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 The Jessamy Bride
 
 'Oil, I lunc sniil too niiicli.' she cried piteously
 
 The 
 
 JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 By 
 F. FRANKFORT MOORE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the IMPUDENT 
 COMEDIAN," ETC. 
 
 WITH PICTURES IN COLOR 
 BY 
 
 C. Allan Gilbert 
 
 %:■. ^...:f} 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DUFFIELU & COMPANY 
 1906
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY 
 HERBERT S. STONE & CO. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 
 This edition published A ugust, iqoti 
 
 The Trow Prhss, N. Y.
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " 'Oh, I have said too much' she cried ^ . . 
 
 . , , I^rontispiece 
 
 piteouslv. (For page 175) 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 "Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon 
 the stranger, and had picked up a 
 volume ^vhich Tom Davies, the 
 bookseller, had sent to him at the 
 Crown and Anchor." 26 
 
 "But there were no tears in her eyes as 
 
 she spoke the words of Olivia 's song. ' ' 92 
 
 "And now^ the green room w^as being 
 crowded by the members of the com- 
 pany and the distinguished friends 
 of the author." 158 
 
 " ' That is bow I accept your toast oi 
 
 Mrs. Baddeley, sir ! ' she cried." 298 
 
 "With an oath Jackson dropped his 
 sword and fell in a heap on the 
 Boor." 330
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "we have eaten 
 an excellent dinner, we are a company of 
 intellig-ent men — althoug-h I allow that we 
 should have difficulty in proving- that we 
 are so if it became known that we sat down 
 with a Scotchman — and now pray do not 
 mar the self-satisfaction which intelligent 
 men experience after dining-, by making- 
 assertions based on ig-norance and main- 
 tained by sophistry." 
 
 "Why, sir," cried Goldsmith, "I doubt 
 if the self-satisfaction of even the most in- 
 telligent of men — whom I take to be myself 
 — is interfered with by any demonstration 
 of an inferior intellect on the part of an- 
 other." 
 
 Edmund Burke laughed, understanding- 
 the meaning- of the twinkle in Goldsmith's 
 eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having- repro- 
 duced — with some care — that twinkle, 
 turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a 
 smile in the direction of Johnson; but Bos-
 
 4 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 well and Garrick sat with solemn faces. 
 The former showed that he was more im- 
 pressed than ever with the conviction that 
 Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited 
 of mankind, and the latter — as Burke per- 
 ceived in a moment — was solemn in mim- 
 icry of Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson 
 had g-iven a roll or two on his chair and had 
 pursed out his lips in the act of speakino-, 
 Boswell turned an eager face towards him, 
 putting- his left hand behind his ear so that 
 he might not lose a word that might fall 
 from his oracle. Upon Garrick's face was 
 precisely the same expression, but it was 
 his right hand that he put behind his ear. 
 
 Goldsmith and Burke laughed together 
 at the marvellous imitation of the Scotch- 
 man by the actor, and at exactly the same 
 instant the conscious and unconscious com- 
 edians on the other side of the table turned 
 their heads in the direction first of Gold- 
 smith, then of Burke. Both faces were 
 identical as regards expression. It was 
 the expression of a man who is greatly 
 grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two 
 automatic figures worked by the same ma- 
 chinery, they turned their heads again 
 toward Johnson. 
 
 "Sir," said Johnson, "your endeavour 
 to evade the consequences of maintaining
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 5 
 
 a silly arg-ument by thrusting- forward a 
 question touching upon mankind in gen- 
 eral, sug-g-ests an assumption on your part 
 that my intelligence is of an inferior order 
 to your own, and that, sir, I cannot permit 
 to pass unrebuked." 
 
 "Nay, sir," cried Boswell, eagerly, "I 
 cannot believe that Dr, Goldsmith's inten- 
 tion was so monstrous." 
 
 "And the very fact of your believing 
 that, sir, amounts almost to a positive proof 
 that the contrary is the case," roared John- 
 son. 
 
 "Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such 
 evidence," said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Men have been hanged on less," re- 
 marked Burke. "But, to return to the 
 original matter, I should like to know upon 
 what facts " 
 
 "Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any 
 controversy on a point of art would indeed 
 be a departure," said Goldsmith solemnly. 
 "I cannot countenance a proceeding which 
 threatens to strangle the imagination." 
 
 "And you require yours to be particu- 
 larly healthy just now. Doctor. Did you 
 not tell us that you were about to write a 
 Natural History? " said Garrick. 
 
 " Well, I remarked that I had got paid
 
 6 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 for doing- so — that's not just the same 
 thing-," laughed Goldsmith. 
 
 "Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural 
 History is left to the imag-ination, " said 
 Reynolds. "That is the most satisfactory 
 arrang-ement." 
 
 "Yes, for the author," said Burke. 
 " Some time ag-o it was the book which was 
 in hand, and the payment was left to the 
 imag-ination." 
 
 " These sallies are all very well in their 
 way," said Garrick, "but their brilliance 
 tends to blind us to the real issue of the 
 question that Dr. Goldsmith introduced, 
 which I take it was. Why should not acting- 
 be included among- the arts? As a matter 
 of course, the question possesses no more 
 than a casual interest to any of the gentle- 
 men present, with the exception of Mr. 
 Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. 
 Burke is a statesman — another branch of 
 the same profession — and therefore we are 
 vitally concerned in the settlement of the 
 question." 
 
 " The matter never rose to the dignity 
 of being a question, sir," said Johnson. 
 "It must be apparent to the humblest 
 intelligence — nay, even to Boswell's — that 
 acting is a trick, not a profession — a diver- 
 sion, not an art. I am ashamed of Dr.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 7 
 
 Goldsmith for having- contended to the 
 contrary." 
 
 "It must only have been in sport, sir," 
 said Boswell mildly. 
 
 "Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned 
 reprobation," cried Johnson, "but he has 
 been g^uilty of nothing- so heinous as to de- 
 serve the punishment of having- you as his 
 advocate." 
 
 " Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best 
 one in the world to pronounce an opinion as 
 to what was said in sport, and what in earn- 
 est," said Goldsmith. "His fine sense of 
 humour " 
 
 "Sir, have you seen the picture which 
 he g-ot painted of himself on his return 
 from Corsica? " shouted Johnson. 
 
 " Gentlemen, these diversions may be 
 well enough for you," said Garrick, "but 
 in my ears they sound as the jests of the 
 crowd must in the ears of a wretch on his 
 way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position 
 occupied by Mr. Burke and myself at the 
 present moment. Are we to be branded as 
 outcasts because we happen to be actors? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy," 
 cried Johnson. " And g-ood enoug-h for you 
 too, you rascal! " 
 
 " And, for my part, I would rather be an 
 outcast with David Garrick than become
 
 8 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury," 
 said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it 
 is unbecoming in you, who have relations 
 in the church, to make such an assertion," 
 said Johnson sternly. "What, sir, does 
 friendship occupy a place before relig-ion 
 in your estimation? " 
 
 "The Archbishop could easily g-et an- 
 other chaplain, sir, but whither could the 
 stage look for another Garrick?" said Gold- 
 smith. 
 
 " Psha ! Sir, the puppets which we saw 
 last week in Panton street delighted the 
 town more than ever Mr. Garrick did," 
 cried Johnson; and when he perceived that 
 Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay 
 back in his chair and roared with laughter. 
 
 Reynolds took snuff. 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as 
 adroitly as the best of the puppets — I 
 heard him myself," said Boswell. 
 
 "That was only his vain boasting which 
 you have so frequently noted with that 
 acuteness of observation that makes you 
 the envy of our circle," said Burke. "You 
 understand the Irish temperament per- 
 fectly, Mr. Boswell. But to resort to the 
 original point raised by Goldsmith; surely. 
 Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 9 
 
 g-enius is at least on a level with a musician 
 of g-enius." 
 
 "Sir, I will allow that he is on a level 
 with a fiddler, if that will satisfy you," re- 
 plied Johnson. 
 
 "Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. 
 Garrick's art is superior to that of Sig-nor 
 Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Bur- 
 ney's," said Burke. 
 
 "Yes, sir; David Garrick has the g-ood 
 luck to be an Englishman, and Piozzi the ill 
 luck to be an Italian, " replied Johnson. "Sir, 
 't is no use affecting- to maintain that you 
 regard acting- as on a level with the arts. I 
 will not put an aif ront upon your intelligence 
 by supposing- that you actually believe what 
 your words would imply." 
 
 "You can take your choice, Mr. Burke," 
 said Goldsmith : "whether you will have the 
 affront put upon your intelligence or your 
 sincerity." 
 
 "I am sorry that I am compelled to leave 
 the company for a space, just as there seems 
 to be some chance of the argument becom- 
 ing- really interesting to me personally," 
 said Garrick, rising-; "but the fact is that I 
 rashly made an engagement for this hour. 
 I shall be gone for perhaps twenty minutes, 
 and meantime you may be able to come to 
 some agreement on a matter which, I repeat,
 
 10 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 is one of vital importance to Mr. Burke and 
 myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the pres- 
 ent." 
 
 He g-ave one of those bows of his, to 
 witness which was a liberal education in 
 the days when grace was an art, and left 
 the room. 
 
 "If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove 
 my point, no arg-ument that I can bring- 
 forward will produce any impression upon 
 you, sir," said Goldsmith. 
 
 "The dog- is well enough," said John- 
 son; "but he has need to be kept in his 
 place, and I believe that there is no one 
 whose attempts to keep him in his place 
 he will tolerate as he does mine." 
 
 "And what do you suppose is Mr. Gar- 
 rick's place, sir?" asked Goldsmith. " Do 
 you believe that if we were all to stand on 
 one another's shoulders, as certain acro- 
 bats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of 
 the topmost man, we should succeed in 
 keeping" him in his proper place ? " 
 
 "Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "your ques- 
 tion is as ridiculous as anything you have 
 said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, 
 let me tell you, to say a good deal." 
 
 " What a pity it is that honest Gold- 
 smith is so persistent in his attempts to 
 shine," whispered Boswell to Burke.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 11 
 
 "'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark 
 should try to make its voice heard in the 
 neighbourhood of a Niagara," said Burke. 
 
 "Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?" asked 
 Boswell. 
 
 "A Niagara?" said Burke. "Better 
 ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it in his 
 latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell 
 wishes to know what a Niagara is." 
 
 "Sir," said Goldsmith, who had caught 
 every word of the conversation in under- 
 tone. "Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of 
 the New World."
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 The conversation took place in the 
 Crown and Anchor tavern in the Strand, 
 where the party had just dined. Dr. John- 
 son had been quite as good company as 
 usual. There was a g-eneral feeling- that he 
 had rarely insulted Boswell so frequently 
 in the course of a single evening — but 
 then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself 
 open to insult as he had upon this evening 
 — and when he had finished with the 
 Scotchman, he turned his attention to Gar- 
 rick, the opportunity being afforded him by 
 Oliver Goldsmith, who had been unguarded 
 enough to say a word or two regarding that 
 which he termed "the art of acting." 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, 
 sir," cried the great dictator. "Who gave 
 you the authority to add to the number of 
 the arts 'the art of acting'? We shall hear 
 of the art of dancing next, and every tum- 
 bler who kicks up the sawdust will have 
 the right to call himself an artist. Madame 
 Violante, who gave Peggy Wofiington her 
 first lesson on the tight rope, will rank with 
 
 IS
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 13 
 
 Miss Kauffman, the painter — nay, every 
 poodle that dances on its hind legs in pub- 
 lic will be an artist." 
 
 It was in vain that Goldsmith endeav- 
 oured to show that the admission of acting- 
 to the list of arts scarcely entailed such 
 consequences as Johnson asserted would 
 be inevitable, if that admission were once 
 made ; it was in vain that Garrick asked if 
 the fact that painting- was included among- 
 the arts, caused sig-n painters to claim for 
 themselves the standing of artists; and, if 
 not, why there was any reason to suppose 
 that the tumblers to whom Johnson had 
 alluded would advance their claims to be 
 on a level with the highest interpreters of 
 the emotions of humanity. Dr. Johnson 
 roared down every suggestion that was 
 offered to him most courteously by his 
 friends. 
 
 Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, 
 he insulted Boswell and told Burke he did 
 not know what he was talking about. In 
 short, he was thoroughly Johnsonian, and 
 considered himself the best of compan)s 
 and eminentl}^ capable of pronouncing an 
 opinion as to what were the elements of a 
 clubable man. 
 
 He had succeeded in driving one of his 
 best friends out of the room, and in reduc-
 
 14 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 ing- the others of the party to silence — all 
 except Boswell, who, as usual, tried to start 
 him upon a discussion of some subtle point 
 of theolog-y. Boswell seemed invariably to 
 have adopted this course after he had been 
 thoroug"hly insulted, and to have been, as a 
 rule, very successful in its practice : it 
 usually led to his attaining- to the distinc- 
 tion of another rebuke for him to g-loat 
 over. 
 
 He now thoug-ht that the exact moment 
 had come for him to find out what Dr. John- 
 son thoug-ht on the subject of the immor- 
 tality of the soul. 
 
 "Pray, sir," said he, shifting- his chair 
 so as to g-et between Reynolds' ear-trumpet 
 and his oracle — his jealousy of Sir Joshua's 
 ear-trumpet was as g-reat as his jealousy of 
 Goldsmith. "Pray, sir, is there any evi- 
 dence among- the ancient Egyptians that 
 they believed that the soul of man was im- 
 perishable?" 
 
 " Sir," said Johnson, after a huge roll or 
 two, "there is evidence that the ancient 
 Egyptians were in the habit of introducing- 
 a 'memento mori at a feast, lest the partakers 
 of the banquet should become too merry." 
 
 "Well, sir?" said Boswell eagerly, as 
 Johnson made a pause. 
 
 " Well, sir, we have no need to go to the
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 15 
 
 trouble of introducing- such an object, since 
 Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and 
 so ready to accept the offer of a dinner," 
 said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest man- 
 ner. 
 
 Boswellwas more elated than the others 
 of the company at this sally. He felt that 
 he, and he only, could succeed in drawing- 
 his best from Johnson. 
 
 " Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on 
 the Scotch, " he murmured, but in no depre- 
 catory tone. He seemed to be under the 
 impression that every one present was 
 envying- him, and he smiled as if he felt 
 that it was necessary for him to accept 
 with meekness the distinction of which he 
 was the recipient. 
 
 "Come, Goldy," cried Johnson, turning- 
 his back upon Boswell, "you must not be 
 silent, or I will think that you feel ag-grieved 
 because I g-ot the better of you in the argu- 
 ment." 
 
 "Argument, sir?" said Goldsmith. "I 
 protest that I was not aware that any argu- 
 ment was under consideration. You make 
 short work of another's argument. Doctor." 
 
 " 'T is due to the logical faculty which I 
 have in common with Mr. Boswell, sir," 
 said Johnson, with a twinkle. 
 
 "The logical faculty of the elephant
 
 16 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 when it lies down on its tormentor, the 
 wolf," muttered Goldsmith, who had just 
 acquired some curious facts for his Ani- 
 mated Nature. 
 
 At that moment one of the tavern 
 waiters entered the room with a message 
 to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had 
 just arrived and was anxious to obtain per- 
 mission to join the party. 
 
 "My cousin, the Dean! What Dean 7 
 What does the man mean?" said Gold- 
 smith, who appeared to be both surprised 
 and confused. 
 
 "Why, sir," said Boswell, "you have 
 told us more than once that you had a 
 cousin who was a dignitary of the church." 
 
 " Have I, indeed ? " said Goldsmith. 
 " Then I suppose, if I said so, this must be 
 the very man. A Dean, is he?" 
 
 " Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a 
 curate waiting- in the common room of a 
 tavern," said Johnson, who was not the 
 man to shrink from any sudden addition to 
 his audience of an evening. " If your rela- 
 tion were an Archbishop, sir, this company 
 would be worthy to receive him. Pray 
 give the order to show him into this room." 
 
 Goldsmith seemed lost in thought. He 
 gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and 
 in no very certain tone told the waiter to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 17 
 
 lead the clerg-yman up to the room. Oli- 
 ver's face undoubtedly wore an expression 
 of greater curiosity than that of any of his 
 friends, before the waiter returned, fol- 
 lowed by an elderly and somewhat under- 
 sized clerg-yman wearing- a full bottomed 
 wig" and the bands and apron of a dignitary 
 of the church. He walked stiffly, with an 
 erect carriage that gave a certain dignity 
 to his short figure. His face was white, 
 but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. 
 He had a slight squint in one eye. 
 
 The bow which he gave on entering the 
 room was profuse but awkward. It con- 
 trasted with the farewell salute of Garrick 
 on leaving the table twenty minutes before. 
 Every one present, with the exception of 
 Oliver, perceived in a moment a family re- 
 semblance in the clergyman's bow to that 
 with which Goldsmith was accustomed to 
 receive his friends. A little jerk which the 
 visitor gave in raising his head was laugh- 
 ably like a motion made by Goldsmith, sup- 
 plemental to his usual bow. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the visitor, with a 
 wave of his hand, "I entreat of you to be 
 seated." His voice and accent more than 
 suggested Goldsmith's, although he had 
 only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If 
 Oliver had made an attempt to disown his
 
 18 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 relationship, no one in the room would have 
 regarded him as sincere. "Nay, gentle- 
 men, I insist," continued the stranger; 
 "you embarrass me with your courtesy." 
 
 "Sir," said Johnson, "you will not find 
 that any company over which I have the 
 honour to preside is found lacking in its 
 duty to the church." 
 
 "I am the humblest of its ministers, sir," 
 said the stranger, with a deprecatory bow. 
 Then he glanced round the room, and with 
 an exclamation of pleasure went towards 
 Goldsmith. "Ah! I do not need to ask 
 which of this distinguished company is my 
 cousin Nolly — I beg your pardon, Oliver — 
 ah, old times — old times ! " He had caught 
 Goldsmith's hands in both his own and was 
 looking into his face with a pathetic air. 
 Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. 
 His smile was but the shadow of a smile. 
 The rest of the party averted their heads, 
 for in the long silence that followed the ex- 
 clamation of the visitor, there was an ele- 
 ment of pathos. 
 
 Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came 
 from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing all faces 
 to be turned in his direction. An aspect of 
 stern rebuke was now worn by Dr. John- 
 son. The painter hastened to apologise. 
 
 " I ask your pardon, sir," he said, grave-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 19 
 
 ly, "but — sir, I am a painter — my name 
 is Reynolds — and — well, sir, the family 
 resemblance between you and our dear 
 friend Dr. Goldsmith — a resemblance that 
 perhaps only a painter's eye could detect — 
 seemed to me so extraordinary as you stood 
 tog-ether, that " 
 
 " Not another word, sir, I entreat of 
 you," cried the visitor. " My cousin Oliver 
 and I have not met for — how many years is 
 it, Nolly? Not eleven — no, it cannot be 
 eleven — and yet " 
 
 "Ah, sir," said Oliver, "time is fugitive 
 — very fug-itive." 
 
 He shook his head sadly. 
 
 "I am pleased to hear that you have 
 acquired this knowledg-e, which the wis- 
 dom of the ancients has crystallised in a 
 phrase," said the strang-er. " But you 
 must present me to your friends, Noll — 
 Oliver, I mean. You, sir " — he turned to 
 Reynolds — "have told me your name. Am 
 I fortunate enoug-h to be face to face with 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no 
 doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last 
 poem to you. Sir, I am your servant. And 
 you, sir " — he turned to Burke — " I seem 
 to have seen your face somewhere — it is 
 strang-ely familiar " 
 
 "That g-entleman. is Mr. Burke, sir,"
 
 20 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 said Goldsmith. He was rapidly recover- 
 ing his embarrassment, and spoke with 
 something- of an air of pride, as he made a 
 gesture with his right hand towards Burke. 
 The clergyman made precisely the same 
 gesture with his left hand, crying 
 
 " What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend 
 of liberty — the friend of the people ? " 
 
 " The same, sir," said Oliver. *' He is, 
 besides, the friend of Oliver Goldsmith." 
 
 "Then he is my friend also," said the 
 clergyman. "Sir, to be in a position to shake 
 you by the hand is the greatest privilege of 
 my life." 
 
 "You do me great honor, sir," said 
 Burke. 
 
 Goldsmith was burning to draw the at- 
 tention of his relative to Dr. Johnson, who 
 on his side was looking anything but pleased 
 at being so far neglected. 
 
 " Mr. Burke, you are our countryman — 
 Oliver's and mine — and I know you are 
 sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should 
 dearly like to have a talk with you on that 
 iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?" 
 
 "With all my power, sir," said Burke. 
 
 "Give me your hand again, sir. Mrs. 
 Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is 
 she who confers an honour upon the Duke 
 of Cumberland, not the other way about.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 21 
 
 You arc with me, Mr, Burke? Eh, what is 
 the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do you work 
 with your arm that way?" 
 
 "There are other g-entlemen in the room, 
 Mr. Dean," said Oliver. 
 
 "They canwait," cried Mr.Dean. "They 
 are certain to be inferior to Mr. Burke and 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong-, 
 they will not feel mortified at what I have 
 said." 
 
 "This is Mr. Boswell, sir," said Gold- 
 smith. 
 
 "Mr. Boswell — of where, sir?" 
 
 "Mr. Boswell, of — of Scotland, sir." 
 
 " Scotland, the land where the clerg-ymen 
 write plays for the theatre. Your clergy- 
 men might be better employed, Mr. — 
 Mr. " 
 
 "Boswell, sir." 
 
 "Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will 
 look into this matter should you ever visit 
 your country again — a remote possibility, 
 from all that I can learn of your country- 
 men." 
 
 "Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his 
 
 tragedy of ' Douglas ' " began Boswell, 
 
 but he was interrupted by the stranger. 
 
 " What, you would condone his offence?" 
 he cried. "The fact of your having a mind 
 to do so shows thiit the clergy of your
 
 22 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 country are still sadly lax in their duty, sir. 
 They should have taught you better." 
 
 "And this is Dr. Johnson, sir," said 
 Goldsmith in tones of triumph. 
 
 His relation sprang from his seat and 
 advanced to the head of the table, bowing 
 profoundly. 
 
 "Dr. Johnson," he cried, "I have long 
 desired to meet you, sir." 
 
 "I am your servant, Mr. Dean," said 
 Johnson, towering above him as he got — 
 somewhat awkwardly — upon his feet. " No 
 gentleman of your cloth, sir — leaving aside 
 for the moment all consideration of the 
 eminence in the church to which you have 
 attained — fails to obtain my respect." 
 
 "I am glad of that, sir," said the Dean. 
 " It shows that you, though a Non-conform- 
 ist preacher, and, as I understand, abound- 
 ing in zeal on behalf of the cause of which 
 you are so able an advocate, are not dis- 
 posed to relinquish the example of the 
 great Wesley in his admiration for the 
 church." 
 
 " Sir," said Johnson, with great dignity, 
 but with a scowl upon his face. " Sir, you 
 are the victim of an error as gross as it is 
 unaccountable. I am not a Non-conformist 
 — on the contrary, I would give the rogues 
 no quarter."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 23 
 
 " Sir," said the clerg-yman, with the air 
 of one administering- a rebuke to a subor- 
 dinate. "Sir, such intoleration is unworthy 
 of an enlig-htened country and an age of 
 some culture. But I ask your pardon ; find- 
 ing" you in the company of distinguished 
 g-entlemen, I was. led to believe that you 
 were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion 
 of the rig-hts of conscience. I regret that I 
 was mistaken." 
 
 "Sir!" cried Goldsmith, in g-reat con- 
 sternation — for Johnson was rendered 
 speechless through being placed in the 
 position of the rebuked, instead of occupy- 
 ing his accustomed place as the rebuker. 
 "Sir, this is the great Dr. Johnson — nay, 
 there is no Dr. Johnson but one." 
 
 " 'Tis so like your good nature. Cousin 
 Oliver, to take the side of the weak," said 
 the clergyman, smiling. " Well, well, we 
 will take the honest gentleman's greatness 
 for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one 
 sense: he is large enough to outweigh you 
 and me put together in one scale. To such 
 greatness we would do well to bow." 
 
 "Heavens, sir!" said Boswell in a 
 whisper that had something of awe in it. 
 " Is it possible that you have never heard 
 of Dr. Samuel Johnson?" 
 
 "Alas! sir," said the stranger, "I am
 
 24 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 but a country parson. I cannot be expected 
 to know all the men who are called g-reat in 
 London. Of course, Mr. Burke and Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds have a European reputa- 
 tion; but you, Mr. — Mr. — ah! you see I 
 have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, 
 thoug-h I doubt not you are one of London's 
 greatest. Pray, sir, what have you written 
 that entitles you to speak with such free- 
 dom in the presence of such gentlemen as 
 Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and — I 
 add with pride — Oliver Goldsmith?" 
 
 " I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir," 
 muttered Boswell. 
 
 "And he has doubtless greatness enough 
 — avoirdupois — to serve for both! Pray, 
 Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is 
 too modest to speak for himself, tell me 
 what he has written." 
 
 " He has written many excellent works, 
 sir, including an account of Corsica," said 
 Goldsmith, with some stammering. 
 
 "And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he 
 attained to an equally dizzy altitude in 
 literature?" 
 
 "You are surely jesting, sir," said 
 Goldsmith. "The world is familiar with 
 Dr. Johnson's Dictionary." 
 
 "Alas, I am but a country parson, as 
 you know, Oliver, and I have no need for a
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 25 
 
 dictionary, having- been moderately well 
 educated. Has the work appeared recently, 
 Dr. Johnson?" 
 
 But Dr. Johnson had turned his back 
 upon the stranger, and had picked up a 
 volume which Tom Da vies, the bookseller, 
 had sent to him at the Crown and Anchor, 
 and had buried his face in its pages, bend- 
 ing it, as was his wont, until the stitching 
 had cracked, and the back was already 
 loose. 
 
 " Your g"reat friend, Noll, is no lover of 
 books, or he would treat them with greater 
 tenderness," said the clergyman. "I would 
 fain hope that the purchasers of his dic- 
 tionary treat it more fairly than he does 
 the work of others. When did he bring 
 out his dictionary?" 
 
 " Eighteen years ago," said Oliver. 
 
 "And what books has he written within 
 the intervening years?" 
 
 " He has been a constant writer, sir, 
 and is the most Llghly esteemed of our 
 authors." 
 
 "Nay, sir, but give me a list of his 
 books published within the past eighteen 
 years, so that I may repair my deplorable 
 ignorance. You, cousin, have written many 
 works that the world would not willingly 
 be without; and I hear theit you are about
 
 26 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 to add to that already honourable list; but 
 your friend — oh, you have deceived me, 
 Oliver ! — he is no true worker in literature, 
 or he would — nay, he could not, have 
 remained idle all these years. How does 
 he obtain his means of living- if he will not 
 use his pen?" 
 
 " He has a pension from the King-, sir," 
 stuttered Oliver. *'I tell you, sir, he is 
 the most learned man in Europe." 
 
 *' His is a sad case," said the clergyman. 
 '* To refrain from administering to him the 
 rebuke which he deserves would be to 
 neglect an obvious duty." He took a few 
 steps towards Johnson and raised his head. 
 Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his 
 face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke 
 and Reynolds looked by turns grave and 
 amused. " Dr. Johnson," said the stranger, 
 "I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to 
 urge upon you to amend your way of life." 
 
 *'Sir," shouted Johnson, "if you were 
 not a clergyman I would say that you were 
 a very impertinent fellow ! " 
 
 *' Your way of receiving a rebuke which 
 your conscience — if you have one — tells 
 you that you have earned, supplements in 
 no small measure the knowledge of your 
 character which I have obtained since 
 entering this room, sir. You may be a
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 27 
 
 man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you 
 have acknowledged yourself to be as intol- 
 erant in matters of relig-ion as you have 
 proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, 
 offered to you in a friendly spirit. It seems 
 to me that your habit is to browbeat your 
 friends into acquiescence with every dic- 
 tum that comes from your lips, though they 
 are workers — not without honour — at that 
 profession of letters which you despise — 
 nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did 
 not despise letters, you would not have 
 allowed eighteen years of your life to pass 
 without printing at least as many books. 
 Think you, sir, that a pension was granted 
 to you by the state to enable you to eat the 
 bread of idleness while your betters are 
 starving in their garrets ? Dr. Johnson, if 
 your name should go down to posterity, 
 how do you think you will be regarded by 
 all discriminating men? Do you think that 
 those tavern dinners at which you sit at the 
 head of the table and shout down all who 
 differ from you, will be placed to your 
 credit to balance your love of idleness and 
 your intolerance? That is the question 
 which I leave with you; I pray you to con- 
 sider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of 
 you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, 
 sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain."
 
 28 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 He made a general bow — an awkward 
 bow — and walked with some dignity to the 
 door. Then he turned and bowed again 
 before leaving the room.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When he had disappeared, the room was 
 very silent. 
 
 Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained 
 sitting- at the table with his face buried in 
 his hands, started up, crying- out, " 'Rasse- 
 las, Prince of Abyssinia ' ! How could I be 
 so g-reat a fool as to forget that he pub- 
 lished 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?" 
 He ran to the door and opened it, calling- 
 downstairs : " 'Rasselas, Prince of Abys- 
 sinia' I ' Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia ' ! " 
 
 "Sir! "came the roar of Dr. Johnson. 
 *' Close that door and return to your chair, 
 if you desire to retain even the smallest 
 amount of the respect which your friends 
 once had for you. Cease your bawling-, sir, 
 and behave decently." 
 
 Goldsmith shut the door. 
 
 "I did you a g-ross injustice, sir," said 
 he, returning- slowly to the table. "I 
 allowed that man to assume that you had 
 published no book since your Dictionary. 
 The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the 
 
 moment I forg-ot your ' Rasselas.' " 
 
 2y
 
 30 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "If you had mentioned that book, you 
 would but have added to the force of your 
 relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith," said 
 Johnson. "If lam suspected of being an 
 idle dog-, the fact that I have printed a 
 small volume of no particular merit will not 
 convince my accuser of my industry." 
 
 " Those who know you, sir," cried Gold- 
 smith, "do not need any evidence of your 
 industry. As for that man " 
 
 "Let the man alone, sir," thundered 
 Johnson. 
 
 " Pray, why should he let the man alone, 
 sir?" said Boswell. 
 
 "Because, in the first place, sir, the 
 man is a clerg-yman, in rank next to a 
 Bishop ; in the second place, he is a relative 
 of Dr. Goldsmith's; and, in the third place, 
 he was justified in his remarks." 
 
 "Oh, no, sir," said Boswell. "We deny 
 your g-enerous plea of justification. Idle ! 
 Think of the dedications which you have 
 written even within the year." 
 
 "Psha! Sir, the more I think Of them 
 the — well, the less I think of them, if you 
 will allow me the paradox," said Johnson. 
 "Sir, the man is rig-ht, and there 's an end 
 on 't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my 
 compliments to your cousin, and assure 
 him of my good will. I can forgive him for
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 31 
 
 everything", sir, except his ig-norance re- 
 specting- my Dictionary. Pray what is his 
 name, sir? " 
 
 "His name, sir, his name?" faltered 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 " Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man 
 has a name," said Johnson. 
 
 "His name, sir, is — is — God help me, 
 sir, I know not what is his name." 
 
 " Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith 1 He is your 
 cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell tells me 
 that he has heard you refer to him in con- 
 versation ; if you did so in a spirit of boast- 
 ing-, you erred." 
 
 For some moments Goldsmith was silent. 
 Then, without looking- up, he said in a low 
 tone: 
 
 " The man is no cousin of mine ; I have 
 no relative who is a Dean." 
 
 " Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny 
 it," cried Boswell. "You boasted of him 
 quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. 
 Garrick, too." 
 
 "Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith," 
 said Burke with a smile. 
 
 "His ears are so long, sir, one is not 
 surprised to find the unities of nature are 
 maintained when one hears his voice," re- 
 marked Goldsmith in a low tone. 
 
 " Here comes Mr. Garrick himself," said
 
 32 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Reynolds as the door was opened and Gar- 
 rick returned, bowing- in his usual pleasant 
 manner as he advanced to the chair which 
 he had vacated not more than half an hour 
 before. " Mr. Garrick is an impartial wit- 
 ness on this point." 
 
 "Whatever he may be on some other 
 points," remarked Burke. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Garrick, "you seem 
 to be somewhat less harmonious than you 
 were when I was compelled to hurry away 
 to keep my appointment. May I inquire the 
 reason of the difference?" 
 
 " You may not, sir ! " shouted Johnson, 
 seeing- that Boswell was burning to acquaint 
 Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson 
 quickly perceived that it would be well to 
 keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, 
 and he knew that it would have no chance 
 of remaining one for long if Garrick were 
 to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick 
 burlesquing the whole scene for the enter- 
 tainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck 
 family. He had heard more than once of the 
 diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield 
 had created by his mimicry of certain 
 scenes in which he, Johnson, played an im- 
 portant part. He had been congratulating 
 himself upon the fortunate absence of the 
 actor during the visit of the clergyman.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 33 
 
 *'You ma}^ tell Mr. Garrick nothing-, sir," 
 he repeated, as Garrick looked with a blank 
 expression of interrogation around the com- 
 pany. 
 
 "Sir," said Boswell, "my veracity is 
 called in question." 
 
 "What is a question of your veracity, 
 sir, in comparison with the issues that have 
 been in the balance during- the past half- 
 hour?" cried Johnson. 
 
 "Nay, sir, one question," said Burke, 
 seeing- that Boswell had collapsed. "Mr. 
 Garrick — have you heard Dr. Goldsmith 
 boast of having- a Dean for a relative?" 
 
 "Why, no, sir," replied Garrick; "but 
 I heard him say that he had a brother who 
 deserved to be a Dean." 
 
 "And so I had, " cried Goldsmith. "Alas ! 
 I cannot say that I have now. My poor 
 brother died a country clerg-yman a few 
 years ago." 
 
 "I am a blind man so far as evidence 
 bearing- upon things seen is concerned," 
 said Johnson; "but it seemed to me that 
 some of the man's gestures — nay, some of 
 the tones of his voice as well — resembled 
 those of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to 
 know if any one at the table noticed the 
 similarity to which I allude."
 
 34 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "I certainly noticed it," cried Boswell 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Your evidence is not admissible, sir," 
 said Johnson. " What does Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds say?" 
 
 " Why, sir," said Reynolds with a laugh, 
 and a glance towards Garrick, "I confess 
 that I noticed the resemblance and was 
 struck by it, both as regards the man's 
 gestures and his voice. But I am as con- 
 vinced that he was no relation of Dr. Gold- 
 smith's as I am of my own existence." 
 
 "But if not, sir, how can you account 
 for " 
 
 Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked 
 by Johnson. 
 
 " Be silent, sir, " he thundered. " If you 
 have left your manners in Scotland in an 
 impulse of generosity, you have done a 
 foolish thing, for the gift was meagre out 
 of all proportion to the needs of your coun- 
 try in that respect. Sir, let me tell you 
 that the last word has been spoken touch- 
 ing this incident. I will consider any fur- 
 ther reference to it in the light of a per- 
 sonal affront." 
 
 After a rather awkward pause, Garrick 
 said: 
 
 "I begin to suspect that I have been
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 35 
 
 more hig-hly diverted during- the past half- 
 hour than any of this company." 
 
 " Well, Davy," said Johnson, " the accu- 
 racy of your suspicion is wholly dependent 
 on your disposition to be entertained. 
 Where have you been, sir, and of what 
 nature was your diversion? " 
 
 "Sir," said Garrick, " I have been with 
 a poet." 
 
 "So have we, sir — with the greatest 
 poet alive — the author of ' The Deserted 
 Villag-e ' — and yet you enter to find us 
 immoderately g-lum," said Johnson. He 
 was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith 
 that he did not regard him as accountable 
 for the visit of the clergyman whom he 
 quite believed to be Oliver's cousin, in 
 spite of the repudiation of the relationship 
 by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration 
 of Reynolds. 
 
 " Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as 
 Dr. Goldsmith," said Garrick. " Mine was 
 only a sort of poet." 
 
 " And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet ? " 
 asked Boswell. 
 
 " A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes 
 a sort of poetry," replied Garrick. 
 
 He then began a circumstantial account 
 of how he had made an appointment for the 
 hour at which he had left his friends, with
 
 36 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 a g"entleman who was anxious to read to 
 him some portions of a play which he had 
 just written. The meeting- was to take 
 place in a neigfhbouring- coffee-house in the 
 Strand ; but even thoug-h the distance which 
 he had to traverse was short, it had been 
 the scene of more than one adventure, 
 which, narrated by Garrick, proved comical 
 to an extraordinary deg-ree. 
 
 "A few yards away I almost ran into the 
 arms of a clerg-yman — he wore the bands 
 and apron of a Dean," he continued, not 
 seeming- to notice the little start which his 
 announcement caused in some directions. 
 The man grasped me by the arm," he con- 
 tinued, "doubtless recog-nising me from 
 my portraits — for he said he had never 
 seen me act — and then began an harangue 
 on the text of neglected opportunities. It 
 seemed, however, that he had no more 
 apparent example of my sins in this direc- 
 tion than my neglect to produce Dr. Gold- 
 smith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, gen- 
 tlemen, he took it quite as a family griev- 
 ance." Suddenly he paused, and looked 
 around the party; only Reynolds was laugh- 
 ing, all the rest were grave. A thought 
 seemed to strike the narrator. "What!" 
 he cried, " it is not possible that this was, 
 after all. Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, the Dean,
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 37 
 
 regarding- whom you interrog-ated me just 
 now? If so, 't is an extraordinary coinci- 
 dence that I should have encountered him 
 — unless — g-ood heavens, g-entlemen! is it 
 the case that he came here when I had 
 thrown him off?" 
 
 "Sir," cried Oliver, "I affirm that no 
 relation of mine, Dean or no Dean, entered 
 this room!" 
 
 " Then, sir, you may look to find him at 
 your chambers in Brick Court on your 
 return," said Garrick. " Oh, yes, Doctor ! — 
 a small man with the family bow of the Gold- 
 smiths — something- like this." He g-ave 
 a comical reproduction of the salutation of 
 the clerg-yman. 
 
 *'I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the 
 man is no relation of mine," protested Gold- 
 smith. 
 
 " And let that be the end of the matter," 
 declared Johnson, with no lack of decisive- 
 ness in his voice. 
 
 "Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire 
 to meet the g-entleman again," laughed Gar- 
 rick. "I g-ot rid of him by a feint, just as 
 he was endeavouring to force me to promise 
 a production of a dramatic version of ' The 
 Deserted Villag-e' — he said he had the ver- 
 sion at his lodging-, and meant to read it to
 
 38 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 his cousin — I ask your pardon, sir, but he 
 said 'cousin.' " 
 
 "Sir, let us have no more of this — 
 cousin or no cousin," roared Johnson. 
 
 "That is my prayer, sir — I utter it with 
 all my heart and soul," said Garrick. "It 
 was about my poet I meant to speak — my 
 poet and his play. What think you of the 
 South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant 
 Cook as the subject of a tragedy in blank 
 verse. Dr. Johnson?" 
 
 "I think, Davy, that the subject repre- 
 sents so magnificent a scheme of theatrical 
 bankruptcy you would do well to hand it 
 over to that scoundrel Foote," said John- 
 son pleasantly. He was by this time quite 
 himself again, and ready to pronounce an 
 opinion on any question with that finality 
 which carried conviction with it — yes, to 
 James Boswell. 
 
 For the next half-hour Garrick enter- 
 tained his friends with the details of his 
 interview with the poet who — according to 
 his account — had designed the drama of 
 "Otaheite" in order to afford Garrick an 
 opportunity of playing the part of a canni- 
 bal king, dressed mainly in feathers, and 
 beating time alternately with a club and a 
 tomahawk, while he delivered a series of
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 39 
 
 blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to 
 Mars, Vulcan and Diana. 
 
 " The monarch was especially devoted 
 to Diana," said Garrick. "My poet ex- 
 plained that, being a hunter, he would nat- 
 urally find it greatly to his advantage to 
 say a good word now and again for the 
 chaste goddess; and when I inquired how 
 it was possible that his Majesty of Ota- 
 heite could know anything about Diana, he 
 said the Romans and the South Sea Island- 
 ers were equally Pagans, and that, as such, 
 they had equal rights in the Pagan mythol- 
 ogy ; it would be monstrously unjust to as- 
 sume that the Romans should claim a 
 monopoly of Diana." 
 
 Boswell interrupted him to express the 
 opinion that the poet's contention was quite 
 untenable, and Garrick said it was a great 
 relief to his mind to have so erudite a 
 scholar as Boswell on his side in the argu- 
 ment, though he admitted that he thought 
 there was a good deal in the poet's argu- 
 ment. 
 
 He adroitly led on his victim to enter 
 into a serious argument on the question of 
 the possibility of the Otaheitans having any 
 definite notion of the character and respon- 
 sibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman 
 mythology ; and after keeping the party in
 
 40 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 roars of laughter for half an hour, he de- 
 lighted Boswell by assuring him that his 
 eloquence and the force of his arguments 
 had removed whatever misgivings he, Gar- 
 rick, originally had, that he was doing the 
 poet an injustice in declining his tragedy. 
 
 When the party were about to separate, 
 Goldsmith drew Johnson apart — greatly to 
 the pique of Boswell — and said — 
 
 " Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to 
 ask of you, sir, and I hope you will see your 
 way to grant it, though I do not deserve 
 any favour from you." 
 
 "You deserve no favour, Goldy," said 
 Johnson, laying his hand on the little man's 
 shoulder, "and therefore, sir, you make a 
 man who grants you one so well satisfied 
 with himself he should regard himself your 
 debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor 
 by giving me a chance of granting you a 
 favour." 
 
 "You say everything better than any 
 living man, sir," cried Goldsmith. "How 
 long would it take me to compose so grace- 
 ful a sentence, do you suppose? You are 
 the man whom I most highly respect, sir, 
 and I am anxious to obtain your permission 
 to dedicate to you the comedy which I have 
 written and Mr. Colman is about to pro- 
 duce."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 41 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, "we 
 have been good friends for several years 
 
 now." 
 
 " Long- before Mr.Boswell came to town, 
 
 sir." 
 
 "Undoubtedly, sir — long before you 
 became recognised as the most melodious 
 of our poets — the most diverting of our 
 play-writers. I wrote the prologue to your 
 first play, Goldy, and I '11 stand sponsor for 
 your second — nay, sir, not only so, but I '11 
 also go to see it, and if it be damned, I '11 
 drink punch with you all night and talk of 
 my tragedy of ' Irene,' which was also 
 damned ; there 's my hand on it, Dr. Gold- 
 smith." 
 
 Goldsmith pressed the great hand with 
 both of his own, and tears were in his eyes 
 and his voice as he said — 
 
 " Your generosity overpowers me, sir."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Boswell, who was standings to one side 
 watching- — his eyes full of curiosity and 
 his ears strained to catch by chance a word 
 — the little scene that was being- enacted in 
 a corner of the room, took g-ood care that 
 Johnson should be in his charg-e going- 
 home. This walk to Johnson's house ne- 
 cessitated a walk back to his own lodgings 
 in Piccadilly ; but this was nothing- to Bos- 
 well, who had every confidence in his own 
 capability to extract from his g-reat patron 
 some account of the secrets which had been 
 exchanged in the corner. 
 
 For once, however, he found himself 
 unable to effect his object — nay, when he 
 began his operations with his accustomed 
 lightness of touch, Johnson turned upon 
 him, saying — 
 
 "Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I 
 take this opportunity to tell you that if you 
 make any further references, direct or 
 indirect, to man, woman or child, to the 
 occurrences of this evening, you will cease 
 to be a friend of mine. I have been humil- 
 
 42
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 43 
 
 iated sufficiently by a strang-er, who had 
 every rig"ht to speak as he did, but I refuse 
 to be humiliated by you, sir." 
 
 Boswell expressed himself willing- to 
 g-ive the amplest security for his g-ood be- 
 haviour. He had g-reat hope of conferring- 
 upon his patron a month of inconvenience 
 in making- a tour of the west coast of Scot- 
 land during- the summer. 
 
 The others of the party went northward 
 by one of the streets off the Strand into 
 Coventry street, and thence toward Sir 
 Joshua's house in Leicester Square, Burke 
 walking- in front with his arm throug-h 
 Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way be- 
 hind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was very 
 eloquent in his references to the mag-na- 
 nimity of Johnson, who, he said, in spite of 
 the fact that he had been g-rossly insulted 
 by an impostor calling- himself his. Gold- 
 smith's, cousin, had consented to receive 
 the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, 
 who understood the temperament of his 
 countryman, felt that he himself mig-ht 
 surpass in eloquence even Oliver Gold- 
 smith if he took for his text the mag-nanim- 
 ity of the author of "The Good Natured 
 Man." He, however, refrained from the 
 attempt to prove to his companion that 
 there were other ways by which a man
 
 44 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 could g-ain a reputation for g-enerosity than 
 by permitting- the most distinguished wri- 
 ter of the ag"e to dedicate a comedy to him. 
 
 Of the other couple Garrick was rattling- 
 away in the highest spirits, quite reg^ard- 
 less of the position of Reynolds's ear-trum- 
 pet. Reynolds was as silent as Burke for 
 a considerable time; but then, stopping- at a 
 corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his 
 companion to get out of ear-shot, he laid his 
 hand on Garrick's arm, laug-hing- heartily 
 as he said — 
 
 " You are a pretty rascal, David, to play 
 such a trick upon your best friends. You 
 are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, 
 Davy — the greatest genius alive. There 
 never has been such an actor as you, Davy, 
 and there never will be another such." 
 
 "Sir," said Garrick, with an overdone 
 expression of embarrassment upon his 
 face, every gesture that he made corre- 
 sponding. "Sir, I protest that you are 
 speaking in parables. I admit the genius, 
 if you insist upon it, but as for the ras- 
 cality — well, it is possible, I suppose, to be 
 both a great genius and a great rascal; 
 there was our friend Benvenuto, for exam- 
 ple, but " 
 
 " Only a combination of genius and ras- 
 cality could have hit upon such a device as
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 45 
 
 that bow which you made, Davy," said 
 Reynolds. " It presented before my eyes 
 a long" vista of Goldsmiths — all made in 
 the same fashion as our friend on in front, 
 and all striving- — and not unsuccessfully, 
 either — to maintain the family tradition of 
 the Goldsmith bow. And then your imita- 
 tion of your imitation of the same move- 
 ment — how did we contain ourselves — 
 Burke and I?" 
 
 " You fancy that Burke saw through 
 the Dean, also?" said Garrick. 
 
 "I'm convinced that he did." 
 
 "But he will not tell Johnson, I would 
 fain hope." 
 
 " You are very anxious that Johnson 
 should not know how it was he was tricked. 
 But you do not mind how you pain a much 
 more generous man." 
 
 "You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I 
 do mind it greatly. If I were not certain 
 that he would forthwith hasten to tell John- 
 son, I would go to him and confess all, ask- 
 ing- his forgiveness. But he would tell 
 Johnson and never forgive me, so I '11 e'en 
 hold my tongue." 
 
 "You will not lose a night's rest through 
 brooding- on Goldsmith's pain, David." 
 
 "It was an impulse of the moment that 
 caused me to adopt that device, my friend.
 
 46 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Johnson is past all arg"ument, sir. That 
 sickening- sycophant, Boswell, may find 
 happiness in being insulted by him, but 
 there are others who think that the Doctor 
 has no more rig-ht than any ordinary man 
 to offer an affront to those whom the rest of 
 the world respects." 
 
 "He will allow no one but himself to 
 attack you, Davy." 
 
 "And by my soul, sir, I would rather 
 that he allowed every one else to attack me 
 if he refrained from it himself. Where is 
 the g"enerosity of a man who, with the force 
 and influence of a dozen men, will not allow 
 a bad word to be said about you, but says 
 himself more than the whole dozen could 
 say in as many years ? Sir, do the pheas- 
 ants, which our friend Mr. Bunbury breeds 
 so successfully, reg^ard him as a pattern of 
 g-enerosity because he won't let a dozen of 
 his farmers have a shot at them, but pre- 
 serves them for his own unerring- g-un? By 
 the Lord Harry, I would rather, if I were 
 a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses 
 of a dozen yokels than by the fowling-- 
 piece of one g-ood marksman, such as Bun- 
 bury. On the same principle, I have no 
 particular liking- to be preserved to make 
 sport for the heavy broadsides that come 
 from that literary three-decker, Johnson."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 47 
 
 "I have sympathy with your conten- 
 tions, David ; but we all allow your old 
 schoolmaster a license which would be per- 
 mitted to no one else." 
 
 " That license is not a game license, Sir 
 Joshua ; and so I have made up my mind 
 that if he says anything- more about the 
 profession of an actor being- a degrading- 
 one— about an actor being- on the level with 
 a fiddler — nay, one of the puppets of Panton 
 street, I will teach my old schoolmaster a 
 more useful lesson than he ever taug-ht to 
 me. I think it is probable that he is at this 
 very moment pondering- upon those plain 
 truths which were told to him by the Dean. " 
 
 "And poor Goldsmith has been talking- 
 so incessantly and so earnestly to Burke, I 
 am convinced that he feels g-reatly pained 
 as well as puzzled by that inopportune visit 
 of the clerg-yman who exhibited such 
 striking- characteristics of the Goldsmith 
 family." 
 
 " Nay, did I not bear testimony in his 
 favour — declaring- that he had never allu- 
 ded to a relation who was a Dean?" 
 
 " Oh, yes; you did your best to place us 
 all at our ease, sir. You were mag-nani- 
 mous, David — as magnanimous as the sur- 
 geon who cuts off an arm, plunges the stump 
 into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient
 
 48 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 a grain or two of opium to make him sleep. 
 But I should not say a word: I have seen 
 you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I 
 can g-ive the heartiest commendation to your 
 powers as a comedian, while condemning 
 with equal force the immorality of the whole 
 proceeding." 
 
 They had now arrived at Reynolds's 
 house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith and 
 Burke — the former still talking eagerly — 
 having waited for them to come up. 
 
 " Gentlemen, ' ' said Reynolds, ' ' you have 
 all gone out of your accustomed way to leave 
 me at my own door. I insist on your enter- 
 ing to have some refreshment. Mr. Burke, 
 you will not refuse to enter and pronounce 
 an opinion as to the portrait at which I am 
 engaged of the charming Lady Betty Ham- 
 ilton." 
 
 "O matre pulchra filia fulchrior^'''' said 
 Goldsmith; but there was not much aptness 
 in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty 
 having been the loveliest of the sisters Gun- 
 ning, who had married first the Duke of 
 Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll. 
 
 Before they had rung the bell the hall 
 door was opened by Sir Joshua's servant, 
 Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly 
 <?ressed, was shown out by the servant.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 49 
 
 He at once recog-nised Sir Joshua and then 
 Garrick. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Sir Joshua," he cried, "I 
 have to entreat your forg-iveness for having- 
 taken the liberty of going- into your paint- 
 ing-room in your absence." 
 
 ** Your Lordship has every claim upon 
 my consideration," said Sir Joshua. "I 
 cannot doubt which of my poor efforts 
 drew you thither." 
 
 '* The fact is. Sir Joshua, I promised her 
 Grace three days ag-o to see the picture, and 
 as I think it likely that I shall meet her to- 
 night, I made a point of coming- hither. 
 The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put 
 aside when she commences to catechise a 
 poor man, sir." 
 
 "I cannot hope, my Lord, that the pic- 
 ture of Lady Betty commended itself to 
 your Lordship's eye," said Sir Joshua. 
 
 "The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir 
 Joshua," said the young man, but with no 
 great show of ardour. *'It pleases me 
 greatly. Your macaw is also a beauty. A 
 capital notion of painting a macaw on a 
 pedestal by the side of the lady, is it not, 
 Mr. Garrick — two birds with the one 
 stone, you know?" 
 
 "True, sir," said Garrick. "Lady 
 Betty is a bird of Paradise."
 
 50 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 " That 's as neatly said as if it were part 
 of a play," said the young- man. " Talking- 
 of plays, there is going to be a pretty 
 comedy enacted at the Pantheon to-night." 
 
 " Is it not a mask ? " said Garrick. 
 
 "Nay, finer sport even than that," 
 laughed the youth. " We are going to do 
 more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Gar- 
 rick, than you have done in twenty years, 
 
 sir." 
 
 "At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?" in- 
 quired Garrick. 
 
 " Come to the Pantheon and you shall 
 see all that there is to be seen," cried Lord 
 Stanley. "Who are your friends? Have 
 I had the honour to be acquainted with 
 them?" 
 
 " Your Lordship must have met Mr. 
 Burke and Dr. Goldsmith," said Garrick. 
 
 " I have often longed for that privilege," 
 said Lord Stanley, bowing in reply to the 
 salutation of the others. " Mr. Burke's 
 speech on the Marriage Bill was a fine 
 effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has 
 always been my favourite. I hear that you 
 are at present engaged upon another, Dr. 
 Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 
 't were a great pity if so distinguished a 
 party missed the sport which is on foot to- 
 night! Let me invite you all to the Pan-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 51 
 
 theon — here are tickets to the show. You 
 will g-ive me a box at your theatre, Garrick, 
 in cxchang-e, on the night when Mr. Gold- 
 smith's new play is produced." 
 
 "Alas, my Lord," said Garrick, "that 
 privilege will be in the hands of Mr. Col- 
 
 man." 
 
 " What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, 
 I 'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless, you 
 will come to the comedy at the Pantheon 
 to-night. I must hasten to act my part. 
 But we shall meet there, I trust." 
 
 He bowed with his hat in his hand to the 
 g-roup, and hastened away with an air of 
 mystery. 
 
 "What does he mean? "asked Reynolds. 
 
 " That is what I have been asking my- 
 self," replied Garrick. "By heavens, I 
 have it!" he cried after a pause of a few 
 moments. " I have heard rumours of what 
 some of our young- bloods swore to do, since 
 the manag-ers of the Pantheon, in an out- 
 burst of virtuous indig-nation at the org-ies 
 of Vauxhall and Ranelag-h, issued their 
 sheet of reg-ulations prohibiting the en- 
 trance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord 
 Conway, I heard, was the leader of the 
 scheme, and it seems that this young Stan- 
 ley is also one of the plot. Let us hasten to
 
 52 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 witness the sport. I would not miss being 
 present for the world." 
 
 "I am not so eager," said Sir Joshua. 
 "I have my work to engage me early in the 
 morning, and I have lost all interest in such 
 follies as seem to be on foot." 
 
 *'I have not, thank heaven! " cried Gar- 
 rick; "nor has Dr. Goldsmith, I'll swear. 
 As for Burke — well, being a member of 
 Parliament, he is a seasoned rascal; and so 
 good-night to you, good Mr. President." 
 
 "We need a frolic," cried Goldsmith. 
 " God knows we had a dull enough dinner 
 at the Crown and Anchor." 
 
 "An Irishman and a frolic are like — 
 well, let us say like Lady Betty and your 
 macaw, Sir Joshua," said Burke. "They 
 go together very naturally."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Sir Joshua entered his house, and the 
 others hastened northward to the Oxford 
 road, where the Pantheon had scarcely- 
 been opened more than a year for the enter- 
 tainment of the fashionable world — a more 
 fashionable world, it was hoped, than was 
 in the habit of appearing- at Ranelagh and 
 Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred 
 and fifty years ago, rank and fashion sought 
 their entertainment almost exclusively at 
 the Assembly Rooms when the weather 
 failed to allow of their meeting- at the two 
 great public gardens. But as the govern- 
 ment of the majority of these places in- 
 variably became lax — there was only one 
 Beau Nash who had the cleverness to per- 
 ceive that an autocracy was the only possi- 
 ble form of government for such assemblies 
 — the committee of the Pantheon deter- 
 mined to frame so strict a code of rules, 
 bearing upon the admission of visitors, as 
 should, they believed, prevent the place 
 from falling to the low level of the gardens. 
 
