-house named this business of writing comic epitaphs was started some evening or other by the whole "?^. t h ^. i '( ^ ml Hi 'I I 126 00LDH8ITH. company; that Goldsmith and Garrick pitted themRelves againnt each other ; that thereafter Goldsmith began as occasion served to write similar squibs about his friends, which were shown about as they were written ; that thereupon those gentlemen, not to be l)ehindhand, composed moi*e elaborate pieces in proof of their wit; and that, finally, Goldsmith resolved to bind these fugitive lines of his together in a poem, which he left unfinished* and which, undei* the name of Retaliation, was published after his death. This hypothetical account receives some con- firmatian from the fact that the scheme of the poem and its component parts do not tit together well ; the introduction looks like an after-thought ; and has not the freedom and pungency of a piece of improvisation. An imaginary dinner is described, the guests being Garrick, Reynolds, Burke, Cumberland, and the rest of them. Goldsmith last of all. More wine is called for, until the whole of his companions have fallen beneath the table : *' Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead." This is a somewhat clumsy excuse for introducing a series of epitaphs ; but the epitaphs am[)ly atone for it. That on Garrick is especially remarkable as a bit of character-sketching ; its shrewd hints — all in perfect courtesy and good humour — going a little nearer to the truth than is common in epitaphs of any sort : — "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-jud^ng beauty, his colours he spread, ' And beplastered with rouge his own natural red. On the stage he was natural, simple, a£fecting ; Y Twas only that, when he was o£^ he was acting. INCBEABINO DIFFICULTIES. 127 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 confoun fine friends either forgot him, or ceased to regard his memory with a great gentleness and kindness. Some two years after,, when a monument was about to be erected to Goldsmith ia Westminster Abbey, Johnson consented to write "the poor dear Doctor's epitaph ; " and so anxious were the members of ibat famous circle in which Goldsmith had figured, that a just tribute should be paid to his genius, that they even ventured ta send a round-robin to the great Cham desiring him to amend his first draft Now, perhaps, we have less interest in Johnson'a estimate of Goldsmith's genius — though it contains the famoua NvUum quod tetigit non omavit — than in the phrases which, tell of the honour paid to the memory of the dead poet by the love of his companions and the faithfulness of his friend& It may here be added that the precise spot where Goldsmith was- buried in the Temple churchyard is unknown. So lived and so died Oliver Goldsmith. « 9 iTSwr -*\--^'' Vi 1 s». ■!■ I M V- [■■'>ii.'' ml' i 'lb, '• 4 130 OOUMUilTB. In the foregoing pages the writings of €k>ldsmith have bMn :giTen so prominent a plaee in the bieiory of his Hfe that it is un- necessary to take them here collectively and endeavour to sum up their distinctive qualities. As much as could be said within the limited space has, it is hoped, been said about their genuine and tender pathos, that never at any time verges on the affected or theatrical; about their quaint delicate, delightful humour; about that broader humour that is not afraid to provoke the wholesome laughter of mankind by dealing with common and familiar wajn, and manners, and men; about that choiceness of diction, that lightness and grace of touch, that lend a eharm even to Gold- fffisith's ordinary hack-wc»rk. Still less necessary, perhaps, is it to review the facts and circumstances of Goldsmitb^s life; and to make of them an example, a warning, or an accusation. That has too often been done. His name has been used to glorify a sham Bohemianism — a Bohemianism that finds it easy to live in taverns, but does not find it easy, so far as one sees, to write poems like the Deserted Village. His experiences as an author have been brought forward to swell the cry about neglect**'' genius — that is, by writers who assume their genius in order to prove the neglect. The misery that occasionally befell liim during his: way- ward career has been made the basis of an accusation against society, the English constitution, Christianity — Heaven kiiowc^ what. It is time to have done with all this nonsense. Gold- smith resorted to the hpck-work of literature when evwythirig else had failed him; and he was fairly paid for it When he did better work, when he "struck for honest fame," the uation gave him all the honour that he could have desired. With an assured reputation, and with ample means of subsis-' tence, he obtained entrance into the most distinguished society then in England — he was made the friend of England's g»^atest in the arts and literature — and could have confined himself to that society exclusively if he had chosen. His temperament. THE END. 131 nil- &up the and d (ur bout some rays, thai Md- j-,< X ','■ and m an L been ' /;- anism b does : ke the been — that ve the «way- gainat khowii Gold- ythiiig When e,"t.he ired. subsis-' society atest self to ,ment, ^. no doubt, exposed him to suffering ; aud the exquisite sensitive- ' N*^ ness of a man of genius may demand our sympathy ; but in far . gi'eater measure is our sympathy demanded for the thousands < upon thousands of people who, from illness or nervous excita- ' bility, suffer from quite as keen a sensitiveness without the consolation of the fame that genius brings. In plain truth, Goldsmith himself would have been the last to put forward pleas humiliating alike to himself and to his calling. Instead of beseeching the State to look after authors ; instead of imploring society to grant them " recognition ; " ; instead of saying of himself "he wrote, and paid the penalty;" he would frankly have admitted that he ^hose to live his life his own way, and therefore paid the penalty. This is not written with any desire of upbraiding Goldsmith. He did choose to live his own life his own way, and we now have the splendid and , beautiful results of his work; and the world — looking at these with a constant admiration, and with a great and lenient love for their author — is not anx'Dus to know what he did with his guineas, or whether the milkman was ever paid. "He had i-aiaed money and squandered it, by every artifice of acquisition and folly of. expense. Bctt let not his fhailties be REMEMBERED : HE WAS A VERY GREAT MAN." This is John- €on's wise summing up : and with it we may here take leave of gentle Goldsmith. THE JSND. V. *' 1/ ONTARIO COLLEGE OF EDUCATinw I iii; 'i In 1, . »•■. J,- « > 'J ^. , -^ ■■.••' '"^f .,';*; ^\'-- 'V '^-./S;;' ^ '>■''', A .,^.- c \ NOTES TO THE LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. CHAPTER I. 5, 13. "You come hot," etc. Quoted from a series of lectures on the English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century, delivered in Eng- land (1851), Scotland, and the United States, and more particularly from the sixth lecture, Sterne and Goldsmith. 6, 11. Mr. Porster. John Forster (1812-1876), journalist, critic, author, friend of Dickens and Browning, a man of unflinching purpose combined with keenest sympathy. His "Statesmen of the Common- wealth" (1840) was followed by the "Life and Times of Oliver Gold- smith " (1854), and by lives of De Foe and Charles Churchill, as well as of Charles Dickens (1871-4). The student should not allow Black's dis- paragement of Forster's Goldsmith to prejudice him against a biography which Irving, himself also a biographer of the genial author, pronounced to be ** executed with a spirit, a feeling, a grace and an elegance that leave nothing to be desired." 