rt!;mu-mmmmmmm&MMmmWi'fiK f-f ! /Jr ^4lt-^** // //^■y- #^^ J A ^ V •S V ^r .-%\x ii.Lcn^acre ©iLETHlE. ©®1LBSM2^IEt. THE (>Kjh ^7 ^2SS!2EiEii^Sl®WS W©IE1SS OP OLIVER GOLBSMITH, WITH AN i^ctount of \\x% ILCtc auiT Si^^rltiJigs^^ STEREOTYPED FROM THE PARIS EDITION, EDITED BY WASHINGTON IRVING. COMPLETE IIV 0:\'E VOLUME PHILADELPHIA: CRISSY & MARKLEY, No. 4 MINOR ST. 18.3 0. CONTENTS. Memoirs of the life and writings of Dr. Gold- smith, The Vicar of Wakefield, .... An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Prologue by Laberius The Double Transformation, . New Simile, in the manner of Swift, . Description of an Author's Bedchamber, . The Hermit; a Ballad, . . . . An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, . Stanzas on "Woman, The Traveller ; or, a Prospect of Society, The Deserted Village, . . . • The Gift, . . . . Epitaph on Dr. Parnell, . . . . Epilogue to the Comedy of the Sisters, Epilogue spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley, Epilogue intended for Mrs. Bulkley, The Haunch of Venison, . ' . Song from the Oratorio of the Captivity, . Song, ....•••• The Clown's Reply, .... Epitaph on Edward Purdon, An Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize, Retaliation, Postscript to ditto, Song, . Prologue to Zobeide, .... Epilogue spoken by Mr. Lewes, . The Logicians Refuted, .... Stanzas on the Taking of CLuebec, On a beautiful Youth struck blind by Light- Page 7 57 122 A Sonnet, 143 ib. 144 145 ih. 147 ih. ih. 152 157 ib. ih. ib. 158 159 160 ih. ib. IGI ih. ib. 163 164 ib. ib. Wo ib. ib. ib. Pag» The Preface to the Roman History, 23(> The Preface to a History of England, . • 231 The Preface to the History of the Earth, etc. 232 The Preface to the Beauties of English Poetry, 233 The Preface to a Collection of Poems, etc. 238 Criticism on Massey's Translation of the Fasti of Ovid, 239 Criticism on Barrett's Translation of Ovid's Epistles, 242 LETTERS FROM A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD TO HIS FRIENDS IN THE EAST. Letter DRAMATIC. The Good-natured Man, A Comedy, . 1G6 She Stoops to Conquer, or, the Mistakes of a Night. A Comedy 193 An Oratorio ; first printed in the Paris edi- tion, in 1825, from the original in Dr. Goldsmith's own handwriting, . . 221 PREFACES AND CRITICISM. The Preface to Dr. Brookes's Natural His- tory, 2261 Introduction to a New History of the World, 228 1 I. II. Ill Introduction. A character of the Chi- nese Philosopher, The arrival of the Chinese in Lon- don. His motives for the journey. Some description of the streets and houses, The description of London continu- ed. The luxury of the English. Its benefits. The fiine gentleman. The fine lady, .... IV. English pride. Liberty. An instance of both. Newspapers. Politeness, V. English passion for politics. A spe- cimen of a newspaper. Character- istic of the manners of diiferent countries, .... VI. Happiness lost by seeking after re- finement. The Chinese philoso- pher's disgraces, .... The tie of wisdom only to make us happy. The benefits of traveUing upon the morals of a philosopher. The Chinese deceived by a prostitute in the streets of London, The licentiousness of the English with regard to women. A charac- ter of a woman's man, . . The journey of the Chinese from Pe- kin to Moscow. The customs of the Daures, .... The benefits of luxury in making a people more wise and happy. The funeral solemnities of the En- glish. Their passion for flattering epitaphs, VII VIII IX. X. XI. XII. 248 ib. 249 251 253 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 XIII. An account of Westminster Abbcv, 260 2C2€f20 IV CONTENTS. letter Page XIV. The reception of the Chinese from a Lady of distinction, . 262 XV. Against cruelty to animals. A story from the Zendevesta of Zoroastor, .... 263 XVI. Of falsehood propagated by books seemingly sincere, . . 264 XVII. Of the war now carried on be- tween France and England, with its frivolous motives, . 265 XVIII. The story of the Chinese ma- tron, .... 266 XIX. The English method of treating women caught in adultery. The Russian method, . . 267 XX. Some account of the republic of letters in England, . . 269 XXI. The Chinese goes to see a play, 270 XXII. The Chinese philosopher's son made a slave in Persia, . 272 XXIII. The English subscription in fa- vour of the French prisoners commended, .... 273 XXIV. The venders of quack medicines and nostrums ridiculed, , 274 XXV. The natural rise and decline of kingdoms, exemplified in the history of the kingdom of Lao, 275 XXVI. The character of the man in black, with some instances of his inconsistent conduct, . 276 XXVII. The history ofthe man in black, 278 XXVIII. On the great numbers of old maids and bachelors in Lon- don. Some of the causes, . 280 XXIX. A description of a club of au- thors 281 XXX. The proceedings of the club of authors, .... 282 XXXI. The perfection of the Chinese in the art of gardening. The description ofa Chinese garden 384 XXXII. Of the degeneracy of some of the English nobility. A mush- room feast among the Tartars, 285 XXXIII. The manner of writing among the Chinese. The eastern tales of magazines, etc. ridiculed, . 287 XXXIV. Of the present ridiculous passion of the nobility for painting, . 288 XXXV. The philosopher's son describes a lady, his fellow-captive, . 290 XXXVI. A continuance of his correspond- ence. The beautiful captive consents to marry her lord, . 291 XXXVII. Tlie correspondence still con- tinued. He begins to be dis- gusted in the pursuit of wis- Letter XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. XLVIII. XLIX. L. LI. LII. Lin. LIV. LV. LVI. LVII. Lviir. LIX. Pag* 299 29> 293 29e 29: 29J 29f dom. An allegory to prove its futility. The Chinese philosopher praises the justice of a late sentence, and instances the injustice of the King of France, in the case of the Prince of Charolais, The description of true polite- ness. Two letters of different countries, by ladies falsely thought polite at home, . The English still have poets, though not versifiers. The behaviour of the congrega- tion in St. Paul's church at prayers, .... The history of China more re- plete with great actions than that of Europe, An apostrophe on the supposed death of Voltaire, . Wisdom and precept may lessen our miseries, but can never in- crease our positive satisfactions 301 The ardour of the people of Lon- don in running after sights and monsters, .... A dream, .... Misery best relieved by dissipa- tion, ..... The absurdity of persons in high station pursuing employments beneath them, exemplified in a fairy talc, .... The fairy tale continued. An attempt to define what is meant by English liberty, A bookseller's visit to the Chi- nese, The impossibility of distinguish- ing men in England by their dress. Two instances of this. The absurd taste for obscene and pert novels, such as Tristram Shandy, ridiculed, " The character of an important trifler, ..... His character continued ; with that of his wife, his house, and furniture, .... Some thoughts on the present situation of affairs in the differ- ent countries of Europe, . The difficulty of rising in litera- ry reputation without intrigue or riches, .... A visitation dinner described, The Chinese philosopher's son 303 304 305 306 308 309 310 313 313 314 315 317 318 319 CONTENTS. Letter escapes with the beautiful cap- tive from slavery, . LX The History of the beautiful cap- tive, ..... LXI. Proper lessons to a youth enter- ing the world, with fables suit- ed to the occasion, . LXII. An authentic liistory of Cathe- rina Alexowna, wife of Peter the Great, .... LXIII. The rise or the decline of litera- ture not dependent on man, but resulting from the vicissitudes of nature, . . . . LXIV. The great exchange happiness for show. Their folly in this respect of use to society, LXV. The history of a philosophic cob- bler, ..... LXVI. The difference between love and gratitude LXVIl. The folly of attempting to learn wisdom by being recluse, LXVIII. Quacks ridiculed. Some particu- larly mentioned, LXIX. The fear of mad-dogs ridiculed, LXX. Fortune proved not to be blind. The story of the avaricious miller LXXI. The shabby beau, the man in black, the Chinese philosopher, etc. at Vauxhall, LXXII. The marriage-act censured, LXXIII. Life endeared by age, LXXIV. The description of a little great man, ..... LXXV. The necessity of amusing each other with new books insisted upon, LXXVI. The preference of grace to beau- ty; an allegory, LXXVII. The behaviour of a shopkeeper and his journeyman, LXXVIII. The French ridiculed after their own manner, .... LXX IX. The preparations of both thea- tres for a winter campaign, LXXX. The evil tendency of increasing penal laws, or enforcing even those already in being with rigour, LXXXL The ladies' trains ridiculed, LXXXII. The sciences useful in a populous state, prejudicial in a barbarous one, LXXXin. Some cautions on life taken from a modern philosopher of China, LXXXIV. Anecdotes of several poets who lived and died in circum- stances of wretchedneas, Page 320 321 323 324 326 340 352 Letter LXXXV. LXXXVL Lxxxvn. LXXXVIIL LXXXIX. XC. 327 XCI. 328 XCIL 329 231 xcin. 232 xciv. 333 335 xcv. XCVL 336 338 339 xcvn. XCVIII. 312 XCIX. 343 344 C. 345 CL 346 on. 347 cm. 348 CIV. 349 cv. 351 CVI. Page The trifling squabbles of stage players ridiculed, . . 353 The races of Newmarket ridi- culed. The description of a cart-race, .... 35S The folly of the western parts of Europe in employing the Russians to fight their battles, 356 The ladies advised to get hus- • bands. A story to this pur- pose, ib. The folly of remote or use- less disquisitions among the learned, .... 358 The English subject to the spleen, .... 359 The influence of climate and soil upon the temper and dis- positions of the English, . 361 The manner in which some philosophers make artificial misery 363 The fondness of some to ad- mire the writings of lords, etc. 363 The philosopher's son is again separated from his beautiful companion, . . . ib. The father consoles him upon this occasion, . . . 364 The condolence and congratu- lation upon the death of the late king ridiculed. English mourning described, . . 365 Almost every subject of litera- ture has been already ex- hausted, .... 366 A description of the courts of justice in Westminster Hall 367 A visit from the httle beau. The indulgence with which the fair sex are treated in several parts of Asia, . . 368 A life of independence praised, 369 That people must be contented to be guided by those whom they have appointed to gov- ern. A story to this effect, 370 The passion for gaming among ladies ridiculed, , . . 371 The Chinese philosopher be- gins to think of quitting En- gland, . . . .372 The arts some make use of to appear learned, . . . 373 The intended coronation de- scribed, .... 374 Funeral elegies written upon the great ridiculed. A speci- men of one, . . . 375 ^ Tl CONTENTS. Letter Page CVII. The English too fond of believing every report without examination. A story of an incendiary to this purpose, 376 CVIII. The utility and entertainment which might result from a jour- ney into the East, . . . 377 CIX. The Chinese philosopher attempts to find out famous men, . . 378 ex. Some projects for introducing Asi- atic employments into the courts of England 380 CXI. On the different sects in England, particularly Methodism, . . 381 CXII. An election described, . . 362 CXIII. A literary contest of great import- ance; in which both sides fight by epigram 383 CXIV. Against the marriage act. A fable, 385 CXV. On the danger of having too high an opinion of human nature, . 386 CXVI. Whether love be a natural or ficti- tious passion, .... 387 CXVII. A city night-piece, . . .389 CXVIII. On the meanness of the Dutch at the court of Japan, . . . ib. CXIX. On the distresses of the poor exem- plified in the life of a private sen« tinel, 390 CXX. On the absurdity of some late En- glish titles, .... 392 CXXI. The irresolution of the English ac- counted for, .... 393 CXXII. The manner of travellers in their usual relations ridiculed, . . 394 CXXIII. The conclusion, . . .395 The Life of Dr. Parnell 398 The Life of Henry Lord Viscount Bolingbroke 407 THE BEE. No. L Introduction, 424 On a beautiful youth struck blind by lightning, 426 Remarks on our Theatres, . . ib. The Story of Alcander and Septimius, 427 A letter from a Traveller, . . 429 Account of Mr. Maupertuis, . ib. H. On Dress, . . . . .430 Some particulars relative to Charles 12, 432 Happiness dependent on Constitution, 434 On our Theatres, .... 435 III. On the Use of Language, . . 436 The History of Hyspasia, . . 438 On Justice and Generosity, . . 439 Some particulars relative to Father Freijo 440 IV. Miscellaneous, .... 441 A Flemish Tradition, . . .442 The Sagacity of some Insects, . 444 Pag« The Characteristics of Greatness, . 445 Conclusion of a City Night-Piece, 446 V. Upon Political Frugality, . . .447 A Reverie 450 A word or two upon High Life Below Stairs, 452 Upon unfortunate Merit, . . . 453 VI. On Education, .... 454 On the instability of worldly grandeur, 4.58 Account of the Academies of Italy, 459 VII. Of Eloquence 460 Custom and Laws compared, . . 463 On the Pride and Luxury of the Mid- dling class of People, . . 464 Sabinus and Olinda, . . . ib. The Sentimentsof aFrenchman on the Temper of the English, . . 466 VIII. On Deceit and Falsehood . . 467 An Account of the Augustan Age of England, 469 Of the Opera in England, . . 471 I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XIL Xlll. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. xxm. XXIV. ESSAYS. Preface to the Essays, Description of various Clubs, Specimen of a Magazine in Minia- ture, Asem, an eastern Tale; or, Vindica- tion of the Wisdom of Providence in the Moral Government of the World, On the English Clergy and popular Preachers, .... A Reverie at the Boar's-Head Tav- ern, Eastcheap, .... Adventures of a Strolling Player, Rules enjoined to be observed at a Russian Assembly, Biographical Memoir supposed to be written by the Ordinary of New- gate, . , . National Concord, Female Warriors, National Prejudices, . , Taste, .... Cultivation of Taste, . Origin of Poetry, . Poetry distinguished from Writing, Metaphors, . . Hyperboles, . Versification, . " . Schools of Music, Objections to, and Answers, Carolan the Irish Bard, On the Tenants of Leasowes, Sentimental Comedy, Scotch Marriages, . Dignity of Human Nature, 473 474 477 478 480 482 487 490 other there- 491 492 493 494 496 499 502 506 510 516 517 519 521 522 523 525 5?6 i:!si:(S)!!igs OP THE lilFE AND WRITINGS OF €)Uber (gJolxri^mitli* X > There are few writers for whom the reader feels such personal kindness as for OUver Goldsmith. The fascinating ease and simplicity of his style ; the benevolence that beams through every page ; the whimsical yet amiable views of human hfe and human nature; the mellow unforced humour, blended so happily with good feehng and good sense, throughout liis writings; win their way ir- resistibly to the affections and carry the author with them. Wliile writers of greater pretensions and more sounding names are suffered to lie upon our shelves, the works of Goldsmith are cherished and laid in our bosoms. We do not quote them with ostentation, but they mingle with our minds ; they sweeten our tempers and harmonize our thoughts ; they put us in good humour with ourselves and with the world, and in so doing they make us hap- pier and better men. We have been curious therefore in gathering to- gether all the heterogeneous particulars concerning poor Goldsmith that still exist; and seldom have we met with an author's life more illustrative of his works, or works more faithfully illustrative of the author's life.