 In addition to the charg-e of half-a-guinea 
 
 53
 
 54 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 for admission to the rotunda, there were 
 rules which g-ave the committee the option 
 of practically excluding- any person whose 
 presence they mig-ht regard as not tending" 
 to maintain the high character of the Pan- 
 theon ; and it was announced in the most 
 decisive way that upon no consideration 
 would actresses be allowed to enter. 
 
 The announcements made to this effect 
 were reg-arded in some directions as emi- 
 nently salutary. They were applauded by 
 all persons who were sufficiently strict to 
 prevent their wives or daughters from 
 going- to those entertainments that pos- 
 sessed little or no supervision. Such per- 
 sons understood the world and the period 
 so indifferently as to be optimists in regard 
 to the question of the possibility of combin- 
 ing Puritanism and promiscuous entertain- 
 ments terminating long after midnight. 
 They hailed the arrival of the time when 
 innocent recreation would not be incom- 
 patible with the display of the richest 
 dresses or the most sumptuous figures. 
 
 But there was another, and a more 
 numerous set, who were very cynical on 
 the subject of the regulation of beauty and 
 fashion at the Pantheon. The best of this 
 set shrugged their shoulders, and ex- 
 pressed the belief that the supervised
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 55 
 
 entertainments would be vastly dull. The 
 worst of them published verses full of 
 cheap sarcasm, and proper names with 
 asterisks artfully introduced in place of 
 vowels, so as to evade the possibility of 
 actions for libel when their allusions were 
 more than usually scandalous. 
 
 While the ladies of the committee were 
 applauding- one another and declaring- that 
 neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail 
 against their resolution, an informal meet- 
 ing was held at White's of the persons who 
 afi&rmed that they were more affected than 
 any others by the carrying out of the new 
 regulations; and at the meeting they re- 
 solved to make the management aware of 
 the mistake into which they had fallen in 
 endeavouring- to discriminate between the 
 classes of their patrons. 
 
 When Garrick and his friends reached 
 the Oxford road, as the thoroughfare was 
 then called, the result of this meeting was 
 making itself felt. The road was crowded 
 with people who seemed waiting for some- 
 thing unusual to occur, though of what 
 form it was to assume no one seemed to be 
 aware. The crowd were at any rate good- 
 humoured. They cheered heartily every 
 coach that rolled by bearing splendidly 
 dressed ladies to the Pantheon and to other
 
 56 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 and less public entertainments. They 
 waved their hats over the chairs which, 
 similarly burdened, went swinging along 
 between the bearers, footmen walking on 
 each side and link-boys running in advance, 
 the glare of their torches giving additional 
 redness to the faces of the hot fellows who 
 had the chair-straps over their shoulders. 
 Every now and again an officer of the 
 Guards would come in for the cheers of the 
 people, and occasionally a jostling match 
 took place between some supercilious 
 young beau and the apprentices, through 
 the midst of whom he attempted to force 
 his way. More than once swords flashed 
 beneath the sickly illumination of the 
 lamps, but the drawers of the weapons 
 regretted their impetuosity the next min- 
 ute, for they were quickly disarmed, either 
 by the crowd closing with them or jolting 
 them into the kennel, which at no time was 
 savoury. Once, however, a tall young fel- 
 low, who had been struck by a stick, drew 
 his sword and stood against a lamp-post 
 preparatory to charging the crowd. It 
 looked as if those who interfered with him 
 would suffer, and a space was soon cleared 
 in front of him. At that instant, however, 
 he was thrown to the ground by the assault 
 of a previously unseen foe: a boy dropped
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 57 
 
 upon him from the lamp-post and sent his 
 sword flying-, while the crowd cheered and 
 jeered in turn. 
 
 At intervals a roar would arise, and the 
 people would part before the frantic flight 
 of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in 
 his rush by a dozen apprentices, who car- 
 ried sticks and straps, and were well able 
 to use both. 
 
 But a few minutes after Garrick, Gold- 
 smith and Burke reached the road, all the 
 energ-ies of the crowds seemed to be 
 directed upon one object, and there was 
 aery of, "Here they come — here she comes 
 — a cheer for Mrs. Baddeley !" 
 
 "O Lord," cried Garrick, "tbey have 
 g-one so far as to choose Sophia Baddeley 
 for their experiment! " 
 
 " Their notion clearly is not to do thing-s 
 by deg-rees," said Goldsmith. " They mig-ht 
 have beg-un with a less conspicuous per- 
 son than Mrs. Baddeley. There are many 
 g-radations in colour between black and 
 white." 
 
 "But not between black and White's," 
 said Burke. " This notion is well worthy 
 of the wit of White's." 
 
 "Sophia is not among the g-radations 
 that Goldsmith speaks of," said Garrick. 
 "But whatever be the result of this jerk
 
 S8 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 into prominence, it cannot fall to increase 
 her popularity at the playhouse." 
 
 "That's the standpoint from which a 
 g-ood manager regards such a scene as 
 this," said Burke. "Sophia will claim an 
 extra twenty guineas a week after to-night. ' ' 
 
 "By my soul!" cried Goldsmith, "she 
 looks as if she would give double that sum 
 to be safe at home in bed." 
 
 The cheers of the 'Crowd increased as 
 the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley, the 
 actress, was borne along, the lady smiling 
 in a half-hearted way through her paint. 
 On each side of the chair, but some short 
 distance in front, were four link-boys in 
 various liveries, shining with gold and sil- 
 ver lace. In place of footmen, however, 
 there walked two rows of gentlemen on 
 each side of the chair. They were all 
 splendidly dressed, and they carried their 
 swords drawn. At the head of the escort 
 on one side was the well known young Lord 
 Conway, and at the other side Mr. Hanger, 
 equally well known as a leader of fashion. 
 Lord Stanley was immediately behind his 
 friend Conway, and almost every other 
 member of the lady's escort was a young 
 nobleman or the heir to a peerage. 
 
 The lines extended to a second chair, in 
 which Mrs. Abington was seated, smiling
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 59 
 
 " Very much more naturally than 
 
 Mrs. Baddeley," Burke remarked. 
 
 "Oh, yes," cried Goldsmith, "she was 
 always the better actress. I am fortunate 
 in having- her in my new comedy." 
 
 " The Duchesses have become jealous of 
 the sway of Mrs. Abing-ton," said Garrick, 
 alluding- to the fact that the fashions in 
 dress had been for several years controlled 
 by that lovely and accomplished actress. 
 
 "And young- Lord Conway and his 
 friends have become tired of the sway of 
 the Duchesses," said Burke. 
 
 " My Lord Stanley looked as if he were 
 pretty nig-h weary of his Duchess's sway," 
 said Garrick. " I wonder if he fancies that 
 his joining- that band will emancipate him. " 
 
 "If so he is in error," said Burke. 
 " The Duchess of Arg-yll will never let him 
 out of her clutches till he is safely married 
 to the Lady Betty." 
 
 "Till then, do you say?" said Gold- 
 smith. "Faith, sir, if he fancies he will 
 escape from her clutches by marrying- her 
 daughter he must have had a very limited 
 experience of life. Still, I think the lovely 
 young- lady is most to be pitied. You heard 
 the cold way he talked of her picture to 
 Reynolds." 
 
 The eng-ag-ement of Lord Stanley, the
 
 60 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 heir to the earldo: ^ of Derby, to Lady 
 Betty Hamilton, thoug-h not formally an- 
 nounced, was understood to be a fait ac- 
 compli; but there were rumours that the 
 young man had of late been making- an ef- 
 fort to release himself — that it was only 
 with difficulty the Duchess managed to se- 
 cure his attendance in public upon her 
 daughter, whose portrait was being painted 
 by Reynolds. 
 
 The picturesque procession went slowly 
 along amid the cheers of the crowds, and 
 certainly not without many expressions of 
 familiarity and friendliness toward the two 
 ladies whose beauty of countenance and of 
 dress was made apparent by the flambeaux 
 of the link-boys, which also gleamed upon 
 the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The 
 actresses were plainly more popular than 
 the committee of the Pantheon. 
 
 It was only when the crowds were clos- 
 ing in on the end of the procession that a 
 voice cried — 
 
 *' Woe unto them I Woe unto Aholah and 
 Aholibah ! Woe unto ye who follow them to 
 your own destruction ! Turn back ere it be 
 too late ! " The discordant note came from 
 a Methodist preacher who considered the 
 moment a seasonable one for an admonition 
 against the frivolities of the town.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 61 
 
 The people did not seem to agree with 
 him in this matter. They sent up a shout 
 of laughter, and half a dozen youths began 
 a travesty of a Methodist service, introduc- 
 ing all the hysterical cries and moans with 
 which the early followers of Wesley punc- 
 tuated their prayers. In another direction 
 a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was 
 sung by women as well as men; but above 
 all the mockery the stern, strident voice of 
 the preacher was heard. 
 
 *' By my soul, " said Garrick, " that effect 
 is strikingly dramatic. I should like to find 
 some one who would give me a play with 
 such a scene." 
 
 A good-looking young officer in the uni- 
 form of the Guards, who was in the act of 
 hurrying past where Garrick and his 
 friends stood, turned suddenly round. 
 
 "I'll take your order, sir," he cried. 
 "Only you will have to pay me handsomely." 
 
 " What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible 
 that you are a straggler from the escort of 
 the two ladies who are being feted to-night?" 
 said Garrick. 
 
 "Hush, man, for Heaven's sake," cried 
 Captain Horneck — Goldsmith's "Captain 
 in lace." "If Mr. Burke had a suspicion 
 that I was associated with such a rout he 
 would, as the guardian of my purse if not
 
 62 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 of my person, give notice to my Lord Albe- 
 marle's trustees, and then the Lord only 
 knows what would happen." Then he 
 turned to Goldsmith. " Come along-, Nolly, 
 my friend," he cried, putting- his arm 
 throug-h Oliver's; " if you want a scene for 
 your new comedy you will find it in the 
 Pantheon to-nig-ht. You are not wearing- 
 the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, 
 sir ! you are not to be resisted, whatever 
 you wear." 
 
 " You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, 
 my gallant Captain," said Goldsmith. "I 
 have half a mind to see the sport when the 
 ladies' chairs stop at the porch of the 
 Pantheon." 
 
 "As a matter of course you will come," 
 said young- Horneck. " Let us hasten out 
 of range of that howling. What a time for 
 a fellow to begin to preach ! " 
 
 He hurried Oliver away, taking charge 
 of him through the crowd with his arm 
 across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke 
 followed as rapidly as they could, and 
 Charles Horneck explained to them, as well 
 as to his companion, that he would have 
 been in the escort of the actress, but for 
 the fact that he was about to marry the 
 orphan daughter of Lord Albemarle, and 
 that his mother had entreated him not to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 63 
 
 do anything that might jeopardise the 
 match. 
 
 " You are more discreet than Lord 
 Stanley," said Garrick. 
 
 "Nay," said Goldsmith. *"Tis not a 
 question of discretion, but of the means to 
 an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his 
 joining the escort would offend his charm- 
 ing bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid 
 that his act in the same direction will not 
 offend his Duchess." 
 
 " You have hit the nail on the head, as 
 usual, Nolly," said the Captain. "Poor 
 Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer 
 through any loop-hole. But he '11 not suc- 
 ceed. Why, sir, I '11 wager that if her 
 daughter Betty and the Duke were to die, 
 her Grace would marry him herself." 
 
 " Ay, assuming that a third Duke was 
 not forthcoming," said Burke.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The party found, on approaching- the 
 Pantheon, the advantage of being" under 
 the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without 
 his aid they would have had considerable 
 difficulty getting near the porch of the 
 building, where the crowds were most 
 dense. The young guardsman, however, 
 pushed his way quite good-humouredly, 
 but not the less effectively, through the 
 people, and was followed by Goldsmith, 
 Garrick and Burke being- a little way be- 
 hind. But as soon as the latter couple 
 came within the light of the hundred lamps 
 which hung- around the porch, they were 
 recognised and cheered by the crowd, who 
 made a passage for them to the entrance 
 just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set 
 down. 
 
 The doors had been hastily closed and 
 half-a-dozen constables stationed in front 
 with their staves. The gentlemen of the 
 escort formed in a line on each side of her 
 chair to the doors, and when the lady 
 stepped out — she could not be persuaded 
 
 64
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 65 
 
 to do so for some time — and walked be- 
 tween the ranks of her admirers, they took 
 off their hats and lowered the points of 
 their swords, bowing- to the ground with 
 greater courtesy than they would have 
 shown to either of the royal Duchesses, 
 who just at that period were doing their 
 best to obtain some recognition. 
 
 Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the "busi- 
 ness " of the part which she had to play, 
 but she was so nervous that she forgot her 
 words on finding herself confronted by the 
 constables. She caught sight of Garrick 
 standing at one side of the door with his 
 hat swept behind him as he bowed with 
 exquisite irony as she stopped short, and 
 the force of habit was too much for her. 
 Forgetting that she was playing the part 
 of a gratide dame, she turned in an agony 
 of fright to Garrick, raising her hands — 
 one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a 
 fan — crying — 
 
 "La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered 
 that I 've forgot my words. Where 's the 
 prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say 
 now?" 
 
 *' Nay, madam, I am not responsible for 
 this production," said Garrick gravely, and 
 there was a roar of laughter from the peo- 
 ple around the porch.
 
 66 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 The young- g-entlemen who had their 
 swords drawn were, however, extremely 
 serious. They began to perceive the pos- 
 sibility of their heroic plan collapsing- into a 
 merry burlesque, and so young- Mr. Hanger 
 sprang- to the side of the lady. 
 
 " Madam," he cried, " honour me by ac- 
 cepting- my escort into the Pantheon. 
 What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting- 
 that door in the face of a lady visitor? " he 
 shouted to the liveried porter. 
 
 " Sir, we have orders from the manage- 
 ment to permit no players to enter," replied 
 the man. 
 
 "Nevertheless, you will permit this 
 lady to enter," said the young g-entleman. 
 *'Come, sir, open the doors without a mo- 
 ment's delay." 
 
 "I cannot act contrary to my orders, 
 sir," replied the man. 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Hanger," replied the fright- 
 ened actress, "I wish not to be the cause of 
 a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to 
 my chair." 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried Mr. Hanger to his 
 friends, "I know that it is not your will 
 that we should come in active contest with 
 the representatives of authority; but am I 
 right in assuming that it is your desire that 
 our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 67 
 
 enter the Pantheon?" When the cries of 
 assent came to an end he continued, "Then, 
 sirs, the responsibility for bloodshed rests 
 with those who oppose us. Swords to the 
 front! You will touch no man with a point 
 unless he oppose you. Should a constable 
 assault any of this company you will run 
 him throug-h without mercy. Now, gentle- 
 
 men." 
 
 In an instant thirty sword-blades were 
 radiating- from the lady, and in that fashion 
 an advance was made upon the constables, 
 who for a few moments stood irresolute, 
 but then — the points of a dozen swords 
 were within a yard of their breasts — low- 
 ered their staves and slipped quietly aside. 
 The porter, finding himself thus deserted, 
 made no attempt to withstand single-handed 
 an attack converging upon the doors; he 
 hastily went through the porch, leaving- the 
 doors wide apart. 
 
 To the sound of roars of laughter and 
 shouts of congratulation from the thousands 
 who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and 
 her escort walked through the porch and 
 on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being 
 sheathed at the entrance. 
 
 It seemed as if all the rank and fashion 
 of the town had come to the rotunda this 
 night. Peeresses were on the raised dais
 
 68 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 by the score, some of them laug-hing-, others 
 shaking- their heads and doing their best to 
 look scandalised. Only one matron, how- 
 ever, felt it imperative to leave the assem- 
 bly and to take her daughters with her. 
 She was a lady whose first husband had 
 divorced her, and her daug-hters were ex- 
 cessively plain, in spite of their masks of 
 paint and powder. 
 
 The Duchess of Arg-yll stood in the 
 centre of the dais by the side of her daugh- 
 ter. Lady Betty Hamilton, her fig-ure as 
 g-raceful as it had been twenty years be- 
 fore, when she and her sister Maria, who 
 became Countess of Coventry, could not 
 walk down the Mall unless under the pro- 
 tection of a body of soldiers, so closely were 
 they pressed by the fashionable mob anx- 
 ious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful 
 Mi3s Gunnings. She had no touch of car- 
 mine or powder to obscure the transpar- 
 ency of her complexion, and her wonderful 
 long eyelashes needed no darkening to add 
 to their silken effect. Her neck and shoul- 
 ders were white, not with the cold white- 
 ness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm 
 of the white rose. The solid roundness of 
 her arms, and the grace of every movement 
 that she made with them, added to the de-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 69 
 
 lig-ht of those who looked upon that lovely- 
 woman. 
 
 Her daughter had only a measure of her 
 mother's charm. Her features were small, 
 and though her figure was pleasing, she 
 suggested nothing of the Duchess's ele- 
 gance and distinction. 
 
 Both mother and daughter looked at 
 first with scorn in their eyes at the lady 
 who stood at one of the doors of the ro- 
 tunda, surrounded by her body guard; but 
 when they perceived that Lord Stanley was 
 next to her, they exchanged a few words, 
 and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess 
 even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood 
 near her, and Lady Ancaster shrugged her 
 shoulders almost as naturally as if she had 
 been a Frenchwoman. 
 
 Cynical people who had been watching 
 the Duchess's change of countenance also 
 shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), 
 saying — 
 
 "Her Grace will not be inexorable; the 
 son-in-law upon whom she has set her 
 heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart 
 as well, must not be frightened away." 
 
 Captain Horneck had gone up to his 
 fiancee. 
 
 " You were not in that creature's train, 
 I hope," said the lady.
 
 70 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 *' I ? Dear child, for what do you take 
 me?" he said. "No, I certainly was not 
 in her train. I was with my friend Dr. 
 Goldsmith." 
 
 "If you had been among- that woman's 
 escort, I should never have forgiven you 
 the impropriety," said she. 
 
 (She was inflexible as a g-irl, but before 
 she had been married more than a year she 
 had run away with her husband's friend, 
 Mr. Scawen.) 
 
 By this time Lord Conway had had an 
 interview with the manag-ement, and now 
 returned with two of the g-entlemen who 
 comprised that body to where Mrs. Bad- 
 deley was standing- simpering among her 
 admirers. 
 
 "Madam," said Lord Conway, "these 
 gentlemen are anxious to offer you their 
 sincere apologies for the conduct of their 
 servants to-night, and to express the hope 
 that you and your friends will frequently 
 honour them by your patronage." 
 
 And those were the very words uttered 
 by the spokesman of the management, with 
 many humble bows, in the presence of the 
 smiling actress. 
 
 "And now you can send for Mrs. Abing- 
 ton," said Lord Stanley. "She agreed to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 71 
 
 wait in her chair until this matter was 
 settled." 
 
 "She can take very good care of her- 
 self, "said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat curtly. 
 Her frig-ht had now vanished, and she was 
 not disposed to underrate the importance 
 of her victory. She had no particular wish 
 to divide the honours attached to her posi- 
 tion with another woman, much less with 
 one who was usually regarded as better- 
 looking than herself. " Mrs. Abington is a 
 little timid, my Lord," she continued ; "she 
 may not find herself quite at home in this 
 assembly. ' Tis a monstrous fine place, to 
 be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall 
 is richer and in better taste." 
 
 But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. 
 Baddeley, a message was conveyed to Mrs. 
 Abington, who had not left her chair, in- 
 forming her of the honours which were 
 being done to the lady who had entered the 
 room, and v/hen this news reached her she 
 lost not a moment in hurrying through the 
 porch to the side of her sister actress. 
 
 And then a remarkable incident oc- 
 curred, for the Duchess of Argyll and Lady 
 Ancaster stepped down from their dais and 
 went to the two actresses, offering them 
 hands, and expressing the desire to see
 
 72 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 them frequently at the assemblies in the 
 rotunda. 
 
 The actresses made stag"e courtesies and 
 returned thanks for the condescension of 
 the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed 
 and shrugged their shoulders once more. 
 
 Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. 
 He perceived that the Duchess was dis- 
 posed to regard his freak in the most 
 liberal spirit, and he knew that the point 
 of view of the Duchess was the point of 
 view of the Duchess's daughter. He felt 
 rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity 
 of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. 
 Could it be that eligible suitors were grow- 
 ing scarce? 
 
 Garrick was highly amused at the little 
 scene that was being played under his eyes ; 
 he considered himself a pretty fair judge of 
 comedy, and he was compelled to acknowl- 
 edge that he had never witnessed any more 
 highly finished exhibition of this form of art. 
 
 His friend Goldsmith had not waited at 
 the door for the arrival of Mrs. Abington. 
 He was not wearing any of the gorgeous 
 costumes in which he liked to appear at 
 places of amusement, and so he did not 
 intend to remain in the rotunda for longer 
 than a few minutes; he was only curious to 
 see what would be the result of the bold
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 73 
 
 action of Lord Conway and his friends. 
 But when he was watching- the act of con- 
 descension on the part of the Duchess and 
 the Countess, and had had his laug-h with 
 Burke, he heard a merry voice behind him 
 saying- — 
 
 "Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, 
 weeping- over the ruin of the Pantheon? " 
 "Nay," cried another voice, "Dr. Gold- 
 smith is contemplating- the writing- of a his- 
 tory of the attempted reformation of society 
 in the eighteenth century, through the 
 agency of a Greek temple known as the 
 Pantheon on the Oxford road." 
 
 He turned and stood face to face with 
 two lovely laughing girls and a handsome 
 elder lady, who was pretending to look 
 scandalised. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride — and my 
 sweet Little Comedy!" he cried, as the 
 girls caught each a hand of his. He had 
 dropped his hat in the act of making- hie 
 bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the 
 twog-irls, Mary and Katherine — the latter 
 the wife of Mr. Bunbury. " Mrs. Horneck, 
 madam, I am your servant — and don't I 
 look your servant, too," he added, remem- 
 bering- that he was not wearing his usual 
 gala dress.
 
 74 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "You look always the same good friend," 
 said the lady. 
 
 "Nay,"laug-hed Mrs. Bunbury, "if he 
 were your servant he would take care, for 
 the honour of the house, that he was splen- 
 didly dressed ; it is not that snuff-coloured 
 suit we should have on him, but something- 
 g-org-eous. What would you say to a peach- 
 bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?" 
 
 (His coat of this tint had become a 
 family joke among- the Hornecks and Bun- 
 burys.) 
 
 " Well, if the bloom remain on the peach 
 it would be well enoug-h in your company, 
 madam," said Goldsmith, with a face of 
 humorous gravity. "But a peach with the 
 bloom off would be more congenial to the 
 Pantheon after to-night." He gave a glance 
 in the direction of the group of actresses 
 and their admirers. 
 
 Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two 
 daughters looked demurely down. 
 
 "The air is tainted," said Goldsmith, 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Bunbury, with a 
 charming mock demureness. " 'T is as 
 you say: the Pantheon will soon become as 
 amusing as Ranelagh." 
 
 "I said not so, madam," cried Gold-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 75 
 smith, shaking- his head. "As amusing- — 
 
 amusing- 
 
 "As Ranelagh. Those were your exact 
 words, Doctor, I assure you," protested 
 Little Comedy. "Were they not, Mary?" 
 
 "Oh, undoubtedl}^ those were his words 
 — only he did not utter them," replied the 
 Jessamy Bride. 
 
 "There, now, you will not surely deny 
 your words in the face of two such wit- 
 nesses!" said Mrs. Bunbury. 
 
 "I could deny nothing to two such 
 faces," said Goldsmith, " even though one 
 of the faces is that of a little dunce who 
 could talk of Marius weeping over the 
 Pantheon." 
 
 "And why should not he weep over the 
 Pantheon if he saw good cause for it?" she 
 inquired, with her chin in the air. 
 
 "Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never 
 within reach of it, my dear," said Goldsmith. 
 
 " Psha! I daresay Marius was no better 
 than he need be," cried the young lady. 
 
 "Few men are even so good as it is 
 necessary for them to be," said Oliver. 
 
 " That depends upon their own views as 
 to the need of being good," remarked Mary. 
 
 "And so I say that Marius most likely 
 made many excursions to the Pantheon 
 without the knowledge of his biographer,"
 
 76 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 cried her sister, with an air of worldly wis- 
 dom of which a recent bride was so well 
 qualified to be an exponent. 
 
 "'Twere vain to attempt to contend 
 agfainst such wisdom," said Goldsmith, 
 
 '* Nay, all things are possible, with a Pro- 
 fessor of Ancient History to the Royal 
 Academy of Arts," said a lady who had 
 come up with Burke at that moment — a 
 small but very elegant lady with distinction 
 in every movement, and withal having eyes 
 sparkling with humour. 
 
 Goldsmith bowed low — again over his 
 fallen hat, on the crown of which Little 
 Comedy set a very dainty foot with an 
 aspect of the sweetest unconsciousness. 
 She was a tom-boy down to the sole of 
 that dainty foot. 
 
 "In the presence of Mrs. Thrale," Gold- 
 smith began, but seeing the ill-treatment to 
 which his hat was subjected, he became 
 confused, and the compliment which he had 
 been elaborating dwindled away in a mur- 
 mur. 
 
 "Is it not the business of a professor 
 to contend with wisdom, Dr. Goldsmith ? " 
 said Mrs. Thrale. 
 
 " Madam, if you say that it is so, I will 
 prove that you are wrong by declining to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 77 
 
 argfue out the matter with you," said the 
 Professor of Ancient History. 
 
 Miss Horneck's face shone with appre- 
 ciation of her dear friend's quickness ; but 
 the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too 
 much engrossed in her own efforts to be 
 brilliant to be able to pay any attention to 
 the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver 
 Goldsmith, and one who, moreover, declined 
 to join with so many other distinguished 
 persons in accepting her patronage. 
 
 She found it to her advantage to launch 
 into a series of sarcasms — most of which 
 had been said at least once before — at the 
 expense of the Duchess of Argyll and Lady 
 Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was 
 more busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. 
 Bunbury's mock apologies for the injury 
 she had done to his hat than in attending to 
 her jeux cfespi'it, she turned her back upon 
 him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the 
 benefit of her remarks. 
 
 Goldsmith continued taking part in the 
 fun made by Little Comedy, pointing out to 
 her the details of his hat's disfigurement, 
 when, suddenly turning in the direction of 
 Mary Horneck, who was standing behind 
 her mother, the jocular remark died on his 
 lips. He saw the expression of dismay — 
 worse than dismay — which was on the 
 girl's face as she gazed across the rotunda.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Goldsmith followed the direction of her 
 eyes and saw that their object was a man 
 in the uniform of an officer, who was chat- 
 ting- with Mrs. Abing-ton. He was a show- 
 ily handsome man, though his face bore 
 evidence of some dissipated years, and 
 there was an undoubted swagg-er in his 
 bearing-. 
 
 Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. 
 The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and 
 g-ave a slig-ht start, his jaw falling for an 
 instant — only for an instant, however; 
 then he recovered himself and made an 
 elaborate bow to the g-irl across the room. 
 
 Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and 
 perceived that her face had become white; 
 she returned very coldly the man's recog"- 
 nition, and only after the lapse of some sec- 
 onds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both 
 delicacy of feeling and tact. He did not al- 
 low the girl to see that he had been a wit- 
 ness of a rencontre which evidently was pain- 
 ful to her; but he spoke to her sister, who 
 was amusing her husband by a scarcely 
 
 78
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 79 
 
 noticeable imitation of a certain great lady 
 known to both of them; and, professing- 
 himself woefully ig-norant as to the /^rscw- 
 neloi the majority of the people who were 
 present, inquired first what was the name 
 of a g-entleman wearing- a star and talking- 
 to a g-roup of apparently interested ladies, 
 and then of the officer whom he had seen 
 make that elaborate bow. 
 
 Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who 
 was the g-entleman with the star, but after 
 g-lancing- casually at the other man, she 
 shook her head. 
 
 "I have never seen him before," she 
 said. "I don't think he can be any one in 
 particular. The people whom we don't 
 know are usually nobodies — until we come 
 to know them." 
 
 "That is quite reasonable," said he. 
 "It is a distinction to become your friend. 
 It will be remembered in my favour when 
 my efforts as Professor at the Academy 
 are forg-otten." 
 
 His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. 
 Bunbury was giving- all her attention to her 
 sister, of whose face she had just caught a 
 glimpse. 
 
 " Heavens, child ! " she whispered to 
 her, " what is the matter with you ? " 
 
 "What should be the matter with me?"
 
 80 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 said Mary. "What, except — oh, this place 
 is stifling- ! And the managers boasted that 
 it would be cool and well ventilated at all 
 times ! " 
 
 "My dear girl, you'll be quite right 
 when I take you into the air, " said Bunbury. 
 
 " No, no ; I do not need to leave the ro- 
 tunda; I shall be myself in a moment," said 
 the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodic- 
 ally. " For heaven's sake don't stare so, 
 child," she added to her sister, making a 
 pitiful attempt to laugh. 
 
 "But, my dear " began Mrs. Bun- 
 bury ; she was interrupted by Mary. 
 
 "Nay," she cried, "I will not have our 
 mother alarmed, and — well, every one 
 knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, 
 no ; already the faintness has passed away. 
 What should one fear with a doctor in one's 
 company ? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are 
 a sensible person. You do not make a fuss. 
 Lend me your arm, if you please." 
 
 "With all pleasure in life," cried Oliver. 
 
 He offered her his arm, and she laid her 
 hand upon it. He could feel how greatly 
 she was trembling. 
 
 When they had taken a few steps away 
 Mary looked back at her sister and Bun- 
 bury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her 
 companion saw that, immediately after-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 81 
 
 wards, her glance went in the direction of 
 the ofl&cer who had bowed to her. 
 
 " Take me up to one of the g-alleries, my 
 dear friend," she said. "Take me some- 
 where — some place away from here — any 
 place away from here." 
 
 He broug-ht her to an alcove off one of 
 the galleries where only one sconce with 
 wax candles was alight. 
 
 "Why should you tremble, my dear 
 girl?" said he. "What is there to be 
 afraid of? I am your friend — you know 
 that I would die to save you from the least 
 trouble." 
 
 "Trouble? Who said anything about 
 trouble?" she cried. "lam in no trouble 
 — only for the trouble I am giving you, dear 
 Goldsmith. And you did not come in the 
 bloom-tinted coat after all." 
 
 He made no reply to her spasmodic 
 utterances. The long silence was broken 
 only by the playing of the band, following 
 Madame Agujari's song — the hum of voices 
 and laughter from the well-dressed mob in 
 the rotunda and around the galleries. 
 
 At last the girl put her hand again upon 
 his arm, saying — 
 
 "I wonder what you think of this busi- 
 ness, my dear friend — I wonder what you 
 think of your Jessamy Bride."
 
 82 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "I think nothing- but what is good of 
 you, my dear," said he tenderly. "But if 
 you can tell me of the matter that troubles 
 you, I think I may be able to make you see 
 that it should not be a trouble to you for a 
 moment. Why, what can possibly have 
 happened since we were all so merry in 
 France together?" 
 
 " Nothing — nothing- has happened — I 
 give you my word upon it," she said. " Oh, 
 I feel that you are altogether right. I have 
 no cause to be frightened — no cause to be 
 troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have 
 not I a brother? Ah, I had much better 
 say nothing more. You could not under- 
 stand — psha! there is nothing to be under- 
 stood, dear Dr. Goldsmith; girls are foolish 
 creatures." 
 
 "Is it nothing to you that we have been 
 friends so long, dear child? " said he. "Is 
 it not possible for you to let me have your 
 confidence? Think if it be possible, Mary. 
 I am not a wise man where my own affairs 
 are concerned, but I feel that for others — 
 for you, my dear — ah, child, don't you 
 know that if you share a secret trouble 
 with another its poignancy is blunted?" 
 
 "I have never had consolation except 
 from you," said the girl. "But this — this 
 — oh, my friend, by what means did you
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 83 
 
 look into a woman's soul to enable you to 
 
 write those lines — 
 
 ' When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
 And finds too late . . . '?" 
 
 There was a long- pause before he 
 started up, with his hand pressed to his 
 forehead. He looked at her strangely for 
 a moment, and then walked slowly away 
 from her with his head bent. Before he 
 had taken more than a dozen steps, how- 
 ever, he stopped, and, after another mo- 
 ment of indecision, hastened back to her 
 and offered her his hand, saying- — 
 
 " I am but a man ; I can think nothing of 
 you but what is g-ood." 
 
 "Yes," she said; "it is only a woman 
 who can think everything- that is evil about 
 a woman. It is not by men that women are 
 deceived to their own destruction, but by 
 women." 
 
 She sprang- to her feet and laid her hand 
 upon his arm once again. 
 
 "Let us g-o away," she said. "I am 
 sick of this place. There is no corner of it 
 that is not penetrated by the Ag-ujari's 
 singing-. Was there ever any sing-ing- so 
 detestable? And they pay her fifty g-uineas 
 a song-! I would pay fifty guineas to get 
 out of earshot of the best of her efforts." 
 
 Her laugh had a shrill note that caused
 
 84 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 it to sound very pitiful to the man who 
 heard it. 
 
 He spoke no word, but led her tenderly 
 back to where her mother was standing- 
 with Burke and her son. 
 
 "I do hope that you have not missed 
 Ag-ujari's last song-," said Mrs. Horneck. 
 "We have been entranced with its melody." 
 
 " Oh, no; I have missed no note of it — 
 no note. Was there ever anything- so de- 
 licious — so liquid-sweet? Is it not time 
 that we went homeward, mother? I do 
 feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari." 
 
 "At what an admirable period we have 
 arrived in the world's history ! " said 
 Burke. "It is the young- miss in these 
 days who insists on her mother's keeping 
 g-ood hours. How wise we are all growing- 1 " 
 
 " Mary was always a wise little per- 
 son," said Mrs. Horneck. 
 
 " Wise ? Oh, let us go home ! " said 
 the g-irl wearily. 
 
 " Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct 
 our coach to be called," said her mother. 
 
 Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way 
 to the door, where he told the janitor to call 
 for Mrs. Horncck's coach. 
 
 He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke 
 having gone before with the elder lady. 
 Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 85 
 
 apprehension on the girl's face as her eyes 
 wandered around the crowd in the porch. 
 He could hear the little sigh of relief that 
 she gave after her scrutiny. 
 
 The coach had drawn up at the en- 
 trance, and the little party went out into 
 the region of flaring links and pitch-scented 
 smoke. While Goldsmith was in the act of 
 helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was 
 furtively glancing around, and before she 
 had got into a position for seating herself 
 by the side of her mother, he dropped her 
 hand in so clumsy a way that several of the 
 onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, 
 bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stu- 
 pidity, he turned round so rapidly and un- 
 expectedly that he ran violently full-tilt 
 against a gentleman in uniform, who was 
 hurrying to the side of the chariot as if to 
 take leave of the ladies. 
 
 The crowd roared as the officer lost his 
 footing for a moment and staggered among 
 the loiterers in the porch, not recovering 
 himself until the vehicle had driven away. 
 Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, 
 was barring the way to the coach, profusely 
 apologising for his awkwardness. 
 
 " Curse you for a lout ! " cried the officer. 
 
 Goldsmith put his hat on his head. 
 
 "Look you, sir!" he said. "I have
 
 86 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 offered you my humblest apologies for the 
 accident. If you do not choose to accept 
 them, you have but got to say as much and 
 I am at your service. My name is Gold- 
 smith, sir — Oliver Goldsmith — and my 
 friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter my- 
 self that we are both as w^ell known and of 
 as high repute as yourself, whoever you 
 may be." 
 
 The onlookers in the porch laughed, 
 those outside gave an encouraging cheer, 
 while the chairmen and linkmen, who were 
 nearly all Irish, shouted "Well done, your 
 Honour ! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke 
 forever 1" For both Goldsmith and Burke 
 were as popular with the mob as they were 
 in society. 
 
 While Goldsmith stood facing the scowl- 
 ing officer, an elderly gentleman, in the uni- 
 form of a general and with his breast 
 covered with orders, stepped out from the 
 side of the porch and shook Oliver by the 
 hand. Then he turned to his opponent, 
 saying — 
 
 " Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If 
 you have any quarrel with him you can let 
 me hear from you. I am General Ogle- 
 thorpe." 
 
 "Or if it suits you better, sir," said 
 another gentleman coming to Goldsmith's
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 87 
 
 side, " you can send your friend to my 
 house. My name is Lord Clare." 
 
 " My Lord," cried the man, bowing- with 
 a little swag-g-er, "I have no quarrel with 
 Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer ad- 
 mirer than myself. If in the heat of the 
 moment I made use of any expression that 
 one g-entleman mig-ht not make use of 
 toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's par- 
 don. I have the honour to wish your Lord- 
 ship g-ood-nig-ht." 
 
 He bowed and made his exit.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "When Goldsmith reached his chambers 
 in Brick Court, he found awaiting- him a let- 
 ter from Colman, the lessee of Covent 
 Garden Theatre, to let him know that 
 Woodward and Mrs. Abing-ton had resig-ned 
 their parts in his comedy which had been in 
 rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, 
 felt they were right in doing* so-, as the fail- 
 ure of the piece was so inevitable. He 
 hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet 
 enough to sanction its withdrawal while its 
 withdrawal was still possible. 
 
 He read this letter — one of several 
 which he had received from Colman during" 
 the week prophesying disaster — without 
 impatience, and threw it aside without a 
 further thought. He had no thought for 
 anything- save the expression that had been 
 on the face of Mary Horneck as she had 
 spoken his lines — 
 
 "When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
 And finds too late . . . . " 
 
 " Too late " She had not got beyond 
 
 those words. Her voice had broken, as he 
 
 88
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 89 
 
 had often believed that his beloved Olivia's 
 voice had broken, when trying- to sing- her 
 song- in which a woman's despair is en- 
 shrined for all ag-es. Her voice had broken, 
 though not with the stress of tears. It 
 would not have been so full of despair if 
 tears had been in her eyes. Where there 
 are tears there is hope. But her voice. . . 
 
 What was he to believe? What was he 
 to think regarding that sweet g-irl who had, 
 since the first day he had known her, treated 
 him as no other human being had ever 
 treated him? The whole family of the 
 Hornecks had shown themselves to be his 
 best friends. They insisted on his placing- 
 himself on the most familiar footing- in re- 
 gard to their house, and when Little Comedy 
 married she maintained the pleasant inti- 
 macy with him which had beg-un at Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days 
 that he spent at the Bunburys' house at 
 Barton were among- the pleasantest of his 
 life. 
 
 But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun- 
 bury, her sister Mary, his "Jessamy Bride," 
 drew him to her by a deeper and warmer 
 affection. He had felt from the first hour 
 of meeting her that she understood his 
 nature — that in her he had at last found 
 some one who could give him the sympathy
 
 90 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 which he soiig-ht. More than once she had 
 proved to him that she recognised the great- 
 ness of his nature — his simplicity, his gen- 
 erosity, the tenderness of his heart for all 
 things that suffered, his trustfulness, that 
 caused him to be so frequently imposed 
 upon, his intolerance of hypocrisy and false 
 sentiment, though false sentiment was the 
 note of the most successful productions of 
 the day. Above all, he felt that she recog- 
 nised his true attitude in relation to English 
 literature. If he was compelled to work in 
 uncongenial channels in order to earn his 
 daily bread, he himself never forgot what 
 he owed to English literature. How nobly 
 he discharged this debt his "Traveller," 
 " The Vicar of Wakefield," " The Deserted 
 Village," and "The Good Natured Man" 
 testified at intervals. He felt that he was 
 the truest poet, the sincerest dramatist, 
 of the period, and he never allowed the 
 work which he was compelled to do for the 
 booksellers to turn him aside from his high 
 aims. 
 
 It was because Mary Horneck proved 
 to him daily that she understood what his 
 aims were he regarded her as different 
 from all the rest of the world. She did not 
 talk to him of sympathising with him, but
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 91 
 
 she understood him and sympathised with 
 him. 
 
 As he lay back in his chair now asking- 
 himself what he should think of her, he re- 
 called every day that he had passed in her 
 company, from the time of their first meet- 
 ing- at Reynolds's house until he had accom- 
 panied her and her mother and sister on 
 the tour through France. He remembered 
 how, the previous year, she had stirred his 
 heart on returning from a long- visit to her 
 native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand 
 and a look of gratitude, as she spoke the 
 name of the book which he had sent to her 
 with a letter. " The Vicar of Wakefield " 
 was the book, and she had said — 
 
 " You can never, never know what it 
 has been to me — what it has done for me.'' 
 
 Her eyes had at that time been full of 
 tears of g-ratitude — of affection, and the 
 sound of her voice and the sig-ht of her 
 liquid eyes had overcome him. He knew 
 there was a bond between them that would 
 not be easily severed. 
 
 But there were no tears in her eyes as 
 she spoke the words of Olivia's song-. 
 
 What was he to think of her ? 
 
 One moment she had been overflowings 
 with girlish merriment, and then, on g-lanc- 
 ing- across the hall, her face had become
 
 92 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 pale and her mood had changed from one of 
 merriment to one of despair — the despair 
 of a bird that finds itself in the net of the 
 fowler. 
 
 What was he to think of her? 
 
 He would not wrong- her by a single 
 thought. He thought no longer of her, 
 but of the man whose sudden appearance 
 before her eyes had, he felt certain, brought 
 about her change of mood. 
 
 It was his certainty of feeling on this 
 matter that had caused him to guard her 
 jealously from the approach of that man, 
 and, when he saw him going toward the 
 coach, to prevent his further advance by the 
 readiest means in his power. He had had 
 no time to elaborate any scheme to keep the 
 man away from Mary Horneck, and he had 
 been forced to adopt the most rudimentary 
 scheme to carry out his purpose. 
 
 Well, he reflected upon the fact that if 
 the scheme was rudimentary it had proved 
 extremely effective. He had kept the man 
 apart from the girls, and he only regretted 
 that the man had been so easily led to re- 
 gard the occurrence as an accident. He 
 would have dearly liked to run the man 
 through some vital part. 
 
 What was that man to Mary Horneck 
 that she should be in terror at the very
 
 "Iliil there were iia tcirs ,'ti her eyes ;is she s[>(>ke I lie 
 wiirils III' <)li\i;i's surnj."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 93 
 
 sig-ht of him ? That was the question 
 which presented itself to him, and his too 
 vivid imagfination had no difficulty in sug-- 
 gesting- a number of answers to it, but 
 throug-h all he kept his word to her : he 
 thoug-ht no ill of her. He could not enter- 
 tain a thoug-ht of her that was not wholly 
 g-ood. He felt that her concern was on ac- 
 count of some one else who mig-ht be in the 
 power of that man. He knew how g-ener- 
 ous sh.e was — how sympathetic. He had 
 told her some of his own troubles, and 
 though he did so lightly, as was his cus- 
 tom, she had been deeply affected on hear- 
 ing of them. Might it not then be that 
 the trouble which affected her was not her 
 own, but another's? 
 
 Before he went to bed he had brought 
 himself to take this view of the incident of 
 the evening, and he felt much easier in his 
 mind. 
 
 Only he felt a twinge of regret when he 
 reflected that the fellow whose appearance 
 had deprived Mary Horneck of an even- 
 ing's pleasure had escaped with no greater 
 inconvenience than would be the result of 
 an ordinary shalving. His contempt for the 
 man increased as he recalled how he had 
 declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had 
 been anything of a man he would have per-
 
 94 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 ceived that he was insulted, not by acoident 
 but desig^n, and would have been ready to 
 %ht. 
 
 Whatever mig-ht be the nature of Mary 
 Horneck's trouble, the killing- of the man 
 would be a step in ^he right direction. 
 
 It was not until his servant, John Eyles, 
 had awakened him in the morning- that he 
 recollected receiving- a letter from Colman 
 which contained some unpleasant news. He 
 could not at first remember the details of 
 the news, but he was certain that on receiv- 
 ing- it he had a definite idea that it was un- 
 pleasant. When he now read Colman's let- 
 ter for the second time he found that his 
 recollection of his first impression was not 
 at fault. It was just his luck : no man was 
 in the habit of writing- more joyous letters 
 or receiving more depressing- than Gold- 
 smith. 
 
 He hurried off to the theatre and found 
 Colman in his most disagreeable mood. 
 The actor and actress who had resigned 
 their parts were just those to whom he was 
 looking, Colman declared, to pull the play 
 through. He could not, however, blame 
 them, he frankly admitted. They were, he 
 said, dependent for a livelihood upon their 
 association with success on the stage, and 
 it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 95 
 
 their best interests to be connected with a 
 failure. 
 
 This was too much, even for the long-- 
 suffering- Goldsmith. 
 
 "Is it not somewhat premature to talk 
 of the failure of a play that has not yet 
 been produced, Mr. Colman?" he said. 
 
 "It might be in respect to most plays, 
 sir," replied Colman; "but in regard to 
 this particular play, I don't think that one 
 need be afraid to anticipate by a week or 
 two the verdict of the playgoers. Two 
 things in this world are inevitable, sir: 
 death and the damning of your comedy." 
 
 " I shall try to bear both with fortitude," 
 said Goldsmith quietly, though he was in- 
 wardly very indignant with the manager 
 for his gratuitous predictions of failure — 
 predictions which from the first his atti- 
 tude in regard to the play had contributed 
 to realise. "I should like to have a talk 
 with Mrs. Abington and Woodward," he 
 added. 
 
 *'They are in the green room," said 
 the manager. " I must say that I was in 
 hope. Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical 
 judgment of your own work would enable 
 you to see your way to withdraw it." 
 
 "I decline to withdraw it, sir," said 
 Goldsmith.
 
 96 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "I have been a manag-er now for some 
 years," said Colman, " and, speaking- from 
 the experience which I have g-ained at this 
 theatre, I say without hesitation that I 
 never had a piece offered to me which 
 promised so complete a disaster as this, 
 sir. Why, 't is like no other comedy that 
 was ever wrote." 
 
 "That is a feature which I think the 
 playgoers will not be slow to appreciate," 
 said Goldsmith. "Good Lord I Mr. Col- 
 man, cannot you see that what the people 
 want nowadays is a novelty?" 
 
 "Ay, sir; but there are novelties and 
 novelties, and this novelty of yours is not 
 to their taste. 'T is not a comedy of the 
 pothouse that 's the novelty genteel people 
 want in these days; and mark my words, 
 sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young 
 boor — what's the fellow's name? — Lump- 
 kin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy 
 sneers against the refinement and sensibil- 
 ity of the period — the fellow who talks of 
 his bear only dancing to the gcnteelest of 
 tunes — all this, Dr. Goldsmith, I pledge 
 you my word and reputation as a manager, 
 will bring about an early fall of the curtain. " 
 
 "An early fall of the curtain?" 
 
 " Even so, sir ; for the people in the
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 97 
 
 house will not permit another scene beyond 
 that of your pothouse to be set." 
 
 "Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the 
 Three Pig-eons is an hostelry, not a pot- 
 house." 
 
 " The playgoers will damn it if it were 
 e'en a Bishop's palace." 
 
 ** Which you think most secure against 
 such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not apply the 
 doctrine of predestination to a comedy. 
 Men have gone mad through believing that 
 they had no chance of being saved from the 
 Pit. Pray let not us take so gloomy a view 
 of the hereafter of our play.' 
 
 "Of your play, sir, by your leave. I 
 have no mind to accept even a share of 
 its paternity, though I know that I cannot 
 escape blame for having anything to do 
 with its production." 
 
 "If you are so anxious to decline the 
 responsibilities of a father in respect to it, 
 sir, I must beg that you will not feel called 
 upon to act with the cruelty of a step-father 
 towards it." 
 
 Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest man- 
 ner as he left the manager's office and went 
 to the green room.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The attitude of Colman in reg-ard to the 
 comedy was quite in keeping- with the tra- 
 ditions of the stag-e of the eig-hteenth cen- 
 tury, nor was it so contrary to the tra- 
 ditions of the nineteenth century. Cohnan, 
 like the rest of his profession — not even 
 excepting- Garrick — possessed only a small 
 amount of knowledgfe as to what play- 
 goers desired to have presented to them. 
 Whatever successes he achieved were cer- 
 tainly not due to his own acumen. He had 
 no idea that audiences had g-rown tired 
 of stilted blank verse trag-edies and com- 
 edies constructed on the most conventional 
 lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen 
 deities, but a plentiful lack of human nat- 
 ure. Such plays had succeeded in his 
 hands previously, and he could see no rea- 
 son why he should substitute for them any- 
 thing more natural. He had no idea that 
 playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure 
 a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday 
 life, not upon the spurious sentimentality 
 of an artificial age. 
 
 98
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 99 
 
 He had produced "The Good Natured 
 Man " some years before, and had made 
 money by the transaction. But the shrieks 
 of the shallow critics who had condemned 
 the introduction of the low-life personages 
 into that play were still ringing in his ears; 
 so, when he found that the leading charac- 
 teristics of these personages were not only 
 introduced but actually intensified in the 
 new comedy, which the author had named 
 provisionally " The Mistakes of a Night," 
 he at first declined to have anything to do 
 with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had 
 influential friends — friends who, like Dr. 
 Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised 
 his genius when he was living in a garret 
 and before he had written anything beyond 
 a few desultory essays — and they brought 
 all their influence to bear upon the Covent 
 Garden manager. He accepted the comedy, 
 but laid it aside for several months, and 
 only grudgingly, at last, consented to put it 
 in rehearsal. 
 
 Daily, when Goldsmith attended the re- 
 hearsals, the manager did his best to de- 
 preciate the piece, shaking his head over 
 some scenes, shrugging his shoulders over 
 others, and asking the author if he actually 
 meant to allow certain portions of the dia- 
 logue to be spoken as he had written them.
 
 100 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 This attitude would have discourag-ed a 
 man less certain of his position than Gold- 
 smith. It did not discourag-e him, how- 
 ever, but its effect was soon perceptible 
 upon the members of the company. They 
 rehearsed in a half-hearted way, and ac- 
 cepted Goldsmith's suggestions with de- 
 mur. 
 
 At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, 
 who had been cast for Young- Marlow, 
 threw up the part, and Colman inquired of 
 Goldsmith if he was serious in his intention 
 to continue rehearsing the piece. In a mo- 
 ment Goldsmith assured him that he meant 
 to perform his part of the contract with the 
 manager, and that he would tolerate no 
 backing out of that same contract by the 
 manager. At his friend Shuter's sugges- 
 tion, the part was handed over to Lee 
 Lewes. 
 
 After this, it might at least have been 
 expected that Colman would make the best 
 of what he believed to be a bad matter, and 
 give the play every chance of success. On 
 the contrary, however, he was stupid even 
 for the manager of a theatre, and was at 
 the pains to decry the play upon every pos- 
 sible occasion. Having predicted failure 
 for it, he seemed determined to do his best 
 to cause his prophecies to be realized. At
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 101 
 
 rehearsal he provoked Goldsmith almost 
 beyond endurance by his sneers, and act- 
 ually encouraged the members of his own 
 company in their frivolous complaints re- 
 garding- their dialogue. He spoke the 
 truth to Goldsmith when he said he was 
 not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. 
 Abington had thrown up their parts: he 
 would have been greatly surprised if they 
 had continued rehearsing. 
 
 When the unfortunate author now en- 
 tered the green room, the buzz of conver- 
 sation which had been audible outside 
 ceased in an instant. He knew that he had 
 formed the subject of the conversation, 
 and he could not doubt what was its nature. 
 For a moment he was tempted to turn 
 round and go back to Colman in order to 
 tell him that he would withdraw the play. 
 The temptation lasted but a moment, how- 
 ever: the spirit of determination which 
 had carried him through many difficulties 
 — that spirit which Reynolds appreciated 
 and had embodied in his portrait — came 
 to his aid. He walked boldly into the green 
 room and shook hands with both Wood- 
 ward and Mrs. Abington. 
 
 *'I am greatly mortified at the news 
 which I have just had from Mr. Colman," 
 he said; " but I am sure that you have not
 
 102 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 taken this serious step without due con- 
 sideration, so I need say no more about it. 
 Mr. Colman will be unable to attend this 
 rehearsal, but he is under an agreement 
 with me to produce my comedy within a 
 certain period, and he will therefore sanc- 
 tion any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. 
 Quick will, I hope, honour me by reading- 
 the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. Bulk- 
 ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there 
 need be no delay in the rehearsal." 
 
 The members of the company were 
 somewhat startled by the tone adopted by 
 the man who had previously been anything- 
 but fluent in his speech, and who had sub- 
 mitted with patience to the sneers of the 
 manager. They now beg"an to perceive 
 something- of the character of the man 
 whose life had been a fierce strugg-le with 
 adversity, but who even in his wretched 
 garret knew what was due to himself and 
 to his art, and did not hesitate to kick 
 downstairs the emissary from the govern- 
 ment that offered him employment as a 
 libeller. 
 
 "Sir," cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulk- 
 ley, putting out her hand to him — " Sir, 
 you are not only a genius, you are a man as 
 well, and it will not be my fault if this com- 
 edy of yours does not turn out a success.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 103 
 
 You have been badly treated, Dr. Gold- 
 smith, and you have borne your ill-treat- 
 ment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I 
 shall be proud to appear in your piece." 
 
 " Madam," said Goldsmith, "you over- 
 whelm me with your kindness. As for ill- 
 treatment, I have nothing- to complain of so 
 far as the ladies and g-entlemen of the com- 
 pany are concerned, and any one who ven- 
 tures to assert that I bear ill-will toward 
 Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I shall 
 regard as having put an affront upon me. 
 Before a fortnight has passed I know that 
 they will be overcome by chagrin at their 
 rejection of the opportunity that was of- 
 fered them of being associated with the suc- 
 cess of this play, for it will be a success, in 
 spite of the untoward circumstances inci- 
 dental to its birth." 
 
 He bowed several times around the 
 company, and he did it so awkwardly that 
 he immediately gained the sympathy and 
 g-ood-will of all the actors: they reflected 
 how much better they could do it, and that, 
 of course, caused them to feel well disposed 
 towards Goldsmith. 
 
 " You mean to give the comedy another 
 name, sir, I think," said Shuter, who was 
 cast for the part of Old Hardcastle. 
 
 " You may be sure that a name will be
 
 104 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 forthcoming-," said Goldsmith. " Lord, sir, 
 I am too g-ood a Christian not to know that 
 if an accident was to happen to my bantling- 
 before it is christened it would be damned 
 to a certainty." 
 
 The rehearsal this day was the most 
 promising- that had yet taken place. Col- 
 man did not put in an appearance, conse- 
 quently the disheartening- influence of his 
 presence was not felt. The broadly com- 
 ical scenes were acted with some spirit, and 
 thoug-h it was quite apparent to Goldsmith 
 that none of the company believed that the 
 play would be a success, yet the members 
 did not work, as they had worked hitherto, 
 on the assumption that its failure was in- 
 evitable. 
 