6, 16. Companions of the Bath. The order of the Bath, one of the most ancient orders of British knighthood, has three degrees rising in merit from Knights Companions (k.b.),, Knights Commanders (k.c.b. ), to Knights Grand Cross (g.c.b.). 6, 22. sizar (sl'zer). College term in Trinity College, Dublin, and' in Cambridge; from "size," a farthing's worth of food or drink. A stu- dent whose college expenses are partly remitted because of his poverty, "The first thing exacted of a sizar in these days was to give proof of clas' sical attainments. He was to show himself, to a certain reasonable ex- tent, a good scholar ; in return for which, being clad in a black gown of coarse stuff without sleeves, he was marked with the servant'^ badge of a red cap, and put to the servant's offices of sweeping courts in the morning, carrying up dishes from the kitchen to the fellows' dining- table in the afternoon, and waiting in the hall till the fellows had dined." (Forster, Goldsmith, chap, ii.) The menial services are now abolished. Black's quotations are from various parts of Forster's biography. 135 136 GOLDSMITH. 7, 26. New Zealander. "And she (»". In the neighbouring county of Roscommon. 16, 26. Mr- Barry Lyndon. The hero of Thackeray's novel Barry Lyndon, That young gentleman, after having victoriously en- countered Captain Quin in a duel, fled to Dublin on horseback. On the way he fell in with the fascinating Mrs. Fitzsimmons who, aided by the Captain her husband, rapidly made away with Barry's twenty guineas. 17, 7. Edinburgh. Famous then as now for its medical school. 17, 11- Albinus. Bernard Sigefroi Albinus (or Weiss) was » iie of the greatest of German anatomists. He taught in Leyden, dying in 1770. 17,15. Gaubius. Jerome David Gaubius or Gaub (1705-1780), a German physician who taught chemistry and afterwards medicine in Leyden, winning a great reputation as a professor and author. 18, 13. ** disputed." " I had acquired another talent," says th© philosophic vagabond in the Vicar oj Wakefield, " and this was a skill in disputation. In all the foreign universities and convents there are, upon certain days, philosophic theses maintained against adventitious disjju- tants : for which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. In this manner, then, I fought my way towards England." 18, 20. Baron von Holberg (1684-1754). In the sixth chapter of his Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning, Goldsmith narrates the life of this extraoi-dinary man. The son of a Norwegian sentinel, he learned to read without a master, travelled from school to school begging instruction and bread, taught French in Copenhagen ; made the tour of Europe on foot, earning his way by his voice and some little 140 GOLDSMITH. m skill in music ; taught in Oxford, where he wrote a history ; returned to Copenhagen to win fame and riches and nobility for the extent of his learning and the merit of his dramas and other literary productions. 18, 21. Orpheus. The mythological minstrel of Thrace whose lyre could charm all things in earth and the shades. 19, 4. igrnorance on this point. "He relates," says Macaulay, *' with pei'fect faith and with perfect gravity, all the most absurd lies which he could find in books of travels about gigantic Pategonians, monkeys that preach sermons, nightingales that repeat long conversa- tions. 'If he can tell a horse from a cow,' said Dr. Johnson, ' that is the extent of his knowledge of zoiUogy. ' " 20, 2. lines of Addison's. In No, 412 of the Spectator. The lines are nineteen Latin hexameters of Addison's composition. But Goldsmith translates them into English verse ; see Animated Nature, Bk. V. chap. i. Joseph Addison (1672-1719) was secretary of state and the greatest of the essayists of the Queen Anne period. See note .33, .30. •20, 17. Lou vain. In Belgium, N. E. of Brussels, possessing the largest university in the country. 20, 19. Johnson. Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), the literary dic- tator of his age, author of the first great Euglish dictionary and of many miscellaneous works in prose anil verse. Edmund Burke(l729- 1797), a lawyer, who won fame as a writer by his Easay on the Sublime and Beautiful, and his Reflections on the French Revolution and added to his fame as a writer a greater fame as an orator. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792), a great portrait painter, founder of the English school. CHAPTER IV. 21, 20. excursus [ex cur' sus). Digression. 21, 20. Necessity and Free-will. Necessity, the doctrine that the will is not free to choose, but that all actions are the inevitable result of antecedent forces ; Free-will, the doctrine that, amidst all forces, that tend to influence action, the will is free to choose without restraint. 21, 26. indictment (in dlt' ment). Formal accusation. 22, 7. Charles Surfaces. In Sheridan's famous comedy The School for Scandal, Charles Surface represents the scapegiace reformed. Ji NOTES. 141 who is evil only on the surface ; while hi.s eltler brother Joseph Sur-^ face is on the surface a youthful marvel of prudence, good sense, and benevolence, while in reality he is a scheming, plausible, malicious rogue. 22, 21. Samuel Boyse (1708-1749). Translator and poet. His Delly : a Poem, which appeared in 1743-9, was followed by Th^' Pruine of Peace, 1742. He led a miserable life, though worthy in many re- spects of a better fate. ( "ibber in lii^ Lirett of the Poetn relates that " about the year 1740 Mr. Hoyse, reduced to the last extremit)'^ of human wretchedness, had not a shirt, a coat, or any kind of apparel to put on ; the sheets in wliich he Ifvy were carried to the pawnl>rf)kers, and he was obliged to l)e conliued to bed with no other covering than a blanket. During this time he had some employment in writing verses for the magazines .... He sat up in bed witli a Ijlanket wrapped about him, through which he had cut a hole large enough to a« a' tro per oo gem.) (1466-1524) One of the greatest painters of the early Italian school, master of Ra})hael. 26, 3. criticism, ^ee Polite Learning and Citzen of the World, Letter Ivi. 26, 20. Home's Douglas. John Home (1722-1808), a Scottish clergyman, author of various dramas, the most popular of which, the tragedy of Douglas, was received with unbounded, though undeserved, enthusiasm, 26, 34. Smollett. Tobias Smollett (1721-1771) a Scotch ship- surgeon who won extraordinary success as a writer of novels — Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphry Clinker, etc. He was for a time editor of the Critical Review (see pp. 32-3). Among the most remark- able of his works is his History of England. His few poems (63, 19) — the satires of A dvice and Reproof, an Ode on Independence and a tragedy IVie Regicide, etc., are vigorous but of no great poetic merit. 27, 2. Jonas Hanway (1712-1786). English traveller and phil- anthropist. He wrote an account of his travels abroad : — ^* An Histori- cal Account of the British Tirade over the Caspian Sea ; with a Journal of Travels from London through Russia into Persia, and back again through Russia, Germany, and Holland,^' etc., (1754); and of his travels at home A Journal of Eight Days Journey from PortsmoiUh to Kingston-njyon' Thames (1756) ; with an endless number of other works — tracts, disquisi- tions, considerations, etc. 27, 8. Basque. Language of the people inhabiting the slopes of the Pyrenees near the Bay of Biscay. The origin of the language, which is non- Aryan, is a mystery. Armorioan, the language of the Armor- ican peninsula or Brittany. It is allied to Cornish, hence to Cellic, an Aryan tongue. 