* His rambling biography displays him the same kind, artless, good humoured, excur- sive, sensible, whimsical, intelligent being that he appears in liis writings. Scarcely an adventure or a character is given in his page that may not be traced to his own parti-coloured story. Many of his most ludicrous scenes and ridiculous incidents have been drawn from his own blunders and mis- chances, and he seems really to have been builcted into almost every maxim imparted by liim for the nstruction of his readers. Oliver Goldsmith was a native of Ireland, and vas born on the 29th of November, 1728. Two "Tlie present biography is principilly taken from Ihe Scolch edition of Goldsmith's worlcs, published in 1821. villages claim the honour of having given him birth : Pallas in the county of Longford ; and El- phin, in the county of Roscommon. The former is named as the place in the epitaph by Dr. John- son, inscribed on his monument in Westminster Abbey ; but later investigations have decided in fa- vour of Elphin. He was the second son of the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, a clergyman of the established church, but without any patrimony. His mother was daughter of the Rev. Oliver Jones, master of the diocesan school at Elphin. It was not till some time after the birth of OUver that liis father ob- tained the living of Kilkeimy-West, in the county of Westmeath. Previous to tliis period he and his wife appear to have been almost entirely dependent on her relations for support. His father was equally distinguished for his lite- rary attainments and for the benevolence of his heart. His family consisted of five sons and two daughters. From this little world of home Gold- smith has drawn many of his domestic scenes, bpth wliimsical and touching, which appeal so for- cilily to the heart, as well as to the fancy; his fa- ther's fireside furnished many of the family scenes of the Vicar of Wakefield ; and it is said that the learned simplicity and amiable peculiarities of that worthy divine have been happily illustrated in the character of Dr. Primrose. The Rev. Henry Goldsmith, elder brother of the poet, and born seven years before him, was a man of estimable worth and excellent talents. Great exjiectations were formed of him, from the promise of his youth, both when at school and at coUcgc ; but he offended and disappointed his fi-icnds, by entering into matrimony at the early age of nineteen, and resigning all ambitious viewa for love and a curacy. If, however, we may De- lievc the pictures drawn by the poet of his brothei' 8 LIFE AND WRITINGS domestic life, his lot. though humble, was a happy one. He is the village pastor of the " Deserted Village," so exemplary in his character, and "pass- ing rich with forty poiuids a year." It is to this brother, who was the guide and protector of Gold- smith during his childhood, and to whom he was tenderly attached, that he addresses those beautiful lines in liis poem of the Traveller : Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain. And drags at each remove a length'ning chain. His family also form the ruddy and joyous group, and exercise the simple but generous rites of hospitality, which the poet so charmingly de- Bcribes : Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And leam the luxury of doing good. The whimsical character of the Man in Black in the "Citizen of the World," so rich in eccen tricities and in amiable failings, is said to have been likewise drawn partly from his brother, part- ly from his father, but in a great measure from the author himself. It is difficult, however, to assign with precision the originals of a writer's characters. They are generally composed of scattered, though accordant traits, observed in various individuals, which have been seized upon with the discriminat- ing tact of genius and combined into one harmoni- ous whole. StiL, li is a fact, as evident as it is de- lightful, that Goldsmith has poured out the genu- ine feelings of his heart in his works; and has had continually before him, in his delineations of simple worth and domestic virtue, the objects of his fihal and fraternal affection. Goldsmith is said, in his earlier years, to have been whimsical in his humours and eccentric in liis habits. This was remarked in his infancy. Some- times he assumed the gravity and reserve of riper years, at other times would give free scope to the wild frolic and exuberant vivacity suited to his age. The singvdarity of his moods and manners, and the evidences he gave of a precocity of talent, caus- ed him to be talked of in the neighbourhood as a little prodigy. It is said that, even before he was eitrht years old he evinced a natural turn for poet- ry, and made many attempts at rhymes, to the amusement of liis father and friends; and when somewhat older, after he had learned to write, his chief pleasure was to scribble rude verses on small scraps of paper, and then commit them to the flames, His father had strained his slender means in pvincf a hbcral education to liis eldest son, and had Jeterrained to bring up Oliver to trade. He was placed under the care of a village school-master, te be instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic. This pedagogue, whom his scholar afterwards so happily describes in the " Deserted Village," had been a quarter-master in the army during the wars of Q,ueen Anne, and, in his own estimation, a man of no small pith and moment. Having passed through various parts of Europe, and being of an eccentric turn of mind, he acquired habits of ro- mancing that bordered on the marvellous, and, like many other travellers, was possessed with a prodi- gious itch for detailing his adventures. He him- self was most commonly the redoubted hero of his own story, and his pupUs were always the amazed and wiUing auditory : And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. The tales of wonder recounted by this second Pinto are said to have had surprising effects on his youthfid hearers; and it has been plausibly con- jectured that to the vivid impressions thus made on the young imagination of our author, may be as- cribed those wandering propensities which influ- enced his after life. After he had been for some time with this in- different preceptor, his mother, with whom he was always a favourite, exerted her influence to per- suade his father to give him an education that would qualify him for a hberal profession. Her solicita- tions, together with the passionate attachment which the boy evinced for books and learning, and his early indications of talent, prevailed over all scru- ples of economy, and he was placed under the care of the Rev. Mr. Griffin, schoolmaster of Elphin. He was boarded in the house of his uncle, John Goldsmith, Esq., of Ballyoughter, in the vicinity. Here the amiableness of Ids disposition and the amusing eccentricity of liis humour rendered him a universal favourite. A little anecdote, preserved by the family of his uncle e^inces the precocity of his wit. At an entertainment given by this gentleman to a party of yoxmg people in the neighbourhood, a fiddler was sent for, and dancing introduced. Oli- ver, although only nine years of age, was permitted to share in the festivities of the evening, and was called on to dance a hornpipe. His figure was never good, but at this time it was peculiarly short and clumsy, and having but recently recovered from the small-pox, his features were greatly disfigured. The scraper of catgut, struck with the oddity of the boy's appearance, thought to display his waggery by likening him to ^sop dancing. This comparj son, according to. his notions, being uncommon?' happy, he continued to harp on it for a considerabe time, when suddenly the laugh of the company wis turned against himself, by Oliver sarcastically is- marking, OP DR. GOLDSMITH. Our herald hath proclaim'd this saying, See jEsop dancing, and his monkey playing. So smart a repartee, from so young a boy, was the subject of much conversation, and perhaps of itself was decisive of his fortune. His friends mi- Jnediately determined that he should be sent to the University; and some of his relations, who belonged to the church, and possessed the necessary means, generously offered to contribute towards the ex- pense. The Rev. Mr. Green, and the Rev. Mr. Contarine, both men of distinguished worth and learning, stood forward on this occasion as the youth's patrons. To qualify him for the university, he was now Bent to Athlone school, and placed under the tui- tion of the Rev. Mr. Campbell. There he re- mEuned two years; but the ill health of the master having obliged him to resign his situation, Oliver was consigned to the care of the Rev. Patrick Hughes, at Edgeworthstown, in the county of Longford, under whom he continued his studies till finally fitted for the university. Under tliis re- spectable teacher and excellent man, he is said to have made much greater progress than under any of the rest of his instructors. A short time before leaving the school of Mr. Hughes, our poet had an adventm-e which is be- lieved to have suggested the plot of his comedy of "She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mistakes of a Night." His father's house was distant about twenty miles from Edgeworthstown, and when on liis jour- ney thither for the last time, he had devoted so much time to amusement on the road, that it was almost dark when he reached the httle town of Ar- dagh. Some friend had given Mm a guinea, and Ohver, who was never niggard of his purse, re- solved to put up here for the night, and treat liim- self to a good supper and a bed. Having asked for the best house in the village, he was conducted to the best house, instead of the best inn. The owner, immediately discovered the mistake, but be- ing a man of humour, resolved to carry on the joke. Oliver was therefore permitted to order his horse to the stable, while he himself walked into the par- lour, and took his seat famiharly by the fire-side. The servants were then called about liim to receive ids orders as to supper. The supper was soon produced; the gentleman, with his wife and daugh- ters, were generously invited to partake ; a bottle of wine was called for to crown the feast, and at going to bed, a hot cake was ordered to be prepared for his breakfast. The laugh, to be sure, was ra- ther against our hero in the morning, when he called for his bill, and found he had been hospitably entertained in a private family. But finding that his host was an acquaintance of liis father's, he en- tered into the humour of the scene, and laughed as ^teartily as the rest. On the 11th of June, 1744, Goldsmith, then fif- teen years of age, was admitted a sizer in Trinity College, Dublin, under the Rev. Theaker Wilder, one of the fellows, a man of violent temper, from whose overbearing disposition he suffered much vexation. The young student was giddy and thoughtless, and on one occasion invited a number of young persons of both sexes to a supper and dance in his apartments, in direct violation of the college rules. The vigilant Wilder became ap- prised of the circumstance, and rushed like a tiger to the festive scene. He burst into the apartment, put the gay assembly to the rout, but previous to their dispersion, seized on the unfortunate delin- quent, and inflicted corporal chastisement on him, in presence of the party. The youthful poet coiJd not brook this outrage and indignity. He could not look his acquaintances in the face without the deepest feeling of shame and mortification. He detennmed, therefore, to esca}ie altogether from his terrible tutor, by abandoning his studies, and flying to some distant part of the globe. With tlois view he disposed of liis books and clothes, and resolved to embark at Cork : but here his usual thoughtless and improvident turn was again dis- played, for he lingered so long in Dublin after his resolution had been taken, that his finances were reduced to a single shilling when he set out on the journey. He was accustomed afterwards to give a ludi- crous account of his adventures in this expedition, although it was attended by many distressful cir- cumstances. Ha\ing contrived to subsist three whole days on the sliilluig he set out with, he was then compelled by necessity to sell the clothes off his back, and at last was so reduced by famine, that he was only saved from sijiking under it by the compassion of a young girl at a wake, from whom he got a handful of gray peas. This he used to say was the most delicious repast he had ever made. While in this state of hunger and wretchedness, without money and without friends, the rashness and folly of his undertaking became every moment more apparent, and, in spite of his lacerated feel- ings, and the dread of Wilder, he resolved to pro- pose a reconciliation with his friends, and onc« more to return to the college. Before he had reached the place of embarkation, therefore, he con- trived to get notice conveyed to liis brother of liis miserable conilition, and hinted that if a promise of milder treatment were obtained from his tutor, he shoidd be inclined to return. His affectionate brother instantly hastened to relieve his distress, equipped him with new clotliing, and carried him back to college. A rcconciUation was also in some degree effected with Wilder, but there was never afterwards between them any interchange of friend- ship or regard. From the despondency resulting from his tutor's 10 LIFE AND WRITINGS ill treatment, Goldsmith is said to have sunk into habitual indolence ; yet his genius sometimes dawn- ed through the gloom, and translations from the classics made by him at this period were long re- membered by his cotemporaries with applause. He Was not, however, admitted to the degree of Bache- lor of Arts till February 27, 1749, O. S. two years after the regular time. The chagrin and vexation attending liis unlucky disputes with his tutor, were soon after succeeded by a calamity of deeper moment, and more lasting consequences to our poet. This was the death of his worthy and amiable father. He had now lost his natural guardian and best friend, and found himself young in the world, without either protector or guide. His uncle Contarine, however, in this emergency kindly interfered, and, with almost pa- rental anxiety, took the charge of advising and di- recting his future progress. When he had com- pleted his studies at the university,* Mr. Contarine advised liim to prepare for holy orders; but this was a measure always repugnant to his inclinations. An unsettled turn of mind, an unquenchable de- eire of visiting other countries, and perhaps an in- genuous sense of his unfitness for the clerical pro- fession, conspired to disincline him to the church ; and though at length he yielded to the pressing so- licitations of his uncle and friends, by appljing to the bishop for ordination, it is thought he was more pleased than disappointed when rejected by liis lordship, on account of his youth. He was now anxious, however, to be employed in some way or other, and when the office of private tutor in the family of a neighbouring gentleman was offered to him, he willingly accepted it. In this situation he remained about a year; but finding the employment much more disagreeable than he had been taught to beheve it, and the necessary confinement pain- fully irksome, he suddenly gave up his charge, pro- cured a good horse, and, with about thirty pounds which he had saved, quitted his friends, and set out nobody knew whither. As this singular unpremeditated step had been taken without consulting any of liis friends, and as no intelligence could be obtained either of him- self or the motives which had prompted his de- parture, liis family became much alarmed for his safety, and were justly offended at his conduct. * During his studies at the university, he was a contempo- rary with Burlce; and it has been said that neither of them gave much promise of future celebrity. Goldsmith, however, got a premium at a Christmas examination; and a premium obtained at such examination is more