 On the whole, he left the theatre with a 
 lig-hter heart than he had had since the 
 first rehearsal. It was not until he re- 
 turned to his chambers to dress for the 
 evening- that he recollected he had not yet 
 arrived at a wholly satisfactory solution of 
 the question which had kept him awake 
 during- the g-rcater part of the night. 
 
 The words that Mary Horneck had 
 spoken and the look there was in her eyes 
 at the same moment had yet to be explained. 
 
 He seated himself at his desk with his 
 hand to his head, his elbow resting- on a
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 105 
 
 sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. 
 After half-an-hour's thought his hand went 
 mechanically to his tray of pens. Picking 
 one up with a sigh, he began to write. 
 
 Verse after verse appeared upon the pa- 
 per — the love-song of a man who feels that 
 love is shut out from his life for evermore, 
 but whose only consolation in life is love. 
 
 After an hour's fluent writing he laid 
 down the pen and once again rested his 
 head on his hand. He had not the courage 
 to read what he had written. His desk was 
 full of such verses, written with unaffected 
 sincerity when every one around him was 
 engaged in composing verses which were 
 regarded worthy of admiration only in pro- 
 portion as they were artificial. 
 
 He wondered, as he sat there, what 
 would be the result of his sending to Mary 
 Horneck one of those poems which his 
 heart had sung to her. Would she be 
 shocked at his presumption in venturing to 
 love her? Would his delightful relations 
 with her and her family be changed when 
 it became known that he had not been 
 satisfied with the friendship which he had 
 enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for 
 a response to his deeper feeling? 
 
 His heart sank as he asked himself the 
 question.
 
 106 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 " How is it that I seem ridiculous as 
 a lover even to myself?" he muttered. 
 " Why has God laid upon me the curse of 
 being- a poet? A poet is the chronicler of 
 the loves of others, but it is thoug-ht mad- 
 ness should he himself look for the consola- 
 tion of love. It is the irony of life that the 
 man who is most capable of deep feeling- 
 should be forced to live in loneliness. How 
 the world would pity a g-reat painter who 
 was struck blind — a g-reat omtor struck 
 dumb 1 But the poet shut out from love re- 
 ceives no pity — no pity on earth — no pity 
 in heaven." 
 
 He bowed his head down to his hands, 
 and remained in that attitude for an hour. 
 Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He 
 caught up the paper which he had just cov- 
 ered with verses, and was in the act of 
 tearing it. He did not tear the sheet quite 
 across, however; it fell from his hand to 
 ihe desk and lay there, a slig-ht current of 
 air from a window making- the torn edg-e 
 rise and fall as though it lay upon the beat- 
 ing- heart of a woman whose lover was be- 
 side her — that was what the quivering- mo- 
 tion sug-g-ested to the poet who watched it. 
 
 " And I would have torn it in pieces and 
 made a ruin of it ! " he said. " Alas ! alas ! 
 for the poor torn, fluttering heart ! "
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 107 
 
 He dressed himself and went out, but to 
 none of his accustomed haunts, where he 
 would have been certain to meet with some 
 of the disting-uished men who were re- 
 joiced to be reg-arded as his friends. In 
 his mood he knew that friendship could af- 
 ford him no solace. 
 
 He knew that to offer a man friendship 
 when love is in his heart is like g-iving- a 
 loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 For the next two days Goldsmith was 
 fully occupied making- such changes in his 
 play as were sug-gested to him in the course 
 of the rehearsals. The alterations were 
 not radical, but he felt that they would be 
 improvements, and his judg-ment was rarely 
 at fault. Moreover, he was quick to per- 
 ceive in what direction the strong- points 
 and the weak points of the various members 
 of the company lay, and he had no hesitation 
 in altering- the dialog-ue so as to g-ive them 
 a better chance of displaying- their g-ifts. 
 But not a line of what Colman called the 
 " pot-house scene " would he chang-e, not a 
 word of the scene where the farm servants 
 are being- trained to wait at table would he 
 allow to be omitted. 
 
 Colman declined to appear upon the 
 stag-e during- the rehearsals. He seems to 
 have spent all his spare time walking- from 
 coffee house to coffee house talking- about 
 the play, its vulg-arity, and the certainty of 
 the fate that was in store for it. It would 
 have been impossible, had he not adopted 
 
 108
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 109 
 
 this remarkable course, for the people of 
 the town to become aware, as they certainly 
 did, what were his ideas regarding- the 
 comedy. When it was produced with ex- 
 traordinary success, the papers held the 
 manager up to ridicule daily for his false 
 predictions, and every day a new set of 
 lampoons came from the coffee-house wits 
 on the same subject. 
 
 But thoug-h the members of the company 
 rehearsed the play loyally, some of them 
 were doubtful about the scene at the Three 
 Pig-eons, and did not hesitate to express 
 their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered 
 if he might not see his way to substitute 
 for that scene one which could not possibly 
 be thought offensive by any section of play- 
 goers. Was it not a pity, one of them asked 
 him, to run a chance of failure when it 
 might be so easily avoided ? 
 
 To all of these remonstrances he had 
 but one answer : the play must stand or fall 
 by the scenes which were regarded as 
 ungenteel. He had written it, he said, for 
 the sake of expressing his convictions 
 through the medium of these particular 
 scenes, and he was content to accept the 
 verdict of the playgoers on the point in 
 question. Why he had brought on those 
 scenes so early in the play was that the
 
 110 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 playgfoers mig-ht know not to expect a senti- 
 mental piece, but one that was meant to 
 introduce a natural school of comedy, with 
 no pretence to be anything- but a copy of the 
 manners of the day, with no fine writing in 
 the dialogue, but only the broadest and 
 heartiest fun, 
 
 "If the scenes are ungenteel," said he, 
 " it is because nature is made up of ungen- 
 teel things. Your modern gentleman is, to 
 my mind, much less interesting than your 
 ungenteel person ; and I believe that Tony 
 Lumpkin when admirably represented, as 
 he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a greater 
 favourite with all who come to the playhouse 
 than the finest gentleman who ever uttered 
 an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely on 
 the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by 
 my faith 1 I'll not interfere with his romp- 
 ing." 
 
 He was fluent and decisive on this point, 
 as he was on every other point on which he 
 had made up his mind. He only stammered 
 and stuttered when he did not know what 
 he was about to say, and this frequently 
 arose from his over-sensitiveness in regard 
 to the feelings of others — a disability which 
 could never be laid to the charge of Dr. 
 Johnson, who was, in consequence, delight- 
 fully fluent.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 111 
 
 On the evening- of the third rehearsal of 
 the play with the amended cast, he went to 
 Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to 
 dine. He knew that the Horneck family 
 would be there, and he looked forward with 
 some deg-ree of apprehension to his meeting 
 with Mary. He felt that she might think 
 he looked for some explanation of her 
 strange words spoken when he was by her 
 side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no 
 explanation from her. The words still lay 
 as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that 
 it would pain her to attempt an explanation 
 of them, and he was quite content that 
 matters should remain as they were. What- 
 ever the words might have meant, it was 
 impossible that they could mean anything 
 that might cause him to think of her with 
 less reverence and affection. 
 
 He arrived early at Reynolds's house, 
 but it did not take him long to find out that 
 he was not the first arrival. From the large 
 drawing-room there came to his ears the 
 sound of laughter — such laughter as caused 
 him to remark to the servant — 
 
 "I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already 
 in the house, Ralph." 
 
 " Mr. Garrick has been here with the 
 young ladies for the past half-hour, sir," 
 replied Ralph.
 
 112 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it 
 were found that he has been entertaining- 
 them," said Goldsmith. 
 
 Ralph, who knew perfectly well what 
 was the exact form that the entertainment 
 assumed, busied himself hang-ing- up the 
 visitor's hat. 
 
 The fact was that, for the previous 
 quarter of an hour, Garrick had been keep- 
 ing- Mary Horneck and her sister, and even 
 Miss Reynolds, in fits of laug-hter by his 
 burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview 
 with an amanuensis who had been recom- 
 mended to him with a view of saving- him 
 much manual labour. Goldsmith had told 
 him the story originally, and the imagina- 
 tion of Garrick was quite equal to the duty 
 of supplying- all the details necessary for 
 the burlesque. He pretended to be the 
 amanuensis entering- the room in which 
 Goldsmith was supposed to be seated work- 
 ing laboriously at his "Animated Nature." 
 "Good morning, sir, good morning," he 
 cried, pretending to take off his gloves and 
 shake the dust off them with the most per- 
 fect self-possession, previous to laying them 
 in his hat on a chair. " Now mind you don't 
 sit there, Dr. Goldsmith," he continued, 
 raising a warning finger. A little motion 
 of his body, and the pert amanuensis, with
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 113 
 
 his mincing ways, was transformed into 
 the awkward Goldsmith, shy and self-con- 
 scious in the presence of a stranger, hasten- 
 ing with clumsy politeness to get him a 
 chair, and, of course, dragging forward the 
 very one on which the man had placed his 
 hat. "Now, now, now, what are you about?" 
 — once more Garrick was the amanuensis. 
 "Did not I warn you to be careful about 
 that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not 
 to sit in it? Sir, that excuse is a mere 
 quibble — a mere quibble. This must not 
 occur again, or I shall be forced to dismiss 
 you, and where will you be then, my good 
 sir ? Now to business, Doctor ; but first 
 you will tell your man to make me a cup of 
 chocolate — with milk, sir — plenty of milk, 
 and two lumps of sugar — plantation sugar, 
 sir ; I flatter myself that I am a patriot — 
 none of your foreign manufactures for me. 
 And now that I think on 't, your laundress 
 would do well to wash and iron my ruffles 
 for me ; and mind you tell her to be careful 
 of the one with the tear in it " — this shouted 
 half-way out of the door through which he 
 had shown Goldsmith hurrying with the 
 ruffles and the order for the chocolate. 
 
 Then came the monologue of the aman- 
 uensis strolling about the room, passing his 
 sneering remarks at the furniture — open-
 
 114 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 ing- a letter which had just come by post, 
 and reading- it sotto voce. It was supposed 
 to be from Filby, the tailor, and to state 
 that the field-marshal's uniform in which 
 Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next 
 masked ball at the Haymarket would be 
 ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. 
 Goldsmith had made up his mind as to the 
 exact orders which he meant to wear, end- 
 ing with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's 
 g^ood taste and discrimination in choosing 
 a costume which was so well adapted to his 
 physique, and a humble suggestion that it 
 should be worn upon the occasion of the 
 first performance of the new comedy, when 
 the writer hoped no objection would be 
 raised to the hanging of a board in front of 
 the author's box with "Made by Filby" 
 printed on it. 
 
 Garrick's reading of the imaginary let- 
 ter, stumbling over certain words — giving 
 an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to 
 a phrase here and there, and finally his 
 turning over the letter and mumbling a 
 postscript alluding to the length of time that 
 had passed since the writer had received a 
 payment on account, could not have been 
 surpassed. The effect of the comedy upon 
 the people in the room was immeasurably 
 heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 115 
 
 the flesh, when Garrick, as the amanuensis, 
 immediately walked to him gravely with the 
 scrap of paper which had done duty as the 
 letter, in his hand, asking- him if what was 
 written there in black and white about the 
 field-marshal's uniform was correct, and if 
 he meant to agree to Filby's request to 
 wear it on the first night of the comedy. 
 
 Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was 
 giving an example of the impromptu enter- 
 tainment in which he delighted, and at once 
 entered into the spirit of the scene, saying — 
 
 " Why, yes, sir ; I have come to the con- 
 clusion that more credit should be given to 
 a man who has brought to a successful issue 
 a campaign against the prejudices and 
 stupidities of the manager of a playhouse 
 than to the generalissimo of an army in the 
 field, so why should not I wear a field-mar- 
 shal's uniform, sir?" 
 
 The laugh was against Garrick, which 
 pleased him greatly, for he knew that Gold- 
 smith would feel that he was sharing in the 
 entertainment, and would not regard it as a 
 burlesque upon himself personally. In an 
 instant, however, the actor had ceased to be 
 the supercilious amanuensis, and became 
 David Garrick, crying — 
 
 "Nay, sir, you are out of the play alto- 
 gether. You are presuming to reply to
 
 116 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell 
 a g-entleman of your experience, is a pre- 
 posterous idea, and out of all consistency 
 with nature." 
 
 Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his 
 friends, and being- quite elated at the suc- 
 cess of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, 
 did not mind much what mig-ht follow. 
 
 At what did actually follow Goldsmith 
 laughed as heartily as any one in the room. 
 
 *' Come, sir," said the amanuensis, "we 
 have no time to waste over empty civilities. 
 We have our ' Animated Nature ' to pro- 
 ceed with ; we cannot keep the world wait- 
 ing any longer; it matters not about the 
 booksellers, 't is the world we think of. 
 What is this?" — picking- up an imaginary 
 paper — "'The derivation of the name of 
 the elephant has taxed the ingeniousness of 
 many able writers, but there can be no 
 doubt in the mind of any one who has seen 
 that noble creature, as I have, in its native 
 woods, careering nimbly from branch to 
 branch of the largest trees in search of the 
 butterflies, which form its sole food, that 
 the name elephant is but a corruption of 
 elegant, the movements of the animal being 
 as singularly graceful as its shape is in ac- 
 cordance with all accepted ideas of sym- 
 metry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 117 
 
 style lacks animation. A writer on 'Ani- 
 mated Nature ' should be himself both ani- 
 mated and natural, as one who translates 
 Buffon should himself be a buffoon." 
 
 In this strain of nonsense Garrick Tvent 
 on for the next ten minutes, leading up to a 
 simulated dispute between Goldsmith and 
 his amanuensis as to whether a dog" lived on 
 land or water. The dispute waxed warmer 
 and warmer, until at last blows were ex- 
 chang-ed and the amanuensis kicked Gold- 
 smith throug"h the door and down the stairs. 
 The bumping of the imaginary man from 
 step to step was heard in the drawing-room, 
 and then the amanuensis entered, smiling 
 and rubbing his hands as he remarked — 
 
 " The impertinent fellow ! To presume 
 to dictate to his amanuensis I Lord ! what 's 
 the world coming to when a common lit- 
 erary man presumes to dictate to his aman- 
 uensis?" 
 
 Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. 
 At Dr. Burney's new house, around the 
 corner in St. Martin's street, he used to 
 keep the household in roars of laughter — 
 as one delightful member of the household 
 has recorded — over his burlesque auctions 
 of books, and his imitations of Dr. Johnson. 
 
 "And all this," said Goldsmith, "came 
 out of the paltry story which I told him of
 
 118 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 how I hired an amanuensis, but found my- 
 self dumb the moment he sat down to 
 work, so that, after making- a number of 
 excuses which I knew he saw throug-h, I 
 found it to my advantag-e to give the man a 
 guinea and send him away."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Goldsmith was delighted to find that the 
 Jessamy Bride seemed free from care. He 
 had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling 
 lest he should hear that she was unable to 
 join the party; but now he found her in as 
 merry a mood as he had ever known her to 
 be in. He was seated by her side at din- 
 ner, and he was glad to find that there was 
 upon her no trace of the mysterious mood 
 that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pan- 
 theon. 
 
 She had, of course, heard of the troubles 
 at the playhouse, and she told him that 
 nothing would induce her ever to speak to 
 Colman, though she said that she and Lit- 
 tle Comedy, when they had first heard of 
 the intention of the manager to withdraw 
 the piece, had resolved to go together to 
 the theatre and demand its immediate pro- 
 duction on the finest scale possible. 
 
 " There 's still great need for some one 
 
 who will be able to influence Colman in that 
 
 respect," said Goldsmith. "Only to-day, 
 
 when I ventured to talk of a fresh scene 
 
 n9
 
 120 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 being- painted, he told me that it was not 
 his intention to proceed to such expense 
 for a piece that would not be played for 
 long-er than a small portion of one evening-. " 
 
 " The monster ! " cried the g-irl. I 
 should like to talk to him as I feel about 
 this. What, is he mad enough to expect 
 that playgoers will tolerate his wretched 
 old scenery in a new comedy ? Oh, clearly 
 he needs some one to be near him who will 
 speak plainly to him and tell him how con- 
 temptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson 
 should g-o to him. The occasion is one that 
 demands the powers of a man who has a 
 whole dictionary at his back — yes, Dr. 
 Johnson should g-o to him and threaten that 
 if he does not behave handsomely he will, 
 in his next edition of the Dictionary, define 
 a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who 
 keeps an author in suspense for months, 
 and then produces his comedy so ung-ener- 
 ously as to make its failure a certainty. 
 But, no, your play will be the g-reater suc- 
 cess on account of its having- to overcome 
 all the obstacles which Mr. Colman has 
 placed in its way." 
 
 "I know, dear child, that if it depended 
 on your good will it would be the g-reatest 
 success of the century," said he. 
 
 "And so it will be — oh, it must be!
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 121 
 
 Little Comedy and I will — oh, we shall in- 
 sist on the playgoers liking- it! We will sit 
 in front of a box and lead all the applause, 
 and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed 
 upon any one who may have the bad taste to 
 decline to follow us." 
 
 " You are kindness itself, my dear; and 
 meanwhile, if you would come to the re- 
 maining- rehearsals, and spend all your 
 spare time thinking- out a suitable name for 
 the play you would be conferring- an addi- 
 tional favour upon an ill-treated author." 
 
 *'I will do both, and it will be strang-e if 
 I do not succeed in at least one of the two 
 enterprises — the first being the changing 
 of the mistakes of a manager into the suc- 
 cess of a night, and the second the changing 
 of the ' Mistakes of a Night ' into the suc- 
 cess of a manager — ay, and of an author 
 as well." 
 
 " Admirably spoke ! " cried the author. 
 " I have a mind to let the name ' The Mis- 
 takes of a Night ' stand, you have made 
 such a pretty play upon it." 
 
 " No, no; that is not the kind of play to 
 fill the theatre," said she. "Oh, do not be 
 afraid; it will be very strange if between us 
 we cannot hit upon a title that will deserve, 
 if not a coronet, at least a wreath of laurel." 
 
 Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head
 
 122 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 of the table, not far away, had put up his 
 ear-trumpet between the courses, and 
 caug-ht a word or two of the g'irl's sentence. 
 
 " I presume that you are still discussing- 
 the g-reat title question," said he. "You 
 need not do so. Have I not g-iven you my 
 assurance that ' The Belle's Stratag-em ' is 
 the best name that the play could receive?" 
 
 " Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to 
 be one of the 'mistakes of a Knight!' " said 
 Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delig-hted 
 in a pun, but did not like too many people 
 to hear him make one. 
 
 " ' The Belle's Stratagem ' I hold to be a 
 g-ood enoug-h title until we g^et a better," 
 said Goldsmith. "I have confidence in the 
 ing"enuity of Miss Horneck to discover the 
 better one." 
 
 "Nay, I protest if you do not take my 
 title I shall g^o to the playhouse and damn 
 the play," said Reynolds. " I have g-iven it 
 its proper name, and if it appears in public 
 under any other it will have earned the 
 reprobation of all honest folk who detest an 
 alias. '''' 
 
 "Then that name shall stand," said 
 Goldsmith. "I g'ive you my word. Sir 
 Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed 
 under your title than have it damned under
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 123 
 
 a title given to it by the next best man to 
 you in England." 
 
 "That is very well said, indeed," re- 
 marked Sir Joshua. *' It gives evidence of a 
 certain generosity of feeling on your part 
 which all should respect." 
 
 Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's 
 right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for she had 
 not quite understood the drift of Gold- 
 smith's phrase, but from the other end of 
 the table there came quite an outburst of 
 laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. 
 Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was tell- 
 ing an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in 
 the gun-room. 
 
 Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of 
 the table, had ventured to question the like- 
 lihood of an audience's apprehending the 
 humour of the story at which Diggory had 
 only hinted. He wondered if the story 
 should not be told for the benefit of the 
 playgoers. 
 
 A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought 
 to dinner — his name was Colonel Gwyn, 
 and it was known that he was a great ad- 
 mirer of Mary Horneck — took up the 
 question quite seriously. 
 
 " For my part," he said, "I admit frankly 
 that I have never heard the story of Grouse 
 in the gun-room."
 
 124 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Is it possible, sir?" cried Garrick. 
 *' What, you mean to say that you are not 
 familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to 
 the young" woman who asked him how he 
 found his way into the gun-room when the 
 door was locked — that about every g-un 
 having- a lock, and so forth ? " 
 
 " No, sir," cried Colonel Gwyn. " I had 
 no idea that the story was a familiar one. It 
 seems interesting-, too." 
 
 "Oh, 't is amazing-ly interesting-," said 
 Garrick. "But you are an army man, 
 Colonel Gwyn ; you have heard it fre- 
 quently told over the mess-table." 
 
 "I protest, sir," said Colonel Gwyn, "I 
 know so little about it that I fancied Ould 
 Grouse was the name of a dog — I have my- 
 self known of sporting dogs called Grouse." 
 
 "Oh, Colonel, you surprise me," cried 
 Garrick. " Ould Grouse a dog ! Pray do 
 not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He 
 is a very sensitive man, and would feel 
 greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I be- 
 lieve that Dr. Goldsmith was an intimate 
 friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death 
 severely." 
 
 "Then he is dead?" said Gwyn. "That, 
 sir, gives a melancholy interest to the nar- 
 rative." 
 
 "A particularly pathetic interest, sir,"
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 125 
 
 said Garrick, shaking- his head. "I was 
 not among- his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but 
 when I reflect that that dear simple-minded 
 old soul is g-one from us — that the gun- 
 room door is now open, but that within 
 there is silence — no sound of the dear old 
 feet that were wont to patter and potter — 
 you will pardon my emotion, madam " — 
 He turned with streaming- eyes to Miss 
 Reynolds, who forthwith became sympa- 
 thetically affected, her voice breaking as 
 she endeavoured to assure Garrick that his 
 emotion, so far from requiring- an apology, 
 did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready 
 to roar, could not do so now without seem- 
 ing- to laug-h at the feeling- of his hostess, 
 and his wife had too high an appreciation of 
 comedy not to be able to keep her face per- 
 fectly g-rave, while a sob or two that he 
 seemed quite unable to suppress came 
 from the napkin which Garrick held up to 
 his face. Baretti said something- in Italian 
 to Dr. Burney across the table, about the 
 melancholy nature of the party, and then 
 Garrick dropped his napkin, saying- — 
 
 " 'T is selfish to repine, and he himself — 
 dear old soul! — would be the last to coun- 
 tenance a show of melancholy ; for, as his 
 remarks in the g-un-room testify. Colonel 
 Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I
 
 126 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 fancy I see him, the broad smile lighting up 
 his homely features, as he delivered that 
 sly thrust at his questioner, for it is per- 
 fectly well known, Colonel, that so far as 
 poaching- was concerned the other man had 
 no particular character in the neighbour- 
 hood." 
 
 " Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then," said 
 the Colonel. 
 
 "Well, if the truth must be told— but 
 no, the man is dead and gone now," cried 
 Garrick, "and it is more generous only to 
 remember, as we all do, the nimbleness 
 of his wit — the genial mirth which ran 
 through the gun-room after that famous 
 sally of his. It seems that honest homely 
 fun is dying out in England ; the country 
 stands in need of an Ould Grouse or two 
 just now, and let us hope that when the 
 story of that quiet, yet thoroughly jovial, re- 
 mark of his in the gun-room comes to be 
 told in the comedy, there will be a revival 
 of the good old days when men were not 
 afraid to joke, sir, and " 
 
 " But so far as I can gather from what 
 Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy read, 
 has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the 
 gun-room is never actually narrated, but 
 only hinted at," said Gwyn. 
 
 "That makes little matter, sir," said
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 127 
 
 Garrick. "The untold story of Ould Grouse 
 in the gun-room will be more heartily 
 laughed at during the next year or two 
 than the best story of which every detail is 
 given." 
 
 "At any rate, Colonel Gwyn," said Mrs. 
 Bunbury, "after the pains which Mr. Gar- 
 rick has taken to acquaint you with the 
 amplest particulars of the story you cannot 
 in future profess to be unacquainted with it." 
 
 Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled. 
 
 "I protest, madam," said he, "that up 
 to the present — ah! I fear that the very 
 familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story 
 has caused him to be led to take too much 
 for granted. I do not question the humour, 
 mind you — I fancy that I am as quick as 
 most men to see a joke, but " 
 
 This was too much for Bunbury and 
 Burney. They both roared with laughter, 
 which increased in volume as the puzzled 
 look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was taken up 
 by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney 
 and then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor 
 Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make 
 out what was going on around her in that 
 strange household where she had been 
 thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely 
 at the ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled 
 artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of
 
 128 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 assuring- him that she understood perfectly 
 how he came to be merry. 
 
 "Colonel Gwyn," said Garrick, "these 
 gentlemen seem to have their own reasons 
 for merriment, but I think you and I can 
 better discriminate when to laugh and when 
 to refrain from laug-hter. And yet — ah, I 
 perceive they are recalling the story of 
 Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that, 
 sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian 
 mummy or a statue of Nestor; and the 
 funny part of the business is yet to come, 
 for up to the present I don't believe that I 
 told you that the man had actually been 
 married for some years." 
 
 He laughed so heartily that Colonel 
 Gwyn could not refrain from joining in, 
 though his laughter was a good deal less 
 hearty than that of any of the others who 
 had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun. 
 
 When the men were left alone at the 
 table, there was some little embarrassment 
 owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir 
 Joshua, who was hospitable to a fault, keep- 
 ing an open house and dining his friends 
 every evening, could never be persuaded 
 to replace the glass which chanced to be 
 broken. Garrick made an excuse of the 
 shortness of port-glasses at his end of the 
 table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 129 
 
 he cheered by telling- him that he had al- 
 ready given a lesson to Woodward regard- 
 ing the speaking of the prologue which he, 
 Garrick, had written for the comedy. He 
 said he believed Woodward would repeat 
 the lines very effectively. When Gold- 
 smith mentioned that Colman declined to 
 have a single scene painted for the produc- 
 tion, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were in- 
 dignant. 
 
 *' You would have done well to leave the 
 piece in my hands, Noll," said the latter, 
 alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's 
 having sent the play to him on Colman's 
 first refusal to produce it. 
 
 "Ah, Davy, my friend," Goldsmith re- 
 plied, "I feel more at my ease in reflecting- 
 that in another week I shall know the worst 
 — or the best. If the play had remained 
 with you I should feel like a condemned 
 criminal for the next year or two." 
 
 In the drawing-room that evening Gar- 
 rick and Goldsmith g-ot up the entertain- 
 ment, which was possibly the most divert- 
 ing one ever seen in a room. 
 
 Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a 
 table-cloth drawn over his head and body, 
 leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick 
 then began reciting long sentimental solilo- 
 quies from certain plays, which Goldsmith
 
 130 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 was supposed to illustrate by his gestures. 
 The form of the entertainment has sur- 
 vived, and sometimes by chance it becomes 
 humourous. But with Garrick repeating- the 
 lines and thrilling- his audience by his mar- 
 vellous chang-e of expression as no audience 
 has since been thrilled, and with Goldsmith 
 burlesquing- with inappropriately extrava- 
 gant and wholly amusing gestures the pas- 
 sionate deliverances, it can easily be be- 
 lieved that Sir Joshua's guests were con- 
 vulsed. 
 
 After some time of this division of 
 labour, the position of the two playmates 
 was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on 
 Goldsmith's knees and did the gesticulat- 
 ing, while the poet attempted to deliver his 
 lines after the manner of the player. The 
 effect was even more ludicrous than that of 
 the previous combination; and then, in the 
 middle of an affecting passage from Addi- 
 son's "Cato," Goldsmith began to sing the 
 song which he had been compelled to omit 
 from the part of Miss Hardcastle, owing to 
 Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of 
 course Garrick's gestures during the 
 delivery of the song were marvellously 
 ingenious, and an additional element of 
 attraction was introduced by Dr. Burney, 
 who hastily seated himself at the piano-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 131 
 
 forte and interwove a medley accompani- 
 ment, introducing- all the airs then popular, 
 but without prejudice to the harmonies of 
 the accompaniment. 
 
 Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, 
 Miss Kauff man, and when this marvellous 
 fooling- had come to an end, except for the 
 extra diversion caused by Garrick's declin- 
 ing to leave Goldsmith's knees — he beg-g-ed 
 the lady to favour the company with an 
 Italian song which she was accustomed to 
 sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But 
 Miss Angelica shook her head. 
 
 " Pray add your entreaties to mine, 
 Miss Horneck," said Sir Joshua to the 
 Jessamy Bride. "Entreat our Angel of 
 Art to give us the pleasure of hearing her 
 sing." 
 
 Miss Horneck rose, and made an elabor- 
 ate curtsey before the smiling Angelica. 
 
 " Oh, Madame Angel, live forever I" she 
 cried. " Will your Majesty condescend 
 to let us hear your angelic voice? You 
 have already deigned to captivate our souls 
 by the exercise of one art ; will you now 
 stoop to conquer our savage hearts by the 
 exercise of another ? " 
 
 A sudden cry startled the company, and 
 at the same instant Garrick was thrown on
 
 132 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 his hands and knees on the floor by the act 
 of Goldsmith's springing to his feet. 
 
 "By the Lord, I've got it!" shouted 
 Goldsmith. " The Jessamy Bride has given 
 it to me, as I knew she would — the title of 
 my comedy — she has just said it: *She 
 Stoops to Conquer.' "
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 As a matter of course, Colman objected 
 to the new title when Goldsmith communi- 
 cated it to him the next day ; but the latter 
 was firm on this particular point. He had 
 given the play its name, he said, and he 
 would not alter it now on any consideration. 
 
 Colman once ag-ain shrug-g-ed his 
 shoulders. The production of the play 
 gave him so much practice at shrugging, 
 Goldsmith expressed his regret at not be- 
 ing able to introduce the part of a French- 
 man, which he said he believed the man- 
 ager would play to perfection. 
 
 But when Johnson, who attended the re- 
 hearsal with Miss Reynolds, the whole 
 Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, as- 
 serted, as he did with his customary em- 
 phasis, that no better title than "She Stoops 
 to Conquer" could be found for the comedy, 
 Colman made no further objections, and the 
 rehearsal was proceeded with. 
 
 "Nay, sir," cried Johnson, when Gold- 
 smith was leaving his party in a box in order 
 to go upon the stage, " Nay, sir, you shall 
 
 133
 
 134 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 not desert us. You must stay by us to let 
 us know when the jests are spoken, so that 
 we may be fully qualified to laug-h at the 
 rig-ht moments when the theatre is filled. 
 Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our 
 own resources? " 
 
 "I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the 
 comedy, Dr. Johnson," said Miss Horneck 
 — Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries con- 
 stituted the chief topics of the hour. "I 
 believe that I know so much of the dialogue 
 as will enable me to pilot you, not merely to 
 the Otaheite of a jest, but to a whole archi- 
 pelago of wit." 
 
 " Otaheite is a name of g-ood omen," 
 said Cradock. " It is suggestive of palms, 
 and ^pahnam qui meruit fer at,'' " 
 
 "Sir," said Johnson," "you should know 
 better than to quote Latin in the presence 
 of ladies. Though your remark is not quite 
 so bad as I expected it would be, yet let me 
 tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the com- 
 edy is a g"ood deal livelier than yours, it will 
 have a poor chance with the playgoers." 
 
 " Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly 
 superior to mine, "laugfhed Cradock. "Other- 
 wise it would be my comedy that would be 
 in rehearsal, and Dr. Goldsmith would be 
 merely on a level with us who constitute 
 bis critics."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 135 
 
 Goldsmith had g-one on the stag-e and the 
 rehearsal had beg-un, so that Johnson was 
 enabled, by pretending- to give all his atten- 
 tion to the opening dialog-ue, to hide b'slack 
 of an effective reply to Cradock for jis in- 
 solence in sug-gesting- that they w^ere both 
 on the same level as critics. 
 
 Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had 
 more than beg"un to drill his servants, the 
 mighty laug-hter of Dr, Johnson wa.s shak- 
 ing- the box. Every outburst v^as like the 
 exploding- of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, 
 the broadside coming- from the carronade 
 of a three-decker. He had laughed and 
 applauded during- the scene at the Three 
 Pig-eons — especially the satirical sallies 
 directed ag-ainst the sentimentalists — but 
 it was the drilling- of the servants that ex- 
 cited him most, and he inquired of Miss 
 Horneck — 
 
 " Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse 
 in the g-un-room, my dear? " 
 
 When the members of the company 
 learned that it was the g-reat Dr. Samuel 
 Johnson who was roaring- with laug-hter in 
 the box, they were as much amazed as they 
 were encourag-ed. Colman, who had come 
 upon the stage out of compliment to John- 
 son, feeling that his position as an authority 
 regarding the elements of diversion in a
 
 136 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 play was being- undermined in the estima- 
 tion of his company, remarked — 
 
 " Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a 
 friend indeed if he comes in as g-enerous a 
 mood to the first representation. I only 
 hope that the playg"oers will not resent his 
 attempt to instruct them on the subject of 
 your wit." 
 
 *' I don't think that there is any one alive 
 who will venture to resent the instruction 
 of Dr. Johnson," said Goldsmith quietly. 
 
 The result of this rehearsal and of the 
 three rehearsals that followed it during- the 
 week, was more than encouraging to the 
 actors, and it became understood that Wood- 
 ward and Gentleman Smith were ready to 
 admit their regret at having- relinquished 
 the parts for which they had been originally 
 cast. The former had asked to be per- 
 mitted to speak the prologue, which Garrick 
 had written, and, upon which, as he had told 
 Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or 
 two to Woodward. 
 
 The difficulty of the epilogue, however, 
 still remained. The one which Murphy had 
 written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to 
 by Miss Catley, who threatened to leave the 
 company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been 
 merely thrust forward to take Mrs. Abing- 
 ton's place, were entrusted with the epi-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE . 137 
 
 logue ; and, when Cradock wrote another 
 Tor Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley declared that 
 if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction 
 which she herself had a right to claim, she 
 would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's inge- 
 nuity suggested the writing of an epilogue 
 in which both the ladies were presented in 
 their true characters as quarreling on the 
 subject ; but Colman placed his veto upon 
 this idea and also upon another simple epi- 
 logue which the author had written. Only 
 on the day preceding the first performance 
 did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which 
 was eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. 
 
 *' It seems to me to be a pity to waste so 
 much time discussing an epilogue which 
 will never be spoke," sneered Colman when 
 the last difficulties had been smoothed over. 
 
 Goldsmith walked away without another 
 word, and joined his party, consisting of 
 Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the 
 Bunburys and Mary Horneck. Now that 
 he had done all his work connected with the 
 production of the play — when he had not 
 allowed himself to be overcome by the nig- 
 gardly behaviour of the manager in declin- 
 ing to spend a single penny either upon the 
 dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer 
 of Colman's almost caused him to break 
 down.
 
 138 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Mary Horneck perceived this, and has- 
 tened to say something- kind to him. She 
 knew so well what would be truly encour- 
 ag-ing- to him that she did not hesitate for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I am g-lad I am not g"oing to the theatre 
 to-nig-ht," she said; "my dress would be 
 ruined.'* 
 
 He tried to smile as he asked her for an 
 explanation. 
 
 "Why, surely you heard the way the 
 cleaners were laughing- at the humour of 
 the play," she cried. "Oh, yes, all the 
 cleaners dropped their dusters, and stood 
 around the boxes in fits of laug-hter. I 
 overheard one of the candle-snuffers say 
 that no play he had seen rehearsed for 
 years contained such wit as yours. I also 
 overheard another man cursing- Mr. Col- 
 man for a curmudg-eon." 
 
 " You did ? Thank God for that; 't is a 
 g-reat responsibility off my mind," said 
 Goldsmith. "Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, 
 I know how kind you are, and I only hope 
 that your g-od-child will turn out a credit 
 to me." 
 
 "It is not merely your credit that is in- 
 volved in the success of this play, sir," 
 said Johnson. " The credit of your friends,
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 139 
 
 who insisted on Colman's taking- the play, 
 is also at stake." 
 
 "And above all," said Reynolds pleas- 
 antly, " the play must be a success in order 
 to put Colman in the wrong-." 
 
 " That is the best reason that could be 
 advanced -why its success is important to 
 us all," said Mary. "It would never do 
 for Colman to be in the rig-ht. Oh, we need 
 live in no trepidation; all our credits will be 
 saved by Monday nig-ht." 
 
 "I wonder if any unworthy man ever 
 had so many worthy friends," said Gold- 
 smith. "I am overcome by their kind- 
 ness, and overwhelmed with a sense of my 
 own unworthiness." 
 
 "You will have another thousand friends 
 by Monday nig-ht, sir," cried Johnson. 
 " Your true friend, sir, is the friend who 
 pays for his seat to hear your play." 
 
 " I always held that the best definition 
 of a true friend is the man who, when you 
 are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see 
 you, but takes care to send a g-uinea in ad- 
 vance," said Goldsmith, and every one pres- 
 ent knew that he alluded to the occasion 
 upon which he had been befriended by 
 Johnson on the day that " The Vicar of 
 Wakefield " was sold. 
 
 "And now," said Reynolds, "I have to
 
 140 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 prove how certain we are of the future of 
 your piece by asking- you to join us at din- 
 ner on Monday previous to the perform- 
 
 ance." 
 
 *' Commonplace people would invite you 
 to supper, sir, to celebrate the success of 
 the play, " said Johnson, " To proffer such 
 an invitation would be to admit that we 
 were only convinced of your worth after 
 the public had attested to it in the most 
 practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who 
 know your worth, and have known it all 
 these years, wish to show that our esteem 
 remains independent of the verdict of the 
 public. On Monday night, sir, you will find 
 a thousand people who will esteem it an 
 honour to have you to sup with them ; but 
 on Monday afternoon you will dine with us," 
 
 " You not only mean better than any 
 other man, sir, you express what you mean 
 better," said Goldsmith. "A compliment 
 is doubly a compliment coming from Dr. 
 Johnson." 
 
 He was quite overcome, and, observing 
 this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck walked 
 away together, leaving him to compose him- 
 self under the shelter of a somewhat pro- 
 tracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the 
 character of Young Marlow. In the course 
 of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had suffi-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 141 
 
 ciently recovered to be able to perceive for 
 the first time how remarkable a character 
 he had created. 
 
 On Monday George Steevens called for 
 Goldsmith to accompany him to the St. 
 James's coffee-house, where the dinner was 
 to take place. He found the author giving- 
 the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat 
 being a salmon-pink in tint, and his waist- 
 coat a pale yellow, embroidered with silver. 
 Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one 
 from making any mistake on this point. 
 
 "Heavens!" cried the visitor. "Have 
 you forgot that you cannot wear colours?" 
 
 "Why not?" asked Goldsmith. "Be- 
 cause Woodward is to appear in mourning 
 to speak the prologue, is that any reason 
 why the author of the comedy should also 
 be in black?" 
 
 "Nay," said Steevens, "that is not the 
 reason. How is it possible that you forget 
 the Court is in mourning for the King of 
 Sardinia? That coat of yours is a splendid 
 one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it 
 in front of your box a very bad impression 
 would be produced. I suppose you hope 
 that the King will command a perform- 
 
 ance." 
 
 Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the 
 reflection of the gorgeous garments in a
 
 142 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 mirror and sighed. He had a g-reat weak- 
 ness for colour in dress. At last he took 
 off the coat and gave another fond look at it 
 before throwing- it over the back of a chair. 
 
 "It was an inspiration on your part to 
 come for me, my dear friend," said he. '* I 
 would not for a good deal have made such a 
 mistake." 
 
 He reappeared in a few moments in a 
 suit of sober grey, and drove with his friend 
 to the coffee-house, where the party, con- 
 sisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Edmund and 
 Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had 
 already assembled. 
 
 It soon became plain that Goldsmith 
 was extremely nervous. He shook hands 
 twice with Richard Burke and asked him if 
 he had heard that the King of Sardinia was 
 dead, adding that it was a constant matter 
 for regret with him that he had not visited 
 Sardinia when on his travels. He ex- 
 pressed a hope that the death of the King 
 of Sardinia would not have so depressing 
 an effect upon playgoers generally as to 
 prejudice their enjoyment of his comedy. 
 
 Edmund Burke, understanding his 
 mood, assured him gravely that he did not 
 think one should be apprehensive on this 
 score, adding that it would be quite possi- 
 ble to overestimate the poignancy of the
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 143 
 
 grief which the frequenters of the pit were 
 likely to feel at so melancholy but, after all, 
 so inevitable an occurrence as the decease 
 of a potentate whose name they had prob- 
 ably never heard. 
 
 Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, 
 and said he would try and hope for the 
 best, but still . . . 
 
 Then he hastened to Steevens, who was 
 laug-hing heartily at a pun of Whitefoord's, 
 and said he was certain that neither of 
 them could have heard that the King- of 
 Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate 
 their merriment. 
 
 The dinner was a dismal failure, so far 
 as the guest of the party was concerned. 
 He was unable to swallow a morsel, so 
 parched had his throat become through 
 sheer nervousness, and he could not be in- 
 duced to partake of more than a single 
 glass of wine. He was evermore glancing 
 at the clock and expressing a hope that the 
 dinner would be over in good time to allow 
 of their driving comfortably to the theatre. 
 
 Dr. Johnson was at first greatly con- 
 cerned on learning from Reynolds that 
 Goldsmith was eating nothing ; but when 
 Goldsmith, in his nervousness, began to 
 boast of the fine dinners of which he had 
 partaken at Lord Clare's house, and of the
 
 144 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 splendour of the banquets which took place 
 daily in the common hall of Trinity College, 
 Dublin, Johnson g-ave all his attention to 
 his own plate, and addressed no further 
 word to him — not even to remind him, as 
 he described the glories of Trinity College 
 to his friend Burke, that Burke had been 
 at the college with him. 
 
 While there was still plenty of time to 
 spare even for walking to the theatre, 
 Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining 
 elaborately that he had forgotten to brush 
 his hat before leaving his chambers, and he 
 meant to have the omission repaired with- 
 out delay. 
 
 He never returned.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The party remained in the room for 
 some time, and when at last a waiter from 
 the bar was sent for and requested to tell 
 Dr. Goldsmith, who was having- his hat 
 brushed, that his party were ready to leave 
 the house, the man stated that Dr. Gold- 
 smith had left some time ago, hurrying- in 
 the direction of Pall Mall. 
 
 "Pshal sir," said Johnson to Burke, 
 " Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a fool." 
 Johnson did not know what such nervous- 
 ness as Goldsmith's was. 
 
 "Yes," said Burke, *'Dr. Goldsmith is, 
 I suppose, the greatest fool that ever wrote 
 the best poem of a century, the best novel 
 of a century, and let us hope that, after the 
 lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say 
 the best comedy of a century." 
 
 "I suppose we may take it for granted 
 that he has gone to the playhouse?" said 
 Richard Burke. 
 
 "It is not wise to take anything for 
 granted so far as Goldsmith is concerned," 
 said Steevens. "I think that the best 
 
 146
 
 146 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 course we can adopt is for some of us to g"0 
 to the playhouse without delay. The play 
 must be looked after ; but for myself I mean 
 to look after the author. Gentlemen, Oliver 
 Goldsmith needs to be looked after care- 
 fully. No one knows what a burden he has 
 been forced to bear during- the past month." 
 
 " You think it is actually possible that he 
 has not preceded us to the playhouse, sir," 
 Baid Johnson. 
 
 "If I know anything- of him, sir," said 
 Steevens, "the playhouse is just the place 
 which he would most persistently avoid." 
 
 There was a long pause before Johnson 
 said in his weightiest manner: 
 
 " Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you 
 responsible for his safety." 
 
 "That is very kind of you, sir," replied 
 Steevens. "But you may rest assured that 
 I will do my best to find him, wherever be 
 may be." 
 
 While the rest of the party set out for 
 Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens hurried 
 off in the opposite direction. He felt that 
 he understood Goldsmith's mood. He be- 
 lieved that he would come upon him sit- 
 ting alone in some little-frequented coffee 
 house brooding over the probable failure of 
 his play. The cheerful optimism of the 
 man, which enabled him to hold out against
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 147 
 
 Colman and his sneers, would, he was con- 
 vinced, suffer a relapse when there was no 
 urg-ent reason for its exercise, and his nat- 
 urally sang-uine temperament would at this 
 critical hour of his life give place to a brood- 
 ing melancholy, making it impossible for 
 him to put in an appearance at the theatre, 
 and driving him far from his friends. 
 Steevens actually made up his mind that if 
 he failed to find Goldsmith during the next 
 hour or two, he would seek him at his cot- 
 tage on the Edgware road. 
 
 He went on foot from coffee house to 
 coffee house — from Jack's, in Dean street, 
 to the Old Bell, in Westminster — but he 
 failed to discover his friend in one of them. 
 An hour and a half he spent in this way ; 
 and all this time roars of laughter from 
 every part of the playhouse — except the 
 one box that held Cumberland and his 
 friends — were greeting the brilliant dia- 
 logue, the natural characterisation, and the 
 admirably contrived situations in the best 
 comedy that a century of brilliant authors 
 had witnessed. 
 
 The scene comes before one with all the 
 vividness that many able pens have im- 
 parted to a description of its details. We see 
 the enormous figure of Dr. Johnson leaning 
 far out of the box nearest the stage, with a
 
 148 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word 
 spoken on the stag-e; and as phrase after 
 phrase, sparkling- with wit, quivering- with 
 humour and vivified with numbers of allu- 
 sions to the events of the hour, is spoken, 
 he seems to shake the theatre with his 
 laughter. 
 
 Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his 
 ear-trumpet resting- on the ledge of the box, 
 his face smiling thoughtfully ; and between 
 these two notable figures Miss Reynolds is 
 seated bolt upright, and looking rather 
 frightened as the people in the pit look up 
 now and again at the box. 
 
 Baretti is in the next box with Angel- 
 ica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little Miss 
 Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to 
 become for a time the most notable woman 
 in England. On the other side of the house 
 Lord Clare occupies a box with his charm- 
 ing tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed 
 with laughter as she hears reference made 
 in the dialogue to the trick which she once 
 played upon the wig of her dear friend the 
 author. General Oglethorpe, who is beside 
 her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, 
 and Lord Camden, standing behind his 
 chair, looks as if he regretted having lost 
 the opportunity of continuing his acquaint-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 149 
 
 ance with an author whom every one is so 
 hig-hly honouring at the moment. 
 
 Cumberland and his friends are in a 
 lower box, "looking" g-lum," as one witness 
 asserts, though a good many years later 
 Cumberland boasted of having contributed 
 in so marked a way to the applause as to 
 call forth the resentment of the pit. 
 
 In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose 
 most noted success at Drury Lane a few 
 years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's 
 "Good-Natured Man " at " the other house, " 
 sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhap- 
 sodist who invented '* Ossian." He glares 
 at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in 
 calling him an impostor. 
 
 The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are 
 in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her younger 
 daughter, who follows breathlessly the 
 words with which she has for long been 
 familiar, and at every shout of laughter 
 that comes from the pit she is moved 
 almost to tears. She is quite unaware of 
 the fact that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in 
 another part of the house, has his eyes fixed 
 upon her — earnestly, affectionately. Her 
 brother and his jiancdc are in a box with 
 the Bunburys; and in the most important 
 box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well for- 
 ward, so that aU eyes may be gratified by
 
 150 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 beholding- her. It does not so much matter 
 about her husband, who once thought that 
 the fact of his being the proprietor of a con- 
 cern whose operations represented the 
 potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams 
 of avarice entitled him to play upon the 
 mother of the Gunnings when she first 
 came to London the most contemptible 
 hoax ever recorded to the eternal discredit 
 of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, mind- 
 ful of that trick which the cleverness of 
 her mother turned to so g-ood account, does 
 not condescend to notice from her box, where 
 she sits with Lady Betty Hamilton, either 
 the brewer or his pushing wife, though she 
 is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom 
 the latter is patronising between the acts. 
 What a play 1 What spectators I 
 We listen to the one year by year with 
 the same delight that it brought to those 
 who heard it this night for the first time; 
 and we look with delight at the faces of the 
 notable spectators which the brush of the 
 little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's 
 box has made immortal. 
 
 Those two men in that box were the 
 means of conferring immortality upon their 
 century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose 
 Boswell to be his biographer ! Incompara- 
 ble Reynolds, who, on innumerable can-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 151 
 
 vases, handed down to the next century all 
 the grace and distinction of his own 1 
 
 And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is 
 pacing- with bent head and hands nervously 
 clasped behind him, backward and forward, 
 the broad walk in St. James's Park. 
 
 Steevens came upon him there after 
 spending nearly two hours searching for 
 him. 
 
 "Don't speak, man, for God's sake," 
 cried Oliver. " ' Tis not so dark but that 
 I can see disaster imprinted on your face. 
 You come to tell me that the comedy is 
 ended — that the curtain was obliged to be 
 rung down in the middle of an act. You 
 come to tell me that my comedy of life is 
 ended." 
 
 "Not I," said Steevens. "I have not 
 been at the playhouse yet. Why, man, 
 what can be the matter with you? Why 
 did you leave us in the lurch at the coffee 
 house?" 
 
 "I don't know what you speak of,'* said 
 Goldsmith. " But I beg of you to hasten to 
 the playhouse and carry me the news of 
 the play — don't fear to tell me the worst; 
 I have been in the world of letters for 
 nearly twenty years; I am not easily dis- 
 mayed."
 
 152 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 '* My dear friend," said Steevens, "I 
 have no intention of g"oing- to the playhouse 
 unless you are in my company — I promised 
 so much to Dr. Johnson. What, man, have 
 you no consideration for your friends, leav- 
 ing- yourself out of the question ? Have you 
 no consideration for your art, sir ? " 
 
 *' What do you mean by that? " 
 
 *'I mean that perhaps while you are 
 walking- here some question may arise on 
 the stag-e that you, and you only, can decide 
 — are you willing to allow the future of 
 your comedy to depend upon the decision 
 of Colman, who is not the man to let pass a 
 chance of proving- himself to be a true 
 prophet? Come, sir, you have shown your- 
 self to be a man, and a g-reat man, too, be- 
 fore to-nig-ht. Why should your courag-e 
 fail you now when I am convinced you are 
 on the eve of achieving- a splendid success?" 
 
 "It shall not— it shall not ! " cried Gold- 
 smith after a short pause. "I'll not g-ive 
 in should the worst come to the worst. I 
 feel that I have something- of a man in me 
 still. The years that I have spent in this 
 battle have not crushed me into the earth. 
 I '11 go with you, my friend — I '11 go with 
 you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in 
 time to avert disaster."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 153 
 
 They hurried tog-ether to Charing- 
 Cross, where a hackney coach was obtain- 
 able. All the time it was lumbering- along- 
 the uneven streets to Covent Garden, 
 Goldsmith was talking- excitedly about the 
 likelihood of the play being wrecked 
 throug-h Colman's taking- advantag-e of his 
 absence to insist on a scene being omitted 
 — or, perhaps, a whole act; and nothing- 
 that Steevens could say to comfort him had 
 any effect. 
 
 When the vehicle turned the corner into 
 Covent Garden he craned his head out of 
 the window and declared that the people 
 were leaving- the playhouse — that his 
 worst fears were realized. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried Steevens, who had 
 put his head out of the other window. 
 " The people you see are only the footmen 
 and linkmen incidental to any performance. 
 What, man, would the coachmen beside us 
 be dozing- on their boxes if they were wait- 
 ing- to be called ? No, my friend, the com- 
 edy has yet to be damned." 
 
 When they g-ot out of the coach Gold- 
 smith hastened round to the stag-e door, 
 looking- into the faces of the people who 
 were lounging- around, as if to see in each 
 of them the fate of his play written. He 
 reached the back of the stage and made for
 
 154 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 where Colman was standing-, just as Quick, 
 in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling- 
 Mrs. Hardcastle that he had driven her 
 forty miles from her own house, when all 
 the time she was within twenty yards of it. 
 In a moment he perceived that the lights 
 were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle 
 was blind she could not have failed to rec- 
 ognise the familiar features of the scene. 
 The next moment there came a hiss — a 
 solitary hiss from the boxes. 
 
 "What's that, Mr. Colman?" whis- 
 pered the excited author. 
 
 "Pshal sir," said Colman brutally. 
 *' Why trouble yourself about a squib when 
 we have all been sitting on a barrel of gun- 
 powder these two hours ? " 
 
 *' That 's a lie," said Shuter, who was in 
 the act of going on the stage as Mr. Hard- 
 castle. "'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The 
 success of your play was assured from the 
 first." 
 
 "By God I Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I '11 
 never look on you as a friend while I live 1 " 
 said Goldsmith.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and 
 most objectless lie ever uttered. Gold- 
 smith was soon made aware of this. The 
 laug-hter that followed Tony Lumpkin's 
 pretending- to his mother that Mr. Hard- 
 castle was a hig-hwayman was not the laugh 
 of playgoers who have endured four acts of 
 a dull play; it was the laug-h of people who 
 have been in a good humour for over two 
 hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived 
 from their laug-hter that the people in every 
 part of the house were following- the comedy 
 with extraordinary interest. Every point 
 in the dialogue was effective — the exquisite 
 complications, the broad fun, the innumer- 
 able touches of nature, all were appreciated 
 by an audience whose expression of grati- 
 fication fell little short of rapture. 
 
 When the scene was being- shifted Col- 
 man left the stage and did not return to it 
 until it was his duty to come forward after 
 the epilog-ue was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley 
 and announce the date of the author's night. 
 
 155
 
 156 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 As soon as the manager had disappeared 
 Goldsmith had a chance of speaking- to sev- 
 eral of the actors at intervals as they made 
 their exits, and from them he learned the 
 whole truth regarding- the play : from the 
 first scene to the one vv^hich was being 
 represented, the performance had been a 
 succession of triumphs, not only for the 
 author, but for every member of the com- 
 pany concerned in the production. With 
 old dresses and scenery familiar to all fre- 
 quenters of the playhouse, the extraordin- 
 ary success of the comedy was beyond all 
 question. The allusion to the offensive 
 terms of the Royal Marriage Act was espe- 
 cially relished by the audience, several of 
 the occupants of the pit rising to their feet 
 and cheering for some time — so much Gold- 
 smith learned little by little at intervals 
 from the actors. 
 
 " I swore never to look on Colman as my 
 friend again, and I '11 keep my word; he has 
 trated me cruelly — more cruelly than he 
 has any idea of," said Goldsmith to Lee 
 Lewes. " But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I '11 do 
 anything that is in my power for you in the 
 future. My poor play owes much to you, 
 
 sir." 
 
 "Faith then, sir," cried Lewes, "I'll 
 keep you to your word. My benefit will
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 157 
 
 take place in a short time; I '11 ask you for a 
 prologue, Dr. Goldsmith," 
 
 "You shall have the best prologue I 
 ever wrote," said Goldsmith. 
 
 And so he had. 
 
 When the house was still cheering- at the 
 conclusion of the epilogue, Goldsmith, over- 
 come with emotion, hurried into the green 
 room. Mrs. Abington was the first person 
 whom he met. She held down her head, 
 and affected a guilty look as she glanced at 
 him sideways through half-closed eyes. 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith," she said in a tone 
 modulated to a point of humility, "I hope 
 in your hour of triumph you will be gener- 
 ous to those who were foolish enough to 
 doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, 
 I pray of you not to increase by your taunts 
 the humiliation which I feel at having re- 
 signed my part in your comedy. Believe 
 me, I have been punished sufficiently during 
 the past two hours by hearing the words, 
 which I might have spoken, applauded so 
 rapturously coming from another." 
 