27, 22. Fleet Street. One of the most famous of London busi- ness streets, between Ludgate and the Strand. 27, 23. coflfee-house. A shop where coflfee was drunk, but which was rather a resort for. the idle, and a rendezvous for men of politics or business. NOTES. 143 27, 34. Ooromandel coast. A portion of the west ahorc of the Hay of Bengal. 28, 30. Green- Arbour Court. Now swept away. "CioUl- smith lived, from 1758-1700, in what was then No. 12, on the right hand corner as the traveller ascended the steps[**a dizzy ladder of flagstones called Breakneck steps," Macaulay] from Fleet Market. "A wretched dirty room," he had, according to liishop Percy, " in wliich there was })ut one chair, and when he froni civility offered it to his visi- tant, himself was obliged to sit in the window." 29, 6. Surgeons' Hall. Surgeons' Hall, the home of the Royal College of Surgeons, was from 1751-1800 situated in Old Bailey, London. In the books of the Court of Examiners of the Society for 2l8t Dec. 1758, stands the record : "James Bernard, mate to an hospital, Oliver Goldsmith found not qualified for ditto." CHAPTER V. 29, 25. Grub Street, now Milton Street. The occupation of this street by *' writers of small histories, dictionaries, and temporary poems" gave rise to the term being synonymous with mean authors and mean literary productions. Marvel, Pope, and Swift gave the name its unen- viable notoriety. 30,20- virtuosi (v^rt oo O' ase). Ital., pi. of virtuoso, virtuoso, a person skilled in tine arts. " Professed critics of beaut j' in works of art, judge of medals by the smell, and pictures by feeling. In statuary hang over a fragment with the most ardent gaze of admiration, though wanting the head and other extremities ; if dug from a ruin the Torse becomes inestimable." Polite Learning, chap. iv. 30, 20. fllosofl (felO'ssofe). Ital., pi. of flosofo, philosopher. ** These boast of having theirs [knowledge] from books and study. Bred up all their lives in colleges, they have there learned to think in track, servilely to follow the leader of their sect, and only to adopt such ojiinions as their universities, or the inquisition, are pleased to allow." Polite Learning, chap. iv. 30, 24. fawn. Now spelled 'faun,' a rural demi-deity of human form, but having a goat's tail, horns, and pointed ears. Dryad, a deity or nymph of the woods. Hamadryad, a dryad that lived and died with the tree with which it was associated. r.4 GOLDSMITH. '•4% m Ul. 30, 26. Guarini { lo37-l()l'2). An Italian poet, author of // Pastor Fido (The faithful Shepherd), which was long reganled, for its sweet sentiment and elegant style, as the standard of pastoral poetry. 30, 31. modern Arcadians, The Italians under the indueuee of the pastoral spirit, as seen in fl Pastor Fido, were attempting artifici- aJly bo revive the sheplierd life of the Greeks, among whom the district of Arcadia in the Pel()[)onnesus was famed for the simple pleasures of its peaceful rural life. 30,32. abb^ (rt [as in far] ba'). ^r., lit. 'abbot,' also a title for Catholic ecclesiastics in general. 30, 34. divirtinienti (prentice themselves to the business. 33, 5. Kenrick. " Ht> was originally a mechanic, but, possessing S'^iio i.egree of talent and industry, applied himself to literature as a profession .... He wrote plays and satires, philosophic tracts, critical dissertations, and works on philosophy ; nothing from his pen ever rose to !irst-vate excellence, though he had received from some university the degree of Doctor of Laws. Dr. .lohnson characterized his literaiy career in one short sentence. ' .Sir, he is one of the many who have made themselves ^>f/k', without nuiking themselves knoivii.' " Irving, Gold- smith. 33, 27. St. Paul's Churchyard. An irregular area around St. '^aul's Cathedral ami burial-ground, London. It was famous for its booksellers even in Shakespeare's day. 33, 30. Spectator. The daily paper published by Steele and Addison during the years 1711, 1712, 171-t. It was immensely popular in its day because of tl e wit and elegance of its articles, which are still a living force as literati.ie, 34, 2. CoUaborateurs {co lab bo ra ters). Fr., associates in literary or scientiiic work. 35, 4. chandlers' shops. Especially for the sale of caudles. (Fr. chandelle). ' 35,6. Causerio (' t5 s'rc'). Fr., conversation, t?lk. 35, 33. Islingf'jOn. A parish lying to the north ot London, for- merly a village and rural district, and a famous resort of holiday citizens. 1 W-J NOTES. 145 36, 1. Bow Bell. The bells of Bow (St. Mary Le Bow) chinch, Cheapside, in the heart of Loudoi). 36, 7. Minus juvat, etc. * Wide-spread renown is less pleasing than great renown.' This is a variation of Pliny, " I do not know how it is, but mankind are generally more pleased with an extensive reputa- tion 1 hat even a great one." Einst. Bk. iv. 12, 36, 15. like Raleigh. Sir Walter Raleigh's History of tlie World " sold very slowlie at first, and the bookseller coraplayned of it, and told him that he should be a loser by it, which put 8ir W. in a passion. He said, that since the world did not understand it, they should not have this second ^ .irt, which he took before his face and threw into the fire, and burnt it. — Aubrey MSS. (Prior.) 36, 34. present tense. "The historical present is scarcely to be met with in Old English ; but there are numerous instances of it from the thirteenth century down to our times." — Kellner, Emjlish Syntax, 229. CHAPTER VI. 38, 17. Percy. Thonuxs Percy (1728-1811), rose to be bishop of DrouKjre in Ireland. His fame is preserved in his collection of old Eng- lish poetry called the IMiques of Ancient English Poetry (1765). 38, 24. the great Cham {hnn) or Khan. Lit., the ruling prince of Tartary. Smollett in a letter to Wilkes in 17o9 called .Tohnson, because of his social pre-eminence in literary circles, the "great Cham of literature." 39, 3. Wine-Oflace Court, in Fleet Street. See p. 50. 39, 5. Boswell. James Boswell (1740-1745), son of Lord Auchin- leck, a Scottish judge. Through his friendship with Davies the actor, who was keeping a bookshop in Russel Street, he was introduced, IGth May, 17C.3, to Johnson, and the ac(iuaintance l)ecanu' deep friendship. Boswell's notes on the doctor's conversations date from the first inter- view, and furnish a life that is unequalled in biographical literature. 39, 14. Mr. Levett. ** Another inmate of Johnson's house from an early period was Robert Levett, who had been waiter in a French coffee-house, picked up a knowledge of physic, and practised among the poor. Johnson had known him from about 1740. He was 146 GOLDSMITH. i ti $ m I'll nil grotesque, stiflF, and silent, accon^ Hg to Boswell (i, 24) and always waited upon Johnson at breakfast. Johnson, however, never treated him as a dependent." — Leslie Stephen. 40, 2. Horace Walpole (1717-1797), third son of the statesman Sir Robert Walpole. Out of many books, his Letters, showing the life of his time, are the only works having any living force to-day. 40, 5. poor Poll. The source of this phrase is quoted on p. 125. 40, 24. Mrs. Horneck. See p. llO. 40, 33. au Serieux (o sd re eu'). Fr., prendre au sdrieux, to take seriously, in earnest. 41, 7. Mr. Croker. John Wilson Croker (1780-1857), an Irish- man who became an English politician and essayist. He annotated Boswell's Life of Johnson, and thereby did an excellent service to the literary history of the time. 41, 11. Hawkins. (Sir) John Hawkins an attorney and musician, afterwards a magistrate, knight, and author of a five-volume history of music. His Life of Johnston (1787) is referred to by Black, 60, 18. 