honourable than any other, because it ascertains the person who receives it to be the first in literary merit. At the other examinations, the person thus distinguished may be only the second in merit ; he who has previously obtained the same honorary reward, Bometimes receiving a written certificate that he was the best answerer ; i' being a rule, that not more than one premium •hould be aujudged to the same person in one year. Week after week passed away, and no tidings of the fugitive. At last, when all hope of his re- turn had been given up, and when they concluded he must haA-e left the country altogether, the fami- ly were astonished by his sudden reappearance at his mother's house; safe and sound, to be sure, but not exactly in such good trim as when he had left them. His horse was metamorphosed into a shabby Uttle pony, not worth tv/enty shillings; and instead of thirty pounds in his pocket, he was without a penny. On this occasion the indignation of his mother was strongly expressed; but his brothers and sisters, who were all tenderly attach- ed to him, interfered, and soon eflected a recon- ciliation. Once more reinstated in the good graces of Ms family, our poet amused them with a detail of his adventures in this last expedition. He pre- mised that he had long felt a strong inclination to visit the New World, but knowing that his friends would throw obstacles in the way of his departiu-e, he had determined to set out unknown to any of them. Intending to embark at Cork, he had gone directly thither, and immediately after he arrived disposed of his horse, and struck a bargain with a captain of a ship bound for North America. For three weeks after his arrival, the wind continued unfavorable for putting to sea ; and the vessel re- mained wind-bound in the harbour. In the mean time, he amused himself by sauntering about the city and its environs, satisfying his curiosity, and examining every object worthy of notice. Hav- ing formed some acquaintances by means of the captain, he accompanied a party on an excursion into the country. The idea never occurred to him, that the wind, which had blown so perversely a-head during there weeks, might change in a sin- gle day ; he was not less surprised than chagrined, therefore, on his return next morning, to find the vessel gone. This was a death-blow to his scheme of emigration, as his passage-money was already in the pocket of the captain. Mortified and disappointed, he lingered about Cork, irresolute what to do, until the languishing state of his purse, which was reduced to two gui- neas, admonished him to make the best of his way home. He accordingly bought a poor Uttle pony, wliich he called Fiddleback, and found that he had just five sliillings left to defray the travelhng expen- ses of liimself and liis steed. This pittance, how- ever, was rather too scanty for a journey of a hun- dred and twenty miles, and he was at a loss how to procure a further supply. He at last bethought himself of an old college friend, who lived on the road, not far from Cork, and determined to apply to him for assistance. Having been often pressed by this person to spend a summer at his house, he had the less hesitation in papng him a visit under his present circumstances, and doubted not that he OP DR. GOLDSMITH, II Would at once obtain all the aid his situation re- quired. When on the road to the house of his iriend, a poor woman with eight children, whose husband had been thrown into jail for rent, threw herself in his way and implored for relief. The feelings of humanity being ever most easily awak- ened in Oliver's bosom, he gave her all that re- mained in his purse, and trusted his own wants to the expected liberality of his old fellow-coUcgian. This dear friend, whose promised hospitalities were so securely relied on, received him with much apparent satisfaction, and only appeared anxious to learn the motive which could have prompted this chance visit. Charmed with this seeming cor- diality with which he was received, Oliver gave him an artless and honest account of his whole ex- pedition; and did not even conceal the offence which his departure must have given to his friends. His good host listened with profound attention, and appeared to take so much interest in tlie detail of our poet's adventures, that he was at length in- duced to disclose the imjiiediate object of liis visit. This chanced to be the true touch-stone for try- ing the liberality of so honest a friend. A profound sigh, and querulous declamation on his own in- firm state of health, was the only return to his hint for assistance. When pressed a little further, this kind friend drily remarked, that for his part he could not understand how some people got them- selves into scrapes ; that on any other occasion he would have been happy to accommodate an old comrade, but really he had been lately so very ill, and was, even now, in such a sickly contlition, that it was very inconvenient to entertain compa- ny of any kind. Besides, he could not well ask a person in health to share in his slops and milk diet. If, however, Mr. Goldsmith could think of putting up with the family fare, such as it was, he would be made welcome; at the same tmie he must apprise him that it might not soon be got ready. The astonishment and dismay of our poet at the conclusion of this speech was sufficiently visible in his lengthened visage. Nothing but the utter emptiness of his purse, and his great distance from home, could liave induced him to pocket the insult, or accept so inhospitable an invitation. No better, however, could be made of it in his present circumstances; so without showing his chagrin, ho good-humouredly partook of a miserable supper of brown bread and butter milk, served up at a late hour by a miserable looking old woman, the fit handmaid of so miserable a master. Notwithstanding the base colours in which our poet's host had exhibited himself, the former had too much good-nature to harbour resentment. When they met in the morning, therefore, he entered fa- miliarly into conversation, and even condescended to ask what he would advise him to do in his pre- sent difficulty. "My dear fellow," said liis host, "return home immediately. You can never do with- out the assistance of your friends; and if j^ou keep them longer in suspense and alarm by remaining away, you will only widen the breach which your rashness must have already occasioned, and perhaps induce them to throw you off altogether." "But," rejoined Oliver, "how am I to get on without mo- ney? I told you I had not a shilling lef^, and it is quite impossible for me to proceed on the journey, unless you should be so obliging as to lend me a guinea for the purpose." Here again his friend'3 countenance fell. He pleaded his inability to lend, in consequence of having spent all his ready cash during his late illness, interlarding this apology with many sage aphorisms on the disadvantages of borrowing, and the sin of running into debt. " But my dear fellow," resumed he, " I'll tell you how you may get over the difficulty. May you not sell the little horse you brought with you last night? The price of it will be sufficient for all your expenses till you arrive among your friends, and, in the mean time, I think I can furnish you wdth another to help you forward on the jour- ney." Oliver could discover no objection to a plan so feasible, and therefore agreed to it at once; but when he asked for a sight of the steed wliich was to carry him home, his host, with solemn gravity, drew from under the bed a stout oaken staff, which he presented to him with a grin of self-approba- tion. Our poor poet now lost all patience, and was just about to snatch it from him, and apply it to his pate, when a loud rap announced a visiter. A person of interesting appearance was immediately afterwards ushered into the room, and, when the us- ual compliments were over, Oliver was presented to him by his host, as if nothing had happened, and described as the learned and ingenious young man of whom he had heard so much while at college. The agreeable manners of this gentleman soon gave an interesting turn to the conversation. Har- mony appeared to be once more restored between Oliver and his host, and the stranger invited them both to dine with him the following day. This was not acceded to on the part of the poet, with- out considerable reluctance; but the gentleman's pressing solicitations prevailed on him to consent. The hospitality and kindness displayed at this per- son's table was a striking contrast to the penury and meanness exhibited by his fellow-collegian, and Oliver could hardly refrain from making some sarcastic remarks on the difference. The hints on this subject which were occasionally hazarded by the poot, led the gentleman to suspect that the two friends were not on the most cordial tenns. He was therefore induced to invite our poet to spend a few days at his house. An invitation of this kind, so opjiortunely and handsomely given, was a for- tunate circumstance for Oliver. He did not hesi- tate a moment to accept it, and at parting with his 13 LIFE AND WRITINGS dear fellow-collegian, archly recommended to him to take good care of the steed kept at so much ex- pense for the use of his friends; and, of all things, to beware of surfeiting them with a milk diet. To this sarcasm the other only replied by a sneer at the poet's poverty and improvident disposition. Their host being well acquainted with the charac- ter of his neighbour, seemed, when OUver after- wards recounted to him all the circumstances that had taken place, to be more amused than surprised at the detail. In the house of this new friend Goldsmith expe- rienced the most hospitable entertainment for seve- ral days. Two beautiful daughters, as well as the host himself, were emulous in finding amusement for their guest during his stay; and when about to depart, he was offered money to defray the expense of his journe}', and a servant to attend him on horseback. The servant and horse he decUned, but accepted of a loan of three half-guineas ; and with sentiments of the deepest respect and grati- tude, took leave of his benevolent host. He now pursued his journey without any fur- ther interruption, and arrived at his mother's house in the sudden and unexpected manner already nar- rated. Once more reconciled to his friends, he did not fail to transmit to his kind benefactor suitable acknowledgments expressive of the grateful sense he entertained of such unlooked-for and generous hospitality. It was now considered essential that he should fix on a profession, the pursuit of which might di- vert him from idle and expensive habits. After various consultations, it was determined that he should begin the study of the law, and liis uncle Contarine agreed to advance the necessary funds. Provided with money for the expenses of his jour- ney, and to enable him to enter on his studies at the Temple, Oliver set out for London, but his customary imprudence again interfered. He fell by accident into the company of a sharper in Dub- lin, and being tempted to engage in play, was soon plimdered of all his money, and again left to find his way home without a shiUing in his pocket. His friends now almost despaired of him. Not- withstanding the brilliancy of his natural talents, it was feared that his habitual carelessness and im- providence would form a bar to his success in any profession whatever. That it would be vain for him to pursue the study of the law with such dis- positions was obvious ; and, of course, it was neces- sary once more to cast about for a profession. Af- ter various consultations, therefore, it was finally determined that physic should be his future pur- suit; and liis kind uncle, who had been prevailed on to pardon liim once more, took him again under his protection, and at last fixed him at Edinburgh OS a student of medicine, about the end of the year 1752. On his arrival in that city, he had no sooner i deposited his trunk in lodgings than he sallied out to see the town. He rambled about until a late hour, and when he felt disposed to turn his face homeward, recollected for the first time that he knew neither the name nor address of his landlady. In this dilemma, as he was wandering at random, he fortunately met with the porter who had carried liis baggage, and who now served him as a guide. In the University of Edinburgh, at that time be coming famous as a school of medicine, he attend- ed the lectures of the celebrated Monro, and the other professors in medical science. What pro- gress he made in this study, however, is not par- ticularly ascertained. Riotous conviviaUty, and tavern adjournments, whether for business or plea- sure, were at that time characteristic of Edinburgh society ; and it does not appear that our poet was able to resist the general contagion. His attention to his studies was far from being regular. Dissi- pation and play allured him from the class-room, and his health and his purse suffered in conse- quence. About this period, liis contemporaries have reported, that he sometimes also sacrificed to the Muses, but of these early effusions no specimen seems to have been preserved. The social and good-humoured qualities of oui poet appear to have made him a general favourite with his fellow-students. He was a keen partici- pator in all their wild pranks and humorous frolics. He was also a prime table companion : always rea- dy with story, anecdote, or song, though it must be confessed that m such exhibitions he was far from being successful. His narrations were too frequent- ly accompanied by grimace or buffoonery; nor was his wit of that chaste and classical kind that might have been expected from his education. On the contrary, it was generally forced, coarse, and un- natural. All his oral communications partook of these defects ; and it is a fact not less true than sin- gular, that even in after life he was never exempt from them, although accustomed to the politest li- terary society. When conversing on this feature in our poet's character, his friend Dr. Jolmson many years after- wards, justly, but perhaps rather severely, remark- ed, " The misfortime of Goldsmith in conversation is this : he goes on without knowing how he is to get off'. His genius is great, but his knowledge is smalL As they say of a generous man, it is a pity he is not rich, we may say of Goldsmith, it is a pity he is not knowing : he would not keep his knowledge to himself." On another occasion, Johnson being called on for his opinion on the same subject, took a similar viet* of it, with much critical acumen, and all liis usual power of amplification. "Goldsmith," said he, " should not be for ever attempting to shine in con- versation; he has not temper for it, he is so much .Tiortified when he fails. A game of jokes is com- OF DR. GOLDSMITH. n posed partly of skill, partly of chance ; a man may be beat at times by one who has not the tenth part of his wit. Now Goldsmith's putting himself against another, is like a man laying a hundred to one, who can not spare the lundred. It is not Worth a man's wliile. A man should not lay a hundred to one, unless he can easily spare it ; though he has a hundred chances for Mm, he can get but a guinea, and he may lose a hundred. Goldsmith is in this state : when he contends, if he get the bet- ter, it is a very little addition to a man of his literary reputation; if he do not get the better, he is misera- bly vexed." Though now arrived at an age when reflection on passing objects and events might have been oc- casionally elicited, yet it does not appear that any thing of that kind worth preserving occurred in our poet's correspondence with his friends. The only circumstance which seems to have excited particu- lar remark was the economy of the Scotch in cook- ing and eating ; and of 1 Ids he would sometimes