 "Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks 
 of taunts?" said he. "Nay, I have a part 
 in my mind for you already — that is, if you 
 will be good enough to accept it." 
 
 "Oh, sir, you are generosity itself 1" 
 cried the actress, offering him both her
 
 158 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 hands. "I shall not fail to remind you of 
 your promise, Dr. Goldsmith." 
 
 And now the green room was being- 
 crowded by the members of the company 
 and the distinguished friends of the author, 
 who were desirous of congratulating him. 
 Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his 
 laughter had filled the theatre. 
 
 " We perceived the reason of your extra- 
 ordinary and unusual modesty, Dr. Gold- 
 smith, before your play was many minutes 
 on the stage," said he. " You dog, you took 
 as your example the Italians who, on the 
 eve of Lent, indulge in a carnival, celebrat- 
 ing their farewell to flesh by a feast. On 
 the same analogy you had a glut of modesty 
 previous to bidding modesty good-bye for- 
 ever; for to-night's performance will surely 
 make you a coxcomb." 
 
 *'Oh, I hope not, sir," said Goldsmith. 
 
 " No, you don't hope it, sir," cried John- 
 son. "You are thinking at this moment 
 how much better you are than your betters 
 — I see it on your face, you rascal." 
 
 "And he has a right to think so," said 
 Mrs. Bunbury. " Come, Dr. Goldsmith, 
 speak up, say something insulting to your 
 betters." 
 
 "Certainly, madam," said Goldsmith. 
 " Where are they ? "
 
 ^AikI now llic j^rccn roinii \\;is /h'iiil; rrnwilcd hy the inctu- 
 licis <il the coiiijh-uiy ;iii(l the (listtiiiiiiishcd I'riciuls nl the 
 niilhor."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 159 
 
 " Well said ! " cried Edmund Burke. 
 
 "Nay, sir," said Johnson. "Dr. Gold- 
 smith's satire is not strong- enough. We 
 expected something- more violent. 'Tis 
 like landing one in one's back garden when 
 one has looked for Crackskull Common." 
 
 His mighty laughter echoed through the 
 room and made the pictures shake on the 
 walls. 
 
 Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had 
 merely given her friend her hand. She 
 knew that he would understand her unut- 
 tered congratulations, and she was not 
 mistaken. 
 
 For the next quarter of an hour there 
 was an exchange of graceful wit and gra- 
 cious compliment between the various per- 
 sons of distinction in the greenroom. Mrs. 
 Thrale, with her usual discrimination, con- 
 ceived the moment to be an opportune one 
 for putting on what she fondly imagined 
 was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith 
 upon some of the points in his comedy. 
 Miss Kauffman and Signer Baretti spoke 
 Italian into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and 
 Edmund Burke talked wittily in the back- 
 ground with the Bunburys. 
 
 So crowded the room was, no one seemed 
 to notice how an officer in uniform had 
 stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck
 
 160 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 where she stood behind Mr. Thrale and 
 General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn 
 her into a corner, saying- a whispered word 
 to her. No one seemed to observe the action, 
 though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He 
 kept his eyes fixed upon the girl, and per- 
 ceived that, while the man was speaking to 
 her, her eyes were turned upon the floor 
 and her left hand was pressed against her 
 heart. 
 
 He kept looking at her all the time that 
 Mrs. Thrale was rattling out her inanities, 
 too anxious to see what effect she was pro- 
 ducing upon the people within ear-shot to 
 notice that the man whom she was address- 
 ing was paying no attention to her. 
 
 When the others as well ceased to pay 
 any attention to her, she thought it advis- 
 able to bring her prattle to a close. 
 
 "Psha! Dr. Goldsmith," she cried. "We 
 have given you our ears for more than two 
 hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for 
 as many minutes." 
 
 "I protest, madam, that I have been 
 absorbed," said Goldsmith. " Yes, you 
 were remarking that " 
 
 " That an Irishman, when he achieves a 
 sudden success, can only be compared to 
 a boy who has robbed an orchard," said the 
 lady.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 161 
 
 ''True — very true, madam," said he. 
 He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp invol- 
 untarily for a moment as she spoke to the 
 man who stood smiling beside her. She 
 was not smiling. 
 
 " Yes, 'tis true ; but why ? " cried Mrs. 
 Thrale, taking care that her voice did not 
 appeal to Goldsmith only. 
 
 "Ah, yes; that's just it — why?" said 
 he. Mary Horneck had turned away from 
 the officer, and was coming slowly back to 
 where her sister and Henry Bunbury were 
 standing. 
 
 " Why ? " said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. 
 " Why ? Why is an Irishman who has be- 
 come suddenly successful like a boy who 
 has robbed an orchard ? Why, because his 
 booty so distends his body that any one can 
 perceive he has got in his pockets what he 
 is not entitled to." 
 
 She looked around for appreciation, but 
 failed to find it. She certainly did not per- 
 ceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on 
 the face of the successful Irishman before 
 her. He was not watching Mary now. All 
 his attention was given to the man to whom 
 she had been talking, and who had gone to 
 the side of Mrs. Abington, where he re- 
 mained chatting with even more animation
 
 162 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 than was usual for one to assume in the 
 green room. 
 
 "You will join us at supper, Dr. Gold- 
 smith ? " said Mr. Thrale. 
 
 " Nay, sir ! " cried Bunbury ; " mine is a 
 prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed some 
 days ago to honour my wife with his com- 
 pany to-night." 
 
 "What did I say, Goldy?" cried John- 
 son. "Was it not that, after the presenta- 
 tion of the comedy, you would receive a 
 hundred invitations ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I have only received two 
 since my play was produced, and one of 
 them I accepted some days ago," said the 
 Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale hoped she would 
 be able to remember the bull in order to 
 record it as conclusive evidence of Gold- 
 smith's awkwardness of speech. 
 
 But Burke, who knew the exact nature 
 of the Irish bull, only smiled. He laughed, 
 however, when Goldsmith, assuming the 
 puzzled expression of the Irishman who 
 adds to the humour of his bull by pretend- 
 ing that it is involuntary, stumbled care- 
 fully in his words, simulating a man anx- 
 ious to explain away a mistake that he has 
 made. Goldsmith excelled at this form of 
 humour but too well; hence, while the pages 
 of every book that refers to him are
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 163 
 
 crowded with his brilliant sayings, the 
 writers quote Garrick's lines in proof — 
 proof positive, mind — that he " talked like 
 poor Poll." He is the first man on record 
 who has been condemned solely because of 
 the exig-encies of rhyme, and that, too, in 
 the dog-g-erel couplet of the most unscrupu- 
 lous jester of the century. 
 
 Mary Horneck seems to have been the 
 only one who und^rotood him thoroughly. 
 She has left her appreciation of his humour 
 on record. The expression which she per- 
 ceived upon his face immediately after he 
 had given utterance to some delightful 
 witticism — which the recording demons 
 around him delighted to turn against him- 
 self — was the expression which makes 
 itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of 
 him. The man who " talked like poor 
 Poll " was the man who, even before he had 
 done anything in literature except a few 
 insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop 
 Percy, though every visit entailed a climb 
 up a rickety staircase and a seat on a rick- 
 ety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, 
 the fastidious Percy was interested in orni- 
 thology and was ready to put himself to 
 great inconvenience in order to hear parrot- 
 talk.
 
 164 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 While he was preparing- to go with the 
 Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the man 
 who, after talking- with Mary Horneck, had 
 chatted with Mrs. Abing-ton, had disap- 
 peared; and when the party whom he was 
 accompanying- to supper had left the room 
 he remained for a few moments to make 
 his adieux to the players. He shook hands 
 with Mrs. Abing-ton, saying- — 
 
 "Have no fear that I shall forg-et my 
 promise, madam." 
 
 " I shall take g-ood care that you don't, 
 sir," said she. 
 
 "Do not fancy that I shall neg-lect my 
 own interests 1" he cried, bowing- as he 
 took a step away from her. When he 
 had taken another step he suddenly re- 
 turned to her as if a sudden thoug-ht had 
 struck him. " Why, if I wasn't going- 
 away without asking you what is the name 
 of the gentleman in uniform who was speak- 
 ing with you just now," said he. "I fancy 
 I have met him somewhere, and one doesn't 
 want to be rude." 
 
 "His name is Jackson," she replied. 
 " Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord 
 only knows what he is captain of." 
 
 "I have been mistaken; I know no one of 
 that name," said Goldsmith. " ' Tis as 
 well I made sure; one may affront a gentle-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 165 
 
 man as easily by professing- to have met 
 him as by forgetting- that one has done so." 
 
 When he got outside, he found that 
 Mary Horneck has been so greatly affected 
 by the heat of the playhouse and the excite- 
 ment of the occasion, she had thought it 
 prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in 
 their coach — her mother had preceded her 
 by nearly half an hour. 
 
 The Bunburys found that apparently 
 the excitement of the evening had produced 
 a similar effect upon their g-uest. Although 
 he admitted having eaten no dinner — John- 
 son and his friends had been by no means 
 reticent on the subject of the dinner — he 
 was without an appetite for the delightful 
 little supper which awaited him at Mrs. 
 Bunbury's. It was in vain too that his hos- 
 tess showed herself to be in high spirits, 
 and endeavoured to rally him after her own 
 delightful fashion. He remained almost 
 speechless the whole evening. 
 
 "Ah," said she, "I perceive clearly that 
 your Little Comedy has been quite obscured 
 by your great comedy. But wait until we 
 get you down with us at Barton; you will 
 find the first time we play loo together that 
 a little comedy may become a great trag- 
 edy."
 
 166 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Bunbury declared that he was as poor 
 company during- the supper as if his play 
 had been a mortifying failure instead of a 
 triumphant success, and Goldsmith admit- 
 ted that this was true, taking- his departure 
 as soon as he could without being- rude. 
 
 He walked slowly through the empty 
 streets to his chambers in Brick Court. 
 But it was almost daylight before he went 
 to bed. 
 
 All his life he had been looking forward 
 to this night — the night that should put 
 the seal upon his reputation, that should 
 give him an incontestable place at the head 
 of the imaginative writers of his period. 
 And yet, now that the fame for which he 
 had struggled with destiny was within his 
 grasp, he felt more miserable than he had 
 ever felt in his garret.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 What did it all mean? 
 
 That was the question which was on his 
 mind when he awoke. It did not refer to 
 the reception g-iven to "She Stoops to Con- 
 quer," which. had placed him in the position 
 he had long-ed for; it had reference solely 
 to the strang-e incident which had occurred 
 in the g-reen room. 
 
 The way Mrs. Abington had referred to 
 the man with whom Mary had been speak- 
 ing" was sufficient to let him know that he 
 was not a man of reputation — he certainly 
 had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of 
 reputation either when he had seen him at 
 the Pantheon or in the g-reen room. He 
 had worn an impudent and forward manner 
 which, in spite of his g-laring- good looks 
 that might possibly make him acceptable in 
 the eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. 
 Abing-ton, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. Woffing- 
 ton, showed that he was a person of no 
 position in society. This conclusion to 
 which Goldsmith had come was confirmed 
 by the fact that no persons of any distinc- 
 
 167
 
 168 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 tion who had been present at the Pantheon 
 or the playhouse had shown that they were 
 acquainted with him — no one person save 
 only Mary Horneck. 
 
 Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed 
 herself with Mrs. Abing-ton and Mrs. Bulk- 
 ley. 
 
 This he felt to be a very terrible thing-. 
 A month ago it would have been incredible 
 to him that such a thing- could be. Mary 
 Horneck had invariably shunned in society 
 those persons — women as well as men — 
 who had shown themselves to be wanting 
 in modesty. She had always detested the 
 man — he was popular enough at that period 
 — who had allowed innuendoes to do duty 
 for wit; and she had also detested the 
 woman — she is popular enough now — who 
 had laughed at and made light of the in- 
 nuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of 
 such a man. 
 
 And yet she had by her own act placed 
 herself on a level with the least fastidious 
 of the persons for whom she had always 
 professed a contempt. The Duchess of 
 Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, 
 shaken hands with the two actresses; but 
 the first named at least had done so for her 
 own ends, and had got pretty well sneered 
 at in consequence. Mary Horneck stood
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 169 
 
 in a very different position from that occu- 
 pied by the Duchess. While not deficient 
 in charity, she had declined to follow the 
 lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, 
 and had held aloof from the actresses. 
 
 And yet he had seen her in secret con- 
 versation with a man at whom one of these 
 same actresses had not hesitated to sneer 
 as an impostor — a man who was clearly 
 unacquainted with any other member of 
 her family. 
 
 What could this curious incident mean? 
 
 The letters which had come from various 
 friends cong-ratulating- him upon the suc- 
 cess of the comedy lay unheeded by him by 
 the side of those which had arrived — not a 
 post had been missed — from persons who 
 professed the most disinterested friend- 
 ship for him, and were anxious to borrow 
 from him a trifle until they also had made 
 their success. Men whom he had rescued 
 from starvation, from despair, from suicide, 
 and who had, consequently, been living- on 
 him ever since, beg-ged that he would con- 
 tinue his contributions on a more liberal 
 scale now that he had in so marked a way 
 improved his own position. But, for the 
 first time, their letters lay unread and un- 
 answered. (Three days actually passed 
 before he sent his guineas flying- to the
 
 170 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 deserving- and the undeserving- alike. That 
 was how^ he contrived to get rid of the 
 thousands of pounds which he had earned 
 since leaving his g-arret.) 
 
 His man servant had never before seen 
 him so depressed as he was when he left 
 his chambers. 
 
 He had made up his mind to go to Mary 
 and tell her that he had seen what no one 
 else either in the Pantheon or in the green 
 room had seemed to notice in regard to 
 that man whose name he had learned was 
 Captain Jackson — he would tell her and 
 leave it to her to explain what appeared to 
 him more than mysterious. If any one had 
 told him in respect to another girl all that 
 he had noticed, he would have said that 
 such a matter required no explanation; he 
 had heard of the intrig-ues of young girls 
 with men of the stamp of that Captain 
 Jackson. With Mary Horneck, however, 
 the matter was not so easily explained. The 
 shrug- and the raising- of the eyebrows were 
 singularly inappropriate to any considera- 
 tion of an incident in which she was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 He found before he had g-one far from 
 his chambers that the news of the success 
 of the comedy had reached his neighbours. 
 He was met by several of the students of
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 171 
 
 the Temple, with whom he had placed him- 
 self on terms of the pleasantest familiarity, 
 and they all g-reeted him with a cordiality, 
 the sincerity of which was apparent on their 
 beaming- faces. Among- them was one youth 
 named Grattan, who, being- an Irishman, 
 had early found a friend in Goldsmith. He 
 talked years afterward of this early friend- 
 ship of his. 
 
 Then the head porter, Ging-er, for whom 
 Goldsmith had always a pleasant word, and 
 whose wife was his laundress — not wholly 
 above suspicion as reg-ards her honesty — 
 stammered his congratulations, and re- 
 ceived the crown which he knew was cer- 
 tain; and Goldsmith beg-an to feel what he 
 had always suspected — that there was a 
 g-reat deal of friendliness in the world for 
 men who have become successful. 
 
 Long- before he had arrived at the house 
 of the Hornecks he was feeling- that he 
 would be the happiest man in London or 
 the most miserable before another hour 
 would pass. 
 
 He was fortunate enoug-h to find, on 
 arriving- at the house, that Mary was alone. 
 Mrs. Horneck and her son had g-one out 
 tog-ether in the coach some time before, the 
 servant said, admitting- him, for he was on 
 terms of such intimacy with the family the
 
 172 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 man did not think it necessary to inquire if 
 Miss Horneck would see him. The man 
 was g-rinning- from ear to ear as he admitted 
 the visitor. 
 
 " I hope, Doctor, that I know my business 
 better than Dig-g-ory," he said, his g-rin 
 expanding- g-enially. 
 
 "Ah! so you were one of the g-entlemen 
 in the gallery?" said Goldsmith. "You 
 had my destiny in your keeping for two 
 hours?" 
 
 "I thought I 'd ha' dropped, sir, when it 
 came to Diggory at the table — and Mr. 
 Marlow's man, sir — as drunk as a lord. ' I 
 don't know what more you want unless 
 you 'd have had him soused in a beer bar- 
 rel,' says he quite cool-like and satisfied — 
 and it's the gentleman's own private house, 
 after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't 
 Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh till he thought 
 our neighbours would think it undignified- 
 like, and then sent us off worse than ever 
 by trying to look solemn. Only some fools 
 about us said the drunk servant was un- 
 genteel ; but young Mr. Northcote — Sir 
 Joshua's young man, sir — he up and says 
 that nature isn't always genteel, and that 
 nature was above gentility, and so forth — 1 
 beg your pardon, Doctor, what was I think- 
 ing of? Why, sir, Diggory himself couldn't
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 173 
 
 ha' done worse than me — talking- so famil- 
 iar-like, instead of showing- you up." 
 
 " Nay, sir," said Goldsmith, " the patron 
 has the privileg-e of addressing- his humble 
 servant at what leng-th he please. You are 
 one of my patrons, Georg-e ; but strike me 
 dumb, sir, I '11 be patronised by you no 
 long-er; and, to put a stop to your airs, I '11 
 give you half a dozen tickets for my benefit, 
 and that will turn the tables on you, my fine 
 fellow." 
 
 "Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir," 
 whispered the man, for he had led the way 
 to the drawing-room door. "I hope I've 
 not been too bold, sir. If I told them in the 
 kitchen about forgetting myself they 'd dub 
 me Diggory without more ado. There '11 
 be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls 
 this year, sir." 
 
 In another moment Goldsmith was in 
 the presence of Mary Horneck. 
 
 She was seated on a low chair at the win- 
 dow. He could not fail to notice that she 
 looked ill, though it was not until she had 
 risen, trying to smile, that he saw how very 
 ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely 
 ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn 
 appearance, her eyes were sunken through 
 much weeping, and there was a frightened 
 look in them that touched hJm deeply.
 
 174 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 " You will believe me when I say how 
 sorry I was not to be able to do honour last 
 nig-ht to the one whom I honour most of all 
 men," she said, g-iving-him her hand. "But 
 it was impossible — oh, quite impossible, for 
 me to sup even with my sister and you. 
 Ah, it was pitiful! considering- how I had 
 been looking- forward to your night of tri- 
 umph, my dear friend." 
 
 " It was pitiful, indeed, dear child," said 
 he. "I was looking- forward to that night 
 also — I don't know for how many years — 
 all my life, it seems to me." 
 
 " Never mind !" she cried, with a feeble 
 attempt at brightness. "Never mind ! your 
 night of triumph came, and no one can take 
 it away from you now; every one in the town 
 is talking of your comedy and its success." 
 
 "There is no one to whom success is 
 sweeter than it is to me," said Goldsmith. 
 " But you know me too well, my Jessamy 
 Bride, to think for a single moment that I 
 could enjoy my success when my dearest 
 friend was miserable." 
 
 "I know it," she said, giving him her 
 hand once more. " I know it, and knowing 
 it last night only made me feel more miser- 
 able." 
 
 " What is the matter, Mary?" he asked 
 her after a pause. " Once before I begged
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 175 
 
 of you to tell me if you could. I say again 
 that perhaps I may be able to help you out 
 of your trouble, thoug-h I know that I am 
 not a man of many resources." 
 
 " I cannot tell you," she said slowly, but 
 with g-reat emphasis. "There are some 
 sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It 
 is Heaven's decree that a woman's sorrow 
 is only doubled when she tries to share it 
 with another — either with a sister or with 
 a brother — even so good a friend as Oliver 
 Goldsmith." 
 
 "That such should be your thought 
 shows how deep is your misery," said he. 
 " I cannot believe that it could be increased 
 by your confiding its origin tome." 
 
 "Ah, I see everything but too plainly," 
 she cried, throwing herself down on her 
 chair once more and burying her face in 
 her hands. "Why, all my misery arises 
 from the possibility of some one knowing 
 whence it arises. Oh, I have said too much, " 
 she cried piteously. She had sprung to her 
 feet and was standing looking with eager 
 eyes into his. " Pray forget what I have 
 said, my friend. The truth is that I do not 
 know what I say; oh, pray go away — go 
 away and leave me alone with my sorrow — 
 it is my own — no one has a right to it but 
 myself."
 
 176 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 There was actually a note of jealousy in 
 her voice, and there came a little flash from 
 her eyes as she spoke. 
 
 " No, I will not g-o away from you, my 
 poor child," said he. "You shall tell me 
 first what that man to whom I saw you 
 speak in the g-reen room last nig-ht has to 
 do with your sorrow." 
 
 She did not give any visible start when 
 he had spoken. There was a curious look 
 of cunning in her eyes — a look that made 
 him shudder, so foi-eign was it to her 
 nature, which was ingenuous to a fault. 
 
 "A man? Did I speak to a man ? " she 
 said slowly, affecting an endeavour to recall 
 a half-forgotten incident of no importance. 
 " Oh, yes, I suppose I spoke to quite a num- 
 ber of men in the green room. How 
 crowded it was 1 And it became so heated 1 
 Ah, how terrible the actresses looked in 
 their paint 1 — almost as terrible as a lady 
 of quality ! " 
 
 "Poor child!" said he. "My heart 
 bleeds for you. In striving to hide every- 
 thing from me you have told me all — all 
 except — listen to me, Mary. Nothing 
 that I can hear — nothing that you can tell 
 me — will cause me to think the least that is 
 ill of you ; but I have seen enough to make
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 177 
 
 me aware that that man — Captain Jackson, 
 he calls himself " 
 
 "How did you find out his name ? " she 
 said in a whisper. "I did not tell you his 
 name even at the Pantheon." 
 
 " No, you did not ; but yet I had no dif- 
 ficulty in finding- it out. Tell me why it is 
 that you should be afraid of that man. Do 
 you not know as well as I do that he is a 
 rascal ? Good heavens I Mary, could you 
 fail to see rascal written on his counte- 
 nance for all men and women to read ? " 
 
 "He is worse than you or any one can 
 imagine, and yet " 
 
 "How has he g-ot you in his power — 
 that is what you are g'oing- to tell me." 
 
 " No, no ; that is impossible. You do 
 not know what you ask. You do not know 
 me, or you would not ask me to tell you." 
 
 "What would you have me think,child?" 
 
 " Think the worst — the worst that your 
 kind heart can think — only leave me — leave 
 me. God may prove less unkind than He 
 seems to me. I may soon die. ' The only 
 way her guilt to cover. ' " 
 
 "I cannot leave you, and I say again that 
 I refuse to believe anything ill of you. Do 
 you really think that it is possible for me 
 to have written so much as I have written 
 about men and women without being- able
 
 178 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 to know when a woman is altog-ether good 
 — a man altogether bad? I know you, my 
 dear, and I have seen him. Why should you 
 be afraid of him ? Think of the friends you 
 have." 
 
 " It is the thoug-ht of them that frightens 
 me. I have friends now, but if they knew 
 all that that man can tell, they would fly 
 from me with loathing. Oh 1 when I think of 
 it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool, fool! 
 Was ever woman such a fool before ? " 
 
 *'For God's sake, child, don't talk in 
 that strain." 
 
 "It is the only strain in which I can 
 talk. It is the cry of a wretch who stands 
 on the brink of a precipice and knows that 
 hands are being thrust out behind to push 
 her over." 
 
 She tottered forward with wild eyes, 
 under the influence of her own thought. 
 He caught her and supported her in his 
 arms. 
 
 " That shows you, my poor girl, that if 
 there are unkind hands behind you, there 
 are still some hands that are ready to keep 
 your feet from slipping. There are hands 
 that will hold you back from that precipice, 
 or else those who hold them out to you will 
 go over the brink with you. Ah, my dear, 
 dear girl, nothing can happen to make you
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 179 
 
 despair. In another year — perhaps in 
 another month — you will wonder how you 
 could ever have taken so gloomy a view of 
 the present hour." 
 
 A g-leam of hope came into her eyes. 
 Only for an instant it remained there, how- 
 ever. Then she shook her head, saying- — 
 
 "Alas! Alas!" 
 
 She seated herself once more, but he 
 retained her hand in one of his own, laying 
 his other caressingly on her head. 
 
 " You are surely the sweetest girl that 
 ever lived," said he. " You fill with your 
 sweetness the world through which I walk. 
 I do not say that it would be a happiness 
 for me to die for you, for you know that if 
 my dying could save you from your trouble 
 I would not shrink from it. What I do say 
 is that I should like to live for you — to live 
 to sec happiness once again brought to you. 
 And yet you will tell me nothing — you will 
 not give me a chance of helping you." 
 
 She shook her head sadly. 
 
 "I dare not — I dare not," she said. "I 
 dare not run the chance of forfeiting your 
 regard forever." 
 
 "Good-bye," he said after a pause. 
 
 He felt her fingers press his own for a 
 moment; then he dropped her hand and
 
 180 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 walked toward the door. Suddenly, how- 
 ever, he returned to her. 
 
 "Mary," he said, "I will seek no more 
 to learn your secret; I will only beg- of you 
 to promise me that you will not meet that 
 man ag-ain — that you will hold no communi- 
 cation with him. If you were to be seen in 
 the company of such a man — talking- to 
 him as I saw you last night — what would 
 people think ? The world is always ready 
 to put the worst possible construction upon 
 anything unusual that it sees. You will 
 promise me, my dear?" 
 
 "Alasl alas!" she cried piteously. "I 
 cannot make you such a promise. You 
 will not do me the injustice to believe that 
 I spoke to him of my own free will ?" 
 
 "What, you would have me believe that 
 he possesses sufficient power over you to 
 make you do his bidding-? Great God! 
 that can never be ! " 
 
 " That is what I have said to myself day 
 by day; he cannot possess that power over 
 me — he cannot be such a monster as to 
 . . . oh, I cannot speak to you more ! 
 Leave me — leave me ! I have been a fool 
 and I must pay the penalty of my folly." 
 
 Before he could make a reply, the door 
 was opened and Mrs. Bunbury danced into
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 181 
 
 the room, her mother following- more se- 
 dately and with a word of remonstrance. 
 
 "Nonsense, dear Mamma," cried Little 
 Comedy. " What Mary needs is some one 
 who will raise her spirits — Dr. Goldsmith, 
 for instance. He has, I am sure, laughed 
 her out of her whimsies. Have you suc- 
 ceeded. Doctor? Nay, you don't look like 
 it, nor does she, poor thing- ! I felt certain 
 that you would be in the act of reading- a 
 new comedy to her, but I protest it would 
 seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed 
 your attention. He doesn't look particu- 
 larly like our ag-reeable Rattle at the pres- 
 ent moment, does he, Mamma? And it was 
 the same at supper last night. It might 
 have been fancied that he was celebrating- 
 a great failure instead of a huge success." 
 
 For the next quarter of an hour the 
 lively girl chatted away, imitating the vari- 
 ous actors who had taken part in the com- 
 edy, and giving the author some account of 
 what the friends whom she had met that 
 day said of the piece. He had never before 
 felt the wearisomeness of a perpetually 
 sparkling nature. Her laughter grated 
 upon his cars; her gaiety was out of tune 
 with his mood. He took leave of the fam- 
 ily at the first breathing space that the girl 
 permitted him.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 He felt that the result of his interview 
 with Mary was to render more mysterious 
 than ever the question which he had hoped 
 to solve. 
 
 He wondered if he was more clumsy of 
 apprehension than other men, as he had 
 come away from her without learning- her 
 secret. He was shrewd enough to know 
 that the majority of men to whom he might 
 give a detailed account of his interview 
 with the g-irl — a detailed account of his 
 observation of her upon the appearance of 
 Captain Jackson first at the Pantheon, then 
 in the green room of Covent Garden — 
 would have no trouble whatever in account- 
 ing for her behaviour upon both occasions. 
 He could see the shrugs of the cynical, the 
 head-shakings of those who professed to be 
 vastly grieved. 
 
 Ah, they did not know this one girl. 
 They were ready to lump all womankind 
 together and to suppose that it would be 
 impossible for one woman to be swayed 
 
 182
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 183 
 
 by other impulses than were common to 
 womankind g-enerally, 
 
 But he knew this g-irl, and he felt that it 
 was impossible to believe that she was 
 otherwise than g-ood. Nothing- would force 
 him to think anything- evil reg-arding her. 
 
 "She is not as others," was the phrase 
 that was in his mind — the thought that 
 was in his heart. 
 
 He did not pause to reflect upon the 
 strang-eness of the circumstance that when 
 a man wishes to think the best of a woman 
 he says she is not as other women are. 
 
 He did not know enough of men and 
 women to be aware of the fact that when a 
 man makes up his mind that a woman is 
 altogether different from other women, he 
 loves that woman. 
 
 He felt g-reatly grieved to think that he 
 had been unable to search out the heart of 
 her mystery; but the more he recalled of 
 the incidents that had occurred upon the 
 two occasions when that man Jackson had 
 been in the same apartment as Mary Hor- 
 neck, the more convinced he became that 
 the killing of that man would tend to a 
 happy solution of the question which was 
 puzzling him. 
 
 After giving this subject all his thought 
 for the next day or two, he went to his
 
 184 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 friend Baretti, and presented him with 
 tickets for one of the author's nights for 
 "She Stoops to Conquer." Baretti was a 
 well known personag"e in the best literary 
 society in London, having" consolidated his 
 reputation by the publication of his Eng-lish 
 and Italian dictionary. He had been John- 
 son's friend since his first exile from Italy, 
 and it was through his Influence Baretti, on 
 the formation of the Royal Academy, had 
 been appointed Secretary for Foreign Cor- 
 respondence. To Johnson also he owed 
 the more remunerative appointment of 
 Italian tutor at the Th rales'. He had fre- 
 quently dined with Goldsmith at his cham- 
 bers. 
 
 Baretti expressed himself grateful for 
 the tickets, and complimented the author 
 of the play upon his success. 
 
 " If one may measure the success of a 
 play by the amount of envy it creates in 
 the breasts of others, yours is a huge 
 triumph," said the Italian. 
 
 "Yes," said Goldsmith quickly, "that 
 is just what I wish to have a word with you 
 about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so 
 good a swordsman as I should be." 
 
 "What," cried Baretti, smiling as he 
 looked at the man before him, who had cer- 
 tainly not the physique of the ideal swords-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 185 
 
 man. *'What, do you mean to fight your 
 detractors? Take my advice, my friend, 
 let the pen be your weapon if such is your 
 intention. If you are attacked with the pen 
 you should reply with the same weapon, 
 and with it you may be pretty certain of 
 victory." 
 
 "Ah, yes; but there are cases — well, 
 one never knows what may happen, and a 
 man in my position should be prepared for 
 any emergency. I can do a little sword 
 play — enough to enable me to face a mod- 
 erately good antagonist. A pair of cox- 
 combs insulted me a few days ago and I 
 retorted in a way that I fancy might be 
 thought effective by some people." 
 
 " How did you retort? " 
 
 " Well, I warned the passers-by that the 
 pair were pickpockets disguised as gentle- 
 
 men." 
 
 "Bacchus I An effective retort 1 And 
 then " 
 
 " Then I turned down a side street and 
 half drew my sword ; but, after making a 
 feint of following me, they gave themselves 
 over to a bout of swearing and went on. 
 What I wish is to be directed by you to any 
 compatriot of yours who would give me 
 lessons in fencing. Do you know of any 
 first-rate master of the art in London? "
 
 186 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 The Italian could not avoid laughing-, 
 Goldsmith spoke so seriously. 
 
 " You would like to find a maestro who 
 would be capable of turning- you into a 
 first-rate swordsman within the space of a 
 week?" 
 
 " Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I 
 would g-ive him a fortnight.' 
 
 "Better make it five years." 
 
 " Five years ? " 
 
 " My dear friend, I pray of you not to 
 make me your first victim if I express to 
 you my opinion that you are not the sort of 
 man who can be made a good swordsman. 
 You were born, not made, a poet, and let 
 me tell you that a man must be a born 
 swordsman if he is to take a front place 
 among swordsmen. I am in the same situ- 
 ation as yourself : I am so short-sighted I 
 could make no stand against an antagonist. 
 No, sir, I shall never kill a man." 
 
 He laughed as men laugh who do not 
 understand what fate has in store for them. 
 
 " I have made up my mind to have some 
 lessons," said Goldsmith, "and I know 
 there are no better teachers than your 
 countrymen, Baretti." 
 
 "Psha!" said Baretti. "There are 
 clever fencers in Italy, just as there are in 
 England. But if you have made up your
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 187 
 
 mind to have an Italian teacher, I shall find 
 out one for you and send him to your 
 chambers. If you are wise, however, you 
 will stick to your pen, which you wield with 
 such dexterity, and leave the more harm- 
 less weapon to others of coarser fiber than 
 yourself." 
 
 " There are times when it is necessary 
 for the most pacific of men — nay, even an 
 Irishman — to show himself adroit with a 
 sword," said Goldsmith ; "and so I shall be 
 forever g-rateful to you for your services 
 towards this end." 
 
 He was about to walk away when a 
 thought seemed to strike him. 
 
 " You will add to my debt to you if you 
 allow this matter to go no further than our- 
 selves. You can understand that I have no 
 particular wish to place myself at the 
 mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick," said he. 
 "I fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a 
 meeting- between me and a fencing master." 
 
 "I shall keep it a secret," laughed 
 Baretti; "but mind, sir, when you run your 
 first man through the vitals you need not 
 ask me to attend the court as a witness as 
 to your pacific character." 
 
 (When the two did appear in court it 
 was Goldsmith who had been called as a 
 witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in
 
 188 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 the dock charged with the murder of a 
 man.) 
 
 He felt very much better after leaving- 
 Baretti. He felt that he had taken at least 
 one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He 
 knew his own nature so imperfectly that he 
 thought if he were to engage in a duel with 
 Captain Jackson and disarm him he would 
 not hesitate to run him through a vital part. 
 
 He returned to his chambers and found 
 awaiting him a number of papers contain- 
 kng some flattering notices of his comedy, 
 and lampoons upon Colman for his persist- 
 ent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the 
 topic of the town was Colman's want of 
 judgment in regard to this matter, and so 
 strongly did the critics and lampooners, 
 malicious as well as genial, express them- 
 selves, that the manager found life in Lon- 
 don unbearable. He posted off to Bath, but 
 only to find that his tormentors had taken 
 good care that his reputation should pre- 
 cede him thither. His chastisement with 
 whips in London was mild in comparison 
 with his chastisement with scorpions at 
 Bath ; and now Goldsmith found waiting for 
 him a letter from the unfortunate man im- 
 ploring the poet to intercede for him, and 
 get the lampooners to refrain from molest- 
 ing him further.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 189 
 
 If Goldsmith had been in a mood to 
 appreciate a triumph he would have enjoyed 
 reading- this letter from the man who had 
 g-iven him so many months of pain. He 
 was not, however, in such a mood. He 
 looked for his triumph in another direction. 
 
 After dressing he went to the Mitre for 
 dinner, and found in the tavern several of 
 his friends. Cradock had run up from the 
 country, and with him were Whitefoord and 
 Richard Burke. 
 
 He was rather chilled at his reception 
 by the party. They were all clearly ill at 
 ease in his presence for some reason of 
 which he was unaware; and when he began 
 to talk of the criticisms which his play had 
 received, the uneasiness of his friends 
 became more apparent. 
 
 He could stand this unaccountable be- 
 haviour no long-er, and inquired what was 
 the reason of their treating- him so coldly. 
 
 "You were talking- about me just before 
 I entered," said he: "I always know on 
 entering a room if my friends have been 
 talking about me. Now, may I ask what 
 this admirable party were saying regarding 
 me? Tell it to me in your own way. I don't 
 charge you to be frank with me. Frankness 
 I hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real 
 opinion. Tell me all that you can tell — as
 
 190 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 simply as you can — without prejudice to 
 your own reputation for oratory, Richard. 
 What is the matter, sir?" 
 
 Richard Burke usually was the merriest 
 of the company, and the most fluent. But 
 now he looked down, and the tone was far 
 from persuasive in which he said — 
 
 "You may trust — whatever may be 
 spoken, or written, about you. Goldsmith — 
 we are your unalterable friends." 
 
 "Psha, sir I" cried Goldsmith, "don't I 
 know that already? Were you not all my 
 friends in my day of adversity, and do you 
 expect me suddenly to overthrow all my 
 ideas of friendship by assuming that now 
 that I have bettered my position in the world 
 my friends will be less friendly?" 
 
 "Goldsmith," said Steevens, "we re- 
 ceived a copy of the London Packet half an 
 hour before you entered. We were discuss- 
 ing the most infamous attack that has ever 
 been made upon a distinguished man of let- 
 ters." 
 
 "At the risk of being thought a conceited 
 puppy, sir, I suppose I may assume that the 
 distinguished man of letters which the 
 article refers to is none other than myself," 
 said Goldsmith. 
 
 "It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon 
 you, sir," said Steevens. "It is the most
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 191 
 
 contemptible thing ever penned by that 
 scoundrel Kenrick." 
 
 *'Do not annoy yourselves on my account, 
 gentlemen," said Goldsmith. "You know 
 how little I think of anything that Kenrick 
 may write of me. Once I made him eat his 
 words, and the fit of indigestion that that 
 operation caused him is still manifest.in all 
 he writes about me. I tell you that it is out 
 of the power of that cur to cause me any 
 inconvenience. Where is the Packet? " 
 
 " There is no gain in reading such con- 
 temptible stuff," said Cradock. "Take my 
 advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become 
 aware of the precise nature of that scoun- 
 drel's slanders." 
 
 " Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest 
 that they have the power to sting me," 
 replied Goldsmith. "And so, sir, let me 
 have the Packet^ and you shall see me read 
 the article without blenching. I tell you, 
 Mr. Cradock, no man of letters is deserving 
 of an eulogy who is scared by a detraction." 
 
 " Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not 
 examine under a magnifying glass the gar- 
 bage that a creature of the kennel flings at 
 one," said Steevens. 
 
 "Come, sirs, I insist," cried Goldsmith. 
 "Why do I waste time with you?" he added, 
 turning round and going to the door of the
 
 192 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 room. ** I waste time here when I can read 
 the Packet \n the bar." 
 
 "Hold, sir," said Burke. "Here is the 
 thing. If you will read it, you would do 
 well to read it where you will find a dozen 
 hands stretched forth to you in affection 
 and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is 
 the paper and here are our hands. We look 
 on you as the greatest of English writers 
 — the truest of English poets— the best of 
 Englishmen." 
 
 " You overwhelm me, sir. After this, 
 what does it matter if Kenrick flings him- 
 self upon me?" 
 
 He took the Packet. It opened auto- 
 matically, where an imaginary letter to him- 
 self, signed "Tom Tickle," appeared. 
 
 He held it up to the light; a smile was 
 at first on his features; he had nerved him- 
 self to the ordeal. His friends would not 
 find that he shrank from it — he even smiled, 
 after a manner, as he read the thing — but 
 suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. 
 In another second he had crushed the paper 
 between his hands. He crushed it and tore 
 it, and then flung it on the floor and trampled 
 on it. He walked to and fro in the room 
 with bent head. Then he did a strange 
 thing: he removed his sword and placed it 
 in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and,
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 193 
 
 without a word to any of his friends, left 
 the room, carrying with him his cane 
 only.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Kenrick's article in the London Packet 
 remains to this day as the vilest example of 
 scurrility published under the form of criti- 
 cism. All the venom that can be eng-en- 
 dered by envy and malice appears in every 
 line of it. It contains no sug-gestion of 
 literary criticism ; it contains no clever 
 phrase. It is the shriek of a vulg-ar wretch 
 dominated by the demon of jealousy. The 
 note of the Gadarene herd sounds through 
 it, strident and strenuous. It exists as the 
 worst outcome of the period when every 
 g-arret scribbler emulated "Junius," both 
 as reg'ards style and method, but only suc- 
 ceeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, 
 instead of the thunder of the unknown 
 master of vituperation. 
 
 Goldsmith read the first part of the 
 scurrility without feeling hurt; but when 
 he came to that vile passag"e — " For hours 
 the great Goldsmith will stand arranging- 
 his grotesque orang-outang figure before a 
 
 pier-glass. Was but the lovely H k as 
 
 much enamoured, you would not sig^h, my 
 
 194
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 195 
 
 g-entle swain" — his hands tore the paper 
 in fury. 
 
 He had received abuse in the past with- 
 out being- affected by it. He did not know 
 much about natural history, but he knew 
 enoug-h to make him aware of the fact that 
 the skunk tribe cannot chang-e their nature. 
 He did not mind any attack that might be 
 made upon himself; but to have the name 
 that he most cherished of all names asso- 
 ciated with his in an insult that seemed to 
 him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, 
 was more than he could bear. He felt as if 
 a foul creature had crept behind him and 
 had struck from thence the one who had 
 been kindest to him of all the people in the 
 world. 
 
 There was the horrible thing- printed for 
 all eyes in the town to read. There was the 
 thing that had in a moment raised a barrier 
 between him and the girl who was all in all 
 to him. How could he look Mary Horneck 
 in the face again? How could he ever meet 
 any member of the family to whom he had 
 been the means of causing so much pain as 
 the Hornecks would undoubtedly feel when 
 they read that vile thing? He felt that he 
 himself was to blame for the appearance of 
 that insult upon the girl. He felt that if 
 the attack had not been made uoon him she
 
 196 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 would certainly have escaped. Yes, that 
 blow had been struck by a hand that 
 stretched over him to her. 
 
 His first impulse had sent his hand to 
 his sword. He had shown himself upon 
 several occasions to be a brave man ; but 
 instead of drawing- his sword he had taken 
 it off and had placed it out of the reach of 
 his hands. 
 
 And this was the man who, a few hours 
 earlier in the day, had been assuming- that 
 if a certain man were in his power he would 
 not shrink from running- him through the 
 body with his sword. 
 
 On leaving- the Mitre he did not seek 
 any one with whom he might take counsel 
 as to what course it would be wise for him 
 to pursue. He knew that he had adopted a 
 wise course when he had placed his sword 
 in a corner ; he felt he did not require any 
 further counsel. His mind was made up 
 as to what he should do, and all that he 
 now feared was that some circumstance 
 might prevent his realising his intention. 
 
 He grasped his cane firmly, and walked 
 excitedly to the shop of Evans, the pub- 
 lisher of the London Packet. He arrived 
 almost breathless at the place — it was in 
 Little Queen street — and entered the shop 
 demanding to sec Kenrick, who, he knew
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 197 
 
 was employed on the premises. Evans, the 
 publisher, being- in a room the door of 
 which was open, and hearing- a stranger's 
 voice speaking- in a high tone, came out to 
 the shop. Goldsmith met him, asking- to 
 see Kenrick ; and Evans denied that he 
 was in the house. 
 
 "I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the 
 writer of that article upon me which ap- 
 peared in the Packet of to-day. My name 
 is Goldsmith ! " said the visitor. 
 
 The shopkeeper smiled. 
 
 " Does anything- appear about you in 
 the Packet^ sir ? " he said, over-emphasis- 
 ing- the tone of complete ig-norance and in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " You are the publisher of the foul 
 thing-, you rascal ! " cried Goldsmith, stung- 
 by the supercilious smile of the man ; "you 
 are the publisher of this g-ross outrag-e 
 upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruf&an 
 who wrote it struck at her through me, so 
 I strike at him through you." 
 
 He rushed at the man, seized him by 
 the throat, and struck at him with his cane. 
 The bookseller shouted for help while he 
 struggled with his opponent, and Kenrick 
 himself, who had been within the shelter of 
 a small wooden-partitioned office from the 
 moment of Goldsmith's entrance, and had,
 
 198 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 consequently, overheard every word of the 
 recrimination and all the noise of the scuffle 
 that follow^ed, ran to the help of his pay- 
 master. It was quite in keeping with his 
 cowardly nature to hold back from the cane 
 of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, look- 
 ing round for a missile to fling at Gold- 
 smith, he caught up a heavy lamp that 
 stood on a table and hurled it at his 
 enemy's head. Missing this mark, how- 
 ever, it struck Evans on the chest and 
 knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over 
 him. This Kenrick perceived to be his 
 chance. He lifted one of the small shop 
 chairs and rushed forward to brain the man 
 whom he had libelled ; but, before he could 
 carry out his purpose, a man ran into the 
 shop from the street, and, flinging him and 
 the chair into a corner, caught Goldsmith, 
 who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried 
 him into a hackney-coach, which drove 
 away. 
 
 The man was Captain Higgins. When 
 Goldsmith had failed to return to the room 
 in the Mitre where he had left his sword, 
 his friends became uneasy regarding him, 
 and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in 
 leaving the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, 
 hoping to be in time to prevent the assault
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 199 
 
 which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to 
 commit upon the person of Kenrick. 
 
 Reordered the coachman to drive to the 
 Temple, and took advantag^e of the occa- 
 sion to lecture the excited man upon the 
 impropriety of his conduct. A lecture on 
 the disg-race attached to a public fight, 
 when delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can 
 rarely be efifective, and Captain Higg-ins's 
 counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's 
 ridicule. 
 
 "Don't tell me what I oug-ht to have 
 done or what I ought to have abstained from 
 doing-," cried the still breathless man. **I 
 did what my manhood prompted me to do, 
 and that is just what you would have done 
 yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't 
 mean to harm Evans — it was that reptile 
 Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when 
 Evans undertook to shelter him, what was 
 left to me, I ask you, sir? " 
 
 "You were a fool, Oliver," said his 
 countryman; "you made a great mistake. 
 Can't you see that you should never go 
 about such things single-handed? You 
 should have brought with you a full-sized 
 friend who would not hesitate to use his 
 fists in the interests of fair play. Why the 
 devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of
 
 200 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 what was on your mind when you left the 
 tavern? " 
 
 "Because I didn't know myself what 
 was on my mind," replied Goldsmith. 
 "And, besides," he added, "I 'm not the 
 man to carry bruisers about with me to 
 eng-ag"e in my quarrels. I don't reg^ret 
 what I have done to-day. I have taug-ht 
 the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to 
 pay for it. Kenrick won't attack me ag-ain 
 so long as I am alive." 
 
 He was rig-ht. It was when he was 
 lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that Ken- 
 rick made his next attack upon him in that 
 scurrility of phrase of which he was a 
 master. 
 
 When this curious exponent of the ad- 
 vantages of peace had left him at Brick 
 Court, and his few incidental bruises were 
 attended to by John Eyles, poor Oliver's 
 despondency returned to him. He did not 
 feel very like one who has got the better of 
 another in a quarrel, though he knew that 
 he had done all that he said he had done: he 
 had taught his enemies a lesson. 
 
 But then he began to think about Mary 
 Horneck, who had been so grossly insulted 
 simply because of her kindness to him. He 
 felt that if she had been less gracious to 
 him — if she had treated him as Mrs.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 201 
 
 Thrale, for example, had been accustomed 
 to treat him — reg-arding- him and his de- 
 fects merely as excuses for displaying- her 
 own wit, she. would have escaped all men- 
 tion by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he 
 was the cause of her being insulted, and he 
 would never forg-ive himself for it. 
 
 But what did it matter whether he for- 
 g-ave himself or not? It was the forgive- 
 ness of Mary Horneck and her friends that 
 he had good reason to think about. 
 
 The long-er he considered this point the 
 more convinced he became that he had for- 
 feited forever the friendship which he had 
 enjoyed for several years, and which had 
 been a dear consolation to him in his hours 
 of despondency. A barrier had been raised 
 between himself and the Hornecks that 
 could not be surmounted. 
 
 He sat down at his desk and wrote a 
 letter to Mary, asking her forgiveness for 
 the insult for which he said he felt himself 
 to be responsible. He could not, he added, 
 expect that in the future it would be allowed 
 to him to remain on the same terms of 
 intimacy with her and her family as had 
 been permitted to him in the past. 
 
 Suddenly he recollected the unknown 
 trouble which had been upon the girl when 
 he had last seen her. She was not yet free
 
 202 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 from that secret sorrow which he had 
 hoped it mig-ht be in his power to dispel. 
 He and he only had seen Captain Jackson 
 speaking- to her in the g-reen room at Co- 
 vent Garden, and he only had g-ood reason 
 to believe that her sorrow had orig-inated 
 with that man. Under these circumstances 
 he asked himself if he was justified in leav- 
 ing- her to fig-ht her battle alone. She had 
 not asked him to be her champion, and he 
 felt that if she had done so, it was a very 
 poor champion that he would have made; 
 but still he knew more of her g-rief than 
 any one else, and he believed he mig-ht be 
 able to help her. 
 
 He tore up the letter which he had 
 written to her. 
 
 *' I will not leave her, " he cried. " What- 
 ever may happen — whatever blame people 
 who do not understand may say I have 
 earned, I will not leave her until she has 
 been freed from whatever distress she 
 
 IS in." 
 
 He had scarcely seated himself when 
 his servant announced Captain Horneck. 
 
 For an instant Goldsmith was in trepi- 
 dation. Mary Horneck's brother had no 
 reason to visit him except as he himself 
 had visited Evans and Kenrick. But with
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 203 
 
 the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his 
 trepidation passed away. 
 
 "Ha, my little hero!" Horneck cried 
 before he had quite crossed the threshold. 
 *' What is this that is the talk of the town ? 
 Good Lord! what are thing-s coming- to 
 when the men of letters have taken to beat- 
 ing- the booksellers?" 
 
 "You have heard of it?" said Oliver. 
 *' You have heard of the quarrel, but you 
 cannot have heard of the reason for it! " 
 
 " What, there is something- behind the 
 Lojidon Packet^ ?d\.Q.r all?" cried Captain 
 Horneck. 
 
 "Something- behind it — something- be- 
 hind that slander — the mention of your 
 sister's name, sir? What should be be- 
 hind it, sir? " 
 
 " My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that 
 the friendship which exists between my 
 family and you is too weak to withstand 
 such a strain as this — a strain put upon it 
 by a vulg-ar scoundrel, whose malice so far 
 as you are concerned is as well known as 
 his envy of your success? " 
 
 Goldsmith stared at him for some mo- 
 ments and then at the hand which he was 
 holding- out. He seemed to be making- an 
 effort to speak, but the words never came. 
 Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's
 
 204 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 hand in both of his own, and held it for a 
 moment; but then, quite overcome, he 
 dropped it, and burying his face in his 
 hands he burst into tears. 
 
 Horneck watched him for some time, 
 and was himself almost equally affected. 
 
 "Come, come, old friend," he said at 
 last, placing- his hand affectionately on Gold- 
 smith's shoulder. "Come, come; this will 
 not do. There is nothing- to be so con- 
 cerned about. What, man ! are you so little 
 aware of your own position in the world as 
 to fancy that the Horneck family reg-ard 
 your friendship for them otherwise than an 
 honour ? Good heavens. Dr. Goldsmith, 
 don't you perceive that we are making- 
 a bold bid for immortality through our 
 names being- associated with yours ? Who 
 in a hundred years — in fifty years — would 
 know anything- of the Horneck family if it 
 were not for their association with you? 
 The name of Oliver Goldsmith will live so 
 long- as there is life in Eng-lish letters, and 
 when your name is spoken the name of 
 your friends the Hornecks will not be for- 
 gotten." 
 
 He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, 
 but though he remained at his chambers 
 for half an hour, he got no word from 
 Oliver Goldsmith.
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 The next day the news of the prompt 
 and vigorous action taken by Goldsmith in 
 respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had 
 spread round the literary circle of which 
 Johnson was the centre, and the general 
 feeling- was one of reg-ret that Kenrick had 
 not received the beating- instead of Evans. 
 Of course, Johnson, who had threatened 
 two writers with an oak stick, shook his 
 head — and his body as well — in grave dis- 
 approval of Goldsmith's use of his cane ; 
 but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes 
 were of the opinion that a cane had never 
 been more appropriately used. 
 
 What Colman's attitude was in regard 
 to the man who had put thousands of 
 pounds into his pocket may be gathered 
 from the fact that, shortly afterwards, he 
 accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's 
 at his theatre, which was more decisively 
 damned than any play ever produced 
 under Colman's management. 
 
 Of course, the act of an author in resent- 
 ing the scurrility of a man who had de- 
 
 205
 
 206 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 livered his stab under the cloak of criti- 
 cism, called for a howl of indig-nation from 
 the scores of hacks who existed at that 
 period — some in the pay of the g-overn- 
 ment others of the opposition — solely by 
 stabbing- men of reputation ; for the literary 
 cut-throat, in the person of the professional 
 libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in 
 the form of the professional blackmailer, 
 followed as well as preceded Junius. 
 
 The howl went up that the liberty of 
 the press was in danger, and the public, 
 who took then, as they do now, but the 
 most languid interest in the quarrels of 
 literature, were forced to become the un- 
 willing audience. When, however. Gold- 
 smith published his letter in the Daily Ad- 
 vertiser — surely the manliest manifesto 
 ever printed — the howls became attenu- 
 ated, and shortly afterwards died away. It 
 was admitted, even by Dr. Johnson — and 
 so emphatically, too, that his biographer 
 could not avoid recording his judgment — 
 that Goldsmith had increased his reputa- 
 tion by the incident. 
 
 (Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest 
 compliment in his power on account of this 
 letter, for he fancied that it had been writ- 
 ten by Johnson, and received another rebuke 
 from the latter to g-loat over.)
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 207 
 
 For some days Goldsmith had many 
 visitors at his chambers, including- Baretti, 
 who remarked that he took it for granted 
 that he need not now search for the fenc- 
 ing--master, as his quarrel was over. Gold- 
 smith allowed him to go away under the 
 impression that he had foreseen the quar- 
 rel when he had consulted him regarding 
 the fencing-master. 
 
 But at the end of a week, when Evans 
 had been conciliated by the friends of his 
 assailant. Goldsmith, on returning to his 
 chambers one afternoon, found Johnson 
 gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty 
 welcome was not responded to quite so 
 heartily by his visitor. 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, after 
 he had made some of those grotesque move- 
 ments with which his judicial utterances 
 were invariably accompanied — " Dr. Gold- 
 smith, we have been friends for a good 
 many years, sir." 
 
 " That fact constitutes one of my pleas- 
 antest reflections, sir," said Goldsmith. He 
 spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for 
 he had a feeling that his friend had come to 
 him with a reproof. He had expected him 
 to come rather sooner. 
 
 " If our friendship was not such as it is, 
 I would not have come to you to-day, sir, to
 
 208 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 tell you that you have been a fool," said 
 Johnson. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Goldsmith, "you were 
 rig-ht in assuming- that you could say noth- 
 ing- to me that would offend me; I know 
 that I have been a fool — at many times — 
 in many ways." 
 
 " I suspected that you were a fool before 
 I set out to come hither, sir, and since I 
 entered this room I have convinced myself 
 of the accuracy of my suspicion." 
 
 "If a man suspects that I am a fool 
 before seeing- me, sir, what will he do after 
 having seen me?" said Goldsmith. 
 
 " Dr. Goldsmith," resumed Johnson, " it 
 was, believe me, sir, a g-reat pain to me to 
 find, as I did in this room — on that desk — 
 such evidence of your folly as left no doubt 
 on my mind in this matter." 
 
 "What do you mean, sir? My folly — 
 evidence — on that desk? Ah, I know now 
 what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for 
 my last coats and I suppose for a few others 
 that have long ago been worn threadbare. 
 Alas, sir, who could resist Filby's flat- 
 teries? " 
 
 "Sir," said Johnson, "you gave me per- 
 mission several years ago to read any man- 
 uscript of yours in prose or verse at which 
 you were engaged."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 209 
 
 "And the result of your so honouring- 
 me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been ad- 
 vantageous to my work. What, sir, have I 
 ever failed in respect for your criticisms? 
 Have I ever failed to make a change that 
 you suggested? " 
 
 " It w^as in consideration of that permis- 
 sion. Dr. Goldsmith, that while waiting for 
 you here to-day, I read several pages in 
 your handwriting," said Johnson sternly. 
 