41, 13. tumid. Inflated, bombastic. 42, 19. Philistines. A term used by Germans to signify " respectable " people of narrow minds and no ideas. " Philistine must have originally meant, in the mind of those who invented the nickname, a strong, dogged, unenlightened opponent of the chosen people, of the children of the light." Matthew Arnold, Heine. t :f: 'III ^■.rt r'i m m m CHAPTER VII. 42, 26. Beau Nash. Richard Nash (1674-1761), an Oxford graduate who would have entered law but for the fascinations of society. He became in 1704 master of ceremonies at Bath, where he ruled with regal sway. He died in poverty. 43,6. Voltaire. (Fr. almost wZ^ar') (1694-1778). One of the most powerful minds of modern times ; author of tragedies, histories, and philosophic works ; dictator of intellectual Europe during the last twenty years of his life. While Voltaire was not an atheist, his writings were directed against the church as it was, and established opinions generally, and left him open to the unfair charge of atheism. (See 123, 15.) NOTES. 147 43, 6. Monthly Review. For 1857, article entitled Universal History. 43,7. Montesquieu (Fr. wow ^e.^lee^O (1689-1755). Historian and critic, author of U Esprit des Lois and of Lettres Persanes (Persian Letters). These latter, published in 1721, satirize the vices of govern- ment, religion, and society. 43, 8. Du Freny. Goldsmith had in mind Charles Dnfresny {dil frd ne') (1648-1724), who was author of many plays and literary works, among the last being his Eiitretiens or Amusements serieux et comiqaes, a novel giving ideas to Montesquieu for his Lettres Persanes. 43, 9. " Turkish Spy," or more fully. The Spy of the Great Seignior in the Courts of the Christian Princes, purported to be a trans- lation into Italian from the Arabic, but was really written by John Paul Marona of Genoa (1642 — 1693). It reviewed the European affairs from 1637 till the time of publication, 1684, and was very popular. 44, 5. turtle. The marine turtle (green turtle), especially in the form of turtle soup, is the highly esteemed dish of the epicure. 44, 6. TuUy. Marcus Tullius Cicero (b.c. 106-43), the Roman orator and philosopher. 44, 22. naivete [no, (as in far)ev' td'). Artlessness. 44, 23. Man in Black. See Citizen of the World. 46, 3. how often a pet fancy. Jofmny Armstrong, for ex- ample is alluded to in the Bee, in the Vicar, and in tlie letter to Mi\ Hodson (10, 20). 46, 6. Professor Masson (1822- ). Professor of English literature in University Coll. , London, and later in the university of Edinburgh. « 47, 8. Griffiths' accusation. When Goldsmith desired to present himself at Surgeons' Hall (1758), he agreed to furnish Griffiths with four articles for the Monthbj, provided the pul)lisher went his security for a new suit of clothes. Certain b(X)ks which Goldsmith was to review for one article, together with the suit, were almost immediately put into pawn to meet the needs of the poor keeper of his wretched lodging in Green-Arbour Court. Griffiths demanded back both clothes and books ; Goldsmith was unable to comply with the demand and the publisher then — judging from Goldsmith's letter of Jan., 1759 — accused him of being a sharper and a villain. s Sh, :te "N s,l U8 GOLDSMITH. 49, 18. t§te-a-t^te {tclt a [as in /ar] tat'). Fr. Literally '*head to head," hence, in private, 49, 29. asafoetida (« •«« /e<' id «)• Griim of an Eastern plant, used .as a seasoning by the Romans, but chiefly as medicine by the moderns. 51, 2. Ascot- Six miles s. w. of Windsor, with a fine race track. The races which take place in June are usually attended by the xoyal family. 51, 20. angry land-lady, etc. See p. 60. 52, 4. Tunbridge. Tunbridge Wells, near Tunbridge, Kent, Jias been well known for its waters since 1606. 52, 4. Bath. In Somersetshire ; the baths have been famous since the Koman conquest of Britain. 52, 18. Marionette. Fr. 'puppet.' 52, 31. trollops. Idle, untidy women. 53, 32. white aprons- " He had the strongest aversion to a -white apron I have known him on a ball night strip even the Duch- ess of Queensbury, and throw her apron at one of the hinder benches Among the ladies' women." Nash, iii. 284 (ed. Prior). 53, 36. Hogs-Norton- Village neai Gloucester (?). 54, 34. Hospital. For the care of the sick poor, founded by Nash. 54, 36. Wiltshire's rooms. Wiltshire's ball-room in Bath. 56, 11. Nullum fere, etc. Quoted from the opening lines of Dr. Johnson's epitaph on Goldsmith on the monument in Westminister Abbey : ' There was scarcely any kind of writing that he did not touch. TJiere was none that he touched that he did not adorn.' CHAPTER VIII. 56, 17. Newbery- John Newbery (171.3-1767), a farmer's son who became a bookseller in London in 1744, and won especial fame as the publisher of little books for children. His Weekly Gazette contained Johnson's Idler ; his Public Ledgtr, Goldsmith's Chinese Letters. He is spoken of in the Vicar as *' the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Churchyard." To Francis Newbery (1743-1818), his nephew and suc- cessor, Johnson sold the Vicar (or a share of it). See p. 62. NOTES. 149 56, 21. Canonbury House, in Islington. An old manor hall, the tower of which was early let out in apartments, furnishing a refuge at various times for various authors. 57, 19. Hogarth. William Hogarth (1(597-1764), painter and engraver, celebrated for engravings satirizing the follies and vices of his time. 57,23. Beauclerk. Topham Beauclerk (1739-1780) a man of taste, reading and fortune, and, in spite of dissipated habits, a warm friend of Dr. Johnson's. 57, 23. Bennet Langton (1737-1801), an Oxford man and Greek scholar, whose kindly nature made him popular in tlie literary circles of his time. 57, 24. Dr. Nugent. A Roman Catholic physician, father-in-law of Edmund Burke. He became Viscount Clare. See, note 112, 26. 57, 31. Mitre Tavern, Fleet Street, the scene of Johnson's raciest conversations. 58, 5. Miss Williams. "Some time after the loss of his wife he [Johnson] leceived into his home Miss Anna Williams, daughter of a Welsh physician, Miss Williams had come to London, for an opera- tion on her eyes, during Mrs. Johnson's life. She afterwards became totally blind, and had a permanent appartment in Johnson's house Miss Williams was well educated and intelligent. Johnson took plea- sure in her conversation, took her advice, and always treated her with high respect, in spite of her growing * peevishness ' in later years. She seems to have had some small means." — (Leslie Stephen.) 58, 5. Bolt Court. On the north side of Fleet Street. Miss Williams lived tlK^re for some years before Dr. Johnson made his home in No. 8. At her house he would drink tea every night before going to his rooms in the temple, and she always waited for him, no matter how late. \ 58, 14. Rev. Mr. Ogilvie. "He [Dr. Johnson] had looked in- to the poems of a pretty voluminous writer, Mr. (now Dr.) John Ogi'vie, which had lately came out, but could find no thinking in them. Boswell : ' Is there not imagination in them, sir? ' Johnson : ' Why, sir, there is in them what ivas imagination, but it is no more imagination in him, than sound is sound in the echo. And his diction, too, is not 150 GOLDSMITH. '"IK at Hi his own. AVe heave long ago seen white-rohed itmocence and flower-he' spanyled meads. ^ '' — Boswell's Johnson. The memorable epigram arose through Mr. Ogilvie remarking that Scotland had a great many noble wild prospe ts, when Dr. Johnson re- plied : "I believe, sir, you have a great many ; Norway, too, has noble wild prospects, and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects. But, sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England ! " 59, 2. subsequent visit. Johnson, under the proud guidance of Bos well, visited the Highlands in 1773. 