give rather a ludicrous account. His first landlady, he used to say, nearly starved him out of liis lodgings ; and the second, though somewhat more Uberal, was still a wonderful adept in the art of saving. When permitted to put forth all her talents m this way she would perform surprising feats. A single loui of mutton would sometimes be made to serve our poet and two fellow-students a whole week ; a bran- dered chop was served up one day, a fried steak ano ther, collops with onion sauce a third, and so on, till the fleshy parts were quite consumed, when finally a dish of broth was made from the well-picked bones on the seventh day, and the landlady rested from her labours. After he had attended some courses of lectures at Edinburgh, it was thought advisable that he should complete his medical studies at the University of Leyden, then celebrated as a great medical school : his uncle Contarine furnishing the funds. Gold- emith accordingly looked out at Lcith for a vessel for Holland ; but finding one about to sail for Bor- deaux, with his usual eccentricity engaged a pas- sage. He found himself, however, in an awkward dilemma about the time of embarkation. He had become security to a tailor for a fellow-student in a considerable amount. The tailor arrested him for debt; and, but for the interference of Mr. Lachlan Maclane and Dr. Sleigh, he would have been thro^vn into prison. Rescued from this difilcidty, he embarked, but encountered a storm, and a de- tention, and an escape from shipwreck, and finally arrived safe at Rotterdam, instead of Bordeaux; all which is thus related by himself, in an extract from a letter, without date, to his generous uncle Conta- rine. " Some time after the receipt of your last, I em- barked for Bordeaux, on board a Scotch ship, call- ed the St. Andrew, Captain John Wall, master. The ship made a tolerable appearance, and as ano- ther inducement, 1 was let to know that six agree- able passengers were to be my company. Well, we were but tvFO days at sea when a storm drove us into a city of England, called Newcastle-upon- Tyne. We all went ashore to refresh us, after the fatigue of our voyage. Seven men and I were one day on shore, and on the following evening, as we were all very merry, the room door bursts open, en- ters a sergeant and twelve grenadiers, with their bayonets screwed, and puts us all under the king's arrest. It seems my company were Scotchmen in the French service, and had been in Scotland to enlist soldiers for the French army. I endeavoured ad I could to prove my innocence; however, I re- mained in prison with the rest a fortnight, and with difficulty got ofl' even then. Dear sir, keep this all a secret, or at least say it was for debt ; for if it were once known at the university, I should hardly get a degree. But hear how Providence interposed in my favour; the sliip was gone on to Bordeaux be* fore I got from prison, and was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, and every one of the crew were drov^ned. It happened the last great storm. There was a ship at that time ready for Holland; I embarked, and in nine days, thank my God, I ar- rived safe at Rotterdam, whence I travelled by land to Leyden, and whence I now write." He proceeds in the same letter to amuse his friends with a whimsical account of the costume and manners of the Hollanders ; which we also ex- tract for the entertainment of the reader. " You may expect some account of this country ; and though I am not well qualified for such an lui- dertaking, yet I shall endeavour to satisfy some part of your expectations. Nothing surprised me more than the books every day pubhshed descrip- tive of the manners of this country. Any young man who takes it into his head to publish Ids travels, visits the countries he intends to describe; passes through them with as much inattention as his valet de chambre; and consequently, not liaving a fund himself to fill a voliune, he appUes to those who wrote before him, and gives us the manners of a country ; not as he must have seen them, but such as they might have been fifty years before. The modern Dutchman is quite a difierent creature from him of former times : he in every thing imitates a Frenchman, but in his easy disengaged air, which is the result of keeping pohte company. The Dutchman is vastly ceremonious, and is perhaps exactly what a Frenchman might have been in the reign of Louis XIV. Such are the better bred. But the dovmright Hollander is one of the oldest figures in nature. Uj)on a head of laidi hair he wears a h;df-cocked narrow hat, laced with black riband ; no coat, but seven waistcoats, and nine pair of breeches; so that his hips reach almost up to his arm-pits. This well-clothed vegetable is now fit to 14 LIFE AND WRITINGS see company, or make love. But what a pleasing creature is the object of his appetite? Why, she wears a large fur cap, with a deal of Flanders lace; and for every pair of breeches he carries, she puts on two petticoats. " A Dutch lady burns nothing about her phleg- matic admirer but his tobacco. You must know, sir, every woman carries in her hand a stove with coals in it, which, when she sits, she snugs under her petticoats ; and at tliis chimney dozing Strephon lights his pipe. I take it that this continual smok- ing is what gives the man the ruddy healthful com- plexion he generally wears, by draining his super- fluous moisture; while the woman, deprived of this amusement, overflows with such viscidities as tint the complexion, and give that paleness of visage which low fenny grounds and moist air conspire to cause. A Dutch woman and a Scotch will bear an opposition. The one is pale and fat, the other lean and ruddy. The one walks as if she were straddling after a go-cart, and the other takes too mascuhne a stride. I shall not endeavour to de- prive either country of its share of beauty; but must say, that of all objects on this earth, an En- glish farmer's daughter is most charming. Every woman there is a complete beauty, while the higher class of women want many of the requisites to make them even tolerable. Their pleasures here are very dull, though very various. You may smoke, you may doze, you may go to the ItaUan comedy, as good an amusement as either of the for- mer. This entertainment always brings in Har- lequin, who is generally a magician; and in conse- quence of his diabolical art, performs a thousand tricks on the rest of the persons of the drama, who are all fools. I have seen the pit in a roar of laugh- ter at this humour, when with his sword he touches the glass from which another was drinking. ' T was not his face they laughed at, for that was masked: they must have seen something vastly queer in the wooden sword, that neither I, nor you, sir, were you there, could see. " In winter, when their canals are frozen, every house is forsaken, and all people are on the ice ; sleds drawn by horses, and skating, are at that time the reigning amusements. They have boats here that slide on the ice, and are driven by the winds. When fehey spread all their sails they go more than a mile and a half a minute, and their motion is so rapid, the eye can scarcely accompany them. Their ordinary manner of travelling is very cheap and very convenient. They sail in covered boats drawn by horses ; and in these you are sure to meet people of all nations. Here the Dutch slumber, the French chatter, and the English play at cards. Any man who likes company, may have them to his taste. For my part, I generally de- .ached myself from all society, and was wholly taken up in observing the face of the country. No- thing can equal its beauty. Wherever I turn my eyes, fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottos, vistas, presented themselves ; but when you entei their towns you are charmed beyond description No misery is to be seen here ; every one is useful- ly employed. " Scotland and this country bear the highest contrast. There, hills and rocks intercept every prospect ; here, 'tis all a continued plain. There you might see a well dressed duchess issuing from a dirty close ; and here a dirty Dutchman inhabit- ing a palace. The Scotch may be compared to a tulip planted in dung; but I never see a Dutchman in his own house, but I think of a magnificent Egyptian temple dedicated to an ox. " Physic is by no means taught here so well as in Edinburgh ; and in all Leyden there are but four British students, owing to all necessaries being so extremely dear, and the professors so very lazy (the chemical professor excepted,) that we don't much care to come hither. I am not certain how long my stay here may be ; however, I expect to have the happiness of seeing you at Kilmore, if I can, next March." While resident in Leyden, he attended the lec- tures of Gaubius on chemistry, and those of Albi- nus on anatomy. In the letters of Goldsmith to his uncle, Gaubius is the only professor of whose talents he gives a favourable opinion.* Of all the other professors he seems to have formed rather a contemptuous estimate ; and with regard to the in- habitants in general, his remarks are by no means of a laudatory description. But to appreciate the characters of men, and describe the manners of a people with accuracy, require the nicest discrimi- nation, and much knowledge of the world. On such subjects, therefore, the opinions of our poet, at this early period of his life, are to be the less re- garded. His Dutch characteristics can only be deemed good humoured caricatures, and probably were drawn as such, merely for the amusement of his friends in Ireland. It happened, unfortunately for Goldsmith, that one of his most dangerous propensities met with too much encouragement during his stay in Hol- land. The people of that country are much addict- ed to games of chance. Gaming tables are to be met with in every tavern, and at every place of amusement. Goldsmith, unable to resist the con- tagion of example, with his usual facility sailed with the stream; and fortune, according to custom, alternately greeted him with smiles and frowns. His friend, Dr. Ellis, t who was then also study- ing at Leyden, used to relate, that on one occasion he came to him with much exultation, and count- • Gaubius died in 1780, at tlie age of 75, leaving a splendid reputation. He was the favourite pupil of Boerhaave- and wrote severallearned and ingenious works. t Afterwards clerk of the Irish House of Commooa. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 15 ed out a considerable sura which he had won the preceding evening. " Perceiving that tliis tempo- rary success," said Ellis, "was only fanning the flame of a ruinous passion, I was at some pains to point out to him the destructive consequences of indulging so dangerous a propensity. I exhorted him, since fortune had for once been unusually kind, to rest satisfied with his present gains, and showed, that if he set apart the money now in his hands, he would be abla to complete his studies without further assistance from his friends. Gold- pmith, who could perceive, though he could not al- ways pursue the right path, admitted all the truth of my observations, seemed grateful for my advice, *nd promised for the future strictly to adhere to it." The votary of play, however, is never to be so nasily cured. Reason and ridicule are equally im- potent against that unhappy passion. To those infected with it, the channs of the gaming table may be said to be omnipotent. Soon after this, he once more gave himself up to it without control, and not only lost all he had lately won, but was stripped of everj' shilhng he had in the world. In this emergency he was obUged to have recourse to Dr. Ellis for advice. His friend perceived that ad- monition was useless, and that so long as he re- mained within reach of the vortex of play, his gambling propensities could never be restrained. It was therefore determined that he ought to quit Holland ; and with a view to his further improve- ment, it was suggested that he should visit some of the neighbouring countries before returning to his own. He readily acceded to this proposal, and notwithstanding the paucity of his means, resolved to pursue it without delay. Ellis, however, kindly took his wants into consideration, and agreed to accommodate him with a sum of money to carry his plan into execution ; but in tliis, as in other in- stances, his heedless improvidence interfered to render his friend's generosity abortive. AVhen about to set out on his journey, accident or curiosity led him into a garden at Leyden, where the choicest flowers were reared for sale. In consequence of an unaccountable mania for flowers having at one time spread itself over Holland, an extensive trade in flower roots became universally prevalent in that country, and at this period the Dutch florists were the most celebrated in Europe.* Fortunes and law suits innumerable had been lost and won in this singular traffic ; and though the rage had now greatly subsided, flower roots still bore a considera- ble value. Unluckily, while rambling through the garden at Leyden, Goldsmith recollected that his * It was ihe celebrated tulip mania. For a tulip root, known by the name of Sem}>er Augustus, 550^ sterling was given; and for otlier tulip roots less rare, various prices were given, from one hundred to four hundred guineas. This mathiess raged in IloUand for many years, till at length Uie Slate in- terfered, anda law was enacted which put a stop to the trade. uncle was an amateur of such rarities. With hia usual inconsiderateness he immediately conclutkd a bargain for a parcel of the roots, never reflectuig on his own limited means, or the purpose for which his money had been furnished. This absurd and extravagant purchase nearly exhausted the fund he had already received from his friend Ellis, and it is not unlikely that the gaming table gleaned the little that remained ; for it has often been asserted, that after his magnificent speculation in tuUp roots he actually set out upon his travels with only one clean shirt, and without a shilling in his pocket. When this expedition was projected, it is most likely that nothing more was intended than a short excursion into Belgium and France. The passion for travel, however, which had so long lain dormant in his mind was now thoroughly awakened. Blessed with a good constitution, an adventurous spirit, and with that thoughtless, or perhaps happy disposition, which takes no care for to-morrow, he continued his travels for a long time in spite of in- numerable privations; and neither poverty, fatigue, nor hardship, seems to have damped his ardour, or interrupted his progress. It is a well authenticated fact, that he performed the tour of Europe on foot, and that he finished the arduous and singular un- dertaking without any other means than was ob- tained by an occasional display of his scholarship, or a tune upon his flute. It is much to be regretted that no account of his tour was ever given to the world by himself. The oral communications which he sometimes gave to friends, are said to have borne some resem- blance to the story of the Wanderer in the Vicar of Wakefield. The interest they excited did not arise so much from the novelty of the incidents as from the fine vein of moral reflection interwoven with the narrative. Like the Wanderer, he possessed a sufficient portion of ancient hterature, some taste in music, and a tolerable knowledge of the French language. His learning was a passport to the hos- pitalities of the hterary and religious establish- ments on the continent, and the music of his flute generally procured him a welcome reception at the cottages of the peasantry. "Whenever 1 ap- proached a peasant's house towards night-fall," he used to say, " I played one of my merriest tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but sub- sistence for the next day; but, in