 Goldsmith glanced at his desk. 
 
 "I forget now what work was last under 
 my hand," said he; "but whatever it was. 
 
 sir " 
 
 "I have it here, sir," said Johnson, and 
 Goldsmith for the first time noticed that he 
 held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. 
 Johnson laid it solemnly on the table, and in 
 a moment Goldsmith perceived that it con- 
 sisted of a number of the poems which he 
 had written to the Jessamy Bride, but which 
 he had not dared to send to her. He had 
 had them before him on the desk that day 
 while he asked himself what would be the 
 result of sending them to her. 
 
 He was considerably disturbed when he 
 discovered what it was that his friend had 
 been reading in his absence, and his attempt 
 to treat the matter lightly only made his 
 confusion appear the greater.
 
 210 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Oh, those verses, sir," he stammered; 
 "they are poor things. You will, I fear, 
 find them too obviously defective to merit 
 criticism; they resemble my oldest coat, sir, 
 which I designed to have repaired for my 
 man, but Filby returned it with the remark 
 that it was not worth the cost of repairing-. 
 If you were to become a critic of those 
 trifles " 
 
 "They are trifles. Goldsmith, for they 
 represent the trifling- of a man of determi- 
 nation with his own future — with his own 
 happiness and the happiness of others." 
 
 "I protest, sir, I scarcely under- 
 stand " 
 
 "Your confusion, sir, shows that you 
 do understand." 
 
 " Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the 
 lines which a poet writes in the character of 
 a lover should be accepted as damning evi- 
 dence that his own heart speaks." 
 
 "Goldsmith, I am not the man to be 
 deceived by any literary work that may 
 come under my notice. I have read those 
 verses of yours ; sir, your heart throbs in 
 every line." 
 
 "Nay, sir, you would make me believe 
 that my poor attempts to realise the feelings 
 of one who has experienced the tender pas- 
 sion are more happy than I fancied."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 211 
 
 " Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of 
 you." 
 
 "Sir, I protest that I — that is — no, I 
 shall protest nothing-. You have spoken 
 the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy 
 of me. I wrote those verses out of my 
 own heart — God knows if they are the first 
 that came from my heart — I own it, sir. 
 Why should I be ashamed to own it?" 
 
 "My poor friend, you have been For- 
 tune's plaything- all your life ; but I did not 
 think that she was reserving such a blow as 
 this for you." 
 
 "A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a 
 blow that which has been the sweetest — 
 the only consolation of a life that has known 
 but few consolations." 
 
 "Sir, this will not do. A man has the 
 right to make himself as miserable as he 
 pleases, but he has no right to make others 
 miserable. Dr. Goldsmith, you have ill- 
 repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck 
 and her family have extended to you." 
 
 "I have done nothing for which my con- 
 science reproaches me. Dr. Johnson. What, 
 sir, if I have ventured to love that lady 
 whose name had better remain unspoken 
 by either of us — what if I do love her? 
 Where is the indignity that I do either 
 to her or to the sentiment of friendship?
 
 212 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Does one offer an indignity to friendship by 
 loving?" 
 
 " My poor friend, you are laying up a 
 future of misery for yourself — yes, and for 
 her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she 
 should come to know — and, indeed, I think 
 she must — that she has been the cause, even 
 though the unwilling cause, of suffering on 
 the part of another, she will not be free 
 from unhappiness." 
 
 "She need not know, she need not know. 
 I have been a bearer of burdens all my life. 
 I will assume without repining this new 
 burden." 
 
 "Nay, sir, if I know your character — 
 and I believe I have known it for some years 
 — you will cast that burden away from you. 
 Life, my dear friend, you and I have found 
 to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a 
 battle field. We have been in the struggle, 
 you and I, and we have not come out of it 
 unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new 
 enemy, and put it to flight before it prove 
 your ruin." 
 
 "Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that 
 which gives everything there is of beauty 
 — everything there is of sweetness — in 
 the life of man — you call it our enemy?" 
 
 "I call it your enemy, Goldsmith."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 213 
 
 " Why mine only ? What is thereabout 
 me that makes me different from other 
 men? Why should a poet be looked upon 
 as one who is shut out for evermore from 
 all the tenderness, all the g-race of life, 
 when he has proved to the world that he 
 is most capable of all mankind of appreciat- 
 ing- tenderness and g-race? What trick of 
 nature is this? What paradox for men to 
 vex their souls over ? Is the poet to stand 
 aloof from men, evermore looking- on hap- 
 piness throug-h another man's eyes? If 
 you answer 'yes,' then I say that men who 
 are not poets should g-o down on their knees 
 and thank Heaven that they are not poets. 
 Happy it is for mankind that Heaven has 
 laid on few men the curse of being- poets. 
 For myself, I feel that I would rather be a 
 man for an hour than a poet for all time." 
 
 " Come, sir, let us not waste our time 
 railing- against Heaven. Let us look at this 
 matter as it stands at present. You have 
 been unfortunate enough to conceive a pas- 
 sion for a lady whose family could never be 
 brought to think of you seriously as a lover. 
 You have been foolish enough to regard 
 their kindness to you — their acceptance of 
 you as a friend — as encouragement in your 
 mad aspirations."
 
 214 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "You have no right to speak so author- 
 itatively, sir." 
 
 " I have the right as your oldest friend, 
 Goldsmith; and you know I speak only v^hat 
 is true. Does your own conscience, your 
 own intelligence, sir, not tell you that the 
 lady's family would regard her acceptance 
 of you as a lover in the light of the greatest 
 misfortune possible to happen to her? 
 Answer me that question, sir." 
 
 But Goldsmith made no attempt to 
 speak. He only buried his face in his 
 hands, resting his elbows on the table at 
 which he sat. 
 
 " You cannot deny what you know to be 
 a fact, sir," resumed Johnson. "I will not 
 humiliate you by suggesting that the young 
 lady herself would only be moved to laugh- 
 ter were you to make serious advances to 
 her ; but I ask you if you think her family 
 would not regard such an attitude on your 
 side as ridiculous — nay, worse — a gross 
 affront." 
 
 Still Goldsmith remained silent, and 
 after a short pause his visitor resumed his 
 discourse. 
 
 "The question that remains for you to 
 answer is this, sir : Are you desirous of 
 humiliating yourself in the eyes of your 
 best friends, and of forfeiting their friend-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 215 
 
 ship for you, by persisting in your infatua- 
 tion?" 
 
 Goldsmith started up. 
 
 "Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say 
 no more," he cried almost piteously. " Am 
 I, do you fancy, as g-reat a fool as Pope, who 
 did not hesitate to declare himself to Lady 
 Mary? Sir, I have done nothing- that the 
 most honourable of men would shrink from 
 doing-. There are the verses which I wrote 
 — I could not help writing- them — but she 
 does not know that they were ever written. 
 Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from 
 me. My history, sir, shall be that of the 
 hopeless lover — a blank — a blank." 
 
 *'My poor friend," said Johnson after a 
 pause — he had laid his hand upon the shoul- 
 der of his friend as he seated himself once 
 more at the table — "My poor friend. Provi- 
 dence puts into our hands many cups which 
 are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned 
 away from. You and I have drank of bitter 
 cups before now, and perhaps we may have 
 to drink of others before we die. To be a 
 man is to suffer ; to be a poet means to have 
 double the capacity of men to suffer. You 
 have shown yourself before now worthy of 
 the admiration of all good men by the way 
 you have faced life, by your independence 
 of the patronage of the great. You dedi-
 
 216 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 cated ' The Traveller ' to your brother, and 
 your last comedy to me. You did not hesi- 
 tate to turn away from your door the man 
 who came to offer you money for the prosti- 
 tution of the talents which God has g-iven 
 you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect 
 — you have the respect of every good man. 
 I came to you to-day that you may dis- 
 appoint those of your detractors who are 
 waiting- for you to be g"uilty of an act that 
 would g'ive them an opportunity of pointing" 
 a fing"er of malice at you. You will not 
 do anything- but that which will reflect 
 honour upon yourself, and show all those 
 who are your friends that their friendship 
 for you is well founded. I am assured 
 that I can trust you, sir." 
 
 Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, 
 but said no word.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 When his visitor had g-one Goldsmith 
 seated himself in his chair and gave way to 
 the bitter reflections of the hour. 
 
 He knew that the end of his dream had 
 come. The straig-htforward words which 
 Johnson had spoken had put an end to his 
 self-deception — to his hoping- against his 
 better judgment that by some miracle his 
 devotion might be rewarded. If any man 
 was calculated to be a disperser of vain 
 dreams that man was Johnson. In the very 
 brutality of his straightforwardness there 
 was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that 
 made any appeal from his judgment hope- 
 less. There was no timidity in the utter- 
 ances of his phrases when forcing his con- 
 tentions upon any audience; but Goldsmith 
 knew that he only spoke strongly because 
 he felt strongly. 
 
 Times without number he had said to 
 himself precisely what Dr. Johnson had 
 said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever 
 went so far as to mistake the sympathy 
 which she had for him for that affection 
 
 217
 
 218 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 which alone would content him, how could 
 he approach her family? Her sister had 
 married Bunbury, a man of position and 
 wealth, with a country house and a town 
 house — a man of her own ag^e, and with the 
 possibility of inheriting- his father's baron- 
 etcy. Her brother was about to marry a 
 daug-hter of Lord Albemarle's. What 
 would these people say if he, Oliver Gold- 
 smith, were to present himself as a suitor 
 for the hand of Mary Horneck? 
 
 It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak 
 such forcible words in his hearing- to enable 
 him to perceive how ridiculous were his 
 pretensions. The trag-edy of the poet's 
 life among men and women eag-er to better 
 their prospects in the world was fully 
 appreciated by him. It was surely, he felt, 
 the most cruel of all the cruelties of des- 
 tiny, that the men who make music of the 
 passions of men — who have surrounded 
 the passion of love with a g-lorifying halo — 
 should be doomed to spend their lives look- 
 ing- on at the success of ordinary men in 
 their loves by the aid of the music which 
 the poets have created. That is the poet's 
 trag-edy of life, and Goldsmith had often 
 found himself face to face with it, feeling- 
 himself to be one of those with whom des- 
 tiny is only on jesting- terms.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 219 
 
 Because he was a poet he could not love 
 any less beautiful creature than Mary Hor- 
 neck, any less g-racious, less sweet, less 
 pure, and yet he knew that if he were to g-o 
 to her with those poems in his hand which 
 he only of all living- men could write, telling- 
 her that they mig-ht plead his cause, he 
 would be regarded — and rightly, too — as 
 both presumptuous and ridiculous. 
 
 He thought of the loneliness of his life. 
 Was it the lot of the man of letters to 
 remain in loneliness while the people 
 around him were taking- to themselves 
 wives and begetting sons and daughters? 
 Had he nothing to look forward to but the 
 laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted 
 that a contemplation of its shrivelling- 
 leaves would more than compensate the 
 poet for the loss of home — the grateful 
 companionship of a wife — the babble of 
 children — all that his fellow-men asso- 
 ciated with the gladness and glory of life? 
 
 He knew that he had reached a position 
 in the world of letters that was surpassed 
 by no living man in England. He had often 
 dreamed of reaching- such a place, and to 
 reach it he had underg-one privation — he 
 had sacrificed the best years of his life. 
 And what did his consciousness of having 
 attained his end bring with it? It brought
 
 220 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 to him the snarl of envy, the howl of hatred, 
 the mock of malice. The air was full of 
 these sounds; they dinned in his ears and 
 overcame the sounds of the approval of his 
 friends. 
 
 And it was for this he had sacrificed so 
 much? So much? Everything. He had 
 sacrificed his life. The one joy that had 
 consoled him for all his ills during- the past 
 few years had departed from him. He 
 would never see Mary Horneck again. To 
 see her again would only be to increase the 
 burden of his humiliation. His resolution 
 was formed and he would abide by it. 
 
 He rose to his feet and picked up the 
 roll of poems. In sign of his resolution he 
 would burn them. He would, with them, 
 reduce to ashes the one consolation of his 
 life. 
 
 In the small grate the remains of a fire 
 were still glowing. He knelt down and 
 blew the spark into a blaze. He was about 
 to thrust the manuscript into it between 
 the bars when the light that it made fell 
 upon one of the lines. He had not the 
 heart to burn the leaf until he had read the 
 remaining lines of the couplet ; and when 
 at last, with a sigh, he hastily thrust the 
 roll of papers between the bars, the little 
 blaze had fallen again to a mere smoulder-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 221 
 
 ing spark. Before he could raise it by a 
 breath or two, his servant entered the 
 room. He started to his feet. 
 
 " A letter for you, sir," said John Eyles. 
 "It came by a messeng-er lad." 
 
 " Fetch a candle, John," said Goldsmith, 
 taking the letter. It was too dark for him 
 to see the handwriting, but he put the tip 
 of his finger on the seal and became aware 
 that it was Mary Horneck's. 
 
 By the light of the candle he broke the 
 seal, and read the few lines that the letter 
 contained — 
 
 Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, 
 for heaven's sake. Your ear only can hear what 
 I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but 
 if not, then . . . Oh, come to me to-night. 
 Your unhappy Jessamy Bride. 
 
 He did not delay an instant. He caught 
 up his hat and left his chambers. He did 
 not even think of the resolution to which he 
 had just come, never to see Mary Horneck 
 again. All his thoughts were lost in the 
 one thought that he was about to stand face 
 to face with her. 
 
 He stood face to face with her in less 
 than half an hour. She was in the small 
 drawing-room where he had seen her on 
 the day after the production of "She Stoops 
 to Conquer." Only a few wax candles
 
 222 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 were lighted in the cut-glass sconces that 
 were placed in the centre of the panels 
 of the walls. Their light was, however, 
 sufficient to make visible the contrast be- 
 tween the laughing face of the girl in Rey- 
 nolds's picture of her and her sister which 
 hung on the wall, and the sad face of the 
 girl who put her hand into his as he was 
 shown in by the servant. 
 
 "I knew you would come," she said. 
 " I knew that I could trust you." 
 
 "You may trust me, indeed," he said. 
 He held her hand in his own, looking into 
 her pale face and sunken eyes. "I knew 
 the time would come when you would tell 
 me all that there is to be told," he contin- 
 ued. " Whether I can help you or not, you 
 will find yourself better for having told 
 
 me." 
 
 She seated herself on the sofa, and he 
 took his place beside her. There was a 
 silence of a minute or two, before she sud- 
 denly started up, and, after walking up and 
 down the room nervously, stopped at the 
 mantelpiece, leaning her head against the 
 high slab, and looking into the smoulder- 
 ing fire in the grate. 
 
 He watched her, but did not attempt to 
 express the pity that filled his heart.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 223 
 
 " What am I to tell you — what am I to 
 tell you?" she cried at last, resuming her 
 pacing- of the floor. 
 
 He made no reply, but sat there follow- 
 ing her movements with his eyes. She 
 went beside him, and stood, with nervously 
 clasped hands, looking with vacant eyes at 
 the group of wax candles that burned in 
 one of the sconces. Once again she turned 
 away with a little cry, but then with a great 
 effort she controlled herself, and her voice 
 was almost tranquil when she spoke, seat- 
 ing herself. 
 
 "You were with me at the Pantheon, 
 and saw me when I caught sight of that 
 man," she said. " You alone were observ- 
 ant. Did you also see him call me to his 
 side in the green room at the playhouse?" 
 
 "I saw you in the act of speaking to him 
 there — he calls himself Jackson — Captain 
 Jackson," said Goldsmith. 
 
 '* You saved me from him once I " she 
 cried. " You saved me from becoming his 
 — body and soul." 
 
 "No," he said; "I have not yet saved 
 you, but God is good ; He may enable me to 
 do so." 
 
 "I tell you if it had not been for you — 
 for the book which you wrote, I should be 
 to-day a miserable castaway."
 
 224 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 He looked puzzled. 
 
 "I cannot quite understand," said he. 
 " I g-ave you a copy of ' The Vicar of Wake- 
 field ' when you were going to Devonshire a 
 year ag-o. You were complaining- that your 
 sister had taken away with her the copy 
 which I had presented to your mother, so 
 that you had not an opportunity of reading 
 it." 
 
 "It was that which saved me," she 
 cried. " Oh, what fools girls are 1 They 
 are carried away by such devices as should 
 not impose upon the merest child 1 Why 
 are we not taug-ht from our childhood of 
 the baseness of men — some men — so that 
 we can be on our g-uard when we are on 
 the verge of womanhood? If we are to 
 live in the world why should we not be told 
 all that we should guard against ? " 
 
 She laid her head down on the arm of 
 the sofa, sobbing. 
 
 He put his hand gently upon her hair, 
 saying — 
 
 " I cannot believe anything but what is 
 good regarding you, my sweet Jessamy 
 Bride." 
 
 She raised her head quickly and looked 
 at him through her tears. 
 
 " Then you will err," she said. "You 
 will have to think ill of me. Thank God
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 225 
 
 you saved me from the worst, but it was not 
 in your power to save me from all — to save 
 me from myself. Listen to me, my best 
 friend. When I was in Devonshire last 
 year I met that man. He was staying- in 
 the villag-e, pretending- that he was recov- 
 ering from a wound which he had received 
 in our colonies in America. He was looked 
 on as a hero and feted in all directions. 
 Every girl for miles around was in love 
 with him, and I — innocent fool that I was 
 — considered myself the most favoured 
 creature in the world because he made love 
 to me. Any day we failed to meet I wrote 
 him a letter— a foolish letter such as a 
 school miss might write — full of protesta- 
 tions of undying affection. I sometimes 
 wrote two of these letters in the day. 
 More than a month passed in this foolish- 
 ness, and then it came to my uncle's ears 
 that we had meetings. He forbade my 
 continuing to see a man of whom no one 
 knew anything definite, but about whom he 
 was having strict inquiries made. I wrote 
 to the man to this effect, and I received a 
 reply persuading me to have one more 
 meeting with him. I was so infatuated 
 that I met him secretly, and then in im- 
 passioned strains he implored me to maka 
 a runaway match with him. He said he
 
 226 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 had enemies. When he had been fig-htingf 
 the King-'s battles ag-ainst the rebels these 
 enemies had been active, and he feared 
 that their malice would come between us, 
 and he should lose me. I was so carried 
 away by his pleading- that I consented to 
 leave my uncle's house by his side." 
 " But you cannot have done so." 
 "You saved me," she cried. "I had 
 been reading- your book, and, by God's 
 mercy, on the very day before that on 
 which I had promised to go to him I came 
 to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its 
 consequences. With the suddenness of a 
 revelation from heaven I perceived the 
 truth. The scales fell from my eyes as 
 they fell from St. Paul's on the way to 
 Damascus, only where he perceived the 
 heaven I saw the hell that awaited me. I 
 knew that that man was endeavouring- to 
 encompass my ruin, and in a single hour 
 — thanks to the genius that wrote that 
 book — my love for that man, or what I 
 fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I 
 did not meet him. I returned to him, with- 
 out a word of comment, a letter he wrote to 
 me reproaching me for disappointing him ; 
 and the very next day my uncle's suspi- 
 cions regarding him were confirmed. His 
 inquiries resulted in proof positive of the
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 227 
 
 ruffianism of the fellow who called himself 
 Captain Jackson, He had left the army in 
 America with a stain on his character, and 
 it was known that since his return to Eng-- 
 land at least two young- women had been 
 led into the trap which he laid for me." 
 
 "Thank God you were saved, my child," 
 said Goldsmith, as she paused, overcome 
 with emotion. " But being- saved, my dear, 
 you have no further reason to fear that 
 
 man." 
 
 "That was my belief, too," said she. 
 "But alas! it was a delusion. So soon as 
 he found out that I had escaped from him, 
 he showed himself in his true colours. He 
 wrote threatening to send the letters which 
 I had been foolish enough to write to him, 
 to my friends — he was even scoundrel 
 enough to point out that I had in my inno- 
 cence written certain passages which were 
 susceptible of being- interpreted as evidence 
 of guilt — nay, his letter in which he did so 
 took it for granted that I had been guilty, 
 so that I could not show it as evidence of 
 his falsehood. What was left for me to do? 
 I wrote to him imploring- him to return to 
 me those letters. I asked him how he could 
 think it consistent with his honour to retain 
 them and to hold such an infamous threat 
 over my head. Alas! he soon gave me to
 
 228 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 understand that I had but placed myself 
 more deeply in his power." 
 
 "The scoundrel!" 
 
 " Oh ! scoundrel I I made an excuse for 
 coming- back to London, thoug-h I had meant 
 to stay in Devonshire until the end of the 
 year." 
 
 "And 'twas then you thanked me for 
 the book." 
 
 " I had good reason to do so. For some 
 months I was happy, believing- that I had 
 escaped from my persecutor. How happy 
 we were when in France tog-ether! But 
 then — ah ! you know the rest. My distress 
 is killing- me — I cannot sleep at night. I 
 start a dozen times a day; every time the 
 bell rings I am in trepidation." 
 
 " Great Heaven ! Is 't possible that you 
 are miserable solely on this account?" cried 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 "Is there not sufficient reason for my 
 misery?" she asked. "What did he say to me 
 that night in the g-reen room? He told me 
 that he would g-ive me a fortnight to accede 
 to his demands ; if I failed he swore to print 
 my letters in full, introducing my name so 
 that every one should know who had written 
 them." 
 
 "And his terms?" asked Goldsmith in a 
 whisper.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 229 
 
 "His terms? I cannot tell you — lean- 
 not tell you. The very thought that I placed 
 myself in such a position as made it possible 
 for me to have such an insult ofifered to me 
 makes me long- for death." 
 
 "By God ! 'tis he who need to prepare 
 for death 1" cried Goldsmith, "for I shall 
 kill him, even though the act be called 
 murder." 
 
 " No — no 1 " she said, laying a hand upon 
 his arm. " No friend of mine must suffer 
 for my folly. I dare not speak a word of 
 this to my brother for fear of the conse- 
 quences. That wretch boasted to me of 
 having laid his plans so carefully that, if 
 any harm were to come to him, the letters 
 would still be printed. He said he had 
 heard of my friends, and declared that if he 
 were approached by any of them nothing 
 should save me from being made the talk 
 of the town. I was terrified by the threat, 
 but I determined to-day to tell you my piti- 
 ful story in the hope — the forlorn hope — 
 that you might be able to help me. Tell 
 me — tell me, my dear friend, if you can see 
 any chance of escape for me except that of 
 which poor Olivia sang: *The only way 
 her guilt to cover.' " 
 
 "Guilt? Who talks of guilt?" said he. 
 " Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew that
 
 230 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 whatever your grief might be there was 
 nothing to be thought of you except what 
 was good. I am not one to say even that 
 you acted foolishly; you only acted inno- 
 cently. You, in the guilelessness of your 
 own pure heart could not believe that a man 
 could be worse than any monster. Dear 
 child, I pray of you to bear up for a short 
 time against this stroke of fate, and I prom- 
 ise you that I shall discover away of escape 
 for you." 
 
 "Ah, it IS easy to say those words ' bear 
 up.' I have said them to myself a score of 
 times within the week. You cannot now 
 perceive in what direction lies my hope of 
 escape?" 
 
 He shook his head, but not without a 
 smile on his face, as he said — 
 
 " ' Tis easy enough for one who has com- 
 posed so much jSction as I have to invent a 
 plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; 
 but, unhappily, it is the case that in real life 
 one cannot control circumstances as one 
 can in a work of the imagination. That is 
 one of the weaknesses of real life, my dear; 
 things will go on happening in defiance of 
 all the arts of fiction. But of this I feel 
 certain: Providence does not do things by 
 halves. He will not make me the means of 
 averting a great disaster from you and then
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 231 
 
 permit me to stand idly by while you suffer 
 such a calamity as thatwhtch you apprehend 
 just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as 
 Heaven directed mj^ pen to write that book 
 in order that you might be saved from the 
 fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted 
 to help you out of your present difficulty." 
 
 " You give me hope," she said. "Yes — 
 a little hope. But you must promise me 
 that you will not be tempted to do anything- 
 that is rash. I know how brave you are — 
 my brother told me what prompt action you 
 took yesterday when that vile slander ap- 
 peared. But were you not foolish to place 
 yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a ser- 
 pent that hisses may only cause it to 
 spring." 
 
 "I feel now that I was foolish," said he 
 humbly; "I ran the chance of forfeiting 
 your friendship." 
 
 "Oh, no, it was not so bad as that," she 
 said. "But in this matter of mine I per- 
 ceive clearly that craft and not bravery will 
 prevail to save me, if I am to be saved. I 
 saw that you provoked a quarrel with that 
 man on the night when we were leaving the 
 Pantheon; think of it, think what m}' feel- 
 ings would have been if he had killed you! 
 And think also that if you had killed him I 
 should certainly be lost, for he had made
 
 232 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 his arrang-ements to print the letters by 
 which I should be judged." 
 
 " You have spoken truly," said he. "You 
 are wiser than I have ever been. But for 
 your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I prom- 
 ise to do nothing that shall jeopardise your 
 safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall 
 be saved, whatever may happen." 
 
 He took her hand and kissed it fondly. 
 
 "You shall be saved," he repeated. 
 
 "If not " said she in a low tone, 
 
 looking beyond him. 
 
 " No — no," he whispered. "I have given 
 you my promise. You must give me yours. 
 You will do nothing impious." 
 
 She gave a wan smile. 
 
 "I am a girl," she said. "My courage 
 is as water. I promise you I will trust you, 
 with all my heart — all my heart." 
 
 " I shall not fail you — Heaven shall not 
 fail you," said he, going to the door. 
 
 He looked back at her. What a lovely 
 picture she made, standing in her white 
 loose gown with its lace collar that seemed 
 to make her face the more pallid I 
 
 He bowed at the door.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 He went for supper to a tavern which 
 he knew would be visited by none of his 
 friends. He had no wish to share in the 
 drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned 
 Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the 
 company. He knew that Garrick would be 
 at the club in Gerrard street, to which he 
 had been elected only a few days before the 
 production of "She Stoops to Conquer," 
 and it was not at all unlikely that on this 
 account the club would be a g"Ood deal live- 
 lier than it usually was even when Richard 
 Burke was wittiest. 
 
 While awaiting the modest fare which 
 he had ordered he picked up one of the 
 papers published that evening-, and found 
 that it contained a fierce assault upon him 
 for having dared to take the law into his 
 own hands in attempting to punish the 
 scoundrel who had introduced the name of 
 Miss Horneck into his libel upon the author 
 of the comedy about which all the town 
 were talking. 
 
 233
 
 234 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 The scurrility of his new assailant pro- 
 duced no impression upon him. He smiled 
 as he read the ungrammatical expression of 
 the indig-nation which the writer purported 
 to feel at so g-ross an infring-ement of the 
 liberty of the press as that of which — 
 according- to the writer — the ing-enious Dr. 
 Goldsmith was g^uilty. He did not even 
 fling the paper across the room. He was 
 not dwelling- upon his own grievances. In 
 his mind, the worst that could happen to 
 him was not worth a moment's thought 
 compared with the position of the girl 
 whose presence he had just left. 
 
 He knew perfectly well — had he not 
 good reason to know? — that the man who 
 had threatened her would keep his threat. 
 He knew of the gross nature of the libels 
 which were published daily upon not mere- 
 ly the most notable persons in society, but 
 also upon ordinary private individuals; and 
 he had a sufficient knowledge of men and 
 women to be aware of the fact that the 
 grossest scandal upon the most innocent 
 person was more eagerly read than any of 
 the other contents of the prints of the day. 
 That was one of the results of the publica- 
 tion of the scurrilities of Junius: the appe- 
 tite of the people for such piquant fare was 
 whetted, and there was no lack of literary
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 235 
 
 cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that 
 the public demanded. They did not make 
 the brilliancy of Junius one of the condi- 
 tions of their acceptance of such composi- 
 tions — all they required was that the libel 
 should have a certain amount of piquancy. 
 
 No one was better aware of this fact 
 than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that 
 Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled 
 him, would pay all the money that he could 
 raise to obtain the letters which the man 
 who called himself Captain Jackson had in 
 his possession; he also knew that there 
 would be no difficulty in finding- a publisher 
 for them ; and as people were always much 
 more ready to believe evil than good re- 
 garding" any one — especially a young- girl 
 against whom no suspicion had ever been 
 breathed — the result of the publication of 
 the letters would mean practically ruin to 
 the girl who had been innocent enough to 
 write them. 
 
 Of course, a man of the world, with 
 money at his hand, would have smiled at 
 the possibility of a question arising as to 
 the attitude to assume in regard to such a 
 scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely 
 inquire what sum the fellow required in 
 exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith 
 was in such matters as innocent as the girl
 
 236 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 herself. He believed, as she did, that be- 
 cause the man did not make any monetary 
 claim upon her, he was not sordid. He was 
 the more inclined to disregard the question 
 of the possibility of buying- the man off, 
 knowing as he did that he should find it 
 impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the 
 purpose ; and he believed, with Mary Hor- 
 neck, that to tell her friends how she was 
 situated would be to forfeit their respect 
 forever. 
 
 She had told him that only cunning could 
 prevail against her enemy, and he felt cer- 
 tain that she was right. He would try and 
 be cunning for her sake. 
 
 He found great difficulty in making a 
 beginning. He remembered how often in 
 his life, and how easily, he had been im- 
 posed upon — how often his friends had 
 entreated him to acquire this talent, since 
 he had certainly not been endowed with it 
 by nature. He remembered how upon 
 some occasions he had endeavoured to 
 take their advice; and he also remem- 
 bered how, when he thought he had been 
 extremely shrewd, it turned out that he 
 had never been more clearly imposed upon. 
 
 He wondered if it was too late to begin 
 again on a more approved system.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 237 
 
 He brought his skill as a writer of fic- 
 tion to bear upon the question (which may- 
 be taken as evidence that he had not yet 
 begun his career of shrewdness). 
 
 How, for instance, would he, if the exi- 
 gencies of his story required it, cause 
 Moses Primrose to develop into a man of 
 resources in worldly wisdom ? By what 
 means would he turn Honeywood into a 
 cynical man of the world? 
 
 He considered these questions at con- 
 siderable length, and only when he reacBed 
 the Temple, returning to his chambers, 
 did he find out that the waiter at the tavern 
 had given him change for a guinea two 
 shillings short, and that half-a-crown of the 
 change was made of pewter. He could not 
 help being amused at his first step towards 
 cunning. He certainly felt no vexation at 
 being made so easy a victim of — he was ac- 
 customed to that position. 
 
 When he found that the roll of manu- 
 script which he had thrust between the 
 bars of the grate remained as he had left it, 
 only slightly charred at the end which had 
 been the nearer to the hot, though not 
 burning, coals, all thoughts of guile — all 
 his prospects of shrewdness were cast 
 aside. He unfolded the pages and read the 
 verses once more. After all, he had no
 
 238 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 rig-ht to burn them. He felt that they were 
 no long-er his property. They either be- 
 longed to the world of literature or to 
 Mary Horneck, as — as what? As a token 
 of affection which he bore her? But he 
 had promised Johnson to root out of his 
 heart whatever mig-ht remain of that which 
 he had admitted to be foolishness. 
 
 Alas ! alas 1 He sat up for hours in his 
 cold rooms thinking-, hoping, dreaming his 
 old dream that a day was coming when he 
 might without reproach put those verses 
 into the girl's hand — when, learning the 
 truth, she would understand. 
 
 And that time did come. 
 
 In the morning he found himself ready 
 to face the question of how to get posses- 
 sion of the letters. No man of his imagina- 
 tion could give his attention to such a mat- 
 ter without having suggested to him many 
 schemes for the attainment of his object. 
 But in the end he was painfully aware that 
 he had contrived nothing that did not in- 
 volve the risk of a criminal prosecution 
 against himself, and, as a consequence, the 
 discovery of all that Mary Horneck was 
 anxious to hide. 
 
 It was not until the afternoon that he 
 came to the conclusion that it would be un- 
 wise for him to trust to his own resources
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 239 
 
 in this particular affair. After all, he was 
 but a man ; it required the craft of a woman 
 to defeat the wiles of such a demon as he 
 had to deal with. 
 
 That he knew to be a wise conclusion to 
 come to. But where was the woman to 
 whom he could g-o for help? He wanted to 
 find a woman who was accustomed to the 
 wiles of the devil, and he believed that he 
 should have considerable difficulty in find- 
 ing- her. 
 
 He was, of course, wrong*. He had not 
 been considering- this aspect of the ques- 
 tion for long- before he thought of Mrs. 
 Abington, and in a moment he knew that he 
 had found a woman who could help him if 
 she had a mind to do so. Her acquaintance 
 with wiles he knew to be larg-e and varied, 
 and he liked her. 
 
 He liked her so well that he felt sure 
 she would help him — if he made it worth 
 her while; and he thought he saw his way to 
 make it worth her while- 
 He was so convinced he was on the way 
 to success that he became impatient at the 
 reflection that he could not possibly see 
 Mrs. Abing-ton until the evening-. But 
 while he was in this state his servant an- 
 nounced a visitor — one with whom he was
 
 240 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 not familiar, but who gave his name as 
 Colonel Gwyn. 
 
 Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel 
 Gwyn to be shown into the room. He 
 recollected having- met him at a dinner at 
 the Reynolds's, and once at the Hornecks' 
 house in Westminster ; but why he should 
 pay a visit to Brick Court Goldsmith was 
 at a loss to know. He, however, g-reeted 
 Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be 
 one of the most natural occurrences in the 
 world for him to appear at that particular 
 moment. 
 
 "^Dr. Goldsmith," said the visitor when 
 he had seated himself, "you have no doubt 
 every reason to be surprised at my taking 
 the liberty of calling upon you without first 
 communicating with you." 
 
 " Not at all, sir," said Goldsmith. " 'Tis 
 a great compliment you offer to me. Bear 
 in mind that I am sensible of it, sir." 
 
 "You are very kind, sir. Those who 
 have a right to speak on the subject have 
 frequently referred to you as the most gen- 
 erous of men." 
 
 "Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been 
 talking with some persons whose generos- 
 ity was more noteworthy than their judg- 
 ment."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 241 
 
 And once ag"aia he gave an example of 
 the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had so 
 successfully caricatured. 
 
 "Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thoug-ht so I 
 would not be here to-day. The fact is, sir, 
 that I — I — i' faith, sir, I scarce know how 
 to tell you how it is I appear before you in 
 this fashion." 
 
 " You do not need to have an excuse, I 
 do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You are a 
 friend of my best friend — Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds." 
 
 " Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I 
 would fain hope. In short. Dr. Goldsmith, 
 I am here because I know how hig-hly you 
 stand in the esteem of — of — well, of all the 
 members of the Horneck family." 
 
 It was now Goldsmith's turn to stam- 
 mer. He was so surprised by the way his 
 visitor introduced the name of the Hor- 
 necks he scarcely knew what reply to make 
 to him. 
 
 "I perceive that you are surprised, sir." 
 said Gwyn. 
 
 "No, no — not at all — that is — no, not 
 greatly surprised — only — well, sir, why 
 should you not be a friend of Mrs. Hor- 
 neck? Her son is like yourself, a soldier," 
 stammered Goldsmith.
 
 242 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "I have taken the liberty of calling 
 more than once during the past week or 
 two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith," 
 said Gwyn ; "but upon no occasion have I 
 been fortunate enough to see Miss Hor- 
 neck. They told me she was by no means 
 well." 
 
 "And they told you the truth, sir," said 
 Goldsmith somewhat brusquely. 
 
 " You know it then? Miss Horneck is 
 really indisposed ? Ah ! I feared that they 
 were merely excusing her presence on the 
 ground of illness. I must confess a head- 
 ache was not specified." 
 
 " Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are 
 not destitute of imagination. But why 
 should you fancy that you were being de- 
 ceived by them. Colonel Gwyn?" 
 
 Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not 
 freely. 
 
 "I thought that the lady herself might 
 think, perhaps, that I was taking a liberty," 
 he said somewhat awkwardly. 
 
 "Why should she think that. Colonel 
 Gwyn?" asked Goldsmith. 
 
 "Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see — sir, 
 you are, I know, a favoured friend of the 
 lady's — I perceived long ago — nay, it is 
 well known that she regards you with 
 great affection as a — no, not as a father — •
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 243 
 
 no, as — as an elder brother, that is it — 
 yes, as an elder brother; and jtherefore I 
 thoug-ht that I would venture to intrude 
 upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank 
 with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesi- 
 tate — as lam sure you could understand 
 that any man must — before declaring- my- 
 self to her. Now, it occurred to me. Dr. 
 Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it 
 to be a o-ross impertinence on my part if I 
 were toa?k you if you knew of the lady's 
 affections being- already eng-aged. I hope 
 you will be frank with me, sir." 
 
 Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at 
 the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was a 
 well built man of perhaps a year or two over 
 thirty. He sat upright on his chair — a trifle 
 stiffly, it might be thought by some people, 
 but that was pardonable in a military man. 
 He was also somewhat inclined to be pom- 
 pous in his manners; but any one could per- 
 ceive that they were the manners of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was 
 that the man who was to take Mary Ilorneck 
 away from him ? he asked himself. 
 
 He could not speak for some time after 
 his visitor had spoken. At last he gave a 
 little start.
 
 244 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 " You should not have come to me, sir," 
 he said slowly. 
 
 " I felt that I was taking- a great liberty, 
 sir," said Gwyn. 
 
 "On the contrary, sir, I feel that you 
 have honoured me with your confidence. 
 But — ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the 
 sort of man a lady would seek for a confi- 
 dant in any matter concerning her heart?" 
 
 "I thought it possible that she — Miss 
 Horneck — might have let you know. You 
 are not as other men. Dr. Goldsmith ; you 
 are a poet, and so she might naturally feel 
 that you would be interested in a love affair. 
 Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort 
 of — well, a sort of vested interest in the 
 love affairs of humanity, so to speak." 
 
 "Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, 
 I suppose, to compensate them for the emp- 
 tiness in their own hearts to which they 
 must become accustomed. I have heard of 
 childless women becoming the nurses to 
 the children of their happier sisters, and 
 growing- as fond of them as if they were 
 their own offspring. It is on the same prin- 
 ciple, I suppose, that poets become sympa- 
 thetically interested in the world of lovers, 
 which is quite apart from the world of 
 letters."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 245 
 
 Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking- his 
 visitor in the face. He had no difliciilty in 
 perceiving- that Colonel Gwyn failed to un- 
 derstand the exact appropriateness of what 
 he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted 
 as much. 
 
 " I protest, sir, I scarcely take your 
 meaning," he said. " But for that matter, 
 I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough 
 to make myself quite plain to you." 
 
 *'Oh, yes," said Goldsmith, "I think I 
 gathered from your words all that you came 
 hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you 
 are reluctant to subject yourself to the 
 humiliation of having your suit rejected by 
 the lady, and so you have come hither to try 
 and learn from me what are your chances 
 of success." 
 
 " How admirably you put the matter I" 
 said Gwyn. "And I fancied you did not 
 apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, 
 sir, what chance have I ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell, " said Goldsmith. " Miss 
 Horneck has never told me that she loved 
 any man." 
 
 " Then I have still a chance?" 
 
 "Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide 
 the story of their attachments to their 
 fathers — no, nor to their elder brothers. 
 But if you wish to consider your chances
 
 246 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would ven- 
 ture to advise you to go and stand in front 
 of a looking--glass and ask yourself if you 
 are the manner of man to whom a young- 
 lady would be likely to become attached. 
 Add to the effect of your personality — 
 which I think is great, sir — the glamour 
 that surrounds the profession in which you 
 have won distinction, and you will be able 
 to judge for yourself whether your suit 
 would be likely to be refused by the ma- 
 jority of young ladies." 
 
 " You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, 
 assuming for a moment that there is some 
 force in your words, I protest that they do 
 not reassure me. Miss Horneck, sir, is not 
 the lady to be carried away by the consider- 
 ations that would prevail in the eyes of 
 others of her sex." 
 
 " You have learned something of Miss 
 Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 "I think I have, sir. When I think of 
 her, I feel despondent. Does the man exist 
 who would be worthy of her love?" 
 
 " He does not. Colonel Gwyn. But that 
 is no reason why she may not love some 
 man. Does a woman only give her love to 
 one who is worthy of it ? It is fortunate 
 for men that that is not the way with 
 
 women."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 247 
 
 "It is fortunate; and in that reflection, 
 sir, I find my greatest consolation at the 
 present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. 
 Goldsmith — not as men g-o — there is in my 
 lifetime nothing- that I have cause to be 
 ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of 
 her sweetness, her purity, her tenderness, 
 I am overcome with a sense of my own pre- 
 sumption in aspiring- to win her. You think 
 me presumptuous in this matter, I am con- 
 vinced, sir." 
 
 "I do — I do. I know Mary Horneck." 
 
 "I g-ive you my word that I am better 
 satisfied with your agreement with me in 
 this respect than I should be if you were 
 to flatter me. Allow me to thank you for 
 your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not 
 sent me away without hope, and I trust that 
 I may assume. Dr. Goldsmith, that I have 
 your good wishes in this matter, which I 
 hold to be vital to my nappiness." 
 
 "Colonel Gwyn, my wishes — my prayers 
 to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may be 
 happy." 
 
 ' ' And I ask for nothing more, sir. There 
 is my hand on it." 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he 
 but dimly saw stretched out to him.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt 
 jealous of the young-er men who were un- 
 derstood to be admirers of the Jessamy 
 Bride. He had made humourous verses on 
 some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied 
 comic illustrations, and Mary and her sister 
 had had their laug-h. He could not even 
 now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, thoug-h 
 he knew that he was a more eligible suitor 
 than the majority whom he had met from 
 time to time at the Hornecks' house. He 
 knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared 
 the g-irl had no thoughts to give to love and 
 suitors. If Gwyn were to go to her imme- 
 diately and offer himself as a suitor he 
 would meet with a disappointment. 
 
 Yes; at the moment he had no reason to 
 feel jealous of the man who had just left 
 him. On the contrary, he felt that he had 
 a right to be exultant at the thought that it 
 was he — he — Oliver Goldsmith — who had 
 been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her 
 secret — with the duty of saving her from 
 the scoundrel who was persecuting her. 
 
 248
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 249 
 
 Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was 
 to him that this knight's enterprise had 
 fallen. 
 
 He felt that he had every reason to be 
 proud. He had been placed in a position 
 which was certainly quite new to him. He 
 was to compass the rescue of the maiden in 
 distress; and had he not heard of innumer- 
 able instances in which the reward of suc- 
 cess in such, an undertaking- was the hand 
 of the maiden? 
 
 For half an hour he felt exultant. He 
 had boldly faced an adverse fate all his life; 
 he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, 
 though the struggle had lasted all his life, 
 he had come out the conqueror. He had 
 become the most distinguished man of let- 
 ters in England. As Professor at the 
 Royal Academy his superiority had been 
 acknowledged by the most eminent men of 
 the period. And then, although he was 
 plain of face and awkward in manner — 
 nearly as awkward, if far from being so 
 offensive, as Johnson — he had been ap- 
 pointed her own knight by the loveliest girl 
 in England. He felt that he had reason to 
 exult. 
 
 But then the reaction came. He thought 
 of himself as compared with Colonel Gwyn 
 — he thought of himself as a suitor by the
 
 250 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 side of Colonel Gwyn. What would the 
 world say of a girl who would choose him 
 in preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had 
 told Gwyn to survey himself in a mirror in 
 order to learn what chance he would have 
 of being- accepted as the lover of a lovely 
 g-irl. Was he willing to apply the same 
 test to himself? 
 
 He had not the courage to glance toward 
 even the small glass which he had — a glass 
 which could reflect only a small portion of 
 his plainness. 
 
 He remained seated in his chair for a 
 long time, being saved from complete des- 
 pair only by the reflection that it was he 
 who was entrusted with the task of free- 
 ing Mary Horneck from the enemy who 
 had planned her destruction. This was his 
 one agreeable reflection, and after a time 
 it, too, became tempered by the thought 
 that all his task was still before him: he 
 had taken no step toward saving her. 
 
 He started up, called for a lamp, and 
 proceeded to dress himself for the evening. 
 He would dine at a coffee house in the 
 neighbourhood of Covent Garden Theatre, 
 and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room 
 while his play — in which she did not appear 
 — was being acted on the stage.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 251 
 
 He was unfortunate enough to meet 
 Bosvvell in the coflfee house, so that his 
 design of thinking out, while at dinner, the 
 course which he should pursue in regard to 
 the actress — how far he would be safe in 
 confiding in her — was frustrated. 
 
 The little Scotchman was in great grief: 
 Johnson had actually quarrelled with him 
 — well, not exactly quarrelled, for it re- 
 quired two to make a quarel, and Boswell 
 had steadily refused to contribute to such 
 a disaster. Johnson, however, was so over- 
 whelming a personality in Boswell's eyes 
 he could almost make a quarrel without the 
 assistance of a second person. 
 
 "Pshal Sir," said Goldsmith, "you 
 know as little of Dr. Johnson as you do of 
 the Irish nation and their characteristics." 
 
 " Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I 
 was getting to know him," said Boswell. 
 *'But now all is over; he will never see 
 me again." 
 
 "Nay, man, cannot you perceive that 
 he is only assuming this attitude in order 
 to give you a chance of knowing him bet- 
 ter?" said Goldsmith. 
 
 "For the life of me I cannot see how 
 that could be," cried Boswell after a con- 
 templative pause.
 
 252 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 *' Why, sir, you must perceive that he 
 wishes to impress you with a consciousness 
 of his g"enerosity." 
 
 "What, by quarrelling- with me and de- 
 claring that he would never see me again?" 
 
 *' No, not in that way, though I believe 
 there are some people who would feel that 
 it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's 
 part to remain secluded for a space in 
 order to give the rest of the world a chance 
 of talking together." 
 
 "What does it matter about the rest of 
 the world, sir ? " 
 
 " Not much, I suppose I should say, 
 since he means me to be his biographer." 
 
 Boswell, of course, utterly failed to ap- 
 preciate the sly tone in which the Irishman 
 spoke, and took him up quite seriously. 
 
 "Is it possible that he has been in com- 
 munication with you. Dr. Goldsmith?" he 
 cried anxiously. 
 
 "I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's 
 secrets, sir," replied Goldsmith, with an 
 affectation of the manner of the man who 
 a short time before had said that Shake- 
 speare was pompous. 
 
 " Now you are imitating him," said Bos- 
 well. " But I perceive that he has told you 
 of our quarrel — our misunderstanding. It 
 arose through you, sir."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 253 
 
 "Through me, sir?" 
 
 *' Throug-h the visit of your relative, the 
 Dean, after we had dined at the Crown and 
 Anchor. You see, he bound me down to 
 promise him to tell no one of that unhappy 
 occurrence, sir ; and yet he heard that Gar- 
 rick has lately been mimicking- the Dean — 
 yes, down to his very words, at the Rey- 
 nolds's, and so he came to the conclusion 
 that Garrick was made acquainted with the 
 whole story by me. He sent for me yester- 
 day, and upbraided me for half an hour." 
 
 "To whom did you give an account of 
 the affair, sir?" 
 
 " To no human being, sir." 
 
 "Oh, come now, you must have given it 
 to some one." 
 
 "To no one, sir — that is, no one from 
 whom Garrick could possibly have had the 
 story." 
 
 "Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that 
 it would be out of the question to expect 
 that you would hold your tongue on so 
 interesting a secret. Well, perhaps this 
 will be a lesson to you in the future. I 
 must not fail to make an entire chapter of 
 this in my biography of our great friend. 
 Perhaps you would do me the favour to 
 write down a clear and as nearly accurate 
 an account as your pride will allow of your
 
 254 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 quarrel with the Doctor, sir. Such an 
 account would be an amazing- assistance to 
 posterity in forming- an estimate of the 
 character of Johnson." 
 
 "Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humili- 
 ated by the reflection that my friendly rela- 
 tions with the man whom I revere more 
 than any living human being- are irretriev- 
 ably ruptured? You will not add to the 
 poig-nancy of that reflection by asking- me 
 to write down an account of our quarrel in 
 order to perpetuate so deplorable an in- 
 cident?" 
 
 "Sir, I perceive that you are as yet 
 ig-norant of the duties of the true bio- 
 grapher. You seem to think that a bio- 
 g-rapher has a right to pick and choose the 
 incidents with which he has to deal — that 
 he may, if he please, omit the mention of 
 any occurrence that may tend to show his 
 hero or his hero's friends in an unfavour- 
 able light. Sir, I tell you frankly that your 
 notions of biography are as erroneous as 
 they are mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a 
 more conscientious man, and so, sir, I in- 
 sist on your writing down while they are 
 still fresh in your mind the very words 
 that passed between you and Dr. Johnson 
 on this matter, and you will also furnish 
 mc with a list of the persons — if you have
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 255 
 
 not sufficient paper at your lodg-ings for 
 the purpose, you can order a ream at the 
 stationer's at the corner — to whom you 
 g-ave an account of the humiliation of Dr. 
 Johnson by the clergyman who claimed 
 relationship with me, but who was an im- 
 postor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; 
 do not seek to avoid so obvious a duty." 
 
 Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, 
 failed to detect the least gleam of a smile 
 on his face. 
 
 He rose from the table and walked out 
 of the coffee house without a word. 
 
 " Thank heaven I have got rid of that 
 Peeping Tom," muttered Goldsmith. "If 
 I had acted otherwise in regard to him I 
 should not have been out of hearing of his 
 rasping tongue until midnight. 
 
 (The very next morning a letter from 
 Boswell was brought to him. It told him 
 that he had sought Johnson the previous 
 evening, and had obtained his forgiveness. 
 "You were right, sir," the letter con- 
 cluded. "Dr. Johnson has still further 
 impressed me with a sense of his gener- 
 osity.") 
 
 But as soon as Boswell had been got rid 
 of Goldsmith hastened to the playhouse in 
 order to consult with the lady who — 
 through long practice — was, he believed,
 
 256 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 the most ably qualified of her sex to g'ive 
 him advice as to the best way of g-etting- the 
 better of a scoundrel. It was only when he 
 was entering- the green room that he rec- 
 ollected he had not yet made up his mind 
 as to the exact limitations he should put 
 upon his confidence with Mrs. Abington. 
 
 The beautiful actress was standing- in 
 one of those picturesque attitudes which 
 she loved to assume, at one end of the long- 
 room. The second act only of " She Stoops 
 to Conquer " had been reached, and as she 
 did not appear in the comedy, she had no 
 need to begin dressing for the next piece. 
 She wore a favourite dress of hers — one 
 which had taken the town by storm a few 
 months before, and which had been imi- 
 tated by every lady of quality who had 
 more respect for fashion than for herself. 
 It was a negligently flowing- gown of some 
 soft but heavy fabric, very low and loose 
 about the neck and shoulders. 
 
 "Ha, my little hero," cried the lady 
 when Goldsmith approached and made his 
 bow, first to a g"roup of players who stood 
 near the door, and then to Mrs. Abington. 
 "Ha, my little hero, whom have you been 
 drubbing last? Oh, lud ! to think of your 
 beating a critic 1 Your courag-e sets us all 
 a-dying- of envy. How we should love to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 257 
 
 pommel some of our critics ! There was a 
 rumour last night that the man had died, 
 Dr. Goldsmith." 
 
 *' The fellow would not pay such a trib- 
 ute to my powers, depend on't, madam," 
 said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Not if he could avoid it, I am certain," 
 said she. *' Faith, sir, you g-ave him a 
 pretty fair drubbing-, anyhow. ' Twas the 
 talk of the playhouse, I give you my word. 
 Some vastly pretty things were said about 
 you. Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your 
 head if I were to repeat them all. For in- 
 stance, a gentleman in this very room last 
 night said that it was the first case that had 
 come under his notice of a doctor's making 
 an attempt upon a man's life, except 
 through the legitimate professional chan- 
 nel." 
 
 "If all the pretty things that were 
 spoken were no prettier than that, Mrs. 
 Abington, you will not turn my head," said 
 Goldsmith. "Though, for that matter, I 
 vow that to effect such a purpose you only 
 need to stand before me in that dress — ay, 
 or any other." 
 
 " Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand 
 before such a fusillade of compliment — I 
 sink under it, sir — thus," and she made an 
 exquisite courtesy. "Talk of turning
 
 258 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 heads ! do you fancy that actresses' heads 
 are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Gold- 
 smith ? " 
 
 "I trust that their hearts are less so, 
 madam, for just now I am extremely anx- 
 ious that the heart of the most beautiful 
 and most accomplished should be moved," 
 said Goldsmith. 
 
 " You have only to g"ive me your w^ord 
 that you have written as g"Ood a comedy as 
 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part 
 for me in it than that of Miss Hardcastle." 
 
 "I have the design of one in my head, 
 madam." 
 
 " Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not 
 say anything- to turn your head. Dr. Gold- 
 smith, my heart is moved already. See how 
 easy it is for a great author to effect his 
 object where a poor actress is concerned. 
 And you have begun the comedy, sir?" 
 
 "I cannot begin it until I get rid of a 
 certain tragedy that is in the air. I want 
 your assistance in that direction." 
 
 "What! Do you mistake the farce of 
 drubbing a critic for a tragedy. Dr. Gold- 
 smith?" 
 
 *' Psha, madam ! What do you take me 
 for? Even if I were as poor a critic as 
 Kenrick I could still discriminate between
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 259 
 
 one and t'other. Can you give me half an 
 hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?" 
 
 "With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit 
 down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr. Gold- 
 smith." 
 
 " I need to do so, madam, as I think you 
 will allow when you hear all I have to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray 
 begin, sir." 
 
 " How shall I begin? Have you ever had 
 to encounter the devil, madam?" 
 
 "Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I 
 have not always prevailed against him as 
 successfully as you did in your encounter 
 with one of his family — a critic. Your 
 story promises to be more interesting than 
 your face suggested." 
 
 "I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abing- 
 ton, and I come to you for help." 
 
 "Then you must tell me if your devil is 
 male or female. If the former I think I can 
 promise you my help; if the latter, do not 
 count on me. When the foul fiend assumes 
 the form of an angel of light — which I take 
 to be the way St. Paul meant to convey the 
 idea of a woman — he is too powerful for 
 me, I frankly confess." 
 
 " Mine is a male fiend."
 
 260 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Not the manager of a theatre — another 
 form of the same hue? " 
 
 *'Nay, dear madam, there are degrees 
 of blackness." 
 
 "Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative 
 Baddeley, superlative Colman." 
 
 "If I could compose a phrase like that, 
 Mrs. Abington, I should be the greatest wit 
 in London, and ruin my life going from 
 coffee house to coffee house repeating it." 
 
 "Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I 
 made it, sir." 
 
 "How could I, madam, when you have 
 just told me that a she-devil was more than 
 you could cope with?' 
 
 »5>
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "And now, sir, to face the particulars — 
 to proceed from the fancy embroidery of 
 wit to the solid fabric of fact — who or what 
 is the ag-gressive demon that you want exor- 
 cised?" 
 
 "His name is Jackson — he calls himself 
 Captain Jackson," replied Oliver. He had 
 not made up his mind how much he should 
 tell of Mary Horneck's story. He blamed 
 Boswell for interrupting his consideration 
 of this point after he had dined; though it 
 is doubtful if he would have made any sub- 
 stantial advance in that direction even if 
 the unhappy Scotchman had not thrust him- 
 self and his grievance upon him. 
 