59, 4. he garred, etc. ' He made kings know they had a j-mfc in their necks.' 59,14. Tom Davis. See Davies, 58, 11. 59, 22. Sir James Macdonald- " A ^oung man of dis- tinguished merit, who united the highest reputation at Eton and Oxford, with the patriarchal spirit of a great Highland chiefta'.n." Bosweli. 59, 27- Martin. M. Martin of St. Kilda (an island in the Outer Hebrides), who published A Lake Voijage to St. Kilda in 1698 and A ' Description of the Western Islands of Scotland in 1703. 60, 18. Mrs. Piozzi (1739-1821). A woman of beauty and education. She married Henry Thrale, a prosperous brewer, and became the devoted friend of Samuel Johnson from 1704 to 1781. Her marriage in 1784 with the Italian Piozzi broke off all relations betv.een the two. Two volumes from her pen. Anecdotes of the late Samuel Johnson (1786) and Letters to and from Dr. Samuel Johnson (1788), have been read with lively interest. The text refers to the former. 60, 33. sold it for £60. Mr. Welsh in his A Bookseller of Last Century, isSo, shows that B. Collins of Salisbury, in Oct. 28, 1762, paid £21 to Goldsmith for a third share in the Vicar, It is pro- bable therefore that Johnson brought only an instalment, which may have been the £40 of the Hawkins version. The curious will find all the difficulties of the various versions of the sale of the Vicar reviewed in Dobson's Life of Goldsmith, chap vii. 61, 5- Temple. A disti-ict in Loudon once owned by the order of Templars. The property passed to the Knights of St. John, who leased portions of the buildings to the students of law. In 1608 the In- ner and Middle Temples passed into the hands of societies of the law. NOTES. 151 it in Brick Court, belonging to the Middle Temple, was one of its earliest (1569) brick buildings. Goldsmith — according to his tailor, Mr. Filby — lived in '* No. 2, up two pair of stairs." Here he died, and in the burial- ground east of the choir of Temple Church lie was buried. Temple Bar was a stone gateway separating, until 1878, the Strand from Fleet Street. The head and quarters of criminals were, until 1772, exposed on the Gate. 61, 25. Francis Newbery. See note 56, 17. d2, 2. Mr. Cunningham. Peter Cunningham (1816-1869), clerk in the Audit Office, author of lives of Drummond of Hawthornden, Inigo Jones, Nell Gwynne, etc. His edition of Goldsmith's works ( 1854) is the first complete and trustworthy edition. CHAPTER IX. 63, 16. Young. Tlie Rev. Edward Young (1681-1765), author of tragedies, satires, and Night Thoughts, a poem still popular. 63, 17. Gray. Thomas Gray ( 17 16- 1 77 1 ), author of tho Elegi/ and various odes, all marked by high distinction of melody and taste. 63, 19. Akenside. Mark A^enside (1721-1770) was a clever and brilliant poet and a prosperous physician. His fame rests on The Pleasures of the Imagination, published 1744. 63, 19. Armstrong. Dr. .John Annstrfug (1709-1779), author of medical essays and of various pieces ol verse, The Econoniy of Love, 1736, ("a nauseous piece ",) Art of Preserving Health, 1744, (a popular didactic poem, his masterpiece,) etc. 64, 31 . accentuation of Niagara. Goldsmitli is not so far wrong as Black implies. The present form of the word is first used by De Monville in 1687 (Marshall, Hist. Writings, p. 185) and pronounced ntagara' {a as in 'far'). In English the early pronunciation was ne a ga' ra, or rather nee a ga ra' (Lippincott). 65,24. "particular principle." Each state, s s Goldsmith in the dedication of the poem, has a particular principle of happiness, and all states may be equally happy. QQ, 17. Pope. Alexander Pope (1688-1744), author of the Essay on Man, the Dunciad, etc., who was esteemed during his time as the greatest of English poets. 152 GOLDSMITH. 66, 28. Charles Pox (1749-1806). The celebrated Whig orator and statesman. 67, 6. Struck for honest fame. "To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame." The Dexertcd Village. 1. 420. 67, 34. Johnson's insolent ingratitude. When Johnson, a Pembroke man, Avas at Oxford, he used to get notes of Mr. Bateman'a lectures from his friend John Taylor of Christ Church, till he found that the Christ Church men began to laugh at his vorn-out shoes. Then some one placed a r ew pair at his door, but he ' ' threw them away with indignation." CHAPTER X. 69, 28. Ode to Pyrrha. l>k. i- car, 5. of the odes of the Latin poet. Milton renders simplex mund'diU, ' plain in thy neatness.' 70, 6. old ballad. Civen in Percy's Belioncj urder the title " Gentle Herdsman, tell to \v No. XIV.) 71, 14. Garden Court. In the Tempie ; "the third turning on the right from Fleet Street in Middle Temple Lane. Goldsmith had chambers there from 1764-08. 71, 16. small clothes. Breeches. 71, 17. roquelaure. (rok lor') Fr. A cloak reaching to the knee, fashionable in the 18th century, taking its name from the Due de Roquelaure. '\- CHAPTER XL 73, 29. Thwackum and Square. Characters in Fielding's novel Tom Jones. Mr. Thwackum was the parson who had charge of Tom's instruction and whose "meditatians were full of birch"; Mr. Square, a i^hilosopher versed in Plato and Aristotle. The two seldom met without a disputation on human nature and the various actions of the hero of the story. 73, .^0. Robinson Crusoe and Friday. Concerning " why God no kill the devil," sec. xxii. of Defoe's novel. NOTES. 153 73, 32. Religious Courtship. A work written, in 1722, by Daniel Defoe, exhibiting the unhappy consequences of marriage between persons of diflferent denominations in religion. 74, 13. patched- It was the fashion of ladies during and after Anne's reign to wear patches on the face and neck. So Goldsmith writes (Citizen of the World, Letter iii.) : '• They like to have the face of various colours as among the Tartars of Koreki, froc^uently sticking on with spittle little black patches on every part of it, except on the tip of the nose." These were at times cut into fanciful patterns — stars, half- moons, etc, 76, 3. de'US ex ma'china. Lat. ' God from the machine.' On the classical stage, when it was difficult to bring about the desired solu- tion to the difficulties of tlie plot, the author had recourse at times to an easy means of reaching the denouement. A god descended by means of a machine upon the stage and put an end to all oljstacles in the way of a proper ternnnation of the plot. Hence in modern compo. sitions, as the Vicar of Wakejield, when the author is in great difficulty in bringing aboixt the denouement desired, and introduces a character that will force the action into the desired channel, he makes use of a deus ex machina. Such was Mr. Jenkinson, who after selling Moses the green spectacles, imposing on Dr. Primrose with his patriarchal air, helping 'Squire Thornhill's villanies, turns up in prison as a reformed character, and by disclosing the marriage of Olivia and 'Squire Thoriilnll, and ren- dering other services, restores happiness into the Vicar's family. 78, 14. "simple rogue." See p. 16, 1. 22. 77, 6. Goethe. John Wolfgang Goethe (1749-1832) the greatest force in the literature of modern times. During Goethe's student life in Strasburg, he came in contact with John Gottfried Herder (1744- 1803), a man of deep reading in many literatures and of wide sympathies. Herder introduced Goethe to Homer, Shakespeare, and modern English writers especially Goldsmith. 80, 33. tobacco-stoppers. Small plugs for pressing down tobacco in the pipe as it is being smoked. 81, 4. appointment. Direction. 81, 15. Madame Riccoboni (1714-1792). Actress and author, wife of Antonio Riccoboni, French actor and author. Ml M 154 GOLDSMITH. 