truth;" his con- stant expression, " I must own, whenever I attempt- ed to entertain persons of a higher rank, they al- ways thought my performance odious, and never made me any return for my endeavours to please them." The hearty good- will, however, with wliich he was received by the harmless peasantry, seems to have atoned to him for the disregard of the rich. How much their simple manners won upon his aflfections, may be discovered from the floa 16 LIFE AND WRITINGS passage in his "Traveller," in which he so happi- ly introduces himself: — How often have I led thy sportive choir With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire! Where shading elms along the margin grew, And freahen'd from the wave the zephyr flew: And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring still. But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancers' skiU, Yet would the village praise my wondrous power. And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. The learned and religious houses also appear to have been equally hospitable. "With the mem- bers of these estabhshments," said he, "I could converse on topics of hterature, and then I always forgot the meanness of my circumstances." In many of the foreign universities and con- vents there are, upon certain days, philosopliical theses maintained against every adventitious dis- putant ; for which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. The talents of Goldsmith frequently enabled him to command the leUef afforded by this useful and hospitable cus- tom. In this manner, without money or friends, he fought his way from convent to convent, and from city to city, examined mankind more nearly, • and, as he himself expressed it, saw both sides of the picture. To Goldsmith's close and familiar intercourse •with the scenes and natives of the different coun- tries through which he passed, the world is indebt- ed for his " Traveller." For although that poem was afterwards " slowly and painfuUy elaborated," still the nice and accurate discrimination of na- tional character displayed could only be acquired by actual examination. In the progress of his journey, he seems to have treasured his facts and observations, with a view to the formation of this • delightful poem. The first sketch of it is said to have been written after his arrival in Switzerland, and was transmitted from that country to his bro- ther Henry in Ireland. After his arrival in Switzerland, he took up his abode for some time in Geneva. Here he appears to have foimd friends, or formed acquaintances; for we find him recommended at this place as tu- tor to a young gentleman on his travels. The youth to whom he was recommended was the ne- phew of Mr. S******, pavmbroker in London, who had unexpectedly acquired a large fortune by the death of his uncle. Determined to see the world, he had just arrived at Geneva on the grand tour, and not being provided with a travelling tu- tor. Goldsmith was hired to perform the functions of that office. They set out together for Mar- seilles; but never were tutor and pupil so miserably assorted. The latter, before acquiring his fortune, nad been for some time articled to an attorney, and while in that capacity had so well learned the art of managing in money concerns, that it had at length become his favourite study. Naturally ava« ricious, his training as an attorney had nothing diminished the reign of that sordid passion, and it discovered its most odious features in almost every transaction. When he engaged a tutor, there- fore, he took care to make a special proviso, that in all money matters he should be at liberty to tu- tor himself. A stipulation of this kind so cramp- ed the views and propensities of Goldsmith, and afforded to the pupil so many opportunities of dis- playing his mean disposition, that disgust and dis- like almost immediately ensued. When arrived at Marseilles they mutually agreed to separate; and the poet having received the small part of his salary that was due, his pupil, terrified at the ex- pense of travelling, instantly embarked for Eng- land. Goldsmith, thus freed from the trammels of tu- torship, set out once more on foot, and in that man- ner travelled through various districts of France. He finally pursued his journey into Italy, visiting Venice, Verona, Florence, and other celebrated places. At Paduai, where he staid six months, he is said to have taken a medical degree, but upon what authority is not ascertained. Wliile resi- dent at Padua he was assisted, it is believed, by remittances from his uncle Contarine, who, how- ever, unfortunately died about that tune.* In Italy, Goldsmith found his talent for music al- most useless as a means of subsistence, for every peasant was a better musician than himself; but his skiU in disputation still served his purpose, and the religious establishments were equally hospita- ble. At length, curiosity being fully gratified, he resolved to retrace liis steps towards his native home. He returned through France, as the short- er route, and as affording greater facilities to a pedestrian. He was lodged and entertained aa formerly, sometimes at learned and religious estab- hshments, and sometimes at the cottages of the peasantry, and thus, vrith the aid of his philoso- phy and his flute, he disputed and piped his way homewards. When Goldsmith arrived at Dover from France^ it was about the breaking out of the war in 1755-6. Being unprovided with money, a new difficulty now presented itself, how to fight his 'The Rev. Thomas Contarine was descended from the no- ble family of the Contarini of Venice. His ancestor, having married a nun in his native country, was obliged to fly with her into France, where she died of the small-pox. Being pursued by ecclesiastical censures, Contarini came to Eng- land; but the puritanical manners which then prevailed, hav- ing afforded him but a cold reception, he was on his way to Ireland, when at Chester he met with a young lady of the name of Chaloner whom he married. Having afterward* conformed to the established church, he, through the interest of his wife's family, obtained ecclesiastical preferment in the diocese of Elphin. This gentleman w.t3 their lineal dasceni dani — Campbell's Biographu of Goldsmith. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 17 ^ay to the metropolis. His whole stock of cash could not defray the expense of the ordinary con- veyance, and neither flute nor logic could help flim to a supper or a bed. By some means or other, However, he contrived to reach London in safety. On his arrival he had only a few halfpence in liis pocket. To use his own words, in one of his let- ters, he found himself "without friend, recom- mendation, money, or impudence;" and, contrary to his usual habits, began to be filled with the gloomiest apprehensions. There was not a mo- ment to be lost, therefore, in seeking for a sit- uation that might aflbrd him the means of imme- diate subsistence. His first attempt was to get ad- mission as an assistant to a boarding-school or aca- demy, but, for want of a reconimendation, even that poor and painful situation was found difficult to be obtained. This diflSciilty appears also to have been notliing lessened by his stooping to make use of a feigned name. What liis motives were for such a measure has never lieen fully explained ; but it is fair to infer, that his Uterary pride revolted at servitude, and perhaps, conscious that his powers would ultimately enable him to emerge from his present obscurity, he was unwilling it should after- wards be known that he had occupied a situation 60 humble. Deceit and finesse, however, are at all times dangerous, be the motive for employing them ever so innocent; and in the present instance our author found them productive of considerable em- barrassment; for, when the master of the school demanded a reference to some respectable person for a character, Goldsmith was at a loss to account for using any other name than his own. In tliis dilemma he wrote to Dr. Radcliff, a mild benevo- lent man, who had been joint-tutor with his perse- cutor Wilder, in Trinity College, and had some- times lectured the other pupils. Having can- didly stated to the doctor the predicament in which he was placed, and explained the immediate object in view, he told him that the same post which conveyed this information would also bring liim a ietter of inquiry from the school-master, to wliich .t was hoped he would be so good as return a fa- vourable answer. It appears that Dr. Radclifi' tromptly complied with this request, for Goldsmith anmediately obtained the situation. We learn from Campbell's PhiIosoj)hical Survey of the South of Ireland, that our author's letter of thanks to Dr. Radcliff on that occasion was accompanied with a very interesting account of his travels and adventures. The employment of usher at an academy in Lon- don, is of itself a task of no ordinary labour; but, independent of the drudgery and toil, it is attended with so many little irritating circumstances, that of all others it is perhaps a situation the most pain- ful and irksome to a man of independent mind and liberal ideas. To a person of our author's temper 2 and habits, it was peculiarly distasteful. How long he remained in this situation is not well ascertained, but he ever spoke of it in bitterness of spirit. The very remembrance of it seemed to be gall and worm- wood to him; and how keenly he must have felt its mortification and misery, may be gathered from the satire with which it is designated in various parts of his works. The language which he has put into the mouth of the Wanderer's cousin, when he applies to him for an ushersliip, is feelingly charac- teristic. "I," said he, "have been an usher to a boarding-school myself; and may I die by an ano- dyne necklace, but I had rather be an under-turn- key in Newgate ! I was up early and late : I wa3 browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys within, and never permitted to stir out to meet civility abroad. But, are you sure you are fit for a school? Let me examine you a little. Have you been bred ap- prentice to the business 7" — No. — "Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair ?" — No. — " Then you won't do for a school. Have you had the small-pox7" — No. — " Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed?" — No. — " Then you will never do for a school. Have you got a good stomach?" — Yes. — "Then you will by no means do for a school. No, sir: if you are for a genteel, easy profession, bind yourself seven years as an apprentice to turn a cutler's wheel; but avoid a school by any means." On another occasion, when talking on the same subject, our author thus summed up the misery of such an employment: — "After the fatigues of the day, the poor usher of an academy is obhged to sleep in the same bed with a Frenchman, a teacher of that language to the boys, who disturbs liim every night, an hour perhaps, in papering and fiJlet- ing his hair, and stinks worse than a carrion, with his rancid pomatums, when he lays his head beside him on his bolster." Having tlorown up this wretched emplojTncnt, he was obliged to cast about for one more concrenial to his mind. In tliis, however, he again found con- siderable difficulty. His personal appearance and address were never prepossessing, but at that par- ticular period were still less so from the thread-bare state of his wardrobe. He applied to several of the medical tribe, but had the mortification to meet with repeated refusals ; and on more than one occasion was jeered with the mimicry of his broad Irish ac- cent. At length a chemist, near Fish-street -hill, took him into his laboratory, where his medical knowledge soon rendered him an able and useful assistant. Not long after this, however, accident discovered to him that his old friend and fellow- student, Dr. Sleigh, was in London, and he deter- mined, if possible, to renew his acquaintance with him. " It was Sunday," said Goldsmith, "when I paid him the first visit, and it is to be suppcvseJ , 18 LIFE AND WRITINGS was dressed in my best clothes. Sleigh scarcely knew me ; such is the tax the unfortunate pay to poverty. However, when he did recollect me, I found his heart as warm as ever, and he shared his purse and his friendship with me during his con- tinuance in London." The friendslup of Dr. Sleigh* was not confined to the mere relief of our poet's immediate wants, but showed itself in an anxious solicitude for his permanent success in life. Nobody better knew how to appreciate his talents and acquirements, and the accurate knowledge that Sleigh possessed of London qualified him to advise and direct the poet in his subsequent pursuits. Accordingly we find ttiat Goldsmith, encouraged by liis friend's advice, commenced medical practitioner at Bankside, in Southwark, whence he afterwards removed to the Temple and its neighbourhood. In Southwark it appears that his practice did not answer his ex- 1 pectations, but in the vicinity of the Temple he ; was more successful. The fees of the physician, however, were httle, and that little, as is usual among the poorer classes, was very ill paid. He found it necessary, therefore, to have recourse like- [ wise to his pen, and being introduced by Dr.' Sleigh to some of the booksellers, was almost im- ' mediately engaged in their service ; — and thus, " with very little practice as a physician, and very ; little reputation as a poet," as he himself expresses it, he made " a shift to live." The peculiarities of his situation at this period are described in the fol- lowing letter, addressed to the gentleman who had married his eldest sister. It is dated Temple Ex- change Coflfee-house, December 27, 1757, and ad-i dressed to Daniel Hodson, Esq., at Lishoy, near' Ballymahon, Ireland. " Dear Sir, — It may be four years since my last letters went to Ireland ; and from you in particular I received no answer, probably because you never wrote to me. My brother Charles, however, in- forms me of the fatigue you were at in soliciting a subscription to assist me, not only among my friends and relations, but acquaintance in general. Though my pride might feel some repugnance at being thus relieved, yet ray gratitude can sutler no diminution. How much am I obliged to you, to them, for such generosity, or (why should not your virtues have the proper name) for such charity to me at that juncture. Sure I am born to ill fortune, to be so much a debtor, and unable to repay. But to say no more of this : too many professions of gratitude are often considered as indirect petitions for future favours; let me only add, that my not receiving that supply was the cause of my present establishment "lihs gent'eman subsequently settled in Cork, his native eJ J, Aj tvcis rapidly rising into eminence in his ijrofcssion, when he was cut off in the flower of his age by an inflamma- tory kver, which deprived the world of a fine scholar, a skilful physician, and an honest man. at London. You may easily imagine what ditR- culties I had to encounter, left as I was without friends, recommendations, money, or impudence; and that in a country where being bom an Irish- man was sufficient to keep me unemployed. Many in such circumstances would have had recourse to the friar's cord, or the suicide's halter. But, with all my follies, 1 had principle to resist the one, and resolution to combat the other. " I suppose you desire to knoW my present situ- ation. As there is notliing in it at which I should blush, or which mankind could censure, I see no reason for making it a secret. In short, by a very little practice as a physician, and a very little repu- tation as a poet, I make a shift to live. Nothing is more apt to introduce us to the gates of the Muses than poverty ; but it were well for us if they only left us at the door — the mischief is, they sometimes choose to give us their company at the entertain- ment, and want, instead of being gentleman usher, often turns master of the ceremonies. Thus, upon hearing I write, no doulit you imagine I starve ; and the name of an author naturally reminds you of a garret. In this particular I do not think pro- per to undeceive my friends. But whether I eat or starve ; live in a first floor, or four pair of stairs high, I still remember them with ardour ; nay, my very country conies in for a share of my afltctioiu Unaccountable fondness for country, this maladis du fays, as the French call it! Unaccountable, that he should still have an afl!ection for a place, who never received, when in it, above common ci vility ; who never brought any thing out of it, ex- cept his brogue and his blunders. Surely my aifec- tion is equally ridiculous with the Scotchman's, who refused to be cured of the itch because it made him unco thoughtful o' his wife and honnie Inve- \ rary. But now to be serious ; let me ask myself what gives me a wish to see Ireland again 1 The country is a fine one, perhaps ? No. — There are good company in Ireland? No. — The conversation there is generally made up of a smutty toast, or a bawdy song. The vivacity supported by some humble cousin, who has just folly enough to earn his dinner. — Then, perhaps, there is more wit and learning among the Irish 1 Oh, Lord, no! There has been more money spent in the encouragement of the Podareen mare there in one season, than given in rewards to learned men since the time of Usher. All their productions in learning amount to perhaps a translation, or a few tracts in divinity; and all their productions in wit to just nothing at all. — Why the plague, then, so fond of Ireland 1 Then, all at once, because you, my dear friend, and a few more, who are exceptions to the general picture, have a residence there. This it is that gives me all the pangs I feel in separation. 