 "Jackson — Captain Jackson!" cried the 
 actress. "Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this is a 
 very little fiend that you ask me to help you 
 to destroy. Surely, sir, he can be crushed 
 without my assistance. One does not ask 
 for a battering-ram to overturn a house of 
 cards — one does not requisition a park of 
 artillery to demolish a sparrow." 
 
 261
 
 262 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 *' Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, 
 one should avail oneself of the power of a 
 piece of ordnance," said Goldsmith. " The 
 truth is, madam, that in this matter I repre- 
 sent only the blunder of the blunderbuss." 
 
 "If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never 
 get on. I know 'tis hard for you to avoid 
 it; but time is flying-. What has this Captain 
 Jackson been doing- thcit he must be sacri- 
 ficed? You must be straight with me." 
 
 *'I 'm afraid it has actually come to that. 
 Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief, there is a 
 lady in the question." 
 
 " Oh I you need scarce dwell on so inevit- 
 able an incident as that; I was waiting for 
 the lady." 
 
 "She is the most charming of her sex, 
 madam." 
 
 "I never knew one that wasn't. Don't 
 waste time over anything- that may be taken 
 for granted." 
 
 " Unhappily she was all unacquainted 
 with the wickedness of men." 
 
 " I wonder in what part of the world she 
 lived — certainly not in London." 
 
 "Staying- with a relation in the country 
 this fellow Jackson appeared upon the 
 scene " 
 
 "Ah! the most ancient story that the 
 world knows: Innocence, the garden, the
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 263 
 
 serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to 
 the Garden of Innocence, even though the 
 serpent be slaughtered." 
 
 "Pardon me, Mrs. Abington " — Gold- 
 smith spoke slowly and gravely — "pardon 
 me. This real story is not so common- 
 place as that of my Olivia. Destiny has 
 more resources than the most imaginative 
 composer of fiction." 
 
 In as direct a fashion as possible he told 
 the actress the pitiful story of how Mary 
 Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour 
 of the man who let it be understood that he 
 was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound 
 from taking any further part in the cam- 
 paign against the rebels in America; and 
 how he refused to return her the letters 
 which she had written to him, but had 
 threatened to print them in such a way as 
 would give them the appearance of having 
 been written by a guilty woman. 
 
 "The lady is prostrated with grief," he 
 said, concluding his story. " The very con- 
 templation of the possibility of her letters 
 being printed is killing her, and I am con- 
 vinced that she would not survive the shame 
 of knowing that the scoundrel had carried 
 out his infamous threat." 
 
 " 'Tis a sad story indeed," said Mrs. 
 Abington. " The man is as bad as bad can
 
 264 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 be. He claimed acquaintance with me on 
 that famous night at the Pantheon, thoug-h 
 I must confess that I had only a vague recol- 
 lection of meeting him before his regiment 
 was ordered across the Atlantic to quell the 
 rebellion in the plantations. Only two days 
 ago I heard that he had been drummed out 
 of the army, and that he had sunk to the low- 
 est point possible for a man to fall to in this 
 world. But surely you know that all the 
 fellow wants is to levy what was termed on 
 the border of Scotland ' blackmail ' upon 
 the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question 
 of guineas. Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive 
 that? You are a man?" 
 
 "That was indeed my first belief ; but, 
 on consideration, I have come to think that 
 he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of 
 the girl," said Goldsmith. 
 
 *'Psha! sir, I believe not in this high 
 standard of crime. I believe not in the self- 
 sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their 
 principles," cried the lady. " Go to the fel- 
 low with your guineas and shake them in a 
 bag under his nose, and you shall quickly 
 see how soon he will forego the dramatic 
 elements in his attitude, and make an 
 ignoble grab at the coins." 
 
 "You may be right," said he. "But 
 whence are the guineas to come, pray?"
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 265 
 
 "Surely the lady's friends will not see 
 her lost for the sake of a couple of hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " Nay ; but her aim is to keep the matter 
 from the ears of her friends! She would be 
 overcome with shame were it to reach their 
 ears that she had written letters of affection 
 to such a man." 
 
 "She must be a sing-ularly unpractical 
 young- lady, Dr. Goldsmith." 
 
 "If she had not been more than inno- 
 cent would she, think you, have allowed 
 herself to be imposed on by a stranger?" 
 
 "Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like 
 her in the world, you gentlemen who de- 
 light us with your works of fiction would 
 have to rely solely on your imagination; 
 and that means going to another world. 
 But to return to the matter before us; you 
 wish to obtain possession of the letters? 
 How do you suggest that I can help you to 
 accomplish that purpose? " 
 
 " Why, madam, it is you to whom I come 
 for suggestions. I saw the man in conver- 
 sation with you first at the Pantheon, and 
 then in this very room. It occurred to me 
 that perhaps — it might be possible — in 
 short, Mrs. Abington, that you might know 
 of some way by which the scoundrel could 
 be entrapped."
 
 266 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "You compliment me, sir. You think 
 that the entrapping- of unwary men — and 
 of wary — is what nature and art have 
 fitted me for — nature and practice? " 
 
 "I cannot conceive a hig-her compliment 
 being- paid to a woman, dear madam. But, 
 in truth, I came to you because you are the 
 only lady with whom I am acquainted who 
 with a kind heart combines the hig-hest 
 intellig-ence. That is why you are our 
 g-reatest actress. The hig-hest intellig-ence 
 is valueless on the stag-e unless it is asso- 
 ciated with a heart that beats in sympathy 
 with the sorrow and becomes exultant with 
 the joy of others. That is why I reg-ard 
 myself as more than fortunate in having- 
 your promise to accept a part in my next 
 comedy." 
 
 Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw 
 throug-h the very transparent art of the 
 author, reminding- her that she would have 
 her reward if she helped him out of his 
 difficulty. 
 
 "I can understand how ladies look on 
 you with g-reat favour, sir," said the actress. 
 "Yes, in spite of your being- — being- — ah 
 — innocent — a poet, and of possessing- 
 other disqualifications, you are a delightful 
 man, Dr. Goldsmith ; and by heaven, sir, I 
 shall do what I can to — to — well, shall we
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 267 
 
 say to put you in a position of earning- the 
 lady's gratitude? " 
 
 "That is the position I long- for, dear 
 madam." 
 
 "Yes, but only to have the privileg-e of 
 foreg-oing- your claim. I know you, Dr. 
 Goldsmith. Well, supposing- you come to 
 see me here in a day or two — that will give 
 both of us a chance of still further consider- 
 ing- the possibility of successfully entrap- 
 ping- our friend the Captain. I believe it 
 was the lady who sug-g-ested the trap to 
 you; you, being- a man, were doubtless for 
 running- your enemy throug-h the vitals or 
 for cutting- his throat without the delay of a 
 moment." 
 
 "Your judg-ment is unerring-, Mrs. 
 Abing-ton." 
 
 "Ah, you see, it is the birds that have 
 been in the trap who know most about it. 
 Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will 
 Shakespeare say, 'Some Cupid kills with 
 arrows, some with traps ' ? " 
 
 "Those are his words, madam, though 
 at this moment I cannot quite perceive their 
 bearing." 
 
 "Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's 
 mother's daughters resemble their little 
 step-brother in being fond of a change of 
 weapons, and you, sir, I perceive, have
 
 268 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 been the victim of a dart. Now, I must 
 hasten to dress for my part or there will 
 be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, 
 used to term 'ructions.' " 
 
 She g-ave him her hand with a delightful 
 smile and hurried off, but not before he had 
 bowed over her hand, imprinting- on it a 
 clumsy but very effective kiss. 
 
 He remained in the theatre until the 
 close of the performance; for he was not so 
 utterly devoid of guile as not to know that 
 if he had departed without witnessing Mrs. 
 Abington in the second piece she would 
 have regarded him as far from civil. See- 
 ing him in a side box, however, that clever 
 lady perceived that he had taste as well as 
 tact. She felt that it v/as a pleasure to do 
 anything- for such a man — especially as he 
 was a writer of plays. It would be an addi- 
 tional pleasure to her if she could so inter- 
 pret a character in a play of his that the 
 play should be the most notable success of 
 the season. 
 
 As Goldsmith strolled back to his cham- 
 bers he felt that he had made some prog- 
 ress in the enterprise with which he had 
 been entrusted. He did not feci elated, 
 but only tranquilly confident that his judg- 
 ment had not been at fault when it sutr- 
 gested to him the propriety of consulting
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 269 
 
 with Mrs. Abing-ton. This was the first time 
 that propriety and Mrs. Abington were 
 associated. 
 
 The next day he g-ot a message that the 
 success of his play was consolidated by a 
 " command " performance at which the 
 whole of his Majesty's Court would attend. 
 This news elated him, not only because it 
 meant the complete success of the play and 
 the overthrow of the sentimentalists who 
 were still harping- upon the " low "elements 
 of certain scenes, but also because he ac- 
 cepted it as an incident of g-ood augury. He 
 felt certain that Mrs. Abing-ton would have 
 discovered a plan by which he should be 
 able to get possession of the letters. 
 
 When he went to her after the lapse of a 
 few days, he found that she had not been 
 unmindful of his interests. 
 
 " The fellow had the effrontery to stand 
 beside my chair in the Mall yesterday," 
 said she, "but I tolerated him — nay, I en- 
 courag-ed him — not for your sake, mind; 
 I do not want you to fancy that you interest 
 me, but for the sake of the unhappy girl 
 who was so nearly making- a shocking- fool 
 of herself. Only one girl interests me 
 more than she who nearly makes a fool of 
 herself, and that is she who actually makes 
 the fool of herself."
 
 270 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Alas! alas! the latter is more widely- 
 represented in this evil world, Mrs. Abing-- 
 ton," said Oliver, so g-ravely that the ac- 
 tress roared with laughter. 
 
 " You have too fine a comedy face to be 
 sentimental. Dr. Goldsmith," she said. 
 "But to business. I tell you I even smiled 
 upon the gentleman, for I have found that 
 the traps which are netted with silk are in- 
 variably the most effective." 
 
 " You have found that by your experi- 
 ence of traps?" said Goldsmith. "The 
 smile is the silken net ? " 
 
 "Even so," said she, giving- an excel- 
 lent example of the fatal mesh. "Ah, Dr. 
 Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the 
 woman who smiles on you." 
 
 "Alas! madam, the caution is thrown 
 away upon me ; she smiles not on me, but 
 at me." 
 
 "Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm 
 will come to you through being smiled at. 
 How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the 
 wretch, in response to the encouragement 
 of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me 
 for my private address, upon which I 
 smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when 
 the fly begins to lure on the spider." 
 
 " 'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt 
 not — to the fly."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 271 
 
 *'Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But 
 we shall let that pass. Sir, to be brief, I 
 did not let the g-entleman know that I had a 
 private address, but I invited him to par- 
 take of supper with me on the next Thurs- 
 day nig-ht." 
 
 "Heavens! madam, you do not mean to 
 tell me that your interest on my behalf " 
 
 "Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup 
 with a spider? Sir, I say that I am only inter- 
 ested in my sister-fly — would she be ang-ry 
 if she were to hear that such a woman as I 
 even thought of her as a sister?" 
 
 There was a note of pathos in the ques- 
 tion, which did not fall unnoticed upon Gold- 
 smith's ear. 
 
 " Madam," said he, "she is a Christian 
 woman." 
 
 "Ah, Dr. Goldsmith," said the actress, 
 "a very small amount of Christian charity 
 is thought sufficient for the equipment of a 
 Christian woman. Let that pass, however; 
 what I want of you is to join us at supper 
 on Thursday night. It is to take place in 
 the Shakespeare tavern round the corner, 
 and, of course, in a private room ; but I do 
 not want you to appear boldly, as if I had 
 invited you beforehand to partake of my 
 hospitality. You must come into the room 
 when we have begun, carrying- with you a
 
 272 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 roll of manuscript, which you must tell me 
 contains a scene of your new comedy, upon 
 which we are daily in consultation, mind 
 you." 
 
 "I shall not fail to recollect," said Gold- 
 smith. "Why, 'tis like the arg-ument of a 
 comedy, Mrs. Abing-ton; I protest I never 
 invented one more elaborate. I rather fear 
 to enter upon it." 
 
 " Nay, you must be in no trepidation, 
 sir," said the lady. "I think I know the 
 powers of the various members of the cast 
 of this little drama of mine, so you need 
 not think that you will be put into a part 
 which you will not be able to play to per- 
 fection." 
 
 " You are giving- me a lesson in play- 
 writing". Pray continue the argument. 
 When I enter with the imaginary scene of 
 my new piece, you will, I trust, ask me to 
 remain to supper; you see I g-rudge the 
 g-entleman the pleasure of your society for 
 even an hour." 
 
 "I will ask you to join us at the table, 
 and then — well, then I have a notion that 
 between us we should have no g-reat diffi- 
 culty making- our friend drink a sufficient 
 quantity of wine to cause him to make known 
 all his secrets to us, even as to where he 
 keeps those precious letters of his."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 273 
 
 Oliver's face did not exhibit any expres- 
 sion that the actress could possibly inter- 
 pret as a flattering- tribute to her Ingenuity 
 — the fact being- that he was greatly disap- 
 pointed at the result of her contriving. Her 
 design was on a level of ingenuity with that 
 which might occur to a romantic school 
 miss. Of course the idea upon which it was 
 founded had formed the basis of more than 
 one comedy — he had a notion that if these 
 comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing- 
 ton's scheme would not have been so clearly 
 defined. 
 
 She perceived the expression on his 
 face and rightly interpeted it. 
 
 "What, sir!" she cried. "Do you fail 
 to perceive the singular ingenuity of my 
 scheme ? Nay, you must remember that 
 'tis my first attempt — not at scheming, to 
 be sure, but at inventing a design for a 
 play." 
 
 "I would not shrink from making use 
 of your design if I were writing a play, 
 dear lady," said he. "But then, you see, 
 it would be in my power to make my villain 
 speak at the right moments and hold his 
 peace at the right moments. It would also 
 be in my power to make him confess all 
 that was necessary for the situation. But 
 alas ! madam, it makes me sometimes quite
 
 274 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 hopeless of Nature to find how frequently 
 she disregards the most ordinary precepts 
 of art." 
 
 " Psha ! sir," said the actress. " Noth- 
 ing" in this world is certain. I am a poor 
 moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make 
 it the guide of my life. At the same time I 
 have noticed that, although one's carefully 
 arranged plans are daily thrown into ter- 
 rible disorder by the slovenliness of the 
 actors to whom we assign certain parts and 
 certain dialogue, yet in the end nature 
 makes even a more satisfactory drama out 
 of the ruins of our schemes than we origin- 
 ally designed. So, in this case, sir, I am 
 not without hope that even though our 
 gentleman's lips remain sealed — nay, even 
 though our gentleman remain sober — a 
 great calamity — we may still be able to 
 accomplish our purpose. You will keep 
 your ears open and I shall keep my eyes 
 open, and it will be strange if between us 
 we cannot get the better of so common- 
 place a scoundrel." 
 
 "I place myself unreservedly in your 
 hands, madam," said Oliver; "and I can 
 only repeat what you have said so well — 
 namely, that even the most clumsy of our 
 i^chemes — which this one of yours cer- 
 tainly is not — may become the basis of a
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 275 
 
 most ing-enious drama, designed and car- 
 ried out by that singularly adroit play- 
 wright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail 
 you on Thursday evening."
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 Goldsmith for the next few days felt 
 very ill at ease. He had a consciousness of 
 having" wasted a g-ood deal of valuable time 
 waiting- upon Mrs. Abington and discussing- 
 with her the possibility of accomplishing- 
 the purpose which he had at heart; for he 
 could not but perceive how shallow was the 
 scheme which she had devised for the un- 
 doing- of Mary Horneck's enemy. He felt 
 that it would, after all, have been better for 
 him to place himself in the hands of the 
 fencing-master whom Baretti had promised 
 to find out for him, and to do his best to run 
 the scoundrel throug^h the body, than to 
 waste his time listening- to the crude scheme 
 concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imita- 
 tion of some third-class playwright. 
 
 He felt, however, that he had committed 
 himself to the actress and her scheme. It 
 would be impossible for him to draw back 
 after agreeing to join her at supper on the 
 Thursday night. But this fact did not 
 prevent his exercising- his imagination with 
 a view to find out some new plan for obtain- 
 
 276
 
 THE jESSAMY BRIDE 277 
 
 ing- possession of the letters. Thursday 
 came, however, without seeing- him any 
 further advanced in this direction than he 
 had been when he had first gone to the 
 actress, and he began to feel that hopeless- 
 ness which takes the form of hoping for 
 the intervention of some accident to effect 
 what ingenuity has failed to accomplish* 
 Mrs. Abington had suggested the possi- 
 bility of such an accident taking place — in 
 fact, she seemed to rely rather upon the 
 possibility of such an occurrence than upon 
 the ingenuity of her own scheme; and 
 Oliver could not but think that she was 
 right in this respect. He had a considera- 
 ble experience of life and its vicissitudes, 
 and he knew that when destiny was in a 
 jesting mood the most judicious and cun- 
 ningly devised scheme may be overturned 
 by an accident apparently no less trivial 
 than the raising of a hand, the fluttering of 
 a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby. 
 
 He had known of a horse's casting a 
 shoe preventing- a runaway match and a 
 vast amount of consequent misery, and he 
 had heard of a shower of rain causing a 
 confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a 
 doorway, where he met a young woman 
 who changed — for a time — all his ideas of 
 the sex. As he recalled these and other
 
 278 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 freaks of fate, he could not but feel that 
 Mrs. Abing-ton was fully justified in her 
 confidence in accident as a factor in all 
 human problems. But he was quite aware 
 that hoping- for an accident is only another 
 form of despair. 
 
 In the course of the day appointed by 
 Mrs. Abing-ton for her supper he met 
 Baretti, and reminded him of the promise 
 he had made to find an Italian fencing- 
 master and send him to Brick Court. 
 
 "What!" cried Baretti. "Have you 
 another affair on your hands in addition 
 to that in which you have already been 
 engaged? Psha! sir. You do not need to 
 be a swordsman in order to flog a book- 
 seller." 
 
 "I do not look forward to fighting book- 
 sellers," said Goldsmith. " They have 
 stepped between me and starvation more 
 than once." 
 
 "Would any one of them have taken 
 that step unless he was pretty certain to 
 make money by his philanthropy?" asked 
 Baretti in his usual cynical way. 
 
 "I cannot say," replied Goldsmith. "I 
 don't think that I can lay claim to the mor- 
 tifying reflection that I have enriched any 
 bookseller. At any rate, I do not mean ever 
 to beat another."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 279 
 
 " 'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to 
 attack? If you have made up your mind to 
 kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find 
 you the best swordsman in Europe," said 
 Baretti. 
 
 "Do so, my friend," said Goldsmith; 
 and when I succeed in killing- a critic, you 
 shall have the first and second fingers of 
 his rig-ht hand as a memento." 
 
 "I shall look for them — yes, in five 
 years, for it will certainly take that time to 
 make you expert with a sword," said the 
 Italian. "And, meantime, you may your- 
 self be cut to pieces by even so indifferent 
 a fig-hter as Kenrick." 
 
 " In such a case I promise to bequeath 
 to you whatever bones of mine you may 
 take a fancy to have." 
 
 "And I shall regard them with great 
 veneration, being the relics of a martyr — a 
 man who did not fear to fight with dragons 
 and other unclean beasts. You may look 
 for a visit from a skilful countryman of 
 mine within a week; only let me pray of 
 you to be guided by his advice. If he should 
 say that it is wiser for you to beware the 
 entrance to a quarrel, as your poet has it, 
 you will do well to accept his advice. I do 
 not want a poet's bones for my reliquary, 
 though from all that I can hear one of our
 
 280 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 friends would have no objection to a limb 
 or two." 
 
 "And who may that friend be?" 
 
 " You should be able to g-uess, sir. 
 What! have you not been negotiating- with 
 the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?" 
 
 " Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing 
 so, what then?" 
 
 "What then? Why, then you may count 
 upon the eternal enmity of the little Scotch- 
 man whom you once described not as a cur 
 but only a bur. Sir, Boswell robbed of his 
 Johnson would be worse than — than " 
 
 " A lioness robbed of her whelps?" 
 
 " Well, better say a she-bear robbed of 
 her cubs, only that Johnson is the bear and 
 Boswell the cub. Boswell has been g"oing- 
 about saying- that you had boasted to him 
 of your intention to become Johnson's bio- 
 grapher; and the best of the matter is that 
 Johnson has entered with great spirit into 
 the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on 
 thistles — reminiscent of his native land — 
 ever since." 
 
 Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti 
 how he had occasion to g-et rid of Boswell, 
 and had done so by pretending that he 
 meant to write a life of Johnson. Baretti 
 laughed and went on to describe how, on the 
 previous evening, Garrick had drawn on
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 281 
 
 Boswell until the latter had imitated all the 
 animals in the farmyard, while narrating-, 
 for the thousandth time, his first appear- 
 ance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had 
 felt quite flattered, Baretti said, when Gar- 
 rick, making- a judicial speech, which every 
 one present except Boswell perceived to be 
 a fine piece of comedy, said he felt con- 
 strained to reverse the judgment of the 
 man in the pit who had shouted: " Stick to 
 the coo, mon ! " On the whole, Garrick said, 
 he thought that, while Boswell's imitation 
 of the cow was most admirable in many 
 respects, yet for naturalness it was his 
 opinion — whatever it might be worth — that 
 the voice of the ass was that which Boswell 
 was most successful in attempting. 
 
 Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's 
 broadest bufifoonery was on occasions ac- 
 cepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and 
 he had no hesitation in believing Baretti's 
 account of the party on the previous 
 evening. 
 
 He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the 
 theatre early in the night to inquire if she 
 had made any change in her plans respect- 
 ing the supper, and he found that the lady 
 had come to think as poorly of the scheme 
 which she had invented as he did. She had 
 even abandoned her idea of inducing the
 
 282 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 man to confess, when in a state of intoxica- 
 tion, where he was in the habit of keeping- 
 the letters. 
 
 "These fellows are sometimes desper- 
 ately suspicious when in their cups," said 
 she; "and I fear that at the first hint of our 
 purpose he may become dumb, no matter 
 how boldly he may have been talking- pre- 
 viously. If he suspects that you have a 
 desire to obtain the letters, you may say 
 farewell to the chance of worming anything 
 out of him regarding them." 
 
 " What then is to be gained by our slip- 
 ping with him?" said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Why, you are brought into contact 
 with him," she replied. " You will then be 
 in a position, if you cultivate a friendship 
 with him, to take him unawares upon some 
 occasion, and so effect your purpose. Grea^ 
 heavens, sirl one cannot expect to take a 
 man by storm, so to speak — one cannot hope 
 to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour 
 in the evening, and then walk away with all 
 his secrets. You may have to be with this 
 fellow every day for a month or two before 
 you get a chance of putting the letters into 
 your pocket." 
 
 "I'll hope for better luck than that," 
 said Oliver.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 283 
 
 " Oh, with g-ood luck one can accomplish 
 anything"," said she. " But good luck is 
 just one of the thing's that cannot be ar- 
 ranged for even by the cleverest people." 
 
 " That is where men are at a disadvant- 
 age in striving with destiny," said Gold- 
 smith. "But I think that any man who 
 succeeds in having Mrs. Abington as his 
 ally must be regarded as the most fortu- 
 nate of his sex." 
 
 "Ah, sir, wait for another month before 
 you compliment me," said she. 
 
 "Madam," said he, "I am not compli- 
 menting you, but myself. I will take your 
 advice and reserve my compliments to you 
 for — well, no, not a month ; if I can put 
 them off for a week I shall feel that I have 
 done very well." 
 
 As he made his bow and left her, he 
 could not help feeling more strongly that 
 he had greatly overrated the advantages to 
 be derived from an alliance with Mrs. Ab- 
 ington when his object was to get the bet- 
 ter of an adroit scoundrel. He had heard 
 — nay, he had written — of the wiles of 
 women, and yet the first time that he had 
 an opportunity of testing a woman's wiles 
 he found that he had been far too generous 
 in his estimate of their value.
 
 284 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 It was with no little trepidation that he 
 went to the Shakespeare tavern at supper 
 time and inquired for Mrs. Abing-ton. He 
 had a roll of manuscript in his hand, accord- 
 ing- to agreement, and he desired the waiter 
 to inform the lady that he would not keep 
 her for long-. He was very fluent up to 
 this point ; but he was uncertain how he 
 would behave when he found himself face 
 to face with the man who had made the life 
 of Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered 
 if he would be able to restrain his impulse 
 to fly at the scoundrel's throat. 
 
 When, however, the waiter returned 
 with a messag-e from Mrs. Abing-ton that 
 she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper 
 room, and he ascended the stairs to that 
 apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He 
 had nerved himself to play a part, and he 
 was convinced that the role was not beyond 
 his powers. 
 
 Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his 
 entrance, was lying back in her chair laugh- 
 ing, apparently at a story which was being 
 told to her by her vis-d-vis, for he was lean- 
 ing across the table, with his elbow resting 
 upon it and one expressive finger upraised 
 to give emphasis to the points of his nar- 
 rative.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 285 
 
 When Goldsmith appeared, the actress 
 nodded to him familiarly, pleasantly, but 
 did not allow her attention to be diverted 
 from the story which Captain Jackson was 
 telling- to her. Goldsmith paused with his 
 fing-ers still on the handle of the door. He 
 knew that the most inopportune entrance 
 that a man can make upon another is when 
 the other is in the act of telling- a story to 
 an appreciative audience — say, a beautiful 
 actress in a g-own that allows her neck and 
 shoulders to be seen to the g-reatest advan- 
 tag-e and does not interfere with the ebb 
 and flow of that roseate tide, with its g-ra- 
 cious ripples and delicate wimplings, rising- 
 and falling- between the porcelain of her 
 throat and the curve of the ivory of her 
 shoulders. 
 
 The man did not think it worth his 
 while to turn around in recognition of Gold- 
 smith's entrance ; he finished his story and 
 received Mrs. Abington's tribute of a laugh 
 as a matter of course. Then he turned his 
 head round as the visitor ventured to take 
 a step or two toward the table, bowing pro- 
 fusely — rather too profusely for the part 
 he was playing, the artistic perception of 
 the actress told her. 
 
 " Ha, my little author ! " cried the man 
 at the table with the swagger of a patron.
 
 286 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "You are true to the tradition of the craft 
 of scribblers — the best time for putting- in 
 an appearance is when supper has just 
 been served." 
 
 "Ah, sir," said Goldsmith, "we poor 
 devils are forced to wait upon the conven- 
 ience of our betters." 
 
 "Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity 
 you do not await their convenience in an 
 ante-room — ay, or the kitchen. I have 
 heard that the scribe and the cook usually 
 become the best of friends. You poets 
 write best of broken hearts when you are 
 sustained by broken victuals." 
 
 " For shame. Captain ! " cried Mrs Ab- 
 ing-ton. " Dr. Goldsmith is a man as well 
 as a poet. He has broken heads before 
 now."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Captain Jackson laug-hed heartily at so 
 quaint an idea, throwing- himself back in 
 his chair and pointing- a contemptuous 
 thumb at Oliver, who had advanced to the 
 side of the actress, assuming- the depreca- 
 tory smile of the bookseller's hack. He 
 played the part very indifferently, the lady 
 perceived. 
 
 "Faith, my dear," laug-hed the Captain, 
 "I would fain believe that he is a terrible 
 person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he 
 nearly had his head broke by me on the 
 first night that you went to the Pantheon ; 
 and I swear that I never crack a skull 
 unless it be that of a person who is accus- 
 tomed to spread terror around." 
 
 "Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so 
 easily cracked," said Mrs. Abington. 
 
 "Nay, my dear madam," cried her vis- 
 d-vis, "you must pardon me for saying that 
 I do not think you express your meaning 
 with any great exactness. I take it that 
 you mean, madam, that on the well known 
 kitchen principle that cracked objects last 
 
 287
 
 288 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 long-er than others, a poet's pate, being- 
 cracked orig-inally, survives the assaults 
 that would overcome a sound head." 
 
 "I meant nothing- like that, Captain," 
 said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned to 
 Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll 
 of manuscript. "Come, Dr. Goldsmith," 
 she cried, "seat yourself by me, and par- 
 take of supper. I vow that I will not even 
 glance at that act of your new play which I 
 perceive you have brought to me, until we 
 have supped." 
 
 "Nay, madam," stuttered Goldsmith; 
 " I have already had my humble meal ; 
 still " 
 
 He glanced from the dishes on the table 
 to Captain Jackson, who gave a hoarse 
 laugh, crying — 
 
 " Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the 
 trade were about to be violated by our most 
 admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that 
 he would allow himself to be persuaded. 
 But I swear that he has no regard for the 
 romance which he preaches, or else he 
 would not form the third at a party. Has 
 he never heard that the third in a party is 
 the inevitable kill-joy ? " 
 
 " You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, 
 Captain," said the actress in smiling re- 
 monstrance that seemed to beg of him to
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 289 
 
 take an indulg-ent view of the poet's weak- 
 ness. " You wrong- him, sir. Dr. Gold- 
 smith is a man of parts. He is a wit as 
 well as a poet, and he will not stay very 
 long; will you, Dr. Goldsmith?" 
 
 She acted the part so well that but for 
 the side glance which she cast at him. Gold- 
 smith might have believed her to be in 
 earnest. For his own part he was acting 
 to perfection the role of the hack author who 
 was patronised till he found himself in the 
 gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way 
 as he laid down his hat beside a chair over 
 which Jackson's cloak was flung, and placed 
 in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to 
 seating himself. 
 
 "Madam, lam your servant," he mur- 
 mured; "Sir, I am your most obedient to 
 command. I feel the honour of being per- 
 mitted to sup in such distinguished com- 
 pany." 
 
 "And so you should, sir," cried Captain 
 Jackson as the waiter bustled about, laying 
 a fresh plate and glass, " so you should. 
 Your grand patrons, my little friend, though 
 they may make a pretence of saving you 
 from slaughter by taking your quarrel on 
 their shoulders, are not likely to feed you 
 at their own table. Lord, how that piece 
 of antiquity, General Oglethorpe, swag-
 
 290 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 g-ered across the porch at the Pantheon 
 when I had half a mind to chastise you for 
 your clumsiness in almost knocking me 
 over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink 
 of teaching- the General a lesson which he 
 would have remembered to his dying- hour 
 — his dying- hour — that is to say, for exactly 
 four minutes after I had drawn upon him." 
 
 "Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his 
 friends," said Mrs. Abing-ton. "But I hope 
 that in future, Captain, he may reckon on 
 your sword being- drawn on his behalf, and 
 not turned against him and his friends." 
 
 "If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. 
 Abington, he may count upon me, I swear," 
 cried the Captain bowing over the table." 
 
 " Good," she said. "And so I call upon 
 you to drink to his health — a bumper, sir, 
 a bumper!" 
 
 The Captain showed no reluctance to pay 
 the suggested compliment. With an air of 
 joviality he filled his large glass up to the 
 brim and drained it with a good-humoured, 
 half -patronising motion in the direction of 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 "Hang himl" he cried, when he had 
 wiped his lips, "I bear Goldsmith no malice 
 for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pan- 
 theon. "'Sdeath, madam, shall the man 
 who led a company of his Majesty's regulars
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 291 
 
 in charg-e after charge upon the American 
 rebels, refuse to drink to the health of a 
 little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the 
 man at the raree show does his bells? Strike 
 me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not mag- 
 nanimous to my heart's core. I '11 drink 
 his health again if you challenge me." 
 
 *'Nay, Captain," said the lady, "I '11 be 
 magnanimous, too, and refrain from chal- 
 lenging you. I sadly fear that you have 
 been drinking too many healths during the 
 day, sir." 
 
 "What mean you by that, madam?" he 
 cried. "Do you suggest that I cannot carry 
 my liquor with the best men at White's? 
 If you were a man, and you gave a hint in 
 that direction, by the Lord, it would be the 
 last that you would have a chance of 
 offering." 
 
 " Nay, nay, sir! I meant not tbat," said 
 the actress hastily. "I will prove to you 
 that I meant it not by challenging you to 
 drink to Dr. Goldsmith's new comedy." 
 
 "Now you are very much my dear," 
 said Jackson, half- emptying the brandy 
 decanter into his glass and adding only a 
 thimbleful of water. " Yes, your confi- 
 dence in me wipes out the previous affront. 
 'Sblood, madam, shall it be said that Dick 
 Jackson, whose name made the American
 
 292 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 rebels — curse 'em! — turn as g-reen as their 
 own coats — shall it be said that Dick Jack- 
 son, of whom the rebel Colonel — Washing- 
 ton his name is — Georg-e Washington" — 
 he had considerable difficulty over the name 
 — " is accustomed to say to this day, ' Give 
 me a hundred men — not men, but lions, 
 like that devil Dick Jackson, and I '11 sweep 
 his Majesty's forces into the Potomac ' — 
 shall it be said that — that — what the devil 
 was I about to say — shall it be said ? — never 
 mind — here 's to the health of Colonel Wash- 
 ington!" 
 
 "Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of 
 the King's enemies," said Mrs. Abington, 
 rising. " 'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do 
 so in this place; and, sir, you still wear the 
 King's uniform." 
 
 "The devil take the King's uniform ! " 
 shouted the man. " The devils of rebels 
 are taking a good many coats of that uni- 
 form, and let me tell you, madam, that — 
 nay, you must not leave the table until the 
 
 toast is drank " Mrs. Abington having 
 
 risen, had walked across the room and 
 seated herself on the chair over which Cap- 
 tain Jackson had flung his cloak. 
 
 "Hold, sir," cried Goldsmith, dropping 
 his knife and fork with a clatter upon his 
 plate that made the other man give a little
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 293 
 
 jump. '* Hold, sir, I perceive that you are 
 on the side of freedom, and I would feel 
 honoured by your permission to drink the 
 toast that you propose. Here's success to 
 the cause that will triumph in America." 
 
 Jackson, who was standing- at the table 
 with his glass in his hand, stared at him 
 with the smile of a half-intoxicated man. 
 He had just enough intellig-ence remaining- 
 to make him aware that there was some- 
 thing- ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast. 
 
 "It sounds all right," he muttered as if 
 he were trying to convince himself that his 
 suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. 
 "It sounds all right, and yet, strike me 
 dizzy I if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, 
 my little poet," he continued. "I 'm glad to 
 see that you are a man. Drink, sir — drink 
 to the success of the cause in America." 
 
 Goldsmith got upon his feet and raised 
 his glass — it contained only a light wine. 
 
 "Success to it!" he cried, and he 
 watched Captain Jackson drain his third 
 tumbler of brandy. 
 
 "Hark ye, my little poet!" whispered 
 the latter very huskily, lurching across the 
 table, and failing to notice that his hostess 
 had not returned to her place. " Hark yc, 
 sir! Cornwallis thought himself a general 
 of generals. He thought when he court-
 
 294 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 martialled me and turned me out of the 
 reg-iment, sending- me back to Eng-land in a 
 foul hulk from Boston port, that he had g-ot 
 rid of me. He '11 find out that he was mis- 
 taken, sir, and that one of these days 
 
 Mum 's the word, mind you ! If you open 
 your lips to any human being about this, 
 I '11 cut you to pieces. I '11 flay you alive! 
 Washington is no better than Cornwallis, 
 let me tell you. "What message did he send 
 me when he heard that I was ready to blow 
 Cornwallis's brains out and march my com- 
 pany across the Potomac? I ask you, sir, 
 man to man — though a poet isn't quite a 
 man — but that 's my generosity. Said 
 Washy — Washy — Wishy — Washy — Wash- 
 ington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been 
 such valuable allies to the colonists, Colonel 
 Washington would regard as his enemy any 
 man who would make the attempt to curtail 
 their capacity for blundering.' That 's the 
 message I got from Washington, curse himl 
 But the Colonel isn't everybody. Mark me, 
 my friend — whatever your name is — I 've 
 got letters — letters " 
 
 "Yes, yes, you have letters — where?'* 
 cried Goldsmith, in the confidential whisper 
 that the other had assumed. 
 
 The man who was leaning across the 
 table stared at him hazily, and then across
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 295 
 
 his face there came the cunning look of the 
 more than half-intoxicated. He straight- 
 ened himself as well as he could in his chair, 
 and then swayed limply backward and for- 
 ward, laughing. 
 
 "Letters — oh, yes — plenty of letters 
 — but where ?^ — where? — that 's my own 
 matter — a secret," he murmured in vague 
 tones. "The government would give a 
 guinea or two for my letters — one of them 
 came from Mount Vernon itself, Mr. — 
 whatever your name maybe — and if you 
 ■went to Mr. Secretary and said to him, 'Mr. 
 Secretary'" — he pronounced the word 
 " Secrary " — " ' I know that Dick Jackson 
 is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, ' Where 
 are the letters to prove it?' where would 
 you be, my clever friend? No, sir, my 
 brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or 
 sober. Hallo, where 's the lady ? " 
 
 He seemed suddenly to recollect where 
 lie was. He straightened himself as well 
 as he could, and looked sleepily across the 
 room. 
 
 "I am here," cried Mrs. Abington, leav- 
 ing the chair, across the back of which 
 Jackson's coat was thrown. *'I am here, 
 sir ; but I protest I shall not take my place 
 at the table again while treason is in the 
 
 air."
 
 296 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 '* Treason, madam ? Who talks of trea- 
 son ? " cried the man with a lurch forward 
 and a wave of the hand. " Madam, I 'm 
 shocked — quite shocked ! I wear the 
 King's coat, thoug-h that cloak is my own — 
 my own, and all that it contains — all that 
 
 His voice died away in a drunken fash- 
 ion as he stared across the room at his 
 cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of 
 suspicion come over his face ; he saw him 
 straig-hten himself and walk with an affec- 
 tation of steadiness that only emphasised 
 his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where 
 the cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak 
 and run his hand down the lining- until he 
 came to a pocket. With eag"er eyes he saw 
 him extract from the pocket a leathern 
 wallet, and with a sig-h of relief slip it fur- 
 tively into the bosom of his long- waistcoat, 
 where, apparently, there was another 
 packet. 
 
 Goldsmith g-lanced toward Mrs. Abing- 
 ton. She was sitting- leaning- over her chair 
 with a fing-er on her lips, and the same look 
 of mischief that Sir Joshua Reynolds trans- 
 ferred to his picture of her as " Miss 
 Prue." She g-ave a g-lance of smiling- in- 
 tellig-ence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed 
 coarsely, saying huskily —
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 297 
 
 "A handkerchief — I thought I had left 
 my handkerchief in the pocket of my cloak, 
 and 'tis as well to make sure — that's my 
 motto. And now, my charmer, you will see 
 that I 'm not a man to dally with treason, 
 for I'll challenge you in a bumper to the 
 King-'s most excellent Majesty. Fill up 
 your glass, madam ; fill up yours, too, Mr. 
 — Mr. Killjoy, we '11 call you, for what the 
 devil made you show your ugly face here 
 the fiend only knows. Mrs. Baddeley and 
 I are the best of good friends. Isn't that 
 the truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley ? Come, 
 drink to my toast — whatever it may be — 
 or, by the Lord, I '11 run you through the 
 vitals 1 " 
 
 Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the 
 decanter with whatever brandy remained 
 in it, and in another instant the decanter 
 was empty and the man's glass was full. 
 Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted 
 glass before Jackson had managed to raise 
 himself, by the aid of a heavy hand on the 
 table, into a standing attitude, murmuring — 
 
 "Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend 
 there, the voluptuous Mrs. Baddeley. My 
 dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to 
 welcome you to my table, and to drink to 
 your health, dear madam."
 
 298 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 He swallowed the contents of the tum- 
 bler — his fourth since he had entered the 
 room — and the next instant he had fallen 
 in a heap into his chair, drenched by the 
 contents of Mrs. Abing-ton's g-lass. 
 
 "That is how I accept your toast of 
 Mrs. Baddeley, sir," she cried, standing- at 
 the head of the table with the dripping" 
 glass still in her hand. '* You drunken sot I 
 not to be able to disting-uish between me 
 and Sophia Baddeley ! I can stand the in- 
 sult no long-er. Take yourself out of my 
 room, sir ! " 
 
 She gave the broad ribbon of the bell 
 such a pull as nearly brought it down. 
 Goldsmith having started up, stood with 
 amazement on his face watching her, while 
 the other man also stared at her through 
 his drunken stupour, his jaw fallen. 
 
 Not a word was spoken until the waiter 
 entered the room. 
 
 *' Call a hackney coach immediately for 
 that gentleman," said the actress, pointing 
 to the man who alone remained — for the 
 best of reasons — seated. 
 
 " A coach ? Certainly, madam," said the 
 waiter, withdrawing with a bow. 
 
 "Dr. Goldsmith," resumed Mrs. Abing- 
 ton, " may I beg of you to have the good- 
 ness to see that person to his lodgings and
 
 ''l'li;U Is hiiw I .-icccjil votir to/ist <>f Mrs Ihuhklcv, sir!' 
 she cried."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 299 
 
 to pay the cost of the hackney-coach ? He 
 is not entitled to that consideration, but I 
 liave a wish to treat him more g-enerously 
 than he deserves. His address is Whet- 
 stone Park, I think we may assume; and so 
 Heave you, sir." 
 
 She walked from the room with her chin 
 in the air, both of the men watching- her 
 with such surprise as prevented either of 
 them from uttering- a word. It was only 
 when she had gone that it occurred to Gold- 
 smith that she was acting her part admir- 
 ably — that she had set herself to give him 
 an opportunity of obtaining possession of 
 the wallet which she, as well as he, had seen 
 Jackson transfer from the pocket of his 
 cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he 
 should have no great difficulty in extracting 
 the bundle from the man's pocket when in 
 the coach. 
 
 " They 're full of their whimsies, these 
 wenches," were the first words spoken, 
 with a free wave of an arm, by the man who 
 had failed in his repeated attempts to lift 
 himself out of his chair. " What did I say ? 
 — what did I do to cause that spitfire to 
 behave like that? I feel hurt, sir, more 
 deeply hurt than I can express, at her be- 
 haviour. What 's her name — I 'm not sure 
 if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Badde-
 
 300 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 ley ? Anyhow, she insulted me grossly — 
 me, sir — me, an officer who has charg-ed 
 his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of 
 Virginia, where the Potomac flows down 
 to the sea. But they 're all alike. I could 
 tell you a few stories about them, sir, that 
 would open your eyes, for I have been their 
 darling always." Here he began to sing a 
 tavern song in a loud but husky tone, for 
 the brandy had done its work very effect- 
 ively, and he had now reached what might 
 be called — somewhat paradoxically — the 
 high-water mark of intoxication. He was 
 still singing when the waiter re-entered the 
 room to announce that a hackney carriage 
 was waiting at the door of the tavern. 
 
 At the announcement the drunken man 
 made a grab for a decanter and flung it at 
 the waiter's head. It missed that mark, 
 however, and crashed among the plates 
 which were still on the table, and in a mo- 
 ment the landlord and a couple of his bar- 
 men were in the room and on each side of 
 Jackson. He made a poor show of resist- 
 ance when they pinioned his arms and 
 pushed him down the stairs and lifted him 
 into the hackney-coach. The landlord and 
 his assistants were accustomed to deal 
 with promptitude with such persons, and
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 301 
 
 they had shut the door of the coach before 
 Goldsmith reached the street. 
 
 "Hold on, sir," he cried, "I am accom- 
 panying- that g-entleman to his lodging-." 
 
 '*Nay, Doctor," whispered the landlord, 
 who was a friend of his, " the fellow is a 
 brawler — he will involve you in a quarrel 
 before you reach the Strand." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I will g-o, my friend," 
 said Oliver. "The lady has laid it upon 
 me as a duty, and I must obey her at all 
 hazards." 
 
 He g-ot into the coach, and shouted out 
 the address to the driver.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The instant he had seated himself he 
 found to his amazement that the man beside 
 him was fast asleep. To look at him lying- 
 in a heap on the cushions one mig"ht have 
 fancied that he had been sleeping- for hours 
 rather than minutes, so composed was he. 
 Even the jolting of the starting coach made 
 no impression upon him. 
 
 Goldsmith perceived that the moment 
 for which he had been longing had arrived. 
 He felt that if he meant to get the letters 
 into his possession he must act at once. 
 
 He passed his hand over the man's 
 waistcoat, and had no difficulty in detecting- 
 the exact whereabouts of the packet which 
 he coveted. All he had to do was to unbut- 
 ton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the 
 pocket, and then leave the coach while it 
 was still in motion. 
 
 The moment that he touched the first 
 button, however, the man shifted his posi- 
 tion, and awoke, putting his hand, as if 
 mechanically, to his breast to feel that the 
 wallet was still there. Then he straight- 
 
 302
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 303 
 
 ened himself in some measure and began 
 to mumble, apparently being- quite unaware 
 of the fact that some one was seated beside 
 him. 
 
 " Dear madam, you do me great honour," 
 he said, and then gave a little hiccupping 
 laugh. " Great honour, I swear ; but if you 
 were to offer me all the guineas in the 
 treasure chest of the regiment I would not 
 give you the plan of the fort. No, madam, 
 I am a man of honour, and I hold the docu- 
 ments for Colonel Washington. Oh, the 
 fools that girls are to put pen to paper! 
 But if she was a fool she did not write the 
 letters to a fool. Oh, no, no 1 I would accept 
 no price for them — no price whatever 
 except your own fair self. Come to me, my 
 charmer, at sunset, and they shall be yours ; 
 yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. 
 Oh, Ned, my lad, there 's no honester way 
 of living than by selling a wench her own 
 letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em 
 behind me in the drawer, in case of acci- 
 dents. I '11 carry 'em about with me in case 
 of accidents, for I know how sharp you are, 
 dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the 
 pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to 
 transfer 'em — in case of accidents, Ned — 
 to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here I 
 here, my friend! and here they '11 stay till
 
 304 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Colonel Washington hands me over his 
 dollars for them." 
 
 Then he slapped his breast, and laughed 
 the horrible laugh of a drunken man whose 
 hallucination is that he is the shrewdest 
 fellow alive. 
 
 Goldsmith caught every word of his 
 mumblings, and from the way he referred 
 to the letters, came to the conclusion that 
 the scoundrel had not only tried to levy 
 blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been 
 endeavouring to sell the secrets of the 
 King's forces to the American rebels. Gold- 
 smith had, however, no doubt that the let- 
 ters which he was desirous of getting into 
 his hands were those which the man had 
 within his waistcoat. His belief in this 
 direction did not, however, assist him to 
 devise a plan for transferring the letters 
 from the place where they reposed to his 
 own pocket. 
 
 The coach jolted over the uneven roads 
 on its way to the notorious Whetstone Park, 
 but all the jolting failed to prevent the 
 operation of the brandy which the man had 
 drank, for once again he fell asleep, his 
 fingers remaining between the buttons of 
 his waistcoat, so that it would be quite 
 impossible for even the most adroit pick-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 305 
 
 pocket, which Goldsmith could not claim to 
 be, to open the g-arment. 
 
 He felt the vexation of the moment very 
 keenly. The thoug-ht that the packet which 
 he coveted was only a few inches from his 
 hand, and yet that it was as unattainable 
 as thoug-h it were at the summit of Mont 
 Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he 
 would be foolish to make any more attempts 
 to effect his purpose. The man would be 
 certain to awake, and Goldsmith knew that, 
 intoxicated though he was, he was strong 
 enough to cope with three men of his 
 (Goldsmith's) physique. 
 
 Gregory's Court, which led into Whet- 
 stone Park, was too narrow to admit so 
 broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the 
 driver pulled up at the entrance in Holborn 
 near the New Turnstile, just under an ale- 
 house lamp. Goldsmith was wondering- if 
 his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest did 
 not end here, when the light of the lamp 
 showed the man to be wide awake, and he 
 really seemed comparatively sober. It was 
 only when he spoke that he showed himself, 
 by the huskinessof his voice, to be very far 
 from sober. 
 
 "Good Lord ! " he cried, "how do I come 
 to be here? Who the devil may you be, 
 sirrah? Oh, I remember! You 're the
 
 306 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 poet. She insulted me — grossly insulted 
 me — turned me out of the tavern. And 
 you insulted me, too, you rascal, coming- 
 with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and 
 needed you to look after me. Get out, you 
 scoundrel, or I '11 crack your skull for you. 
 Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?" 
 
 Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. 
 He was debating if it might not be better 
 to spring upon him, and make at least a 
 straightforward attempt to obtain the wal- 
 let. The result of his moment's considera- 
 tion of the question was to cause him to 
 turn away from the fellow and open the 
 door. He was in the act of telling the driver 
 that he would take the coach on to the 
 Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking 
 the vehicle on its leathern straps, and stag- 
 gered a few yards in the direction of the 
 turnstile. At the same instant a man 
 hastily emerged from the entrance to the 
 court, almost coming in collision with Jack- 
 son. 
 
 "You cursed, clumsy lout!" shouted 
 the latter, swinging half-wa}'^ round as the 
 man passed. In a second the stranger 
 stopped, and faced the other. 
 
 "You low ruffian!" he said. "You 
 cheated mc last night, and left me to sleep 
 in the fields; but my money came to me
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 307 
 
 to-day, and I 've been waiting- for you. 
 Take that, you scoundrel — and that — and 
 that " 
 
 He struck Jackson a blow to rig-ht and 
 left, and then one straig-ht on the forehead, 
 which felled him to the ground. He gfave 
 the man a kick when he fell, and then turned 
 about and ran, for the watchman was com- 
 ing up the street, and half a dozen of the 
 passers-by gave an alarm. 
 
 Goldsmith shouted out, "Follow him — 
 follow the murderer ! " pointing wildly in 
 the direction taken by the stranger. 
 
 In another instant he was leaning over 
 the prostrate man, and making a pretence 
 to feel his heart. He tore open his waist- 
 coat. Putting in his hand, he quickly ab- 
 stracted the wallet, and bending right over 
 the body in order to put his hand to the 
 man's chest, he, with much more adroitness 
 than was necessary — for outside the sickly 
 gleam of the lamp all the street was in dark- 
 ness — slipped the wallet into his other 
 hand and then under his coat. 
 
 A few people had by this time been 
 drawn to the spot by the alarm which had 
 been given, and some inquired if the man 
 were dead, and if he had been run through 
 with a sword.
 
 308 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "It was a knock-down blow," said Gold- 
 smith, still leaning- over the prostrate man; 
 "and being a doctor, I can honestly say that 
 no great harm has been done. The fellow 
 is as drunk as if he had been soused in a 
 beer barrel. A dash of water in his face 
 will go far to bring about his recovery. 
 Ah, he is recovering already." 
 
 He had scarcely spoken before he felt 
 himself thrown violently back, almost 
 knocking down two of the bystanders, for 
 the man had risen to a sitting posture, ask- 
 ing him, with an oath, as he flung him back, 
 what he meant by choking him. 
 
 A roar of laughter came from the people 
 in the street as Goldsmith picked up his hat 
 and straightened his sword, saying — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I think that a man who is 
 strong enough to treat his physician in that 
 way has small need of his services. I 
 thought the fellow might be seriously hurt, 
 but I have changed my mind on that point 
 recently; and so good-night. Souse him 
 copiously with water should he relapse. 
 By a casual savour of him I should say that 
 he is not used to water." 
 
 He re-entered the coach and told the 
 driver to proceed to the Temple, and as 
 rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that 
 the man, on completely recovering from
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 309 
 
 the effects of the blow that had stunned 
 him, would miss his wallet and endeavour 
 to overtake the coach. He was greatly 
 relieved when he reached the lodg-e of his 
 friend Ging-er, the head porter, and he paid 
 the driver with a liberality that called down 
 upon him a torrent of thanks. 
 
 As he went up the stairs to his cham- 
 bers he could scarcely refrain from cheer- 
 ing". In his hand he carried the leathern 
 wallet, and he had no doubt that it con- 
 tained the letters which he hoped to place 
 in the hands of his dear Jessamy Bride, 
 who, he felt, had alone understood him — ■ 
 had alone trusted him with the discharge of 
 a knightly task. 
 
 He closed his oaken outer door and 
 forced up the wick of the lamp in his room. 
 With trembling fingers by the light of its 
 rays he unclasped the wallet and extracted 
 its contents. He devoured the pages with 
 his eyes, and then both wallet and papers 
 fell from his hands. He dropped into a 
 chair with an exclamation of wonder and 
 dismay. The papers which he had taken 
 from the wallet were those which, following- 
 the instructions of Mrs. Abington, he had 
 brought with him to the tavern, pretend- 
 ing that they were the act of the comedy 
 which he had to read to the actress!
 
 310 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 He remained for a long- time in the chair 
 into which he had fallen. He was utterly 
 stupefied. Apart from the shock of his 
 disappointment, the occurrence was so 
 mysterious as to deprive him of the power 
 of thoug-ht. He could only gaze blankly 
 down at the empty wallet and the papers, 
 covered with his own handwriting-, which 
 he had picked up from his own desk before 
 starting for the tavern. 
 
 What did it all mean? How on earth 
 had those papers found their way into the 
 wallet? 
 
 Those were the questions which he had 
 to face, but for which, after an hour's con- 
 sideration, he failed to find an answer. 
 
 He recollected distinctly having seen 
 the expression of suspicion come over the 
 man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington 
 sitting on the chair over which his cloak 
 was hanging; and when she had returned 
 to the table, Jackson had staggered to the 
 cloak, and running his hand down the lining 
 until he had found the pocket, furtively took 
 from it the wallet, which he transferred to 
 the pocket on the inner side of his waist- 
 coat. He had had no time — at least, so 
 Goldsmith thought — to put the sham act 
 of the play into the wallet; and yet he felt 
 that the man must have done so unseen by
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 311 
 
 the others in the room, or how could the 
 papers ever have been in the wallet? 
 
 Great heavens! The man must only have 
 been shamming- intoxication the greater 
 part of the night! He must have had so 
 wide an experience of the craft of men and 
 the wiles of women as caused him to live in 
 a condition of constant suspicion of both 
 men and women. He had clearly suspected 
 Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and 
 had amused himself at the expense of the 
 actress and her other guest. He had led 
 them both on, and had fooled them to the 
 top of his bent, just when they were fancy- 
 ing that they were entrapping him. 
 
 Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least 
 had been a fool, and, as usual, he had 
 attained the summit of his foolishness just 
 when he fancied he was showing himself to 
 be especially astute. He had chuckled 
 over his shrewdness in placing himself in 
 the hands of a woman to the intent that he 
 might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who 
 threatened Mary Horneck's happiness, but 
 now it was Jackson who was chuckling — 
 Jackson, who had doubtless been watching 
 with amused interest the childish attempts 
 made by Mrs. Abington to entrap him. 
 
 How glibly she had talked of entrapping 
 him! She had even gone the length of
 
 312 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 quoting- Shakespeare; she was one of those 
 people who fancy that when they have 
 quoted Shakespeare they have said the last 
 word on any subject. But when the time 
 came for her to cease talking- and begin to 
 act, she had failed. She had proved to him 
 that he had been a fool to place himself in 
 her hands, hoping- she would be able to 
 help him. 
 
 He laughed bitterly at his own folly. 
 The consciousness of having- failed would 
 have been bitter enoug-h by itself, but now 
 to it 'was added the consciousness of having- 
 been laughed at by the man of whom he 
 was trying- to g-et the better. 
 