81,16. Garrick. David Garrick (1717-1779), a dramatic author, but especially famed as an actor of the very first rank in tragedy, comedy, and farce. See his "epitaph" on p. 126. 81, 16. Le plaidoyer plaire. Fr. " Pleading on behalf of robbers, petty thieves, people of corrupt morals is far from giving us pleasurfi." The letter is in the Garrick Correspondence, ii., 492. The quotation is given in Forster's Life, i. 81, 19. " vastly low" See p. 31. 1. 1. 81, 22. Southey. Robert Southey (1744-1843), poet-laureate preceding Wordsworth. His remark is referred to by Forster, i., 423 w. 82, 13. Devil Tavern. Formerly standing between Temple Bar and Middle Temple gate. In its early days the great room — "The Apollo " — saw the admirers of Ben Jonson gather around their idol. CHAPTER XII. 84, 18. George Golman (1732-1794). A dramatic author, manager of Covent Garden Theatre, and afterward proprietor of Hay- market Theatre. 84, 21. res angfusta domi. Latin proverb, • straitened circum- stances at home,' a euphemism for poverty, quoted from Juvenal. 84, 28. Government of the day. The reference is to the notorious Grafton ministry (1767), of which Lord Sand,wicll was Postmaster General. The scandals attending the ministry exposed it to the attacks of Junius in the Public Advertiser. Parson Scott was himself one of pseudonymous revilers in the public press. 85, 20. Mr. Bensley. Who read the prologue and took the part of Leontine. 85, 33. spoken "at." Intended to inform the spectators of the drift of the play, though not ostensibly addressed to them. 86, 5. Crooked Lane. Ofif Cannon Street, City. 86, 19. luxury of woe. This phrase is the poet Moore's. " Weep on, and as thy sorrows flow ■ ' I'll taste the luxury of woe." Anacreontiqite. ,,, ^^■^-^v. NOTKS. 155 86, 30. Beau Tibbs. <'f. p. 48, and Letters liv. and Ixxi. of the Citizen of the World. 87, 5. of the house, i.e. of Commons, a member of parliament. 87, 6. the modern poet. Edmund Waller (1600-1087), a doubtful Royalist, author of various graceful poems chiefly dedicated to Saccharissa (Lady Sidney). 87, 11. land-carriagfe fishery. This is, I fancy, Mr. L.fty's verbiage. 87, 12. stamp act. The act [1765] of the British parliament imposing taxes on all documents in the American colonies. 87, 12. jagr-hire, or ja'ghir. An E. Indian term denoting a dis- trict the government revenue of which is allotted to an individual in return especially for the maintenance of troops. 87, 20. levees (^^ oez). Morning receptions of guests. 87, 21. measures, not men. This is, I believe, the earliest occurrence in literature of the phrase. Burke in his Thoiujhts on the Present Discontents refers to " the cant of, not men, but measures." 88,28. Old "Woman, etc. This ballad concerns "an old woman tossed in a blanket seventeen times as high as the moon." The full account of the night in the club is given by Piozzi on the authority of Dr. Johnson. 89, 26. in the Fleet. The Fleet Prison, which existed from Norman times down to 1846. But note the witty double sense. \i CHAPTER XIII. 90, 16. Mr. Blackstone iSir) William Blackstone (1723-1780), author of very famous commentaries on the Laws of England (1765-9). 90, 24. Tyrian. There was a celebrated i)urple dye prepared in ancient Tyre (Asia Minor), so that " Tyrian " became synonymous with rich-coloured. 90, 30. Kelly. Mr. Hugh Kelly (17:^9-1777), born in Killarney, novelist, critic, dramatist. His comedy False Ddicacu was produced at Drury Lano in 1768 under Garrick, wlio did his utmost to secure the success of the play over fxoldsmith's Good-Natnrcd Man, produced six days later at Covent Garden. 150 OOLDHMITII. 92, 5. *' Goldy" -Tohnson's nickiiainti for (loUlamith, as "Hozzy " was his nioknatue for Ho8well. 92, 14. Cooke. William Cook (—1824), an Irish law student wlio hail chambers near Goldsmith in the Temple, author of poems, dramas, and dramatic criticism. His Memoirs of Foot e (nee 121,83) contain ccmtemporary references. 93, 9. City Road. Running from Islington to Finsbury S(iuare in London. 93, 9. Highbury Barn. A tavern in Highbury, a district near Islington, and a crowded resort towards the end of the century. 93,11. White Conduit House. In PentonvlUe (near Isling- ton), a place once popular for entertainments and tea-gardens. 93, 12. Grecian. A tavern in Devereux Court, strand, once kept by C;»nstantine, a (Ireek. It was "tlie favorite resort of Irish and Lancastrian Templars." (F'orster. ) 93, 12. Temple Exchange. Once a coffee house near Temple Bar. 93, 13- Globe. Tavern in Fleet Street, now only a memory. The Club met there Wednesday evenings. 94, 3. Mr. Bott. Edmund Bott was a barrister having rooms opposiite Goldsmith's in the Temple, and shareelt'8f* the author, when asked how he felt its failure, replied, " i^ikc the- Monument." [/.f'., the monument of the (JreatFireof London ( l'>()()). 'erected 107 1-77. J 97, 15. 'Forsitan,' etc. ' I'eichiiMce our naiiifM, too, will he niiii«'les V \ CHAPTElf XIV. 99, 20. Mickle. William Mickle (1734-1788), a Scotchman who translated (1771-5) the Lusiad of the Portuguese poet Uamoens. 99, 27. Lucius Plorus. A Koman historian during the reign of Trajan or Hadrian, author of an J'J/iifonn' 'In Ge-itii Romanorum (Epitome of Kcmian history). 99, 28. Eutropius ( 37<> a.d. ). .Secretary to the Emperor Constantine, author of a brief narration of IJoman history down to the time of the Emperor Valens (304 a.d.). 99, 29. Vertot. Kene Aubert, abbi} of Vertot (10.5")- 1735), the French author of histories of the Kevolutions of Portugal (1080), of Sweden (16!!6), of the Roman Republic (1719), etc., — a man of very great talent and wonderfully pcjpular with his contemporaries. 101, 29. four lines he contributed. " Dr. Johnson favonred me by marking the lines wliich he furnished Goldsmith's DcsertHl VUlcujfy which are the four last." — Boswell. ^ "That trade'.s proud empire hastes to swift decaj", As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away ; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky." 102, 23. Sir 'Walter Scott, in the article on Goldsmith in his Lives of Eminent Novelists. 103, 14. Nerval. The hero of Home's romantic drama of Douglas (see note 26, 20). Eveiy school-boy knows tlie speech of Douglas,. " My name is Nerval," etc., Act II., 8c. i. t in J 158 GOLDSMITH. • 103, 15. Geraghty. The lines beginning "All but yon widow'd solitary thing " are supposed to apply to Catharine Geraghty, known to the poet during his early years. 103, 1 7. the village preacher. Identified as the poet's father by Mrs. Hodson, as his brother Henry by others, as his uncle Contarine by the Rev. Dr. O'Connor. 104,17. delenda es'^. 'Must be destroyed,' Allusion to Cato's words in the Roman Senate concerning the necessity of destroying Car- thage : Dei'iida est Car/hayo, ' Carthage must be destroyed.' 105, 3. having faith, etc. Cf. Matt, xvii., 20. lO.'^, 9. loveliest village of the plain. "Sweetest Auburn I loveliest village of the plai.i." The Deserted Village, 1. 1. 105, 31. pre-Wordsworthian. Interest in nature as a subject of literary art was virtually absent during the reign of the classical school of poetry from Dryden (1631-1701) till the coming of Cowper (1731-1800), and in the sense of a passionate interest till the coming of Wordsworth (1770-1850). 106, 11. Altama. A river of Georgia, U. S. A. 106, 33. Torno. Or better Tornea, a river of Lapland flowing through a rocky .jountry, separating Swedish and Russian dominions, and emptying into the Gnlt" of Bothnia. 106, 33. Pambamarca. One of the highest of the Audes, near Quito. 108, 15. Griffin. Publisher of The Good- Matured Man, Animated 2^a('ire, and the Deserted tillage. 