1 con- fess I carry tliis spirit sometimes to the souring the pleasures I at present possess. If I go to the opera, OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 19 where Signora Columba pours out all the mazes of melody, I sit and sigh for Lishoy fireside, and Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, from Peg- gy Golden. If I climb Flamstead-hill, than where nature never exhibited a more magnificent pros- pect, I confess it fine, but then I had rather be placed on the little mount before Lishoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most pleasing horizon in nature. Before Charles came hither, my thoughts sometimes found refuge from severe studies among my friends in Ireland. I fancied strange revolutions at home ; but I find it was the rapidity of my own motion that gave an imaginary one to objects really at rest. No alterations there. Some friends, he tells me, are still lean, but very rich ; others very fat, but still very poor. Nay, all the news I hear of you is, that you and Mrs. Hodson sometimes sally out in visits among the neighbours, and some- times make a migration from the blue bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish that you and she, and Lishoy and Ballymahon, and all of you, would fairly make a migration into Middlesex ; Shough, upon second thoughts, this might be at- tended with a few inconveniencies : therefore, as the mountain will not come to Mahomet, why Ma- homet shall go to the mountain ; or, to speak i)lain English, as you can not conveniently pay me a visit, if next summer I can contrive to be absent six weeks from London, I shall spend three of them among my friends in Ireland. But first believe me, •ny design is purely to visit, and neither to cut a figure nor levy contributions, neither to excite cn- ^ nor solicit favour; in fact, my circumstances are adapted to neither. I am too poor to be gazed at, and too rich to need assistance. "You see, dear Dan, how long I have been talking about myself; but attriliute my vanity to my affection : as every man Is fond of himself, and I consider you as a second self, I imagine you will consequently be pleased with these instances of egotism." Goldsmith then alludes to some concerns of a private nature, and concludes : " My dear sir, these things give me real uneasi- ness, and I could wish to redress them. But at present there is hardly a kingdom in Europe in which I am not a debtor. I have already discharged my most threatening and pressing demands, for we must be just before we can be grateful. For the rest I need not say, (you know I am,) your af- fectionate kinsman." The medical and literary pursu' 1s of our author, though productive, at this period, tf httle emolu- ment, gradually extended t]h£ sphere rf his acquaint- ance. Several of his fellow students at Edinburgh and Dublin were now resident in London, and, by degrees, he continued to renew the intimacy that had formerly subsisted between them. Some of them occasionally assisted him with their purse, and others procured him the notice of the polite and the learned. Among the friendships thus agreeably renewed, there was one with a medical character,* afterwards eminent in his profession, who used to give the following account of our au- thor's first interview with him in London. " From the time of Goldsmith's leaving Edin- burgh in the year 1754, I never saw him till the year 1756, when I was in London attending the hospitals and lectures : early in January he called upon me one morning before 1 was up, and on my entering the room I recognised my old acquaint- ance, dressed in a rusty full trimmed black suit, with his pockets full of papers, which instantly re- minded me of the poet in Garrick's farce of Lethe. After we had finished our breakfast he drew from his pocket part of a tragedy, which he said he had brought for my correction. In vain I pleaded ina- liility, when he began to read, and every part on which I expressed a doubt as to the propriety, was immediately blotted out. I then more earnestly pressed him not to trust to my judgment, but to talce the opinion of persons better qualified to de- cide on dramatic compositions. He now told me that he had submitted his production, so far as he had written, to Mr. Richardson, the author of Cla- rissa, on which I peremptorily declined offermg another criticism on the performance. The name and subject of the tragedy have unfortunately es- caped my memory, neither do I recollect, with ex- actness, how much he had written, though I am inclined to believe that he had not completed the third act; I never heard whether he afterwards finished it. In this visit, I remember his relating a strange Q,uixotic scheme he had in contemplation, of going to decipher the inscriptions on the Writ- ten Mountains, though he was altogether ignorant of Arabic, or the language in which they might be supposed to be written. The salary of three hundred pounds per annum, which had been left for the purpose, was the temptation !" With regard to the sketch of a tragedy here al- luded to, the piece never was completed, nor did he afterwards attempt any tiling in the same line. His project respecting the Written Mountains, was certainly an undertaking of a most extrava- gant description; but, if we consider how little qualified he was for such a task, it can hardly be supposed that the scheme ever entered seriously into his mind. It was not unusual with him to hazard opinions and adopt resolutions, without much consideration, and often without calculating the means to the end. " Goldsmith," said Bos- well, "had a more than common share of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his country- men. He was very much what the French call un etourdi, and from vanity and an eager desira • It is pieeiimed that Dr. Sieigh is meant. 2C LIFE AND WRITINGS of being conspicuous, wherever he was, he fre- fiuentiy talked earelessly, without knowledge of the subject or even without thought." The ex- travagant scheme respecting the Written Moun- tains, however, seems not to have given way to a more rational undertaking at home; and, notwith- standing our author's boast, in his letter to Mr. Hodson, of being " too rich to need assistance," we find him, about this time, induced to relinquish his medical practice, and undertake the manage- ment of the classical school at Peckham. The never do it sincerely. Take me then with all mj faults. Let me write when I please ; foi* you see I say what I please, and am only thinking aloud when writing to you. I suppose you have heard of my intention of going to the East Indies. Tha place of my destination is one of the factories on the coast of Coromandel, and I go in the quality of physician and surgeon ; for which the Company has signed my warrant, which has already cost me teii pounds. I must also pay fifty pounds for my pas sage, and ten pounds for my sea-stores ; and the master, Dr. Milner, having been seized with a se- 1 other incidental expenses of my equipment wili vere illness, was unable to attend to the duties of amount to sixty or seventy pounds mote. The sa- his charge; and it had been necessary to procure a lary is but trifling, viz. one hundred pounds pet person, of classical attainments, to preside over the estabhshment, while deprived of his own sup- port. The son of the doctor having studied with Goldsmith at Edinburgh, knew his abilities as a scholar, and reconunended him to his father as a person well qualified for the situation. Our autlior accordingly took charge of the school, and acquitted himself in the management so much to the satis- faction of his employer, that he engaged to procure a medical appointment for him under the East In- dia Company. Dr. Milner had considerable in- fluence with some of the directors, and afterwards made good his promise, for, by his means, through the interest of the director Mr. Jones, Goldsmith was appointed physician to one of the factories m India, in the year 1758. This appointment seems, for a while, to have filled the vivid imagination of our author with splendid dreams of futurity. The princely fortunes acquired by some individuals in the Indies flattered him with the hope of similar success ; and accord- ingly we find him bending his whole soul to the accomplishment of tliis new undertaking. The chief obstacle that stood in the way was the ex- pense of his equipment for so long a voyage ; but his " Present State of Polite Literature in Europe" had been, for some time, preparing for the press ; and he seems to have relied that the profits of that work would afford the means of enabling hun to embark. Proposals were immediately drawn up, and published, to print the work by subscription. These he circulated with indefatigable zeal and industry. He wrote to his friends in Ireland to promote the subscription in that country, and, in the correspondence with them, he evinces the greatest anxiety for its success. In the following letter he explains his situation and prospects, and shows how much he had set his heart on the ex- pedition to the East. It is without date, but writ- ten some time in 1758, or in the early pai* of 1759, and addressed to Mr. Daniel Hodson, Iiis brother- in-law. "Dear Sir, — You can not expect regularity in one who is regular in nothing. Nay, were I forced U> love yxm by rule, I dare venture to say, I could annum; but the other advantages, if a person be pru- dent, are considerable. The practice of the place, if I am rightly informed, generally amounts to not less than one thousand pounds jier annum, for which the appointed physician has an exclusive privilege. This, with the advantages resulting from trade, with' tlie high interest which money bears, viz. twenty per cent., are the inducements which per- suade me to undergo the fatigues of the sea, the dangers of war, and the still greater dangers of the climate ; which induce me to leave a place where I am every day gaining friends and esteem, and where I might enjoy all the conveniencies of life. I am certainly wrong not to be contented with what I already possess, trifling as it is ; for should I ask myself one serious question. What is it I want?—, what can I answer] RIy desires are as capricious as the big-bellied woman's who longed for a piece of her husband's nose. I have no certainty, it is true ; but whj can not I do as some men of more merit, who have lived on more precarious terms'? Scarron used jestingly to call hmiself the Marquis of Gluenault, which was the name of the booksel- ler that employed him ; and why may not I assert my privilege and quality on the same pretensions') Yet, upon deliberation, whatever airs I give my- self on tliis side of the water, my dignity, I fancy would be evaporated before I reached the other. I know you have in Ireland a very indifferent idea of a man who writes for bread, though Swift and Steele did so in the earliest part of their lives. You imagine, I suppose, that every author by profession lives in a garret, wears shabby clothes, and con- verses with the meanest company. Yet I do not believe there is one single vcriter, who has abilities to translate a French novel, that does not keep bet- ter company, wear finer clothes, and live more gen- teely, than many who pride themselves for nothing else in Ireland. I confess it again, my dear Dan, that nothing but the wildest ambition could prevail on me to leave the enjoyment of that refined con- versation which I am sometimes permitted to par- take in, for uncertain fortune, and paltry show. You can not conceive how I am sometimes divided. To lea\ e all that is dear to me gives me pain ; but OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 21 when I consider I may possibly acquire a genteel independence for life ; when I think of that dignity which philosophy claims, to raise itself above con- tempt and ridicule; when I think thus, I eagerly long to embrace every opportunity of separating myself from the vulgar, as much in my circum- stances as I am already in my sentiments. I am going to publish a book, for an account of which I refer you to a letter which I wrote to my brother Goldsmith. Circulate for me among your acquaint- ance a hundred proposals, which I have given or- ders may be sent to you, and if, in pursuance of such circulation, you should receive any siibscrip tions, let them, whe-i collected, be transmitted to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the same, " I know not how my desire of seeing Ireland, which h id so long slept, has again revived with so much ardour. So weak is my temper, and so un- steady, that I am frequently tempted, particularly when low-spirited, to return home, and leave my fortune, though just beginning to look kinder. But it shall not be. In five or six years I hope to in- dulge these transports. I find I want constitution, and a strong steady disposition, which alone makes men great. I will, however, correct my faults, since I am conscious of them." The following letter to Edward Mills, Esq. dat- ed Temple Exchange Coffee-house, August 7, 1739, gives the title of the book he was about to pub- lish, as stated in the foregoing letter. " Dear Sir, — You have quitted, I find, that plan of life which you once intended to pursue, and given up ambition for domestic tranquillity. Were I to consult your satisfaction alone in this change, I have the utmost reason to congratulate your clioice ; but when I consider my own, I can not avoid feeling some regret, that one of my few friends has declin- ed a pursuit in which he had every reason to expect -success. The truth is, like the rest of the world, I am self-interested in my concern; and do not so much consider the happiness you have acquired, as the honour I have probably lost in the change. I have often let my fancy loose when you were the subject, and have imagined you gracing the bench, or tliundering at the bar; while I have taken no small pride to myself, and whispered all that I