 What was there now left for him to do? 
 Nothing except to go to Mary, and tell her 
 that she had been wrong in entrusting her 
 cause to him. She should have entrusted it 
 to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would 
 have been ready to help her and capable of 
 helping her — some man with a knowledge 
 of men — some man of resource, not one 
 who was a mere weaver of fictions, who was 
 incapable of dealing with men except on 
 paper. Nothing was left for him but to tell 
 her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve 
 success where he had achieved only the 
 most miserable of failures.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 313 
 
 He felt that he was as foolish as a man 
 who had built for himself a house of cards, 
 and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the 
 rest of his life, whereas the fabric had not 
 survived the breath of the first breeze that 
 had swept down upon it. 
 
 He felt that, after the example which he 
 had just had of the diabolical cunning- of 
 the man with whom he had been contesting-, 
 it would be worse than useless for him to 
 hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. 
 He had already wasted more than a week of 
 valuable time. He could, at least, prevent 
 any more being- wasted by going to Mary 
 and telling- her how great a mistake she had 
 made in being over-generous to him. She 
 should never have made such a friend of 
 him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he 
 said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken 
 advantage of the gracious generosity of the 
 girl and her family. He felt that it was his 
 vanity that had led him to undertake on 
 Mary's behalf a task for which he was ut- 
 terly unsuited ; and only the smallest con- 
 solation was allowed to him in the reflection 
 that his awakening had come before it was 
 too late. He had not been led away to con- 
 fess to Mary all that was in his heart. She 
 had been saved the unhappiness which that 
 confession would bring to a nature so full
 
 314 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 of feeling- as hers. And he had been saved 
 the mortification of the thought that he had 
 caused her pain. 
 
 The dawn was embroidering- with its 
 floss the early foliag-e of the trees of the 
 Temple before he went to his bed -room, 
 and another hour had passed before he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 He did not awake until the clock had 
 chimed the hour of ten, and he found that 
 his man had already broug-ht to the table at 
 his bedside the letters which had come for 
 him in the morning-. He turned them over 
 with but a lang-uid amount of interest. 
 There was a letter from Grifiiths, the book- 
 seller; another from Garrick, relative to the 
 play which Goldsmith had promised him; a 
 third, a fourth and a fifth were from men 
 who beg-g-ed the loan of varying- sums for 
 varying- periods. The sixth was apparently, 
 from its shape and bulk, a manuscript — 
 one of the many which were submitted to 
 him by men who called him their brother- 
 poet. He turned it over, and perceived that 
 it had not come through the post. That 
 fact convinced him that it was a manuscript, 
 most probably an epic poem, or perhaps a 
 tragedy in verse, which the writer might 
 think he could get accepted at Drury Lane 
 by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 315 
 
 He let this parcel lie on the table until he 
 had dressed, and only when at the point of 
 sitting- down to breakfast did he break the 
 seals. The instant he had done so he gave 
 a cry of surprise, for he found that the 
 parcel contained a number of letters ad- 
 dressed in Mary Horneck's handwriting to 
 a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the 
 Devonshire village where she had been stay- 
 ing the previous summer. 
 
 On the topmost letter there was a scrap 
 of paper, bearing a scrawl from Mrs. Abing- 
 ton — the spelling as well as the writing 
 was hers — 
 
 "'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some 
 with traps.' These are a few feathers 
 pluckt from our hawke, hoping- that they 
 will be a feather in the capp of dear Dr. 
 Goldsmith."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 He was so greatly amazed he could only 
 sit looking mutely at the scattered letters 
 on the table in front of him. He was even 
 more amazed at finding" them there than he 
 had been the night before at not finding 
 them in the wallet which he had taken from 
 Jackson's waistcoat. He thought he had 
 arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to 
 how he had come to find within the wallet 
 the sheets of manuscript which he had had 
 in his hand on entering the supper room; 
 but how was he to account for the appear- 
 ance of the letters in this parcel which he 
 had received from Mrs. Abington? 
 
 So perplexed was he that he failed for 
 sometime to grasp the truth — to appre- 
 ciate what was meant by the appearance of 
 those letters on his table. But so soon as 
 it dawned upon him that they meant safety 
 and happiness to Mary, he sprang from his 
 seat and almost shouted for joy. She was 
 saved. He had checkmated the villain who 
 had sought her ruin and who had the means 
 to accomplish it, too. It was his astute- 
 
 316
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 317 
 
 ness that had caused him to g-o to Mrs. 
 Abing-ton and ask for her help in accom- 
 plishing- the task with which he had been 
 entrusted. He had, after all, not been mis- 
 taken in applying- to a woman to help him 
 to defeat the devilish scheme of a pitiless 
 rufi&an, and Mary Horneck had not been 
 mistaken when she had singled him out to 
 be her champion, thoug-h all men and most 
 women would have ridiculed the idea of his 
 assuming- the role of a knight-errant. 
 
 His elation at that moment was in pro- 
 portion to his depression, his despair, his 
 humiliation when he had last been in his 
 room. His nature knew nothing- but ex- 
 tremes. Before retiring- to his chamber in 
 the early morning-, he had felt that life con- 
 tained nothing but misery for him; but now 
 he felt that a future of happiness was in 
 store for him — his imagination failed to 
 set any limits to the possibility of his fu- 
 ture happiness. He laughed at the thought 
 of how he had resolved to go to Mary and 
 advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel 
 Gwyn. The thought of Colonel Gwyn con- 
 vulsed him just now. With all his means, 
 could Colonel Gwyn have accomplished all 
 that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accom- 
 plished ?
 
 318 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn mig-ht be 
 a g"ood sort of fellow in spite of his formal 
 manner, his army training-, and his inca- 
 pacity to see a jest, but it was doubtful if 
 he could have brought to a successful con- 
 clusion so delicate an enterprise as that 
 which he — Goldsmith — had accomplished. 
 Gwyn would most likely have scorned to 
 apply to Mrs. Abing-ton to help him, and 
 that was just where he would have made a 
 hug-e mistake. Any man who thoug-ht to 
 get the better of the devil without the aid 
 of a woman was a fool. He felt more 
 strongly convinced of the truth of this as 
 he stood with his back to the fire in his 
 grate than he had been when he had found 
 the wallet containing only his own manu- 
 script. The previous half-hour had natur- 
 ally changed his views of man and woman 
 and Providence and the world. 
 
 When he had picked up the letters and 
 locked them in his desk, he ate some break- 
 fast, wondering all the while by what 
 means Mrs. Abington had obtained those 
 precious writings; and after giving the 
 matter an hour's thought, he came to the 
 conclusion that she must have felt the wal- 
 let in the pocket of the man's cloak when 
 she had left the table pretending to be 
 shocked at the disloyal expressions of her
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 3l9 
 
 guest — she must have felt the wallet and 
 have contrived to extract the letters from 
 it, substituting- for them the sham act of 
 the play which excused his entrance to the 
 supper-room. 
 
 The more he thoug-ht over the matter, 
 the more convinced he became that the 
 wily lady had effected her purpose in the 
 way he conjectured. He recollected that 
 she had been for a considerable time on the 
 chair with the cloak — much long-er than 
 was necessary for Jackson to drink the 
 treasonable toast; and when she returned 
 to the table, it was only to turn him out of 
 the room upon a very shallow pretext. 
 What a fool he had been to fancy that she 
 was in a genuine passion when she had flung 
 her glass of wine in the face of her guest 
 because he had addressed her as Mrs. Bad- 
 deley ! 
 
 He had been amazed at the anger dis- 
 played by her in regard to that particular 
 incident, but later he had thought it possi- 
 ble that she had acted the part of a jealous 
 woman to give him a better chance of get- 
 ting the wallet out of the man's waistcoat 
 pocket. Now, however, he clearly per- 
 ceived that her anxiety was to get out of 
 the room in order to place the letters be- 
 yond the man's hands.
 
 320 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Once again he laug-hed, saying- out loud — 
 
 " Ah, I was right — a woman's wiles 
 only are superior to the strategy of a 
 devil 1 " 
 
 Then he became more contemplative. 
 The most joyful hour of his life was at 
 hand. He asked himself how his dear 
 Jessamy Bride would receive the letters 
 which he was about to take to her. He did 
 not think of himself in connection with her 
 gratitude. He left himself altogether out 
 of consideration in this matter. He only 
 thought of how the girl's face would lighten 
 — how the white roses which he had last 
 seen on her cheeks would change to red 
 when he put the letters into her hand, and 
 she felt that she was safe. 
 
 That was the reward for which he 
 looked. He knew that he would feel bit- 
 terly disappointed if he failed to see the 
 change of the roses on her face — if he 
 failed to hear her fill the air with the music 
 of her laughter. And then — then she 
 would be happy for evermore, and he would 
 be happy through witnessing her happi- 
 ness. 
 
 He finished dressing, and was in the act 
 of going to his desk for the letters, which 
 he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, 
 when his servant announced two visitors.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 321 
 
 Sig^nor Barctti, accompanied by a tall and 
 very thin man, entered. The former 
 g-reeted Goldsmith, and introduced his 
 friend, who was a compatriot of his own, 
 named Nicolo. 
 
 "I have not forgotten the matter which 
 you honoured me by placing- in my hands," 
 said Baretti. " My friend Nicolo is a 
 master of the art of fencing- as practised in 
 Italy in the present day. He is under the 
 impression, sing-ular though it may seem, 
 that he spoke to you more than once during 
 your wandering-s in Tuscany." 
 
 "And now I am sure of it," said Nicolo 
 in French. He explained that he spoke 
 French rather better than English. " Yes, 
 I was a student at Pisa when Dr. Gold- 
 smith visited that city. I have no diffi- 
 culty in recog-nising- him." 
 
 "And I, for my part, have a conviction 
 that I have seen your face, sir," said Gold- 
 smith, also speaking- in French ; "I cannot, 
 however, recall the circumstances of our 
 first meeting-. Can you supply the defi- 
 ciency in my memory, sir?" 
 
 "There was a students' society that 
 met at the Boccaleone," said Sig-nor Nicolo. 
 
 "I recollect it distinctly; Figli della 
 Torre, you called yourselves," said Gold- 
 smith quickly. " You were one of the
 
 322 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 orators — quite reckless, if you will permit 
 me to say so much." 
 
 The man smiled somewhat g-rimly. 
 
 " If he had not been utterly reckless he 
 would not be in England to-day," said 
 Baretti. " Like myself, he is compelled to 
 face your detestable climate on account of 
 some indiscreet references to the Italian 
 government, which he would certainly 
 repeat to-morrow were he back again." 
 
 "It brings me back to Tuscany once 
 more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,"said 
 Goldsmith. " Yes, though your Excel- 
 lency had not so much of a beard and mus- 
 tacio when I saw you some years ago." 
 
 " Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's 
 coat quite so admirable then as it is now, if 
 I am not too bold to make so free a com- 
 ment, sir," said the man with another grim 
 smile. 
 
 "You are not quite right, my friend," 
 laughed Goldsmith; "for if my memory 
 serves me — and it does so usually on the 
 matter of dress — I had no coat whatsoever 
 to my back — that was of no importance in 
 Pisa, where the air was full of patriotism." 
 
 " The most dangerous epidemic that 
 could occur in any country," said Baretti. 
 " There is no Black Death that has claimed 
 so many victims. We are examples —
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 323 
 
 Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach 
 Italian to a brewer's daug-hter, and Nicolo 
 is willing- to transform the most clumsy 
 Englishman — and there area good number 
 of them, too — into an expert swordsman in 
 twelve lessons — yes, if the pupil will but 
 practise sufi&ciently afterwards." 
 
 "We need not talk of business just 
 now," said Goldsmith. " I insist on my old 
 friends sharing- a bottle of wine with me. I 
 shall drink to 'patriotism,' since it is the 
 means of sending- to my poor room two such 
 excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and 
 Nicolo." 
 
 He rang- the bell, and gave his servant 
 directions to fetch a couple of bottles of the 
 old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently 
 sent to him — very recently, otherwise 
 three bottles out of the dozen would not 
 have remained. 
 
 The wine had scarcely been uncorked 
 when the sound of a man's step was heard 
 upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain 
 Jackson burst into the room. 
 
 "I have found you, you rascal!" he 
 shouted, swaggering- across the room to 
 where Goldsmith was seated. " Now, my 
 good fellow, I g-ive you just one minute to 
 restore to me those letters which you ab- 
 stracted from my pocket last night."
 
 324 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "And I g"ive you just one minute to 
 leave my room, you drunken blackguard," 
 said Goldsmith, laying- a hand on the arm of 
 Signor Nicolo, who was in the act of rising. 
 *'Come, sir," he continued, "I submitted to 
 your insults last night because I had a pur- 
 pose to carry out; but I promise you that I 
 give you no such license in my own house. 
 Take your carcase away, sir ; my friends 
 have fastidious nostrils." 
 
 Jackson's face became purple and then 
 white. His lips receded from his gums 
 until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a 
 wolf when it is too cowardly to attack. 
 
 "You cur!" he said through his set 
 teeth. "I don't know what prevents me 
 from running you through the body." 
 
 "Do you not? I do," said Goldsmith. 
 He had taken the second bottle of wine off 
 the table, and was toying with it in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Come, sir," said the bully after a 
 pause; "I don't wish to go to Sir John 
 Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for 
 stealing my property, but, by the Lord, if 
 you don't hand over those letters to me now 
 I will not spare you. I shall have you taken 
 into custody as a thief before an hour has 
 passed."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 325 
 
 " Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him 
 that Dick Jackson, American spy, is anxious 
 to hang- himself, and mention that one 
 Oliver Goldsmith has at hand the rope that 
 will rid the world of one of its greatest 
 scoundrels," said Goldsmith. 
 
 Jackson took a step or two back, and put 
 his hand to his sword. In a second both 
 Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of 
 their weapons. The bully looked from the 
 one to the other, and then laughed harshly. 
 
 "My little poet," he said in a mocking 
 voice, " you fancy that because you have 
 got a letter or two you have drawn my 
 teeth. Let me tell you for your informa- 
 tion that I have something in my possession 
 that I can use as I meant to use the letters.'' 
 
 " AnH I tell you that if you use it, what- 
 ever it is, by God I shall kill you, were you 
 thrice the scoundrel that you are!" cried 
 Goldsmith, leaping up. 
 
 There was scarcely a pause before the 
 whistle of the man's sword through the air 
 was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a 
 push that sent him behind a chair, and then 
 quietly interposed between him and Jack- 
 son. 
 
 "Pardon me, sir," said he, bowing to 
 Jackson, "but we cannot permit you to 
 stick an unarmed man. Vour attempt to
 
 326 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 do so in our presence my friend and I re- 
 gard as a grave affront to us." 
 
 "Then let one of you draw!" shouted 
 the man. " I see that you are Frenchmen, 
 and I have cut the throat of a good many of 
 your race. Draw, sir, and I shall add you 
 to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell." 
 
 "Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you 
 doubtless perceive," said Baretti. "I do 
 not wish ray glasses to be smashed; but my 
 friend here, though a weaker man, may pos- 
 sibly not decline to fight with so contempti- 
 ble a rufl&an as you undoubtedly are." 
 
 He spoke a few words to Nicolo in 
 Italian, and in a second the latter had 
 whisked out his sword and had stepped 
 between Jackson and Baretti, putting quiet- 
 ly aside the fierce lunge which the former 
 made when Baretti had turned partly round. 
 
 "Bricconel assassin 1" hissed Baretti. 
 " You saw that he meant to kill me, Nicolo," 
 he said addressing his friend in their own 
 tongue. 
 
 " He shall pay for it," whispered Nicolo, 
 pushing back a chair with his foot until 
 Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces 
 of furniture out of the way, so as to make a 
 clear space in the room. 
 
 " Don't kill him, friend Nicolo," he cried. 
 " We used to enjoy a sausage or two in the
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 327 
 
 old days at Pisa. You can make sausag-e- 
 meat of a carcase without absolutely killing- 
 the beast." 
 
 The fencing-master smiled grimly, but 
 spoke no word. 
 
 Jackson seemed puzzled for a few mo- 
 ments, and Baretti roared with laughter, 
 watching- him hang- back. The laug-h of the 
 Italian — it was not melodious — acted as a 
 g-oad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, 
 trying to beat down his g-uard, but his 
 antag-onist did not yield a sing-le inch. He 
 did not even cease to smile as he parried 
 the attack. His expression resembled that 
 of an indulgent chess player when a lad 
 who has airily offered to play with him 
 opens the game. 
 
 After a few minutes' fencing, during- 
 which the Italian declined to attack, Jack- 
 son drew back and lowered the point of his 
 sword. 
 
 "Take a chair, sir," said Baretti, g-rin- 
 ning. " You will have need of one before 
 my friend has finished with you." 
 
 Goldsmith said nothing. The man had 
 g-rossly insulted him the evening- before, 
 and he had made Mary Horncck wretched; 
 but ho could not taunt him now that he was 
 at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He 
 watched the man breathing hard, and then
 
 328 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 nerving- himself for another attack upon 
 the Italian. 
 
 Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo 
 within the range of his sword was no more 
 successful than his first. He was no des- 
 picable fencer, but his antagonist could 
 afford to play with him. The sound of his 
 hard breathing- was a contrast to the only- 
 other sound in the room — the grating of 
 steel against steel. 
 
 Then the smile upon the sallow face of 
 the fencing-master seemed gradually to 
 vanish. He became more than serious — 
 surely his expression was one of apprehen-. 
 sion. Goldsmith became somewhat excited. 
 He grasped Baretti by the arm, as one of 
 Jackson's thrusts passed within half an 
 inch of his antagonist's shoulder, and for 
 the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, 
 and in doing so barely succeeded in pro- 
 tecting himself against a fierce lunge of the 
 other man. 
 
 It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He 
 gave a contemptuous chuckle as he pressed 
 forward to follow up his advantage. He did 
 not succeed in touching Nicolo, though he 
 went very close to him more than once, and 
 now it was plain that the Italian was greatly 
 exhausted. He was breathing hard, and 
 the look of apprehension on his face had in-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 329 
 
 creased until it had actually become one of 
 terror. Jackson did not fail to perceive 
 this, and malignant triumph was in every 
 feature of his face. Any one could see that 
 he felt confident of tiring- out the visibly 
 fatig-ued Italian, and Goldsmith, with star- 
 ing- eyes, once ag-ain clutched Baretti. 
 
 Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled 
 up to the meeting place of his wig- and fore- 
 head in smiles. 
 
 "I should like the third button of his 
 coat for a memento, Sandrino," said he. 
 
 In an instant there was a quivering flash 
 through the air, and the third paste button 
 off Jackson's coat indented the wall just 
 above Baretti's head and fell at his feet, a 
 scrap of the satin of the coat flying behind 
 it like the little pennon on a lance. 
 
 " Heavens ! " whispered Goldsmith. 
 
 "Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great 
 humourist," said Baretti. "For God's 
 sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the 
 air. The rush of that last was like a 
 bullet." 
 
 Up to the ceiling flashed another button, 
 and fell back upon the coat from which it 
 was torn. 
 
 And still Nicolo fenced away with that 
 look of apprehension still on his face.
 
 330 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "That is his fun," said Baretti. "Oh, 
 body of Bacchus I A great humourist I " 
 
 The next button that Nicolo cut off with 
 the point of his sword he caug-ht in his left 
 hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also 
 caug-ht it. 
 
 The look of triumph vanished from 
 Jackson's face. He drew back, but his an- 
 tag-onist would not allow him to lower his 
 sword, but followed him round the room 
 untiring-ly. He had ceased his pretence of 
 breathing- heavily, but apparently his right 
 arm was tired, for he had thrown his sword 
 into his left hand, and was now fencing- 
 from that side. 
 
 Suddenly the air became filled with 
 floating- scraps of silk and satin. They 
 quivered to right and left, like butterflies 
 settling down upon a meadow; they flut- 
 tered about by the hundred, making a 
 pretty spectacle. Jackson's coat and waist- 
 coat were in tatters, yet with such con- 
 summate dexterity did the fencing-master 
 cut the pieces out of both garments that 
 Goldsmith utterly failed to see the sword- 
 play that produced so amazing a result. 
 Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much 
 as usual. 
 
 And then a curious incident occurred, 
 for the front part of one of the man's pock-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 331 
 
 ets being- cut away, a packet of letters, 
 held ag-ainst the lining- by a few threads of 
 silk, became visible, and in another mo- 
 ment Nicolo had spitted them on his sword, 
 and laid them on the table in a sing-le flash. 
 Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson 
 cast at them that they were the batch of 
 letters which he had received in the course 
 of his traffic with the American rebels. 
 
 "Come, Sandrino," said Baretti, affect- 
 ing- to yawn. " Finish the rascal off, and 
 let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira 
 which awaits us. Come, sir, the carrion 
 is not worth more than you have g-iven him; 
 he has kept us from our wine too long- 
 already." 
 
 With a curiously tricky turn of the 
 wrist, the master cut off the right sleeve of 
 the man's coat close to his shoulder, and 
 drew it in a flash over his sword. The dis- 
 closing of the man's naked arm and the 
 hiding of the greater part of his weapon 
 were comical in the extreme; and with an 
 oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in 
 a heap upon the floor, thoroughly ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Baretti picked up the sword, broke the 
 blade across his knee, and flung the pieces 
 into a corner, the tattered sleeve still en- 
 tangled in the guard.
 
 332 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 *' John," shouted Goldsmith to his serv- 
 ant, who was not far off. (He had wit- 
 nessed the duel through the keyhole of the 
 door until it became too exciting-, and then 
 he had put his head into the room.) "John, 
 g-ive that man your oldest coat. It shall 
 never be said that I turned a man naked 
 out of my house." When John Eyles had 
 left the room, Oliver turned to the half-naked 
 panting man. " You are possibly the most 
 contemptible bully and coward alive," said 
 he. " You did not hesitate to try and ac- 
 complish the ruin of the sweetest girl in 
 the world, and you came here with intent 
 to murder me because I succeeded in sav- 
 ing her from your clutches. If I let you go 
 now, it is because I know that in these let- 
 ters, which I mean to keep, I have such 
 evidence against you as will hang you when- 
 ever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to 
 use it if you are in this country at the end 
 of two days. Now, leave this house, and 
 thank my servant for giving you his coat, 
 and this gentleman " — he pointed to Nicolo 
 — " for such a lesson in fencing as, I sup- 
 pose, you never before received." 
 
 The man rose, painfully and labori- 
 ously, and took the coat with which John 
 Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith 
 from head to foot.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 333 
 
 "You contemptible cur!" he said, "I 
 have not yet done with you. You have now 
 stolen the second packet of letters; but, by 
 the Lord, if one of them passes out of your 
 hands it will be aveng-ed. I have friends in 
 pretty hig-h places, let me tell you." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, said Baretti. «' The 
 g-allows is a hig-h enough place for you and 
 your friends." 
 
 The ruffian turned upon him in a fury. 
 
 "Look to yourself, you foreign hound!" 
 he said, his face becoming livid, and his lips 
 receding- from his mouth so as to leave his 
 woif-fang-s bare as before. " Look to your- 
 self. You broke my sword after luring me 
 on to be made a fool of for your sport. Look 
 to yourself! " 
 
 " Turn that rascal into the street, John," 
 cried Goldsmith, and John bustled forward. 
 There was fighting- in the air. If it came 
 to blows he flattered himself that he could 
 g-ive an interesting exhibition of his powers 
 — not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given 
 by the Italian, but one which he was certain 
 was more English in its style. 
 
 *'No one shall lay a hand on me," said 
 Jackson. " Do you fancy that I am anxious 
 to remain in such a company ?"
 
 334 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Come, sir; you are in my charg-e, now,'* 
 said John, hustling him to the door. "Come 
 — out with you — sharp 1" 
 
 In the room they heard the sound of the 
 man descending the stairs slowly and pain- 
 fully. They became aware of his pause in 
 the lobby belov/ to put on the coat which 
 John had given to him, and a moment later 
 they saw him walk in the direction of the 
 Temple lodge. 
 
 Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, 
 who was examining one of the prints that 
 Hogarth had presented to his early friend, 
 who had hung them on his wall. 
 
 " You came at an opportune moment, 
 my friend," said he. "You have not only 
 saved my life, you have afforded me such 
 entertainment as I never have known be- 
 fore. Sir, you are certainly the greatest 
 living master of your art." 
 
 "The best swordsman is the best pa- 
 triot," said Baretti. 
 
 " That is why so many of your country- 
 men live in England," said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Alas! yes," said Nicolo. "Happily you 
 Englishmen are not good patriots, or you 
 would not be able to live in England." 
 
 "lam not an Englishman," said Gold- 
 smith, "lam an Irish patriot, and there-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 335 
 
 fore I find it more convenient to live out of 
 Ireland. Perhaps it is not good patriotism 
 to say, as I do, ' Better to live in England 
 than to starve in Ireland.' And talking- of 
 starving, sirs, reminds me that my dinner 
 hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? 
 What say you, Baretti ? Will you honour me 
 with your compan}^ to dinner at the Crown 
 and Anchor an hour hence? We shall chat 
 over the old days at Pisa and the prospects 
 of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo, We 
 cannot stay here, for it will take my servant 
 and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep 
 up the fragments of that rascal's garments. 
 Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. Johnson's 
 friend Mrs. Williams could make if she 
 were nigh." 
 
 " Patchwork should not only be made, it 
 should be used by the blind," said Baretti. 
 " Touching the dinner you so hospitably 
 propose, I have no engagement for to-day. 
 and I dare swear that Nicolo has none 
 either." 
 
 " He has taken part in one engagement, 
 at least," said Goldsmith, 
 
 "And I am now at your service," said 
 the fencing- master. 
 
 They went out together, Goldsmith with 
 the precious letters in his pocket — the sec-
 
 336 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 ond batch he put in the place of Mary Hor- 
 neck's in his desk — and, parting- at Fleet 
 street, they agreed to meet at the Crown 
 and Anchor in an hour.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 It was with a feeling- of deep satisfac- 
 tion, such as he had never before known, 
 that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. 
 Horneck's house. All the exhilaration that 
 he had experienced by watching- the extra- 
 ordinary exhibition of adroitness on the 
 part of the fencing--master remained with 
 him. The exhibition had, of course, been a 
 trifle bizarre. It had more than a suspicion 
 of the art of the mountebank about it. For 
 instance, Nicolo's pretence of being over- 
 matched early in the contest — breathing- 
 hard and assuming- a terrified expression 
 — yielding his ground and allowing his 
 opponent almost to run him through — 
 could only be regarded as theatrical ; while 
 his tricks with the buttons and the letters, 
 though amazing, were akin to the devices 
 of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not 
 prevent the whole scene from having an 
 exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith, more 
 especially as it represented his repayment 
 of the debt which he owed to Jackson. 
 
 337
 
 338 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 And now to this feeling was added that 
 of the greatest joy of his life in having it in 
 his power to remove from the sweetest 
 girl in the world the terror which she be- 
 lieved to be hanging over her head. He felt 
 that every step which he was taking west- 
 ward was bringing him nearer to the real- 
 isation of his longing ^ — ^ his longing to see 
 the white roses on Mary's cheeks change 
 to red once more. 
 
 It was a disappointment to him to learn 
 that Mary had gone down to Barton with 
 the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him 
 in the hall, told him this with a grave face 
 as she brought him into a parlour. 
 
 " I think she expected you to call during 
 the past ten days, Dr. Goldsmith," said the 
 lady. "I believe that she was more than a 
 little disappointed that you could not find 
 time to come to her." 
 
 "Was she, indeed? Did she really 
 expect me to call? " he asked. This fresh 
 proof of the confidence which the Jessamy 
 Bride reposed in him was very dear to him. 
 She had not merely entrusted him with her 
 enterprise on the chance of his being able 
 to save her ; she had had confidence in his 
 ability to save her, and had looked for his 
 coming to tell her of his success.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 339 
 
 "She seemed very anxious to see you," 
 said Mrs. Horneck. " I fear, dear Dr. Gold- 
 smith, that my poor child has something- on 
 her mind. That is her sister's idea also. 
 And yet it is impossible that she should 
 have any secret trouble ; she has not been 
 out of our sight since her visit to Devonshire 
 last year. At that time she had, I believe, 
 some silly, girlish fancy] — my brother wrote 
 to me that there had been in his neighbour- 
 hood a certain attractive man, an officer 
 who had returned home with a wound re- 
 ceived in the war with the American 
 rebels. But surely she has got over that 
 foolishness ! " 
 
 "Ah, yes. You may take my word for 
 it, madam, she has got over that foolish- 
 ness," said Goldsmith. " You may take 
 my word for it that when she sees me the 
 roses will return to her cheeks." 
 
 "I do hope so," said Mrs. Horneck. 
 " Yes, you could always contrive to make 
 her merry. Dr. Goldsmith. We have all 
 missed you lately ; we feared that that dis- 
 graceful letter in the Packet had affected 
 you. That was why my son called upon 
 you at your rooms. I hope he assured you 
 that nothing it contained would interfere 
 with our friendship."
 
 340 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 " That was very kind of you, my dear 
 madam," said he; "but I have seen Mary 
 since that thing- appeared." 
 
 " To be sure you have. Did you not 
 think that she looked very ill? " 
 
 "Very ill indeed, madam; but I am 
 ready to give you my assurance that when 
 I have been half an hour with her she will 
 be on the way to recovery. You have not, 
 I fear, much confidence in my skill as a 
 doctor of medicine, and, to tell you the 
 truth, whatever your confidence in this 
 direction may amount to, it is a great deal 
 more than what I myself have. Still, I 
 think you will say something* in my favour 
 when you see Mary's condition begin to 
 improve from the moment we have a little 
 chat together." 
 
 "That is wherein I have the amplest con- 
 fidence in you, dear Dr. Goldsmith. Your 
 chat with her will do more for her than all 
 the medicine the most skilful of physicians 
 could prescribe. It was a very inopportune 
 time for her to fall sick." 
 
 " I think that all sicknesses are inoppor- 
 tune. But why Mary's? " 
 
 " Well, I have good reason to believe, 
 Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not steadfastly 
 refused to see a certain gentleman who has
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 341 
 
 been greatly attracted by her, I mig-ht now 
 have some happy news to convey to you." 
 
 "The g-entleman's name is Colonel 
 Gwyn, I think." 
 
 He spoke in a low voice and after a long 
 pause. 
 
 "Ah, you have g"uessed it, then? You 
 have perceived that the g-cntleman was 
 drawn toward her? " said the lady smiling-. 
 
 "I have every reason to believe in his 
 sincerity," said Goldsmith. "And you 
 think that if Mary had been as well as she 
 usually has been, she would have listened 
 to his proposals, madam? " 
 
 " Why should she not have done so, 
 sir?" said Mrs. Horneck. 
 
 "Why not, indeed?" 
 
 " Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable 
 match for her," said she. "He is, to be 
 sure, several years her senior; that, how- 
 ever, is nothing-." 
 
 "You think so — you think that a dis- 
 parity in age should mean nothing in such 
 a case? " said Oliver, rather eagerly. 
 
 " How could any one be so narrow- 
 minded as to think otherwise? " cried Mrs. 
 Horneck. "Whoever may think otherwise, 
 sir, I certainly do not. I hope I am too 
 good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I 
 could not stand between my daughter and
 
 342 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 happiness on such a pretext as a difference 
 in years. After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a 
 year or two over thirty — thirty-seven, I 
 believe — but he does not look more than 
 thirty-five." 
 
 " No one more cordially agrees with you 
 than myself on the point to which you give 
 emphasis, madam," said Goldsmith. "And 
 you think that Mary will see Colonel Gwyn 
 when she returns? " 
 
 "I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear 
 sir, that you will exert yourself so that 
 the bloom will be broug-ht back to her 
 cheeks," said the lady. "That is your 
 duty. Doctor; remember that, I pray. You 
 are to bring" back the bloom to her cheeks 
 in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly 
 attracted to her." 
 
 "I understand — I understand." 
 
 He spoke slowly, g-ravely. 
 
 "I knew you would help us," said Mrs. 
 Horneck, "and so I hope that you will lose 
 no time in coming- to us after Mary's return 
 to-morrow. Your Jessamy Bride will, I 
 trust, be a real bride before many days 
 have passed." 
 
 Yes, that was his duty : to help Mary to 
 happiness. Not for him, not for him was 
 the bloom to be brought ag"ain to her cheeks 
 — not for him, but for another man. For
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 343 
 
 him were the sleepless nights, the anxious 
 days, the hours of thoug-ht — all the anxiety 
 and all the danger resulting- from facing- an 
 unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man 
 was the joy of putting his lips upon the 
 delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of 
 taking her sweet form into his arms, of 
 dwelling daily in her smiles, of being for 
 evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the 
 pride of so priceless a possession as her 
 love. 
 
 That was his thought as he walked 
 along the Strand with bent head ; and yet, 
 before he had reached the Crown and 
 Anchor, he said — 
 
 "Even so; I am satisfied — I am satis- 
 fied." 
 
 It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the 
 tavern with Steevens, and Goldsmith per- 
 suaded both to join his party. He was 
 glad that he succeeded in doing so, for he 
 had felt it was quite possible that Baretti 
 might inquire of him respecting the object 
 of Jackson's visit to Brick Court, and he 
 could not well explain to the Italian the 
 nature of the enterprise which he had so 
 successfully carried out by the aid of Mrs. 
 Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. 
 Abington into his confidence, and quite 
 another to confide in Baretti. He was dis-
 
 344 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 criminating- enough to be well aware of the 
 fact that, while the secret was perfectly- 
 safe in the keeping of the actress, it would 
 be by no means equally so if confided to 
 Baretti, although some people might laug-h 
 at him for entertaining- an opinion so con- 
 trary to that which was generally accepted 
 by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman 
 and Baretti a man. 
 
 He had perceived long ago that Baretti 
 was extremely anxious to learn all about 
 Jackson — that he was wondering- how he, 
 Goldsmith, should have become mixed up 
 in a matter which was apparently of im- 
 perial importance, for at the mention of the 
 American rebels Baretti had opened his 
 eyes. He was, therefore, glad that the talk 
 at the table was so general as to prevent 
 any allusion being made to the incidents of 
 the day. 
 
 Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo ac- 
 quainted with a few important facts regard- 
 ing the use of the sword and the limitations 
 of that weapon, which the Italian accepted 
 with wonderful gravity; and when Gold- 
 smith, on the conversation drifting into the 
 question of patriotism and its trials, de- 
 clared that a successful patriot was suscep- 
 tible of being- defined as a man who loved
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 345 
 
 his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. 
 Johnson roared out — 
 
 "Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Bos- 
 well were here — and indeed, sir, I am glad 
 that he is not — he would say that your 
 definition was so good as to make him cer- 
 tain you had stolen it from me." 
 
 " Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have 
 been stolen from you," said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "I did not say 
 that it was good enough to have been stolen 
 from me. I only said that it was good 
 enough to make a very foolish person sup- 
 pose that it was stolen from me. No sens- 
 ible person, Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, 
 first, that you would steal; secondly, that 
 you would steal from me; thirdly, that I 
 would give you a chance of stealing from 
 me; and fourthly, that I would compose an 
 apophthegm which when it comes to be 
 closely examined is not so good after all. 
 Now, sir, are you satisfied with the extent 
 of my agreement with you?" 
 
 "Sir, I am more than satisfied," said 
 Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning mas- 
 ter of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on 
 his saffron face. This was a kind of fenc- 
 ing of which he had had no previous ex- 
 perience.
 
 346 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 After dining- Goldsmith made the excuse 
 of being- required at the theatre, to leave his 
 friends. He was anxious to return thanks 
 to Mrs. Abington for managing so adroitly 
 to accomplish in a moment all that he had 
 hoped to do. 
 
 He found the lady not in the green room, 
 but in her dressing room; her costume was 
 not, however, the less fascinating-, nor was 
 her smile the less subtle as she gave him 
 her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, 
 holding- her hand to his lips; he was too 
 much overcome to be able to speak, and she 
 knew it. She did not mind how long- he 
 held her hand; she was quite accustomed to 
 such demonstrations, though few, she well 
 knew, were of equal sincerity to those of 
 Oliver Goldsmith's. 
 
 "Well, my poet," she said at last, "have 
 you need of my services to banish any more 
 demons from the neig-hbourhood of your 
 friends?" 
 
 "I was rig-ht," he managed to say after 
 another pause, "yes, I knew I was not mis- 
 taken in you, my dear lady." 
 
 "Yes; you knew that I was equal to 
 combat the wiles of the craftiest demon that 
 ever undertook the slandering of a fair 
 damsel," said she. " Well, sir, you paid me 
 a doubtful compliment — a more doubtful
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE^ 347 
 
 compliment than the fair damsel paid to 
 you in asking- you to be her champion. But 
 you have not told me of your adventurous 
 journey with our friend in the hackney 
 coach." 
 
 "Nay," he cried, "it is you who have 
 not yet told me by what means you became 
 possessed of the letters which I wanted — 
 by what mag-ic you substituted for them 
 the mock act of the comedy which I carried 
 with me into the supper room." 
 
 "Psha, sir I " said she, "'twas a sim- 
 ple matter, after all. I g-athered from a re- 
 mark the fellow made when laying- his 
 cloak across the chair, that he had the let- 
 ters in one of the pockets of that same 
 cloak. He g-ave me a hint that a certain 
 Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging-, is not 
 to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry 
 about with him every document on which 
 he places a value. Well, sir, my well known 
 loyalty naturally received a g-reat shock 
 when he offered to drink to the American 
 rebels, and you saw that I left the table 
 hastily. A minute or so sufficed me to dis- 
 cover the wallet with the letters; but then 
 I was at my wits' end to find something- to 
 occupy their place in the receptacle. Hap- 
 pily my eye cauglil the roll of your manu- 
 script, which lay in your hat on the floor
 
 348 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the 
 trick was played. I had a sufficient appre- 
 ciation of dramatic incident to keep me 
 hoping- all the night that you would be able 
 to get possession of the wallet, believing it 
 contained the letters for which you were in 
 search. Lord, sir I I tried to picture your 
 face when you drew out your own papers." 
 
 The actress lay back on her couch and 
 roared with laughter, Goldsmith joining in 
 quite pleasantly. 
 
 "Ah!" he said; **I can fancy that I 
 see at this moment the expression which 
 my face wore at the time. But the sequel 
 to the story is the most humourous. I suc- 
 ceeded last night in picking the fellow's 
 pocket, but he paid me a visit this after- 
 noon with the intent of recovering what he 
 termed his property." 
 
 "Oh, lud I Call you that humourous? 
 How did you rid yourself of him ? " 
 
 At the story of the fight which had 
 taken place in Brick Court, Mrs. Abington 
 laughed heartily after a few breathless mo- 
 ments. 
 
 " By my faith, sir ! " she cried; " I would 
 give ten guineas to have been there. But 
 believe me. Dr. Goldsmith," she added a 
 moment afterwards, " you will live in great
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 349 
 
 jeopardy so long- as that fellow remains in 
 the town." 
 
 "Nay, my dear," said he. "It was 
 Baretti whom he threatened as he left my 
 room — not I. He knows that I have now 
 in my possession such documents as would 
 hang- him." 
 
 " Why, is not that the very reason why 
 he should make an attempt upon your 
 life ? " cried the actress. " He may try to 
 kill Baretti on a point of sentiment, but as- 
 suredly he will do his best to slaughter you 
 as a matter of business." 
 
 " Faith, madam, since you put it that 
 way I do believe that there is something in 
 what you say," said Goldsmith. " So I will 
 e'en take a hackney-coach to the Temple 
 and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me 
 to the very door of my chambers." 
 
 " Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great 
 interest the part which you have yet to 
 write for me in a comedy." 
 
 "I swear to you that it will be the best 
 part ever written by me, my dear friend. 
 You have earned my everlasting gratitude." 
 
 "Ah I was the lady so grateful as all 
 that?" cried the actress, looking at him 
 with one of those arch smiles of hers which 
 even Sir Joshua Reynolds could not quite 
 translate to show the next century what
 
 350 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 manner of woman was the first Lady Tea- 
 zle, for the part of the capricious young- 
 wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven 
 around the fascinating- country g-irl's smile 
 of Mrs. Abington.
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 Goldsmith kept his word. He took a 
 hackney-coach to the Temple, and was alert 
 all the time he was driving- lest Jackson and 
 his friends mig-ht be waiting- to make an 
 attack upon him. He reached his chambers 
 without any adventure, however, and on 
 locking his doors, took out the second parcel 
 of letters and set himself to peruse their 
 contents. 
 
 He had no need to read them all — the 
 first that came to his hand was sufficient to 
 make him aware of the nature of the cor- 
 respondence. It was perfectly plain that 
 the man had been endeavouring- to traffic 
 with the rebels, and it was equally certain 
 that the rebel leaders had shown them- 
 selves to be too honourable to take advant- 
 age of the offers which he had made to 
 them. If this correspondence had come 
 into the hands of Cornwallis he would have 
 hanged the fellow on the nearest tree in- 
 stead of merely turning- him out of his 
 regiment and shipping him back to Eng- 
 land as a suspected traitor. 
 
 351
 
 352 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 As he locked the letters once ag"ain in 
 his desk he felt that there was indeed every 
 reason to fear that Jackson would not rest 
 until he had obtained possession of such 
 damning- evidence of his g-uilt. He would 
 certainly either make the attempt to g-et 
 back the letters, or leave the country, in 
 order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which 
 would fall upon him if any one of the packet 
 went into the hands of a mag-istrate; and 
 Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that 
 the man would adopt the former course. 
 
 Only for an instant, as he laid down the 
 compromising- document, did he ask him- 
 self how it was possible that Mary Horneck 
 should ever have been so blind as to be 
 attracted to such a man, and to believe in 
 his honesty. 
 
 He knew enough of the nature of woman- 
 kind to be aware of the g-lamour which 
 attaches to a soldier who has been wounded 
 in fighting the enemies of his country. If 
 Mary had been less womanly than she 
 showed herself to be, he would not have 
 loved her so well as he did. Her womanly 
 weaknesses were dear to him, and the pain- 
 ful evidence that he had of the tenderness of 
 her heart only made him feel that she was 
 all the more a woman, and therefore all the 
 more to be loved.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 353 
 
 It was the afternoon of the next day 
 before he set out once more for the Hor- 
 necks'. He meant to see Mary, and then 
 g-o on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine. 
 There was to be that nig-ht a meeting- of 
 the Royal Academy, which he would 
 attend with the president, after Sir 
 Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner. It 
 occurred to him that, as Baretti would 
 also most probably be at the meeting, 
 he would do well to make him acquainted 
 with the dangerous character of Jackson, 
 so that Baretti might take due precautions 
 against any attack that the desperate man 
 might be induced to make upon him. No 
 doubt Baretti would make a good point in 
 conversation with his friends of the notion 
 of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution 
 to any one; but the latter was determined 
 to give the Italian his advice on this matter, 
 whatever the consequences might be. 
 
 It so happened, however, that he was 
 unable to carry out his intention in full, for 
 on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that 
 Mary would not return from Barton until 
 late that night, and at the meeting of the 
 Academy Baretti failed to put in an ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had 
 something of importance to communicate
 
 354 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 to the Italian, and that he was somewhat 
 uneasy at not having- a chance of carrying 
 out his intention in this respect. 
 
 " You would do well, then, to come to 
 my house for supper," said Reynolds. "I 
 think it is very probable that Baretti will 
 look in, if only to apolog-ise for his absence 
 from the meeting-. Miss Kauffman has 
 promised to come, and I have secured 
 Johnson as well." 
 
 Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and 
 Angelica Kauffman walked in front, he fol- 
 lowed with Reynolds some distance behind 
 — not so far, however, as to be out of the 
 range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was en- 
 gaged in a discourse with his sweet com- 
 panion — he was particularly fond of such 
 companionship — on the dignity inseparable 
 from a classic style in painting, and the 
 enormity of painting men and women in the 
 habiliments of their period and country. 
 Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who 
 required any considerable amount of re- 
 monstrance from her preceptors to keep 
 her feet from straying in regard to classical 
 traditions. The artist who gave the purest 
 Greek features and the Roman toga alike 
 to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III 
 could not be said to be capable of greatly 
 erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 355 
 
 All throug-h supper the sage continued 
 his discourse at intervals of eating-, g-iving 
 his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's 
 conscientious adherence to classical tradi- 
 tions, and shouting- down Goldsmith's mild 
 suggestion that it might be possible to 
 adhere to these traditions so faithfully as to 
 inculcate a certain artificiality of style 
 which might eventually prove detrimental 
 to the best interests of art. 
 
 "What, sir! " cried Johnson, rolling like 
 a three-decker swinging at anchor, and 
 pursing out his lips, "would you contend 
 that a member of Parliament should be 
 painted for posterity in his every-day 
 clothes — that the King should be depicted 
 as an ordinary gentleman? " 
 
 'Why, yes, sir, if the King were an 
 ordinary gentleman," replied Goldsmith. 
 
 Whitefoord, who never could resist the 
 chance of making a pun, whispered to 
 Oliver that in respect of some Kings there 
 was more of the ordinary than the gentle- 
 man about them, and when Miss Reynolds 
 insisted on his phrase being repeated to 
 her, Johnson became grave. 
 
 "Sir," he cried, turning once more to 
 Goldsmith, "there is a very flagrant ex- 
 ample of what you would bring about. 
 When a monarch, even depicted in his
 
 356 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia 
 of his exalted position, is not held to be 
 beyond the violation of a punster, what 
 would he be if shown in ordinary garb? 
 But you, sir, in your aims after what you 
 call the natural, would, I believe, consider 
 seriously the advisability of the epitaphs in 
 Westminster Abbey being written in Eng- 
 lish." 
 
 "And why not, sir?" said Goldsmith; 
 then, with a twinkle, he added, " For my 
 own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read 
 my own epitaph in Westminster Abbey 
 written in English." 
 
 Every one laughed, including — when the 
 bull had been explained to her — Angelica 
 Kauffman. 
 
 After supper Sir Joshua put his fair 
 guest into her chair, shutting its door with 
 his own hands, and shortly afterwards 
 Johnson and Whitefoord went off together. 
 But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of 
 Reynolds, lingered in the hope that Baretti 
 would call. He had probably been detained 
 at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and 
 if he should pass Leicester Square on his 
 way home, he would certainly call to ex- 
 plain the reason of his absence from the 
 meeting.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 357 
 
 When another half-hour had passed, how- 
 ever, Goldsmith rose and said that as Sir 
 Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be 
 outrag-eous for him to wait any longer. His 
 host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph 
 helped him on with his cloak. He was in 
 the act of receiving- his hat from the hand 
 of the servant when the hall-bell was rung 
 with starling violence. The ring was re- 
 peated before Ralph could take the few 
 steps to the door. 
 
 "If that is Baretti who rings, his busi- 
 ness must be indeed urgent," said Gold- 
 smith. 
 
 In another moment the door was opened, 
 and the light of the lamp showed the figure 
 of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past 
 Ralph, crying out so as to reach the ear of 
 Reynolds. 
 
 "A dreadful thing has happened to- 
 night, sir ! Baretti was attacked by two 
 men in the Haymarket, and he killed one 
 of them with his knife. He has been ar- 
 rested, and will be charged with murder 
 before Sir John Fielding in the morning. 
 I heard of the terrible business just now, 
 and lost no time coming to you." 
 
 "Merciful heaven!" cried Goldsmith. 
 "I was waiting for Baretti in order to warn 
 him."
 
 358 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 " You could not have any reason for 
 warning- him ag-ainst such an attack as was 
 made upon him," said Steevens. "It seems 
 that the fellow whom Baretti was unfortu- 
 nate enoug-h to kill was one of a very dis- 
 reputable gang well known to the con- 
 stables. It was a Bow street runner who 
 stated what his name was." 
 
 "And what was his name?" asked 
 Reynolds. 
 
 "Richard Jackson," replied Steevens. 
 "Of course we never heard the name be- 
 fore. The attack upon Baretti was the 
 worst that could be imagined." 
 
 " The world is undoubtedly rid of a 
 great rascal," said Goldsmith. 
 
 "Undoubtedly; but that fact will not 
 save our friend from being hanged, should 
 a jury find him guilty," said Steevens. 
 "We must make an effort to avert so ter- 
 rible a thing. That is why I came here 
 now; I tried to speak to Baretti, but the 
 constables would not g-ive me permission. 
 They carried my name to him, however, 
 and he sent out a message asking- me to go 
 without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as 
 well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. Garrick. He 
 hop^ you may find it convenient to attend 
 before Sir John Fielding at Bow street in 
 the morning."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 359 
 
 " That we shall," said Sir Joshua. " He 
 shall have the best leg-al advice available in 
 England ; and, meantime, we shall go to him 
 and tell him that he may depend on our 
 help, such as it is." 
 
 The coach in which Steevens had come 
 to Leicester Square was still waiting-, and 
 in it they all drove to where Baretti was 
 detained in custody. The constables would 
 not allow them to see the prisoner, but they 
 offered to convey to him any message which 
 his friends might have, and also to carry 
 back to them his reply. 
 
 Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get 
 from Baretti's own lips an account of the 
 assault which had been made upon him ; 
 but he could not induce the constables to 
 allow him to go into his presence. They, 
 however, bore in his message to the effect 
 that he might depend on the help of all his 
 friends in his emergency. 
 
 Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by 
 whom the arrest had been effected, and 
 they stated that Baretti had been seized by 
 the crowd — afar from reputable crowd — 
 so soon as it was known that a man had 
 been stabbed, and he had been handed over 
 to the constables, while a surgeon examined 
 the man's wound, but was able to do noth-
 
 360 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 ing- for him ; he had expired in the sur- 
 geon's hands. 
 
 Baretti's statement made to the watch 
 was that he was on his way to the meeting 
 of the Academy, and being very late, he 
 was hurrying through the Haymarket 
 when a woman jostled him, and at the 
 same instant two men rushed out from the 
 entrance to Jermyn street and attacked 
 him with heavy sticks. One of the men 
 closed with him to prevent his drawing his 
 sword, but he succeeded in freeing one 
 arm, and in defending himself with the 
 small fruit knife which he invariably car- 
 ried about with him, as was the custom in 
 France and Italy, where fruit is the chief 
 article of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed 
 his assailant, and by a great mischance he 
 must have severed an artery. 
 
 The Bow street runner who had seen 
 the dead body told Reynolds and his 
 friends that he recognised the man as one 
 Jackson, who had formerly held a commis- 
 sion in the army, and had been serving in 
 America, when, being tried by court-martial 
 for some irregularities, he had been sent to 
 England by Cornwallis. He had been liv- 
 ing by his wits for some months, and had 
 recently joined a very disreputable gang, 
 who occupied a house in Whetstone Park.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 361 
 
 "So far from our friend having- been 
 g-uilty of a criminal offence, it seems to me 
 that he has rid the country of a vile rogue," 
 said Goldsmith. 
 
 "If the jury take that view of the busi- 
 ness they '11 acquit the gentleman," said 
 the Bow street runner. "But I fancy the 
 judge will tell them that it 's the business 
 of the hangman only to rid the country of 
 its rogues." 
 
 Goldsmith could not but perceive that 
 the man had accurately defined the view 
 which the law was supposed to take of the 
 question of getting rid of the rogues, and 
 his reflections as he drove to his chambers, 
 having parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 and Steevens, made him very unhappy. He 
 could not help feeling that Baretti was the 
 victim of his — Goldsmith's — want of con- 
 sideration. What right had he, he asked 
 himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in 
 which the Italian had no concern? He felt 
 that a man of the world would certainly 
 have acted with more discretion, and if 
 anything happened to Baretti he would 
 never forgive himself.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 After a very restless nig-ht he hastened 
 to Johnson, but found that Johnson had 
 already g-one to Garrick's house, and at 
 Garrick's house Goldsmith learned that 
 Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund 
 Burke's; so it was plain that Baretti's 
 friends were losing- no time in setting- about 
 helping- him. They all met in the Bow 
 Street Police Court, and Goldsmith found 
 that Burke had already instructed a lawyer 
 on behalf of Baretti. His tender heart was 
 greatly moved at the sig-ht of Baretti when 
 the latter was broug-ht into court, and placed 
 in the dock, with a constable on each side. 
 But the prisoner himself appeared to be 
 quite collected, and seemed proud of the 
 g-roup of notable persons who had come to 
 show their friendship for him. He smiled 
 at Reynolds and Goldsmith, and, when the 
 witnesses were being- examined, polished 
 the g-lasses of his spectacles with the g-reat- 
 est composure. He appeared to be confi- 
 dent that Sir John Fielding- would allow him 
 to go free when evidence was given that 
 
 362
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 363 
 
 Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad 
 character, and he seemed g-reatly surprised 
 when the mag-istrate announced that he 
 was returning- him for trial at the next 
 sessions. 
 
 Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding- for 
 permission to accompany the prisoner in 
 the coach that was taking him to Newg-ate, 
 and his request was granted. 
 
 He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in 
 his eyes when they set out on this melan- 
 choly drive, saying- — 
 
 '* My dear friend, I shall never forgive 
 myself for having- brought you to this." 
 
 "Psha, sir!" said Baretti. '"Tis not 
 you, but the foolish laws of this country 
 that must be held accountable for the situa- 
 tion of the moment. In what country except 
 this could a thing- so ridiculous occur? A 
 gross ruffian attacks me, and in the absence 
 of any civil force for the protection of the 
 people, I am compelled to protect myself 
 from his violence. It so happens that in- 
 stead of the fellow killing me, I by accident 
 kill him, and lo! a pig-headed magistrate 
 sends me to be tried for my life ! Mother 
 of God 1 that is what is called the course of 
 justice in this country! The course of 
 idiocy it had much better be called!"
 
 364 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Do not be alarmed," said Goldsmith. 
 "When you appear before a judg-e and jury 
 you will most certainly be acquitted. But 
 can you forgive me for being- the cause of 
 this g-reat inconvenience to you?" 
 
 "I can easily forg-ive you, having no 
 reason to hold you in any way responsible 
 for this contretemps,'''' said Baretti. "But 
 I cannot forgive that very foolish person 
 who sat on the Bench at Bow street and 
 failed to perceive that my act had saved his 
 constables and his hangman a considerable 
 amount of trouble ! Heavens ! that such 
 carrion as the fellow whom I killed should 
 be regarded sacred — as sacred as though 
 he were an Archbishop ! Body of Bacchus I 
 was there ever a contention so ridiculous?" 
 
 " You will only be inconvenienced for a 
 week or two, my dear friend," said Gold- 
 smith. "It is quite impossible that you 
 could be convicted — oh, quite impossible. 
 You shall have the best counsel available, 
 and Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk 
 will speak for you." 
 
 But Baretti declined to be pacified by 
 such assurances. He continued railing 
 against England and English laws until the 
 coach arrived at Newgate. 
 
 It was with a very sad heart that Gold- 
 smith, when he was left alone in the coach,
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 365 
 
 g-ave directions to be driven to the Hor- 
 necks' house in Westminster. On leaving 
 his chambers in the morning-, he had been 
 uncertain whether it was rig-ht for him to 
 g-o at once to Bow street or to see Mary 
 Horneck. He felt that he should relieve 
 Mary from the distress of mind from 
 which she had suffered for so long, but he 
 came to the conclusion that he should let 
 nothing come between him and his duty in 
 respect of the man who was suffering by 
 reason of his friendship for him, Gold- 
 smith. Now, however, that he had dis- 
 charged his duty so far as he could in 
 regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going 
 to the Jessamy Bride. 
 
 Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. 
 Her face was very grave, and the signs of 
 recent tears were visible on it. 
 
 "Dear Dr. Goldsmith," she said, "I am 
 in deep distress about Mary." 
 
 " How so, madam ? " he gasped, for a 
 dreadful thought had suddenly come to 
 him. Had he arrived at this house only to 
 hear that the girl was at the point of death? 
 
 "She returned from Barton last night, 
 seeming even more depressed than when 
 she left town," said Mrs. Horneck. "But 
 who could fancy that her condition was so 
 low as to be liable to such complete pros-
 
 366 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 tration as was brought about by my son's 
 announcement of this news about Signor 
 Baretti ? " 
 
 " It prostrated her ? " 
 
 "Why, when Charles read out an ac- 
 count of the unhappy affair which is 
 printed in one of the papers, Mary listened 
 breathlessly, and when he read out the 
 name of the man who was killed, she sank 
 from her chair to the floor in a swoon, just 
 as though the man had been one of her 
 friends, instead of one whom none of us 
 could ever possibly have met." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " Now she is lying on the sofa in the 
 drawing-room awaiting your coming with 
 strange impatience — I told her that you 
 had been here yesterday and also the day 
 before. She has been talking very 
 strangely since she awoke from her faint 
 — accusing herself of bringing her friends 
 into trouble, but evermore crying out, 
 ' Why does he not come — why does he not 
 come to tell me all that there is to be told ? ' 
 She meant you, dear Dr. Goldsmith. She 
 has somehow come to think of you as able 
 to soothe her in this curious imaginary dis- 
 tress, from which she is suffering quite as 
 acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I 
 was quite overcome when I saw the poor
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 367 
 
 child lying- as if she were dead before my 
 eyes ! Her condition is the more sad, as I 
 have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn 
 means to call to-day." 
 
 "Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the 
 present, madam," said Goldsmith, "Will 
 you have the goodness to lead me to her 
 room? Have I not told you that I am con- 
 fident that I can restore her to health ? " 
 
 "Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could 1 — ah, 
 if you only could ! But alas, alas I " 
 
 He followed her upstairs to the draw- 
 ing-room where he had had his last inter- 
 view with Mary. Even before the door 
 was opened the sound of sobbing- within 
 the room came to his ears. 
 
 "Now, my dear child," said her mother 
 with an affectation of cheerfulness, "you 
 see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. 
 He has come to his Jessamy Bride." 
 
 The girl started up, but the struggle 
 she had to do so showed him most pathet- 
 ically how weak she was. 
 
 "Ah, he is come — he is come!" she 
 cried. " Leave him with me, mother ; he 
 has much to tell me." 
 
 " Yes." said he ; " I have much." 
 Mrs. Horneck left the room after kiss- 
 ing the girl's forehead.
 
 368 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 She had hardly closed the door before 
 Mary caught Goldsmith's hand spasmodi- 
 cally in both her own — he felt how they 
 were trembling- — as she cried — 
 
 "The terrible thing- that has happened! 
 He is dead — you know it, of course? Oh, it 
 is terrible — terrible I But the letters! — 
 they will be found upon him or at the place 
 where he lived, and it will be impossible to 
 keep my secret longer. Will his friends — 
 he had evil friends, I know — will they print 
 them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face 
 that you believe they will print the letters, 
 and I shall be undone — undone." 
 
 "My dear," he said, "you might be able 
 to bear the worst news that I could bring 
 you; but will you be able to bear the best?" 
 
 "The best! Ah, what is the best?" 
 
 "It is more difficult to prepare for the 
 best than for the worst, my child. You are 
 very weak, but you must not give way to 
 your weakness." 
 
 She stared at him with wistful, expect- 
 ant eyes. Her hands were clasped more 
 tightly than ever upon his own. He saw 
 that she was trying to speak, but failing to 
 utter a single word. 
 
 He waited for a few moments and then 
 drew out of his pocket the packet of her 
 letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 369 
 
 strangely for certainl)'^ a minute. She could 
 not realise the truth. She could only g-aze 
 mutely at the packet. He perceived that 
 that gradual dawning- of the truth upon her 
 meant the saving- of her life. He knew that 
 she would not now be overwhelmed with 
 the joy of being- saved. 
 
 Then she g-ave a sudden cry. The let- 
 ters dropped from her hand. She flung 
 her arms around his neck and kissed him 
 ag-ain and again on the cheeks. Quite as 
 suddenly she ceased kissing him and 
 laug-hed — not hysterically, but joyously, 
 as she sprang- to her feet with scarcely an 
 effort and walked across the room to the 
 window that looked upon the street. He 
 followed her with his eyes and saw her gaz- 
 ing out. Then she turned round with an- 
 other laugh that rippled through the room. 
 How long was it since he had heard her 
 laugh in that way? 
 
 She came toward him, and then he knew 
 that he had had his reward, for her cheeks 
 that had been white were now glowing with 
 the roses of June, and her eyes that had 
 been dim were sparkling with gladness. 
 
 *'Ah,"she cried, putting out both her 
 hands to him. "Ah, I knew that I was right 
 in telling you my secret, and in asking you 
 to help me. I knew that you would not fail
 
 370 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 me in my hour of need, and you shall be 
 dear to me for evermore for having- helped 
 me. There is no one in the world like you, 
 dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt 
 that — so g"ood, so true, so full of tender- 
 ness and that sweet simplicity which has 
 made the greatest and best people in the 
 world love you, as I love you, dear, dear 
 friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted — 
 a friend who would be ready to die for his 
 friend. Gratitude — you do not want grat- 
 itude. It is well that you do not want grat- 
 itude, for what could gratitude say to you 
 for what you have done ? You have saved 
 me from death — from worse than death — 
 and I know that the thought that you have 
 done so will be your greatest reward. I 
 will always be near you, that you may see 
 me and feel that I live only because you 
 stretched out your kind hand and drew me 
 out of the deep waters — the waters that 
 had well-nigh closed over my head." 
 
 He sat before her, looking up to the sweet 
 face that looked down upon him. His eyes 
 were full of tears. The world had dealt 
 hardly with him ; but he felt that his life 
 had not been wholly barren of gladness, 
 since he had lived to see — even through 
 the dimness of tears — so sweet a face look- 
 ing into his own with eyes full of the light
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 371 
 
 of — was it the gratitude of a girl? Was it 
 the love of a woman? 
 
 He could not speak. He could not even 
 return the pressure of the small hands 
 that clasped his own with all the gracious 
 pressure of the tendrils of a climbing 
 flower. 
 
 "Have you nothing to say to me — no 
 word to give me at this moment?" she asked 
 in a whisper, and her head was bent closer 
 to his, and her fingers seemed to him to 
 tighten somewhat around his own. 
 
 "What word?" said he. "Ah, my child, 
 what word should come from such a man as 
 I to such a woman as you? No, I have no 
 word. Such complete happiness as is mine 
 at this moment does not seek to find ex- 
 pression in words. You have given me such 
 happiness as I never hoped for in my life. 
 You have understood me — you alone, and 
 that to such as I means happiness." 
 
 She dropped his hands so suddenly as 
 almost to suggest that she had flung them 
 away from her. She took an impatient step 
 or two in the direction of the window. 
 
 "You talk of my understanding you," 
 she said in a voice that had a sob in it. 
 " Yes, but have you no thought of under- 
 standing me? Is it only a man's nature
 
 372 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 that is worth trying- to understand? Is a 
 woman's not worthy of a thought?" 
 
 He started up and seemed about to 
 stretch his arms out to her, but with a 
 sudden drawing- in of his breath he put his 
 hands behind his back and locked the 
 fing-ers of both together. 
 
 Thus he stood looking at her while she 
 had her face averted, not knowing the 
 struggle that was going on between the two 
 powers that are ever in the throes of con- 
 flict within the heart of a man who loves a 
 woman well enough to have no thought of 
 himself — no thought except for her hap- 
 piness. 
 
 "No," he said at last. "No, my dear, 
 dear child; I have no word to say to you 1 
 I fear to speak a word. The happiness that 
 a man builds up for himself may be de- 
 stroyed by the utterance of one word. I 
 wish to remain happy — watching your hap- 
 piness — in silence. Perhaps I may under- 
 stand you — I may understand something 
 of the thought which gratitude suggests 
 to you." 
 
 " Ah, gratitude!" said she in a tone that 
 was sad even in its scornfulness. She had 
 not turned her head toward him. 
 
 " Yes, I may understand something of 
 your nature — the sweetest, the tenderest
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 373 
 
 that ever made a woman blessed ; but I 
 understand myself better, and I know in 
 what direction lies my happiness — in what 
 direction lies your happiness." 
 
 "Ah! are you sure that they are two — 
 that they are separate?" said she. And now 
 she moved her head slowly so that she was 
 looking into his face. 
 
 There was a long- pause. She could not 
 see the movement of his hands. He still 
 held them behind him. At last he said 
 slowly — 
 
 " I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but 
 too sure. Would to God there were a chance 
 of my being- mistaken ! Ah, dear, dear 
 child, it is my lot to look on happiness 
 through another man's eyes. And, believe 
 me, there is more happiness in doing so 
 than the world knows of. No, no I Do not 
 speak — for God's sake, do not speak to me! 
 Do not say those words which are trem- 
 bling on your lips, for they mean un- 
 happiness to both of us." 
 
 She continued looking at him; then sud- 
 denly, with a little cry, she turned away, 
 and throwing herself down on the sofa, 
 burst into tears, with her face upon one of 
 the arms, which her hands held tightly. 
 
 After a time he went to her side and laid 
 a hand upon her hair.
 
 374 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 She raised her head and looked up to 
 him with streaming- eyes. She put a hand 
 out to him, saying- in a low but clear voice — 
 
 " You are rig-ht. Oh, I know you are 
 right. I will not speak that word ; but I can 
 never — never cease to think of you as the 
 best — the noblest — the truest of men. 
 You have been my best friend — my only 
 friend — and there is no dearer name that a 
 man can be called by a woman." 
 
 He bent his head and kissed her on the 
 forehead, but spoke no word. 
 
 A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck 
 entered the room. 
 
 "Oh, mother, mother!" cried the g"irl, 
 starting- up, "I knew that I was right — I 
 knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to 
 help me. Ah, I am a new girl since he came 
 to see me. I feel that I am well once more 
 — that I shall never be ill again I Oh, he is 
 the best doctor in the world ! " 
 
 " Why, what a transformation there is 
 already 1" said her mother. "Ah, Dr. 
 Goldsmith was always my dear girl's 
 friend I" 
 
 "Friend — friend 1" she said slowly, 
 almost gravely. " Yes, he was always my 
 friend, and he will be so forever — my 
 friend — our friend."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 375 
 
 "Always, always," said Mrs. Horneck. 
 "lam doubly g-lad to find that you have cast 
 away your fit of melancholy, my dear, 
 because Colonel Gwyn has just called and 
 expresses the deepest anxiety reg^arding* 
 your condition. May I not ask him to come 
 up in order that his mind may be relieved 
 by seeing- you? " 
 
 "No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn 
 to-day," cried the girl. "Send him away 
 — send him away. I do not want to see 
 him. I want to see no one but our g-ood 
 friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did 
 Colonel Gwyn ever do for me that I should 
 wish to see him? " 
 
 " My dear Mary " 
 
 "Send him away, dear mother. I tell 
 you that indeed I am not yet sufficiently 
 recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. 
 Goldsmith has not yet g-iven me a good 
 laugh, and till you come and find us laugh- 
 ing together as we used to laug-h in the old 
 days, you cannot say that I am myself 
 again." 
 
 "I will not do anything- against your in- 
 clinations, child," said Mrs. Horneck. "I 
 will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to 
 you next week." 
 
 "Do, dear mother," cried the girl, 
 laughing-. "Say next week, or next year,
 
 376 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 sweetest of mothers, or — best of all — say 
 that he had better come by and by, and then 
 add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 
 ' by and by is easily said. 
 
 » »»
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 As he went to his chambers to dress be- 
 fore going- to dine with the Dillys in the 
 Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he 
 had been for years. He had seen the light 
 return to the face that he loved more than 
 all the faces in the world, and he had been 
 strong- enough to put aside the temptation 
 to hear her confess that she returned the 
 love which he bore her, but which he had 
 never confessed to her. He felt happy to 
 know that the friendship which had been 
 so great a consolation to him for several 
 years — the friendship for the family who 
 had been so good and so considerate to 
 him — was the same now as it had always 
 been. He felt happy in the reflection that 
 he had spoken no word that would tend to 
 jeopardise that friendship. He had seen 
 enough of the world to be made aware of 
 the fact that there is no more potent de- 
 stroyer of friendship than love. He had 
 put aside the temptation to speak a word of 
 love; nay, he had prevented her from 
 speaking what he believed would be a word 
 
 877
 
 378 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 of love, althoug-h the speaking- of that word 
 would have been the sweetest sound that 
 had ever fallen upon his ears. 
 
 And that was how he came to feel happy. 
 
 And yet, that same nig-ht, when he was 
 sitting" alone in his room, he found a de- 
 light in adding to that bundle of manu- 
 scripts which he had dedicated to her and 
 which some weeks before he had designed 
 to destroy. He added poem after poem to 
 the verses which Johnson had rightly inter- 
 preted — verses pulsating with the love 
 that was in his heart — verses which Mary 
 Horneck could not fail to interpret aright 
 should they ever come before her eyes. 
 
 "But they shall never come before her 
 eyes," he said. "Ah, never — never 1 It 
 is in my power to avert at least that un- 
 happiness from her life." 
 
 And yet before he went to sleep he had 
 a thought that perhaps one day she might 
 read those verses of his — yes, perhaps one 
 day. He wondered if that day was far oflE 
 or nigh. 
 
 When he had been by her side, after 
 Colonel Gwyn had left the house, he had 
 told her the story of the recovery of her 
 letters; he did not, however, think it neces- 
 sary to tell her how the man had come to 
 entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 379 
 
 thus reg-arded the latter's killing- of Jack- 
 son as an accident- 
 After the lapse of a day or two he beg-an 
 to think if it mig-ht not be well for him to 
 consult with Edmund Burke as to whether 
 it would be to the advantagfe of Baretti or 
 otherwise to submit evidence as to the 
 threats made use of by Jackson in regard 
 to Baretti. He thoug-ht that it might be 
 possible to do so without introducing- the 
 name of Mary Horneck. But Burke, after 
 hearing- the story — no mention of the name 
 of Mary Horneck being- made by Goldsmith 
 — came to the conclusion that it would be 
 unwise to introduce at the trial any ques- 
 tion of animosity on the part of the man 
 who had been killed, lest the jury might be 
 led to infer — as, indeed, they mig-ht have 
 some sort of reason for doing- — that the 
 animosity on Jackson's part meant animos- 
 ity on Baretti's part. Burke considered 
 that a defence founded upon the plea of ac- 
 cident was the one which was most likely 
 to succeed in obtaining- from a jury a ver- 
 dict of acquittal. If it could be shown that 
 the man had attacked Baretti as impu- 
 dently as some of the witnesses for the 
 Crown were ready to admit that he did, 
 Burke and his legal advisers thought that
 
 380 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining- 
 a verdict. 
 
 The fact that neither Burke nor any one 
 else spoke with confidence of the acquittal 
 had, however, a deep effect upon Gold- 
 smith. His sanguine nature had caused 
 him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's 
 safety, and any one who reads nowadays an 
 account of the celebrated trial would un- 
 doubtedly be inclined to think that his feel- 
 ing in this matter was fully justified. That 
 there should have been any suggestion of 
 premeditation in the unfortunate act of 
 self-defence on the part of Baretti seems 
 amazing to a modern reader of the case as 
 stated by the Crown. But as Edmund 
 Burke stated about that time in the House 
 of Commons, England was a gigantic sham- 
 bles. The barest evidence against a pris- 
 oner was considered sufficient to bring him 
 to the gallows for an offence which nowa- 
 days, if proved against him on unmistak- 
 able testimony, would only entail his incar- 
 ceration for a week. Women were hanged 
 for stealing bread to keep their children 
 from that starvation which was the result 
 of the kidnapping of their husbands to 
 serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the 
 only influential voice that was lifted up 
 against a system in comparison with which
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 381 
 
 slavery was not only tolerable, but com- 
 mendable. 
 
 Baretti was indeed the only one of that 
 famous circle of which Johnson was the 
 centre, who felt confident that he would be 
 acquitted. For all his railing- against the 
 detestable laws of the detestable coun- 
 try — which, however, he found preferable 
 to his own — he ridiculed the possibility of 
 his being- found guilty. It was Johnson 
 who considered it within the bounds of his 
 duty to make the Italian understand that, 
 however absurd was the notion of his being 
 carted to the gallows, the likelihood was 
 that he would experience the feelings inci- 
 dental to such an excursion. 
 
 He went full of this intention with 
 Reynolds to visit the prisoner at Newgate, 
 and it may be taken for granted that he 
 discharged his duty with his usual em- 
 phasis. It is recorded, however, on the 
 excellent authority of Boswell, that Baretti 
 was quite unmoved by the admonition of 
 the sage. 
 
 It is also on authority of Boswell that 
 we learn that Johnson was guilty of what 
 appears to us nowadays as a very gross 
 breach of good taste as well as of good feel- 
 ing, when, on the question of the likelihood 
 of Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being
 
 382 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 discussed, he declared that if one of his 
 friends were fairly hang-ed he should not 
 suffer, but eat his dinner just the same as 
 usual. It is fortunate, however, that we 
 know something- of the systems adopted by 
 Johnson when pestered by the idiotic in- 
 sistence of certain trivial matters by Bos- 
 well, and the record of Johnson's pretence 
 to appear a callous man of the world prob- 
 ably deceived no one in the world except 
 the one man whom it was meant to silence. 
 
 But, however callous Dr. Johnson may 
 have pretended to be — however insincere 
 Tom Davis the bookseller may — accord- 
 ing- to Johnson — have been, there can be 
 no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in g-reat 
 trepidation until the trial was over. He 
 g-ave evidence in favour of Baretti, though 
 Boswell, true to his detestation of the man 
 against whom he entertained an envy that 
 showed itself every time he mentioned his 
 name, declined to mention this fact, taking- 
 care, however, that Johnson g-ot full credit 
 for appearing- in the witness-box with 
 Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk. 
 
 Baretti was acquitted, the jury being- 
 satisfied that, as the fruit-knife was a 
 weapon which was constantly carried by 
 Frenchmen and Italians, they mig-ht possi- 
 bly g-o so far as to assume that it had not
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 383 
 
 been bought by the prisoner solely with 
 the intention of murdering- the man who 
 had attacked him in the Haymarket. The 
 carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a 
 strange turning-point of a case heard at a 
 period when the law permitted men to 
 carry swords presumably for their own 
 protection. 
 
 Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by 
 the acquittal of Baretti, and he joined in 
 the many attempts that were made to 
 show the sympathy which was felt — or, as 
 Boswell would have us believe Johnson 
 thought, was simulated — by his friends 
 for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour 
 of the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, 
 Garrick, and a few others of the circle, and 
 he proposed the health of their guest, 
 which, he said, had not been so robust of 
 late as to give all his friends an assurance 
 that he would live to a ripe old age. He 
 also toasted the jury and the counsel, as 
 well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the 
 usher of the Old Bailey. 
 
 When the trial was over, however, he 
 showed that the strain to which he had 
 been subjected was too great for him. His 
 health broke down, and he was compelled 
 to leave his chambers and hurry ofif to his 
 cottage on the Edgware Road, hoping to be
 
 384 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 benefitted by the change to the country, and 
 trusting- also to be able to make some prog-- 
 ress with the many works which he had 
 eng-ag-ed himself to complete for the book- 
 sellers. He had, in addition, his comedy to 
 write for Garrick, and he was not unmind- 
 ful of his promise to give Mrs. Abington a 
 part worthy of her acceptance. 
 
 He returned at rare intervals to town, 
 and never failed at such times to see his 
 Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed 
 his old relations of friendship. When she 
 visited her sister at Barton she wrote to 
 him in her usual high spirits. Little Com- 
 edy also sent him letters full of the fun in 
 which she delighted to indulge with him, 
 and he was never too busy to reply in the 
 same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun- 
 bury's country house wished to have him 
 once again in their midst, to join in their 
 pranks, and to submit, as he did with such 
 good will, to their practical jests. 
 
 He did not go to Barton. He had made 
 up hi;i mind that that was one of the pleas- 
 ures of life which he should forego. At 
 Barton he knew that he would see Mary day 
 by day, and he could not trust himself to be 
 near her constantly and yet refrain from 
 saying the words which would make both 
 of them miserable. He had conquered him-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 385 
 
 self once, but he was not sure that he would 
 be as strong- a second time. 
 
 This perpetual strug-g-le in which he was 
 eng-ag-ed — this constant endeavour to crush 
 out of his life the passion which alone made 
 life endurable to him, left him worn and 
 weak, so it was not surprising- that, when a 
 coach drove up to his cottag-e one day, 
 after many months had passed, and Mrs. 
 Horneck stepped out, she was g-reatly 
 shocked at the chang-e which was apparent 
 in his appearance. 
 
 "Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!" she 
 cried when she entered his little parlour, 
 " you are killing- yourself by your hard 
 work. Sir Joshua said he was extremely 
 apprehensive in reg-ard to your health the 
 last time he saw you, but were he to see 
 you now, he would be not merely apprehens- 
 ive but despairing-." 
 
 "Nay, my dear madam," he said. "I 
 am only suffering- from a slight attack of an 
 old enemy of mine. I am not so strong- as 
 I used to be; but let me assure you that I 
 feel much better since you have been g-ood 
 enoug-h to g-ive me an opportunity of seeing- 
 you at my humble home. When I caug-ht 
 sig-ht of you stepping- out of the coach I 
 received a great shock for a moment; I
 
 386 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 feared that — ah, I cannot tell you all that 
 I feared." 
 
 " However shocked you were, dear Dr. 
 Goldsmith, you were not so shocked as I 
 was when you appeared before me," said 
 the lady. "Why, dear sir, you are killing 
 yourself. Oh, we must chang-eallthis. You 
 have no one here to give you the attention 
 which your condition requires." 
 
 "What, madam! Am not I a physician 
 myself?" said the Doctor, making- a pitiful 
 attempt to assume his old manner. 
 
 "Ah, sir! every moment I am more 
 shocked," said she. "I will take you in 
 hand. I came here to beg- of you to gfo to 
 Barton in my interests, but now I will beg 
 of you to go thither in your own." 
 
 "To Barton? Oh, my dear madam " 
 
 "Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have 
 known you better than to fancy I should 
 easier prevail upon you by asking you to go 
 to advance your own interests rather than 
 mine. You were always more ready to help 
 others than to help yourself." 
 
 " How is it possible, dear lady, that you 
 need my poor help?" 
 
 "Ah! I knew the best way to interest 
 you. Dear friend, I know of no one who 
 could be of the same help to us as you."
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 387 
 
 " There is no one who would be more 
 willing-, madam." 
 
 " You have proved it long- ago, Dr. Gold- 
 smith. When Mary had that mysterious 
 indisposition, was not her recovery due to 
 you? She announced that it was you, and 
 you only, who had brought her back to 
 life." 
 
 "Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was al- 
 ways generous. Surely she is not again in 
 need of my help." 
 
 "It is for her sake I come to you to-day, 
 Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that you are 
 interested in her future — in the happiness 
 which we all are anxious to secure for 
 her." 
 
 "Happiness? What happiness, dear 
 madam?" 
 
 "I will tell you, sir. I look on you as 
 one of our family — nay, I can talk with you 
 more confidentially than I can with my own 
 
 son." 
 
 " You have ever been indulgent to me, 
 Mrs. Horneck." 
 
 "And you have ever been generous, sir; 
 that is why I am here to-day. I know that 
 Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has 
 yet told you that Colonel Gwyn made her 
 an offer with my consent." 
 
 " No; she has not told me that."
 
 388 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, 
 but endeavoring- to restrain the emotion 
 which he felt. 
 
 " It is not unlike Mary to treat the mat- 
 ter as if it were finally settled, and so not 
 worthy of another thought," said Mrs. 
 Horneck. 
 
 "Finally settled?" repeated Goldsmith. 
 " Then she has accepted Colonel Gwyn's 
 proposal?" 
 
 "On the contrary, sir, she rejected it," 
 said the mother. 
 
 He resumed his seat. Was the emotion 
 which he experienced at that moment one 
 of gladness? 
 
 " Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all 
 considered most eligible," said the lady. 
 "Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, 
 and his own character is irreproachable. 
 He is in every respect a most admirable 
 man, and I am convinced that my dear 
 child's happiness would be assured with 
 him — -and yet she sends him away from 
 her." 
 
 "That is possibly because she knows 
 her own mind — her own heart, I should 
 rather say; and that heart the purest in 
 the world." 
 
 "Alas! she is but a girl." 
 
 "Nay, to my mind, she is something
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 389 
 
 more than a girl. No man that lives is 
 worthy of her." 
 
 "That may be true, dear friend ; but no 
 g-irl would thank you to act too rigidly on 
 that assumption — an assumption which 
 would condemn her to live and die an old 
 maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want 
 you to take a practical and not a poetical 
 view of a matter which so closely concerns 
 the future of one who is dear to me, and in 
 whom I am sure you take a great interest." 
 
 "I would do anything for her happi- 
 
 ness." 
 
 "I know it. Well you have long been 
 aware, I am sure, that she regards you with 
 the greatest respect and esteem — nay, if I 
 may say it, with affection as well." 
 
 "Ah! affection — affection for me?" 
 
 *' You know it. If you were her brother 
 she could not have a warmer regard for 
 you. And that is why I have come to you 
 to-day to beg of you to yield to the entreat- 
 ies of your friends at Barton and pay them 
 a visit. Mary is there, and I hope you will 
 see your way to use your influence with her 
 on behalf of Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 "What! I, madam?" 
 
 "Has my suggestion startled you? It 
 should not have done so. I tell you, my 
 friend, there is no one to whom I could go
 
 390 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 in this way, saving- yourself. Indeed, there 
 is no one else who would be worth going- to, 
 for no one possesses the influence over her 
 that you have always had. I am convinced, 
 Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your 
 persuasion while turning- a deaf ear to that 
 of any one else. You will lend us your 
 influence, will you not, dear friend?" 
 
 "I must have time to think — to think. 
 How can I answer you at once in this mat- 
 ter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision 
 means to me." 
 
 He had left his chair once more and was 
 standing- against the fireplace looking- into 
 the empty g-rate. 
 
 "You are wrong-," she said in a low 
 tone. " You are wrong; I know what is in 
 your thoughts — in your heart. You fear 
 that if Mary were married she would stand 
 on a different footing in respect to you." 
 
 "Ah ! a different footing ! " 
 
 " I think that you are in error in that re- 
 spect," said the lady. "Marriage is not 
 such a change as some people seem to fancy 
 it is. Is not Katherine the same to you 
 now as she was before she married Charles 
 Bunbury ?" 
 
 He looked at her with a little smile upon 
 his face. How little she knew of what was 
 in his heart !
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 391 
 
 *'Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is 
 unchang-ed," said he. 
 
 "And your Jessamy Bride would be 
 equally unchang-ed," said Mrs. Horneck. 
 
 "But where lies the need for her to 
 marry at once?" he inquired. "If she 
 were in love with Colonel Gwyn there 
 would be no reason why they should not 
 marry at once; but if she does not love him 
 
 "Who can say that she does not love 
 him?" cried the lady. "Oh, my dear Dr. 
 Goldsmith, a young- woman is herself the 
 worst judg-e in all the world of whether or 
 not she loves one particular man. I give 
 you my word, sir, I was married for five 
 years before I knew that I loved my hus- 
 band. When I married him I know that I 
 was under the impression that I actually 
 disliked him. Marriages are made in 
 heaven, they say, and very properly, for 
 heaven only knows whether a woman really 
 loves a man, and a man a woman. Neither 
 of the persons in the contract is capable of 
 pronouncing a just opinion on the subject." 
 
 " I think that Mary should know what is 
 in her own heart." 
 
 "Alas ! alas ! I fear for her. It is be- 
 cause I fear for her I am desirous of seeing 
 her married to a good man — a man with
 
 392 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 whom her future happiness would be as- 
 sured. You have talked of her heart, my 
 friend ; alas I that is just why I fear for 
 her. I know how her heart dominates her 
 life and prevents her from exercising- her 
 judgment. A girl who is ruled by her 
 heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she 
 told you what her uncle, with whom she 
 was sojourning in Devonshire, told me 
 about her meeting a certain man there — 
 my brother did not make me acquainted 
 with his name — and being so carried away 
 with some plausible story he told that she 
 actually fancied herself in love with him — 
 actually, until my brother, learning that 
 the man was a disreputable fellow^, put a 
 stop to an affair that could only have had a 
 disastrous ending. Ah ! her heart " 
 
 " Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly 
 she is dominated by her heart." 
 
 "That is, I repeat, why I tremble for 
 her future. If she were to meet at some 
 time, when perhaps I might not be near her, 
 another adventurer like the fellow whom 
 she met in Devonshire, who can say that 
 she would not fancy she loved him ? What 
 disaster might result! Dear friend, would 
 you desire to save her from the fate of your 
 Olivia?" 
 
 There was a long pause before he said —
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 393 
 
 "Madam, I will do as you ask me. I 
 will go to Mary and endeavour to point out 
 to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel 
 Gwyn." 
 
 "I knew you would grant my request, 
 my dear, dear friend," cried the mother, 
 catching his hand and pressing it. " But I 
 would ask of you not to put the proposal to 
 her quite in that way. To suggest that a 
 girl with a heart should marry a particular 
 man because her duty lies in that direction 
 would be foolishness itself. Duty ? The 
 word is abhorrent to the ear of a young 
 woman whose heart is ripe for love." 
 
 •' You are a woman." 
 
 "I am one indeed; I know what are 
 a woman's thoughts — her longings — her 
 hopes — and alas! her self-deceptions. A 
 woman's heart — ah. Dr. Goldsmith, you 
 once put into a few lines the whole tragedy 
 of a woman's life. What experience was 
 it urged you to write those lines? — 
 ' When lovely woman stoops to folly. 
 And finds too late . . . ' 
 
 To think that one day, perhaps a child of 
 mine should sing that song of poor Olivia! " 
 
 He did not tell her that Mary had al- 
 ready quoted the lines in his hearing. He 
 bowed his head, saying — 
 
 "I will go to her."
 
 394 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "You will be saving- her — ah, sir, will 
 you not be saving- yourself," cried Mrs. 
 Horneck. 
 
 He started slightly. 
 
 " Saving myself? What can your mean- 
 ing be, Mrs. Horneck? " 
 
 " I tell you I was shocked beyond meas- 
 ure when I entered this room and saw you," 
 she replied. " You are ill, sir; you are very 
 ill, and the change to the garden at Barton 
 will do you good. You have been neglect- 
 ing yourself — yes, and some one who will 
 nurse you back to life. Oh, Barton is the 
 place for you ! " 
 
 "There is no place I should like better 
 to die at," said he. 
 
 "To die at?" she said. "Nonsense, 
 sir! you are I trust, far from death still. 
 Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. 
 Life is there for you." 
 
 "Your daughter Mary is there," said 
 he.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 He wrote that very evening-, after Mrs. 
 Horneck had taken her departure, one of 
 his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, 
 telling- her that he had resolved to yield 
 g-racefully to her entreaties to visit her, 
 and meant to leave for Barton the next day. 
 When that letter was written he gave him- 
 self up to his thoug-hts. 
 
 All his thoug-hts were of Mary. He was 
 g-oing- to place a barrier between her and 
 himself. He was g-oing- to g-ive himself a 
 chance of life by making- it impossible for 
 him to love her. This writer of books had 
 broug-ht himself to think that if Mary Hor- 
 neck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, 
 Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of 
 her as he thoug-ht of her sister — with the 
 affection which exists between good friends. 
 
 While her mother had been talking to 
 him about her and her loving heart, he had 
 suddenly become possessed of the truth: it 
 was her sympathetic heart that had led her 
 to make the two mistakes of her life. First, 
 she had fancied that she loved the impostor
 
 396 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 whom she had met in Devonshire, and then 
 she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver 
 Goldsmith. He knew what she meant by 
 the words which she had spoken in his 
 presence. He knew that if he had not been 
 strong enoug-h to answer her as he had 
 done that day, she would have told him that 
 she loved him. 
 
 Her mother was right. She was in 
 great danger through her liability to follow 
 the promptings of her heart. If already 
 she had made two such mistakes as he had 
 become aware of, into what disaster might 
 not she be led in the future? 
 
 Yes; her mother was right. Safety for 
 a girl with so tender a heart was to be 
 found only in marriage — marriage with 
 such a man as Colonel Gwyn undoubtedly 
 was. He recollected the details of Colonel 
 Gwyn's visit to himself, and how favourably 
 impressed he had been with the man. He 
 undoubtedly possessed every trait of char- 
 acter that goes to constitute a good man 
 and a good husband. Above all, he was de- 
 voted to Mary Horneck, and there was no 
 man who would be better able to keep her 
 from the dangers which surrounded her. 
 
 Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out 
 Mrs. Horneck's request. He would, more- 
 over, be careful to refrain from any men-
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 397 
 
 tion of the word duty, which would, the 
 lady had declared, if introduced into his 
 arg-ument, tend to frustrate his intention. 
 
 He went down to Barton by coach the 
 next day. He felt very ill indeed, and he 
 was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck 
 that the result of his visit would be to 
 restore him to perfect health. His last 
 thought before leaving- was that if Mary 
 was made happy nothing else was worth a 
 moment's consideration. 
 
 She met him with a chaise driven by 
 Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the 
 coach set him down; and he could not fail 
 to perceive that she was even more shocked 
 than her mother had been at his changed 
 appearance. While still on the top of the 
 coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure 
 the instant she caught sight of him. She 
 waved her hand toward him, and Bunbury 
 waved his whip. But the moment he had 
 swung- himself painfully and laboriously to 
 the ground, he saw the look of amazement 
 both on her face and on that of her brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 She was speechless, but it was not in the 
 nature of Bunbury to be so. 
 
 "Good Lord! Noll, what have you been 
 doing to yourself? " he cried. "Why, you 're 
 not like the same man. Is he, Mary?"
 
 398 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Mary only shook her head. 
 
 "I have been ill," said Oliver. "But I 
 am better already, having- seen you both 
 with your brown country faces. How is 
 my Little Comedy? Is she ready to give 
 me another lesson in loo?" 
 
 " She will give you what you need most, 
 you may be certain," said Bunbury, while 
 the groom was strapping- on his carpet-bag. 
 "Oh! yes; we will take care that you get 
 rid of that student's face of yours," he con- 
 tinued. "Yes, and those sunken eyesi 
 Good Lord! what a wreck you are! But 
 we '11 build you up again, never fear! Bar- 
 ton is the place for you and such as you, my 
 friend." 
 
 "I tell you I am better already," cried 
 Goldsmith; and then, as the chaise drove 
 off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to 
 him. Her face had become pale, her eyes 
 were dim. She had spoken no word to him; 
 she was not even looking at him. She was 
 gazing over the hedgerows and the ploughed 
 fields. 
 
 Bunbury rattled away in unison with the 
 rattling of the chaise along the uneven road. 
 He roared with laughter as he recalled 
 some of the jests which had been played 
 upon Goldsmith when he had last been at 
 Barton; but though Oliver tried to smile in
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 399 
 
 response, Mary was silent. When the 
 chaise arrived at the house, however, and 
 Little Comedy welcomed her g-uest at the 
 great door, her high spirits triumphed over 
 even the depressing effect of her husband's 
 artificial hilarity. She did not betray the 
 shock which she experienced on observing 
 how greatly changed was her friend since 
 he had been with her and her sister at 
 Ranelagh. She met him with a laugh and a 
 cry of " You have never come to us without 
 your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, 
 you will e'en have to go back for it." 
 
 The allusion to the merriment which 
 had made the house noisy when he had last 
 been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up 
 somewhat; and later on, at dinner, he 
 yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun- 
 bury 's splendid vitality. Other guests were 
 at the table, and the genial chat quickly be- 
 came general. After dinner, he sang sev- 
 eral of his Irish songs for his friends in the 
 drawing-room, Mary playing an accompani- 
 ment on the harpsichord. Before he went 
 to his bed-room he was ready to confess 
 that Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what 
 would be the effect upon himself of his visit 
 to the house he loved. He felt better — 
 better than he had been for months. 
 
 In the morning he was pleased to find
 
 400 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 that Mary seemed to have recovered her 
 usual spirits. She walked round the g-rounds 
 with him and her sister after breakfast, 
 and laughed without reservation at the lat- 
 ter's amusing- imitation, after the manner 
 of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration 
 of his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. 
 She had caug-ht very happily the manner of 
 the suitor, thoug-h of course she made a 
 burlesque of the scene, especially in assum- 
 ing- the fluttered demureness which she de- 
 clared she had g-ood reason for knowing had 
 frightened the lover so greatly as to cause 
 him to talk of the evil results of drinking 
 tea, when he had meant to talk about love. 
 
 She had such a talent for this form of 
 fun, and she put so much character into 
 her casual travesties of every one whom 
 she sought to imitate, she never gave of- 
 fence, as a less adroit or less discriminat- 
 ing person would be certain to have done. 
 Mary laughed even more heartily than 
 Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of 
 the imaginary scene. 
 
 Goldsmith soon found that the proposal 
 of Colonel Gwyn had passed into the already 
 long list of family jests, and he saw that he 
 was expected to understand the many allu- 
 sions daily made to the incident of his re- 
 jection. A new nickname had been found
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 401 
 
 by her brother-in-law for Mary, and of 
 course Katherine quickly discovered one 
 that was extremely appropriate to Colonel 
 Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and g-ood- 
 humoured mirth, the hours passed as they 
 had always done in the house which had 
 ever been so delightful to at least one of the 
 guests. 
 
 He could not help feeling, however, be- 
 fore his visit had reached its fourth day, 
 that the fact of their treating in this hu- 
 mourous fashion an incident which Mrs. 
 Horneck had charged him to treat very 
 seriously was extremely embarrassing to 
 his mission. How was he to ask Mary to 
 treat as the most serious incident in her 
 life the one which was every day treated 
 before her eyes with levity by her sister 
 and her husband ? 
 
 And yet he felt daily the truth of what 
 Mrs. Horneck had said to him — that Mary's 
 acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an 
 assurance of her future such as might not 
 be so easily found again. He feared to 
 think what might be in store for a girl who 
 had shown herself to be ruled only by her 
 own sympathetic heart. 
 
 He resolved that he would speak to her 
 without delay respecting Colonel Gwyn; 
 and though he was afraid that at first she
 
 402 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 mig-ht be disposed to laug-h at his attempt 
 to put a more serious complexion upon her 
 rejection of the suitor whom her mother 
 considered most eligible, he had no doubt 
 that he could bring- her to reg^ard the matter 
 with some degree of g-ravity. 
 
 The opportunity for making- an attempt 
 in this direction occurred on the afternoon 
 of the fourth day of his visit. He found 
 himself alone with Mary in the still-room. 
 She had just put on an apron in order to 
 put new covers on the jars of preserved 
 walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the 
 many-scented room, surrounded by bottles 
 of distilled waters and jars of preserved 
 fruits and great Worcester bowls of pot- 
 pourri, with bundles of sweet herbs and 
 drying- lavenders suspended from the ceil- 
 ing, Charles Bunbury, passing along the 
 corridor with his dogs, glanced in. 
 
 " What a housewife we have become ! " 
 he cried. "Quite right, my dear ; the head 
 of the Gwyn household will need to be 
 deft." 
 
 Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of 
 thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before the 
 dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of 
 the staircase. 
 
 "I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride," said 
 he, "that I do not enter into the spirit of
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 403 
 
 this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as 
 your sister or her husband." 
 
 "'Tis foolish on their part," said she. 
 "But Little Comedy is ever on the watch 
 for a subject for her jests, and Charles is 
 an active abettor of her in her folly. This 
 particular jest is, I think, a trifle thread- 
 bare by now." 
 
 *' Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who do- 
 serves the respect of every one," said he. 
 
 "Indeed, I ag-ree with you," she cried. 
 " I ag-ree with you heartily. I do not know 
 a man whom I respect more hig-hly. Had I 
 not every right to feel flattered by his 
 attention?" 
 
 "No — no; you have no reason to feel 
 flattered by the attention of any man from 
 the Prince down — or should I say up?" he 
 replied. 
 
 " 'Twould be treason to say so," she 
 laug-hed. " Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn be. 
 What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not 
 discover a new way of treating walnuts for 
 pickling! That discovery would have been 
 more valuable to us than his theory of grav- 
 itation, which, I hold, never saved a poor 
 woman a day's work." 
 
 "I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be," 
 said he quietly. "On the contrary, I came 
 down here specially to talk of him."
 
 404 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 "Ah, I perceive that you have been 
 speaking with my mother," said she, con- 
 tinuing- her work. 
 
 "Mary, my dear, I have been thinking- 
 about you very earnestly of late," said he. 
 
 "Only of late!" she cried. "Ah! I 
 flattered myself that I had some of your 
 thoughts long- ag-o as well." 
 
 "I have always thought of you with the 
 truest affection, dear child. But latterly 
 you have never been out of my thoughts." 
 
 She ceased her work and looked towards 
 him gratefully — attentively. He left his 
 seat and went to her side. 
 
 " My sweet Jessamy Bride," said he, "I 
 have thought of your future with great un- 
 easiness of heart. I feel towards you as — 
 as — perhaps a father might feel, or an elder 
 brother. My happiness in the future is 
 dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for 
 you; the world is full of snares." 
 
 "I know that," she quietly said. "Ah, 
 you know that I have had some experience 
 of the snares. If you had not come to my 
 help what shame would have been mine ! " 
 
 " Dear child, there was no blame to be 
 attached to you in that painful affair," said 
 he. " It was your tender heart that led you 
 astray at first, and thank God you have the 
 same good heart in your bosom. But alas !
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 405 
 
 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that 
 makes me fear for you." 
 
 "Nay; it can become as steel upon occa- 
 sions," said she. "Did not I send Colonel 
 Gwyn away from me?" 
 
 " You were wrong- to do so, my Mary," 
 he said. "Colonel Gwyn is a good man — 
 he is a man with whom your future would 
 be sure. He would be able to shelter you 
 from all dangers — from the dangers into 
 which your own heart may lead you again 
 as it led you before." 
 
 " You have come here to plead the cause 
 of Colonel Gwyn?" said she. 
 
 "Yes," he replied. "I believe him to 
 be a good man. I believe that as his wife 
 you would be safe from all the dangers 
 which surround such a girl as you in the 
 world." 
 
 "Ah I my dear friend," she cried. "I 
 have seen enough of the world to know that 
 a woman is not sheltered from the dangers 
 of the world from the day she marries. 
 Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers 
 only begin to beset her on that day?" 
 
 "Often — often. But it would not be so 
 with you, dear child — at least, not if you 
 marry Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 "Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear 
 that you have become a worldly man all at
 
 406 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor 
 weak g-irl from the standpoint of her match- 
 making- mother." 
 
 " Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what 
 it costs me to speak to you in this way. God 
 knows how much sweeter it would be for 
 me to be able to think of you always as I 
 think of you know — bound to no man — the 
 dearest of all ray friends. I know it would 
 be impossible for me to occupy the same 
 position as I now do in regard to you if you 
 were married. Ah! I have seen that there 
 is no more potent divider of friendship than 
 marriagfe." 
 
 "And yet you urg-e upon me to marry 
 Colonel Gwyn?" 
 
 "Yes — yes — I say I do think it would 
 mean the assurance of your — your happi- 
 ness — yes, happiness in the future." 
 
 "Surely no man ever had so g-ood a 
 heart as you ! " she cried. " You are ready 
 to sacrifice yourself — I mean you are ready 
 to foreg-o all the pleasure which our meet- 
 ing, as we have been in the habit of meeting- 
 for the past four years, g-ives you, for the 
 sake of seeing- me on the way to happiness 
 — or what you fancy will be happiness." 
 
 "I am ready, my dear child; you know 
 what the sacrifice means to me." 
 
 "I do," she said after a pause. "I do,
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 407 
 
 because I know what it would mean to me. 
 But you shall not be called to make that 
 sacrifice. I will not marry Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 **Nay — nay — do not speak so defi- 
 nitely," he said. 
 
 "I will speak definitely," she cried. 
 "Yes, the time is come for me to speak 
 definitely. I mig-ht agree to marry Colonel 
 Gwyn in the hope of being- happy if I did 
 not love some one else; but loving- some one 
 else with all my heart, I dare not — oh ! I 
 dare not even entertain the thought of mar- 
 rying Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 "You love some one else?" he said 
 slowly, wonderingly. For a moment there 
 went through his mind the thought — 
 
 " Her heart has led her astray once again.^' 
 
 "I love some one else with all my heart 
 and all my strength," she cried ; " I love one 
 who is worthy of all the love of the best that 
 lives in the world. I love one who is cruel 
 enough to wish to turn me away from his 
 heart, though that heart of his has known 
 the secret of mine for long." 
 
 Now he knew what she meant. He put 
 his hands together before her, saying in a 
 hushed voice — 
 
 " Ah, child — child — spare me that pain 
 — let me go from you." 
 
 " Not till you hear me," she said. "Ah 1
 
 408 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 cannot you perceive that I love you — only 
 you, Oliver Goldsmith?" 
 
 " Hush — for God's sake 1 " he cried. 
 
 "I will not hush," she said. "I will 
 speak for love's sake — for the sake of that 
 love which I bear you — for the sake of that 
 love which I know you return." 
 
 "Alas — alas!" 
 
 *' I know it. Is there any shame in such 
 a girl as I am confessing" her love for such a 
 man as you? I think that there is none. 
 The shame before heaven would be in my 
 keeping" silence — in marrying a man I do 
 not love. Ah ! I have known you as no one 
 else has known you. I have understood 
 your nature — so sweet — so simple — so 
 great — so true. I thought last year when 
 you saved me from worse than death that 
 the feeling which I had for you might per- 
 haps be gratitude; but now I have come to 
 know the truth." 
 
 He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a 
 whisper — 
 
 " Stop — stop — for God's sake, stop ! I 
 — I — do not love you." 
 
 She looked at him and laughed at first. 
 But as his head fell, her laugh died away. 
 There was a long silence, during which she 
 kept her eyes fixed upon him, as he stood 
 before her looking at the floor.
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 409 
 
 "You do not love me?" she said in a 
 slow whisper. " Will you say those words 
 again with your eyes looking- into mine? " 
 
 " Do not humiliate me further," he said. 
 "Have some pity upon me." 
 
 " No — no; pity is not for me," she said. 
 "If you spoke the truth when you said 
 those words, speak it again now. Tell me 
 again that you do not love me." 
 
 " You say you know me," he cried, " and 
 yet you think it possible that I could take 
 advantage of this second mistake that your 
 kind and sympathetic heart has made for 
 your own undoing. Look there — there — 
 into that glass, and see what a terrible mis- 
 take your heart has made." 
 
 He pointed to a long, narrow mirror 
 between the windows. It reflected an ex- 
 quisite face and figure by the side of a face 
 on which long suffering and struggle, long 
 years of hardship and toil, had left their 
 mark — a figure attenuated by want and ill- 
 health. 
 
 "Look at that ludicrous contrast, my 
 child, " he said, "and you will see what a mis- 
 take your heart has made. Have I not heard 
 the jests which have been made when we 
 were walking together? Have I not noticed 
 the pain they gave you? Do you think me 
 capable of increasing that pain in the future?
 
 410 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 Do you think me capable of bringing- upon 
 your family, who have been kinder than 
 any living- beings to me, the greatest mis- 
 fortune that could befall them? Nay, nay, 
 my dear child; you cannot think that I 
 could be so base." 
 
 " I w^ill not think of anything except that 
 I love the man w^ho is best worthy of being 
 loved of all men in the world," said she. 
 *'Ah, sir, cannot you perceive that your 
 attitude toward me now but strengthens 
 my affection for you?" 
 
 " Mary — Mary — this is madness 1 " 
 
 " Listen to me," she said. " I feel that 
 you return my affection; but I will put you 
 to the test. If you can look into my face 
 and tell me that you do not love me I will 
 marry Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 There was another pause before he 
 said — 
 
 '* Have I not spoken once? Why should 
 you urge me on to so painful an ordeal? Let 
 me go — let me go." 
 
 " Not until you answer me — not until I 
 have proved you. Look into my eyes, Oliver 
 Goldsmith, and speak those words to me 
 that you spoke just now." 
 
 "Ah, dear child " 
 
 *' You cannot speak those words." 
 
 There was another long silence. The
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 411 
 
 terrible strug-gle that was going- on in the 
 heart of that man whose words are now so 
 dear to the hearts of so many million men 
 and women, was maintained in silence. No 
 one but himself could hear the tempter's 
 voice whispering- to him to put his arms 
 round the beautiful girl who stood before 
 him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which 
 were now rosy with expectation. 
 
 He lifted up his head. His lips moved, 
 He put out a hand to her a little way, but 
 with a moan he drew it back. Then he 
 looked into her eyes, and said slowly — 
 
 " It is the truth. I do not love you with 
 the heart of a lover." 
 
 " That is enough. Leave me ! My heart 
 is broken!" 
 
 She fell into a chair, and covered her 
 face with her hands. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment; then, 
 with a cry of agony, he went out of the 
 room — out of the house. 
 
 In his heart, as he wandered on to the 
 high road, there was not much of the exal- 
 tation of a man who knows that he has 
 overcome an unworthy impulse.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 When he did not return toward nig-ht 
 Charles Buubury and his wife became 
 alarmed. He had only taken his hat and 
 cloak from the hall as he went out ; he had 
 left no line to tell them that he did not mean 
 to return. 
 
 Bunbury questioned Mary about him. 
 Had he not been with her in the still-room, 
 he inquired. 
 
 She told him the truth — as much of the 
 truth as she could tell. 
 
 " I am afraid that his running- away was 
 due to me," she said. " If so, I shall never 
 forg-ive myself." 
 
 ** What can be your meaning, my dear?" 
 he inquired. "I thought that you and he 
 had always been the closest friends." 
 
 "If we had not been such friends we 
 should never have quarreled," said she. 
 " You know that our mother has had her 
 heart set upon my acceptance of Colonel 
 Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at 
 his cottage, and begged of him to come to 
 
 412
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 413 
 
 me with a view of inducing- me to accept 
 the proposal of Colonel Gwyn." 
 
 ♦'I heard nothing of that," said he, with 
 a look of astonishment. "And so I suppose 
 when he began to be urgent in his pleading- 
 you got annoyed and said something that 
 offended him." 
 
 She held down her head. 
 
 "You should be ashamed of yourself," 
 said he " Have you not seen long ago that 
 that man is no more than a child in sim- 
 plicity?" 
 
 "I am ashamed of myself," said she. 
 •'I shall never forgive myself for my harsh- 
 ness." 
 
 "That will not bring him back," said 
 her brother-in-law. "Oh! it is always the 
 best of friends who part in this fashion." 
 
 Two days afterwards he told his wife 
 that he was going to London. He had so 
 sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his 
 wife knew very well that he felt that sud- 
 den departure of his very deeply, and that 
 he would try and induce him to return. 
 
 But when Bunbury came back after the 
 lapse of a couple of days, he came back 
 alone. His wife met him in the chaise 
 when the coach came up. His face was 
 very grave. 
 
 "I saw the poor fellow," he said. "I
 
 414 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 found him at his chambers in Brick Court. 
 He is very ill indeed." 
 
 " What, too ill to be moved?" she cried. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 *' Far too ill to be moved," he said. "I 
 never saw a man in worse condition. He 
 declared, however, that he had often had as 
 severe attacks before now, and that he has 
 no doubt he will recover. He sent his love 
 to you and to Mary. He hopes you will for- 
 give him for his rudeness, he says." 
 
 " His rudeness ! his rudeness ! " said 
 Katherine, her eyes streaming- with tears. 
 *' Oh, my poor friend — my poor friend 1 " 
 
 She did not tell her sister all that her 
 husband had said to her. Mary was, of 
 course, very anxious to hear how Oliver 
 was, but Katherine only said that Charles 
 had seen him and found him very ill. The 
 doctor who was in attendance on him had 
 promised to write if he thoug-ht it advisable 
 for him to have a chang-e to the country. 
 
 The next morning the two sisters 'were 
 sitting- tog-ether when the postboy's horn 
 sounded. They started up simultaneously, 
 awaiting- a letter from the doctor. 
 
 No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, 
 clumsily sealed, addressed to Miss Hor- 
 neck in a strange handwriting. 
 
 When she had broken the seals she
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 415 
 
 gave a cry, for the packet contained sheet 
 after sheet in Goldsmith's hand — poems 
 addressed to her — the love-song-s which 
 his heart had been singing to her through 
 the long hopeless years. 
 
 She glanced at one, then at another, and 
 another, with beating heart. 
 
 She started up, crying — 
 
 *'Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves 
 me — he loves me as I love him — only his 
 love is deep, while mine was shallow ! Oh, 
 my dear love — he loves me, and now he is 
 dying ! Ah I I know that he is dying, or he 
 would not have sent me these; he would 
 have sacrificed himself — nay, he has sacri- 
 ficed himself for me — for me I " 
 
 She threw herself on a sofa and buried 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 "My dear — dear sister," said Kather- 
 ine, "is it possible that you — you " 
 
 " That I loved him, do you ask ? " cried 
 Mary, raising her head. "Yes, I loved 
 him — I love him still — I shall never love 
 any one else, and I am going to him to tell 
 him so. Ah 1 God will be good — God will 
 be good. My love shall live until I go to 
 him." 
 
 "My poor child! "said her sister. "I 
 could never have guessed your secret. 
 Come away. We will go to him together."
 
 416 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 
 
 They left by the coach that day, and 
 early the next morning they went tog-ether 
 to Brick Court. 
 
 A woman weeping- met them at the foot 
 of the stairs. They recognised Mrs. Ab- 
 ington. 
 
 " Do not tell me that I am too late — for 
 God's sake say that he still lives I " cried 
 Mary. 
 
 The actress took her handkerchief from 
 her eyes. 
 
 She did not speak. She did not even 
 shake her head. She only looked at the 
 girl, and the girl understood. 
 
 She threw herself into her sister's 
 arms. 
 
 " He is dead I " she cried. " But, thank 
 God, he did not die without knowing that 
 one woman in the world loved him truly for 
 his own sake." 
 
 "That surely is the best thought that a 
 man can have, going into the Presence," 
 said Mrs. Abington. "Ah, my child, I am 
 a wicked woman, but I know that while you 
 live your fondest reflection will be that the 
 thought of your love soothed the last hours 
 of the truest man that ever lived. Ah, 
 there was none like him — a man of such 
 sweet simplicity that every word he spoke 
 came from his heart. Let others talk about
 
 THE JESSAMY BRIDE 417 
 
 his works ; you and I love the man, for we 
 know that he was greater and not less than 
 those works. And now he is in the pres- 
 ence of God, telling- the Son who on earth 
 was born of a woman that he had all a wom- 
 an's love." 
 
 Mary put her arm about the neck of 
 the actress, and kissed her. 
 
 She went with her sister among- the 
 weeping- men and women — he had been a 
 friend to all — up the stairs and into the 
 darkened room. 
 
 She threw herself on her knees beside 
 the bed. 
 
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