108, 33. Royal Academy. Founded, chiefly through the ■efforts of Sir Joshua Reynolds, in 1768. 109, 5. cousin Lawder. Who married Jenny, daughter of Ooldsmith's uncle Contarine. Jenny was the poet's companion p.ud probably his sweetheart in 1752. 109, 15. George Faulkenor (1699?-1775) or Faulkner. Book- seller and printer in Dublin. He printed the first collected edition of Swift's works and was, according to the Dean * the prince of Dublin printers.' *K. NOTES. 159 109, 18. THezzotinto {m^^ zo tiiit' o) . Ital. * half-tint,' " engrav- ing on copper or steel by drawing on a surface previously roughened, and then removing the roughness in places by scraping, burnishing," etc. ./ \ CHAPTER XV. 110, 15. Your mandate I got, etc. The poet's reply to an invitation to dinner at Sir George Baker's about the year 1769, to meet the Misses Horneck, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, Angelica KauflFman, and others. 110,28. Kauffman. Angelica Kauflfman (1741-1807), a famous woman painter. She came to England with Lady Wentworth in 17(55, and there gained the friendship of Reynolds. It was her picture of him that gave rise to the poem in the Advertm'r to which Goldsmith refers (111, 8) and which ran : " While fail' Angelica, with matchless grace Paints Conway's lovely form and Stanhope's face ; Our hearts to beauty willing homage pay ; We praise, admire, and gaze our souls away. B\it when the likeness she hath done for thee, O Reynolds I with astonishment we see, Forced to sulnnit, with all our pride we own. Such strength, such harmony excell'd by none. And thou art rivall'd by thyself alone." 112, 24. Ranelagh. Rotunda and gardens on the site of the villa and gardens of Earl Ranelagh. Promenade concerts and mas(]ue- rades were the chief attractions. fSee 115, 28.) 112, 26. Lord Clare (— 17H8). Robert Nugent, afterwards Vis- count Clare, was an Irishman who grew rich by marrying widows. He was a wit and poet, with a loud voice aii''). A sally of wit. m » ■it- ■'^. CHAPTER XVI. 116, 29- sentimentalists and all their works. Imita- tion of "the devil and all his works " <>f the Anglican catechism. 117, 18. "Water Parted. Probably a contemporary tune is here ' hit ' at. 117, 18- Minuet in Ariadne. Probably the Ariadne of Handel, first produced in England in 1 7^M. 118, 3, Covent G-arden- Unce the garden of Westminster Abbey, now a S(|uare, with neighbourijig market and a theatre, one of the most famous in London. 118, 33- ecod- Interjection — one of the many euphemisms of the oath 'by God.' 119, 15- wauns. Interjection. 119, 33. old gods have any laughter left. In Homer'a Iliad i., 599 and Odi/s.'^i'i/, viii., 32(5, xx, 34() reference is made to the (W^itaTog }'e?Mg, the ' inextinguishable laughter ' of the gods. NOTES. 161 120, 20. St. James's Park. A beautiful park of some sixty acres, formerly belonging to the Palace of St. James. It was a favorite resort of Goldsmith. 121, 13. Boswell did not come. Black means that Boswell did not return to London. He had met Johnson there in 1763, he re- turned to London in March 1772, and "was frequently there till Johnson's death in 1 784. 121, 33. Poote. Samuel Foote (1720-1777), actor and dramatist, especially famous for hi< mimicry of his contempoi'aries. He entertained a notion of caricatunni.^ ^)r. Johnson, but refrained when the Doctor proposed to buy some gu«. oaken cudgels and indeed sent him word that 'he would go from the bcxes on the stage and correct him before the audience.' — Moidhbj liecitw, Ixxvi. 37i. 122, 12. Homeric cloud A favorite device in Homer, to save a hero from death. For example, when Paris is getting worsted by the Greek Menela'os, Aphrodite snatches up the former, liiding him in thick darkness {Iliad, iii.) ; when Aineias falls l)efore the Greek Diome'des, "him Phoebus Apollo took into liis arms and saved in a dusky cloud, lest any of the fleet-horsed Danaans might hurl the spear into his breast and take away his life " {Iliad, v.). CHAPTER XVIL 123, 14. Beattie. Jame- oattie I 1735-1803). schoolmaster, professor, essayist, and poet. His Essay on Truth (1770), an answer to Hume's scepticism, was remarkably successful, but hi.« melodioiis and picturesque poem The Minstrel is now his be*t known work. 123, 25. Percy Memoir. The bi.>ig»phy prelixed to the 1801 edition of Goldsmith's works. The materials were collected by Bishop Percy, Malone, and others ; the first draft was drawn by Dr. Campbell, the revision made by Percy. 124, 26. Dr. Burney. Charles l^MMy (172rominence by particular reference only to the chief incidents. The Climax of Interest. — Narrative is nothing as art unless the narrator is able to evoke an ever increasing interest in the fate of the hero. As we follow the incidents of the narrative we note the skill of the narrator in deepening step by step this plot-interest. The terror of the women, the indifference of Petit- Andre, the cowardice of two of the retinue, the danger from two heavily armed knights of unknown character ; these all throw into higher light the simple valor and dauntless resolution of Quentin. The death of Guyot lends a greater interest to Quentin's victory over his own antagonifjt, and enhances the interest with which we watch his combat with the second kniglit. This interest rises, till, just as we tremble for the life of our hero before the stronger and more experienced arm of Dunois, our excitement is relieved by the arrival of Crawford and the consequent ending of the unequal struggle. We see, then, that the reader must be led on from incident to incident until the culminating point of the story is attained — until the denoue- ment is reached, and the outcome calms and satisfies his excitement. Moreover, no hint is given, as we progress through the story, of the nature of the outcome. Every hint of the fate — good or bad — that is to befall the hero is carefully suppressed so as to pique the interest and APPENDIX. 169 arouse the imagination.* The dutailn of the narrative rise in nignilicance, or, aa we say, the plot thickens, until the itenonnnftU is reached, Rulo 4. — Excite cnriotiUi/ hi/ w'Uhholdimj the i'^xue of. thi- Incident till the latit motnent. Haiw the Huhxidinrn defniln throw hii/her U(jht upon the actions of the chief pertionatiex. Arratnje the inaiit details in (he order of increadnoint of view, brinKinif forward o • the details as they revealed themselves to him in journeying Entrance; towers, portcullis, drawbridge. throujfh the castle. This, the eo-called traveller's point of view adds a certain narrative interest to the description and should be a^^opted when we wish to give a paiioiamic view of a scene, — to present details that would not be revealetl at a fixed point.] (iv) The Conclusion. The general character of the fortress, as shown in the remarks of Durward and tlie king on its strength and on the nature of the garrison. We notice, then, that this description involves a methodical present- ation of the scene, following the scheme of (i) Theme, (ii) General. Introduction, (iii) Detail, (iv) Summary or Conchmon. Some such plan as this is of great advantage to a writer in his composing.* It guides him aright in the selection of details ; for with a definite plan of work before him irrelevant particulars will scarcely occur to him, or if they do by chance occur, ihey will at once be recognized as incongruous. JVlore- ' * It need scarcely be said that the student, though he may carefully plan his essay before setting to work to compose, should not indicate formally in his essay that he is following such a plan. The best art is «/•» celare artem : when the building is com- pleted, take away the scaffolding. 