could come near, that this was my cousin. Instead of this, it seems you are contented to be merely a hap- py man; to be esteemed only by your acquaintance ; to cultivate your paternal acres ; to take unmolested a nap under one of your own hawthorns, or in Mrs. Mills's bed-chamber, which, even a poet must confess, is rather the most comfortable place of the two, " But, however your resolutions may be altered with respect to your situation in life, I persuade my- <»4»If they are unalterable with regard to your friends in it I can not think the world has taken such entire possession of that heart (once so suscep- tible of friendship,) as not to have left a Corner there for a friend or two; but I flatter myself that I even have my place among the number. This I have a claim to from the similitude of our disposi- tions; or, setting that aside, I can demand it as my right by the most equitable law in nature, I mean that of retaliation ; for indeed you have more than your share in mine. I am a man of few professions; and yet this very instant I can not a\'oid the pain- ful apprehension, that my present profession (which speaks not half my feelings,) should be considered only as a pretext to cover a request, as I have a re- quest to make. No, my dear Ned, I know j^ou are too generous to think so; and you know me too proud to" stoop to mercenary insincerity. I have a request, it is true, to make ; but, as 1 know to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without diffidence or con- fusion. It is in short this: I am going to publish a book in London, entitled, " An Essay on the pre- sent State of Taste and Literature in Europe." Every work published here, the printers in Ireland republish there, without giving the author the least consideration for his copy. I would in this respect disappoint their avarice, and have all the additional advantages that may result from the sale of my per- formance there to myself. Tlie book is now print- ing in London, and I have requested Dr. Radcliff, Mr. Lawder, Mr. Bryanton, my brother Mr. Hen- ry Goldsmitli, and brother-in-law Mr. Hodson, to circulate my proposals among their acquaintance. The same request I now make to j'ou; and have accordingly given directions to Mr. Bradley, book- seller in Dame-street, Dublin, to send you a hun- dred proposals. Whatever subscriptions, pursuant to those proposals, you may receive, when collected, may be transmitted to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the money and be accountable for tho books. I shall not, by a paltry apology, excuse my- self for putting you to this trouble. Were I not convinced that you found more pleasure in doing good-natured things than uneasiness at being em- ployed in them, I should not have singled you out on this occasion. It is probable you would comply with such a request, if it terded to the encourage- ment of any man of learning whatsoever; what then may not he expect who has clauus of family and friendship to enfore his?" The same subjects are pursued in another and every interesting letter, written in 1759, but subse- quent to the foregoing, to his brother, the Rev. Henry Goldsmith. " Dear Sir, — Your punctuahty in answering a man whose trade is writing, is more than I had reason to expect, and yet you see me generally fill a whole sheet, which is all the recompense I can make for being so frequently troublesome. Tho behaviour of Mr. Mills and Mr. Lawder is a lifle 22 LIFE AND WRITINGS extraorJinary. However, their answering neither you nor me, is a sufficient indication of their dis- lilting the employment which 1 assigned them. As their conduct is diU'erent from what I had expected, so I have made an alteration in mine. I shall the beginning of next month send over two hundred and fifty books,* which are all that I fancy can be well sold among you, and I would have you make some distinction in the persons who haye subscribed. The money, which will amount to sixty pounds, may be left with Mr. Bradley as soon as possible. I am not certain but I shall quickly have occasion for it. I have met with no disappointment with respect to my East India voyage, nor are my reso- lutions altered ; though at the same time, I must confess it gives me some pain to think I am almost beginning the world at the age of thirty-one. Though I never had a day's sickness since I saw you, yet I am not that strong active man you once knew me. You scarcely can conceive how much eight years of disappointment, anguish, and study, have worn me down. If 1 remember right, you are seven or eight years older than me, yet 1 dare venture to say, if a stranger saw us both, he would pay me the honours of seniority. Imagine to your- self a pale, melancholy visage, with two great wrinkles between the eye-brows, with an eye dis- gustingly severe, and a big wig, and you may have a perfect picture of my present appearance. On the other hand, I conceive you as perfectly sleek and healthy, passing many a happy day among your own children, or those who knew you a child. Since I knew what it was to be a man, this is a pleasure I have not known. I have passed my days among a parcel of cool designing beings, and have contracted all their suspicious manner in my own behaviour. I should actually be as unfit for the so- ciety of my friends at home, as I detest that which I am obliged to partake of here. I can now neither partake of the pleasure of a revel, nor contribute to raise its jollity. I can neither laugh nor drink, have contracted a hesitating disagreeable manner of speaking, and a visage that looks ill-nature itself; in short, I have thought myself into a settled melan- choly, and an utter disgust of all that life brings with it. Whence this romantic turn, that all our family are possessed with? AVhcnce this love for overy place and every country but that in which we .esidel for every occujiation but our own? This ilesire of fortune, and yet this eagerness to dissi- pate? I perceive, my dear sir, that I am at intervals for indulging this splenetic manner, and following my own taste regardless of yours. •' The reasons you have given me for breeding ujj •"our son a scholar, are judicious and convincing. I should, however, be glad to know for what par- • The " Present State o/ Polite Literature in Europe,'' sub- icription pvice, 53. ticular profession he is designed. If he be assidu- ous, and divested of strong passions, (for passions in youth always lead to pleasure.) he may do very well in your college; for it must be owned, that the industrious poor have good encouragement there, perhaps better than in any other in Europe. But if he has ambition, strong passions, and an exqui- site sensibility of contempt, do not .send him there, unless you have no other trade for him except your own. It is impossible to conceive how much may be done by a proper education at home. A boy, tor instance, who understands perfectly well Latin. French, arithmetic, and the principles of the civil law, and can write a fine hand, has an education that may qualify him for any undertaking. And these parts of learning should be carefully incul- cated, let Mm be designed for whatever calling he will. Above all things, let him never touch a ro- mance or novel ; these paint beauty in colours more charming than nature, and describe happiness that man never tastes. How delusive, how destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss ! They teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty and happi- ness which never existed ; to despise the little good which fortune has mixed in our cup, by expecting more than she ever gave : and in general, take the word of a man who has seen the world, and has studied human nature more by experience than precept; take my word for it, I say, that books teach us very little of the world. The greatest merit in a state of poverty would only serve to make the possessor ridiculous ; may distress, but can not re- lieve him. Frugality, and even avarice, in the lower orders of mankind, are true ambition. These afford the only ladder for the poor to rise to prefer- ment. Teach, then, my dear sir, to your son thrift and economy. Let his poor wandering uncle's example be placed before his eyes. I had learned from books to be disinterested and generous, before 1 was taught from experience the necessity of being prudent. I had contracted the habits and notions of a philosopher, while I was exposing myself to the insidious approaches of cunning; and often by being, even with my narrow finances, charitable to excess, I forgot the rules of justice, and placed my- self in the very situation of the wretch who did not thank me for my bounty. When I am in the re- motest part of the world, tell him this, and perhaps he may improve from my example. But 1 find my- self again falling into my gloomy habits of thinking. "My mother, I am informed, is almost blind: even though I had the utmost inclination to return home, under such circumstances I could not ; for to behold her in distress, without a capacity of reliev- ing her from it, would add too much to my .splenetic liabit. Your last letter was much too short; it should have answered some queries 1 made in my former. Just sit down as I do, and write forward till you have filled all ycur paper; it requires no OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 23 thougbt, at least from the ease with which my own sentiments rise when they are addressed to you: for, believe me, my head has no share in all I write ; my heart dictates the whole. Pray give my love to Bob Bryanton, and entreat him, from me, not to drhik. My dear sir, give me some account about poor Jenny.* Yet her husband loves her ; if so, she can not be unhappy. " I know not whether I should tell you — yet why should I conceal those trifles, or indeed any tiling, from you? There is a book of mine will be pub- lished in a few days, the life of a very extraordinary man — no less than the great Voltaire. You know already by the title, that it is no more than a catch- penny. However, I spent but four v/eeks on the whole performance, for which I received twenty pounds. When published, I shall take some me- thod of conveying it to you, unless you may think it dear of the postage, which may amount to four or five shillings. However, I fear you will not find an equivalence of amusement. Your last letter, I repeat it, was too short ; you should have given me your opinion of the design of the heroic-comical poem which I sent you : you remember I intended to introduce the hero of the poem as lying in a pal- try alehouse. You may take the following speci- men of the manner, wliich I flatter myself is quite original. The room in which he lies, may be de- scribed somewhat tliis way : — , • " The window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That feebly show'd the state in which he lay. The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread ; The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; Tlie game of goose was there exposed to view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; The seasons, framed with listing, found a place, And Prussia's monarch show'd his lamp-black face. The mom was cold; he views with keen desire A rusty grate unconscious of a fire ; An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scored, And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chiirmey -board. " And now imagine, after his soliloquy, the land- lord to make his appearance, in order to dun liim for the reckoning : — >, . . . " Not with that face, so servile and so gay, That welcomes every stranger that can pay; With sulky eye he smoked the patient man. Then pull'd hLs breeches tight, and thus began, etc. " All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good remark of Montaigne's, that the wisest men often have friends, with whom they do not care how much they play the fool. Take my present follies as instances of regard. Poetry is a much easier, and more agreeable species of composi- tion than prose; and could a man live by it, it were no unpleasant employment to be a poet. I am resolved to leave no space, though I should fill it up only by telling you, what you very well know • His youngest sister, who had married unfortunately. already, I mean that I am your most affectionate friend and brother." Notwithstanding the ardour with which our au- thor at first prosecuted his intention of embarking for the Indies, we find soon after that he abandon ed the design altogether, and applied himself with renewed vigour to literary pursuits. From what particular motive this expedition was given up, has never been accurately explained, but most likely it was owing to the immediate impracticability of raising an adequate sum for liis equipment. Per haps, however, a better reason may be found in the rapid change that took place in our author's circum- stances about this time, in consequence of the in- creased patronage he began to receive from the booksellers. No man had the art of displaying with more advantage as a writer, whatever literary acquisitions he had made ; and whatever he put his hands to as an author, he finished with such felici- ty of thought and purity of expression, that it al- most instantly became popular. Hence the booksel- lers were soon bound to him from interest, and the profits they derived from the ready sale of his pro- ductions became the guarantee of his constant em- ployment. He had by this time published the " Bee, being Essays on the most interesting Sub- jects," also Essays and Talcs in the British Maga- zine, afterwards collected and published in one vol- ume, besides various criticisms in the newspapers and reviews, all of which were read with avidity by the public, and commended by the learned. His connexions with literary characters became conse- quently still more extended, and his hterary pros- pects were rendered still more flattering; and hence we may the more easily account for the change that took place in his mind with regard to liis In- dian aj)pointment. Our author's toil in the service of the booksellers was now exceedingly laborious. Independent of his contributions to newspapers and magazines, he wrote regularly for Mr. Gritliths in the Monthly Review, from nine till two o'clock every day. His friend Dr. Milner had introduced hun to Griffiths, and tliis work was performed in consequence of a written agreement which was to last for a year. The remuneration to be given on the part of Mr. Grilfiths, was board and lodging, and a handsome salary; but it is probable Goldsmith found the drudgery too irksome, for at the end of seven or eight months the agreement was dissolved by mu- tual consent. When the " Inquiry into the state of Polite Literature" was j)ublished, Mr. Newber- ry, the bookseller, who at that time gave great en- couragement to men of literary talents, became one of our author's chief patrons. For that gcntlcmdn he was now regularly engaged in writing or com ■ ))iling a variety of minor pieces, and at the samo tune was introduced by his means as a writer ni the Pubhc Ledger, to which he contributed Cki- 9i LIFE AND WRITINGS Tiess Letters, afterwards published under the title of the "Citizen of the World." At this time also, Goldsmith wrote occasionally for the British Magazine and Critical Review, con- ducted by Dr. Smollett. To that celebrated wri- ter he was originally introduced in consequence of the taste and accuracy with which he had criticis- ed a despicable translation of Ovid's Fasti, by a pedantic schoolmaster ; though the intercourse be- tween them does not appear to have been kept up for any considerable time, yet Goldsmith is said to have derived important advantages from the con- nexion. It is well known that the liberal soul of Smollett made him the friend of every author in distress; and it is generally understood that, for some time, he warmly interested