172 GOLDSMITH. ;■■ over he will be able most easily to amplify his paragraphs from the ideas suggested by the different headings of his plan. Fr»)m the reader's standpoint, too, there is a great advantage, since the unified, compact,, symmetrical nature of the composition gives him a clear impressive con- ception of the scene. He feels the composition is a complete harmoni- ous structure — as well-built, as perfectly balanced as a piece of archi- tecture or a figure in marble. (i) The Statement of the Theme. To write clearly and effectively, a writer must know very definitely the theme of his discourse. Especially in abstract themes it is of decided advantage at once to state the thnne, and define its nature. On the other hand the reader linds such a- statement of theme almost indispensable, l)ecause without it he cannot easily understand the general drift of the writer's thought, nor can he grasp his subsequent statements in their proper relationship. There is, however, as we saw before, one imj)ortant exception to be made. In narration, where curiosity must be aroused, it is usually advisable ti> keep the reader for a time in suspense as to the real drift of the story. This can best be done without any definite statement of the theme. Rule 1. — State at the outlet ( unlesH ijoii hane good reanonx to tJke con- tranj) the theme of the description. (ii.) 77/' General Outline. — It is usually helpful to a writer to have before him in general outline the scene he is about to describe. He is. then guided in selecting those details thitt will amplify and illustrate the general effect of the scene. The reader, too, finds a general outline helpful, for by it he is enabled most easily to grasp the general character of the description and to arrange the details in their proper connection^ and — most important of all — he is put into that disposition of mind in which the author wishes him to receive the composition. Rule 2. — L< rest in the backjround or he suggested by the general tone of the description, (c) Sequence of Details. — Again, there is a rational arrangement of details. They follow a regular order — the es])lanade leads to the walls, the walls to the interior buildings, then to the details of entrance, etc. In just such a way woukJ the eye take in the scene. Rule 5. — Follow the natural sequence of details as they reveal them- selces one by one to the observer. (iv) 71ie Summary or Conclusion. — The advantage of the Conclusion is that it summarizes and fixes the details of the description. The reader is enabled to gather the full signiticance of the scene, and the writer, rising upon the details he has enumerated, is attbrded au opportunity for climacteric efifect, by which he can give a powerful and satisfying tinish to his composition. Rule 6. — There should in general, be a Conclusion or Summary that will summarize the details of thu description, and give the composition its highest elevation of tone. Sketciies of persons are e([u;J.ly as interesting as sketches of scenes from nature or the works of man. The portraits of the personages of Quentin Durward are sketched with easy yet clear outlines. Examine any one of these and it will l)e found to be written in very much the same lines as the description discussed above. The picture we get of Durward himself rises gradually l^et'ore us, from the time he is intro- duced (Chap. II.) as a youth crossing the ford near Plessis-les-Tours, W'hen we are first told in a general way, that he is nineteen or twenty years of age, with prepossessing, yet foreign face and person ; then, little by little, the outline is tilled in with details of dress, ecjuipnient, form, complexion, features, and, most important of all, with details of the good humor, lightness of heart, and determined resolution of the hero. Comments on his disposition form the conclusion of the description. Similarly, Black gives us numerous descriptions of Goldsmith's works. Chapter XL, for example, he devotes to an account of The Vicar. ^ 174 GOLDSMITH. Having narrated the details of publication in connection with Goldsmith's life, he at once attacks the work itself, stating : — The Theme : The Vicar of Wakefield. A General Reuiark on 2)lot : A comparison with the Book of Job. Details : Details of the comparison to show the nature of the plot. Criticist^i of the plot. Relation of the work to human life ; illus- trative references and quotations. Blemishes in the story ; essential truth of its atmosphere. Contemporary criticism; Madame Riccoboni, the journals, etc. Conclusion : Effect on friends, on the public, on the author himself. Studies and Exercises in Desceiption. Quentin Durward, I. Louis XI. II. The Duke of Burgundy. III. William de la Marck. IV. Louis de Bourbon, Bishop of Liege. V. Philip des Coraines. VI. Louis of Orleans. VII. Lord Crawford. VIII. The Cardinal de Balue. IX. Oliver le Dain ; Tristan I'Hei'mite. X. Galeotti : The Astrologer. ICharacters of history.] XI. Quentin Durward : The Cavaliero of Fortune. XII. Ludovic Lesly : The Man-at-Arms. XIII. Hayi-addin : The Bohemian. XIV. Isabelle de Croye. XV. The Countess Hameline de Croye. XVI. Trudchen Pavilion. Ccharactei*8 0f fl>Jtion.] ith's APPENDIX. XVII. Plessis-les-Tours. XVIII. The Court of Louis XI. XIX. France at the acceasion of Louis XI. 175 ture llus. its oni, the / Life of Ooldsmith, For compositions on these subjects the writer is advised carefully to read the works marked * ; he will then, and then only, write with sincerity and ease, and have at his command those references and quo- tations which alone can give animation to his work. XX. The Enquiry. [Circumstances of publication; the oliject of the work (the point of view of the author); a review arc! critique of contents (the point of view of the reader); results of the publication to the critics, to Goldsmith, to literature.] XXL The Bee* [Circumstances of publication ; character of the magazine ; review and critique of Goldsmith's contributions; collapse of the magazine,] XXII. The Citizen of the World (*Selections). [Circumstances of publication ; character of the work ; relation of the plan of the work to its sources ; contents reviewed (sketches of manners and character) ; value as literature.] XXIII. The Life of Richard Nash.* [Who was Naeh? how Goldsmith came to write his life; circumstances of publication; a critique of the work.] XXIV. The Traveller.* [Circumstances of publication , the plan of the poem ; relation to the author's life ; its principles of political economy ; its value as literature ; the condition of contem- porary poetry ; the consequent importance of the poem in the history of literature.] XXV. The Vicar of Wakefield.* [Circumstances of pviblication ; outline of the plot ; the faults and merits of the work ; the condition of the literature of fiction at time of iJulilifation ; effect of the Vicar on contemporary literature, on foreign literature ; the permanent value of the composition as literature. XXVI. The Oood-Natured Man.* [Circumstances of composition and production on the stage ; the first performance; character of the comedy, its critical value , result to its author.] 176 GOLDSMITH, 1 i !'; XXVII. The Deserted Village.* [Circumstances or publication ; plan of the poem ; autobiographical touches ; poli- tical theories ; literary qualities ; its success ; its permanent value as literature.] XXVIII. She Stoops to Conquer.* [Circumstances of composition and production ; the first performance ; the plot . literary merit, and place in literature.] XXIX. Oliver Goldsmith. [Personal appearance and traits of character, general characteristics of his genius.] FINIS. ' ;