himself in Gold- smith's success. He not only recommended him to the patronage of the most eminent booksellers, but introiluced liim to the notice of the first literary characters. Notwithstanding the variety of our author's lite- rary labours, however, no decided improvement in his circumstances appears to have taken place till after the publication of his " Inquiry" in 1759. At that time he had lodgings in Green-Arbour Court, Old Bailey; and, that he must have occu- pied them rather on principles of economy than from the excellence of their accommodation, is proved by a little anecdote related by one of his literary friends. " I called on Goldsmith, at his lodgings," said he, "in March 1759, and found him writing his " Inquiry," in a miserable, dirty- looking room, in which thei'e was but one chair ; and when from civility, he resigned it to me, he was himself obliged to sit in the window. Wliile we were conversing together some one gently tapped at the door, and being desired to come in, a poor ragged little girl, of a very becoming de- meanour, entered the room, and dropping a cour- tesy said, ' my mamma sends her compliments, and begs the favour of you to lend her a chamber-pot full of coals?' " Our author's labours for the booksellers, though for some time unproductive of general hterary fame, by degrees procured him the more substan- tial benefits of good living and commodious lodg- ings. He soon acquired extraordinary facility in compilation, and used to boast of the power of his pen in this way of procuring money. According- ly, as early as 1761, we find him removed from Green-Arbour Court to Wine-Office Court in Fleet-street, where he occupied genteel apartments, received visits of ceremony, and sometimes gave wntertainmcnts to his literary friends. Among the distinguished characters to whom Goldsmith had been lately introduced, and with wtiom he now regularly associated, either from idmilarity of disposition or pursuits, the most re- nnrkable in point of eminence was Dr. Johnson. To a mind of the highest order, richly and varioti* ly cultivated, Johnson united a warm and gene- rous disposition. Similar quaUtics, both of the head and the heart, were conspicuous in Gold- smith; and hence, to use an expression of the Rambler himself, no two men were, perhaps, ever better formed to take to one another. The innate benevolence of heart which they mutually display- ed first drew them together; and so strong was the attraction, ultimately increased by respect for each other's powers, that their friendship subsisted with- out interruption, and with undiminished regard, for a period of fourteen years. It has been inju- diciously remarked, that this connexion was unfor- tunate for the reputation of Goldsmith, and that, in the literary circles of the time, " he seldom ap- peared but as a foil to the Giant of Words." On . the contrar}', however, the intercourse that subsist- ed between these eminent men, would rather ap- pear to have been productive of the finest illustra- tion of their respective characters; and such was the strength of their mutual attachment, that it seems to have been the study of each to embellish and exalt the character of the other. Besides, Johnson was the giant of intellect as well as the giant of words, and it is absurd to suppose, that, in the display of lus extraordinary powers he would ever require a foil to heighten their effect. Gold- smith, it is true, seemed sometimes, as it were, to look up to the great moralist, but it was rather with affection than with dread, more with the spirit of emulation than the despair of equal excellence. And, on the other hand, in no single instance do we find that Johnson ever looked down upon Gold- smith as inferior to himself: the reverse, indeed, is much more frequently the case; for the uniform tendency of his remarks on the genius and writings of our author is to hold him up as the brighest lite- rary ornament of his time. Long before his fame was established with the public, Johnson had justly appreciated his talents, and in a conversation with Boswell, concluded with asserting, that "Gold- smith was one of the first men then existing as an author." It has not been ascertained by whom Johnson and our author were originally introduced to one another; but it is generally understood that their intimacy commenced in the beginning of 1761. On the 31st of May, that year, we find Johnson, for the first tune, at a supper in Goldsmith's lodg- ings, in Wine-Office Court, along with a number of literary friends. Dr. Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore, was one of the party invited, and be- ing intimate with the great lexicographer, was re- quested to call at his chambers and take him along with him. When walking together, to the poet's lodging, Percy was struck with the unusual spruceness of Johnson's appearance in the studied neatness of his dress: he had on a new suit of OF DR. GOLDSMITH. S5 clothes, a new hat, and a wig nicely powdered ; and in the tcmt ensemble of his apparel there was a degree of smartness, so perfectly dissimilar to his ordinary habits and appearance, that it could not fail to prompt an inquiry on the part of liis compan- ion, as to the cause of this transformation. " "Why, sir," said Johnson, " I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard of cleanliness and decency, quoting my practice, and I am desirous this night to show him a better ex- ample." The connexion betwixt our author and John- son was henceforth more closely cemented by dai- ly association. Mutual communication of thought oegot mutual esteem, and as their intercourse in- creased, their friendship improved. Nothing could have been more fortunate for Goldsmith. A man of his open improvident disposition was apt to Btand in need of the assistance of a friend. The years, wisdom, and experience of Johnson, ren- dered his advice of the highest value, and from the kindness and promptitude with which he un- dertook and perfonncd good offices, he might al- ways be securely relied on in cases of difficulty or distress. It was not long before the improvi- dence of our author produced embarrassment in his circumstances, and we find the illustrious mo- ralist the prompt and affectionate Mentor of his imprudent friend. The sums which he was now receiving as a writer, might naturally be supposed to have been at least equal to his wants, and more than sufficient to have kept him out of debt. But Goldsmith's affections were so social and generous, that when he had money he gave it most liberally aveay. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if we find him soon after this period in distress for money, and even under arrest for his rent He had just put the finishing stroke to his Vicar of "Wakefield when the arrest took place, and was obliged to send for his friend Johnson to raise mo- ney by a sale of the manuscript. Our author's situation, on tliis occasion, hav- ing been mis-stated, it may be proper to give an authentic detail of it as narrated by Johnson him- self. " I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him direct- ly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion : I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which lie might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit; told the landlady I should soon re- turn ; and having gone to a bookseller sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill." Mr. Newberry was the person with whom Johnson thus bargained for the '-Vicar of Wake- field." The price agreed on was certainly little for a work of such merit ; but the author's name was not then conspicuously known to the public, and the purchaser took the whole risk on himself by pa3'in well as in the Westminster Abbey, was mention- ed; and it was asked, who should be honoured by having his monument first erected 1 Somebody suggested Pope. Johnson, 'Why, sir, as Pope was a Roman Catholic, I would not have his to be first. I think Milton's rather should have the pre- cedence. I tliink more highly of him now than I did at twenty. There is more thinking in him and Butler than in any one of our poets.' " The gentlemen (continues Mr. Boswell) now went away to their club, and I was left at Beau- clerk's till the fate of my election should be an- nounced to me. I sat in a state of anxietj', which even the charming conversation of Lady Di Beauclerk could not entirely dissipate. In a short time I received the agreeable intelligence that I was chosen. I hastened to the place of meeting, and was introduced to such a society as can sel- dom be found. Mr. Edmund Burke, whom I then saw for the first time, and whose splendid ta- lents had long made me ardently wish for his ac- quaintance; Dr. Nugent, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Gold- smith, Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Jones, and the company with whom I had dined. Upoii my en- trance, Johnson placed lumself behind a chair, on which he leaned as on a desk or pulpit, and, with humourous formaUty, gave me a charge, pointing out the conduct expected from me as a member of this club." The next conversational specimen given by Mr. • Ovid, de Art. Amand. 1. iii. 5. 13. tin allusion to Dr. Johnson's supposed political principle?, and p rhap-s liis own. E. 3 Boswell, is of the discussion which took place at the meeting of 24th March, 1775. "Before John- son came in, we talked of his 'Journey to the Wes- tern Islands,' and of his coming away 'willing to believe the second sight,' which seemed to excite some ridicule. I was then so unpressed with the truth of many of the stories of which I nad been told, that I avowed my conviction, saying 'He is only willing to believe ; I do believe. The evidence is enough for me, though not for his great mind. What will not fill a quart bottle will fill a pint bot- tle. I am filled with behef ' Are you,' said Col- man, 'then cork it up.' "I found liis 'Journey' the common topic of conversation in London at this time, wherever I happened to be. At one of Lord Mansfield's for- mal Sunday evening conversations, strangely call- ed levees, liis Lordship addressed me, 'We have all been reading your Travels, Mr. Boswell.' I an- swered, 'I was but the humble attendant of Dr. Johnson.' The Chief- Justice rcphed, with that air and manner which none who ever lieard oi saw liim can forget, ' He speaks ill of nobody but Ossian.' "Johnson was in high spirits tliis evening at tlie club, and talked with great animation and success. He attacked Swift, as he used to do upon all occasions: "The Tale of a Tub" is so much su perior to lus other vmtings, that we can hardly believe he was the author of it : there is in it such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of thoughts, so much of nature, and art, and life.' I wondered to hear him say of 'Gulliver's Travels,' 'When once you have thought of big and httle men, it is very easy to do all the rest.' I endeavoured to make a stand for Swift, and tried to rouse those who were much more able to defend him ; but in vain. Johnson at last, of his own accord, allowed very great merit to the inventory of articles found in the pocket of 'the Man Mountain,' particular- ly tlie description of his watch, which it was con- jectured was his god, as he consulted it upon all occasions. He observed, that 'Swift put his name but to two things (after he had a name to put), the "Plan of the Improvement of the English Language," and the last "Drapier's Letters."' "From Swift there was an easy transition to Mr. Thomas Sheridan. Johnson, 'Sheridan is a wonderful admirer of the tragedy of Douglas, and presented its author with a gold medal. Some years ago, at a Cofice-house in Oxford, I called to him "Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Sheridan, how came you to give a gold medal to Home, for writing that foolish play?" This, you see, was wanton and in- solent; but I TTieant to be wanton and insolent. A medal has no value but as a stamp of ment. And was Sheridan to assume to himself the risrht of giving that stamp? If Sheridan was magnificent enough to bestow a gold medal as an honoTury ro- 34 LIFE AND WRITIISIGS ward of dramatic excellence, he should have re- quested one of the universities to choose the per- son on whom it should be conferred. Sheridan had no right to give a stamp of merit: it was counterfeiting Apollo's coin.' " Now that Goldsmith had acquired fame as a poet of the first rani?, and was associated with the wit and talent that belonged to this cele- brated club, his publisher, Mr. Newberry, thought he might venture to give the "Vicar of Wakefield" to the world. It was accordingly brought out in 1766, and not only proved a most lucrative specu- lation for the bookseller, but brought a fresh ac- cession of literary celebrity to its author. Notwath- standing the striking merit of this work, it is a fact not less singular than true, that the literary friends to whom Goldsmith submitted it for criti- cism, before publication, were divided in opinion as to the probability of its success ; and it is still more singular that Dr. Johnson himself should have en- tertained doubts on the subject. It has been as- serted, that the publisher put it to press in the crude state in which he found it, when the bar- gain was made with Johnson for the manuscript ; but such a conclusion is obviously erroneous. Goldsmith was at that time on the best terms with Newberry, and engaged in the completion of vari- ous minor pieces for him; and as the fame of the one as well as the profit of the other were equally at stake on the success of the performance, it is ex- ceedingly improbable that both author and pub- lisher should be regardless of such revisal and cor- rection as was clearly for the benefit of both. That Goldsmith did alter and revise this work be- fore publication, may be gathered from a conversa- tion which took place between Johnson and Mr. Boswell. "Talking of a friend of ours," says the latter, "who associated with persons of very dis- cordant principles and characters, I said he was a very universal man, quite a man of the world." "Yes, sir," said Johnson, "but one may be so much a man of the world, as to be nothing in the world. I remember a passage in Goldsmith's 'Vi- car of Wakefield,' which he was afterwards foul enough to expunge; '/ do not late a man who is zealous for nothing.'" '' Boswell, "That was a fine passage." Johnstin, "Yes, sir; there was another fine passage which he struck out: 'When I was a young man , being anxious to distinguish my- self, I was ■perpetually starting new propositions; but I soon gave this over; for I found that gener- ally what was new was false.' " The "Vicar of Wakefield" has long been con- sidered one of the most interesting tales in our language. It is seldom that a story presenting merely a picture of common life, and a detail of domestic events, so powerfully affects the reader. The irresistible charm this novel possesses, exinces how much may be done, without the aid of extra- vagant incident, to excite the imagination and in- terest the feelings. Few productions of the kind afford greater amusement in the perusal, and still fewer inculcate more impressive lessons of morali- ty. Though wit and humour abound in every page, yet in the whole volume there is not one thought injurious in its tendency, nor one senti- ment that can offend the chastest ear. Its language, in the words of an elegant writer, is what "angels might have heard and virgins told." In the deli- neation of his characters, in the conduct of his fa- ble, and in the moral of the piece, the genius of the author is equally conspicuous. The hero displays with unaftected simplicity the most striking virtues that can adorn social life: sincere in his professions, humane and generous in his disposition, he is him- self a pattern of the character he represents. The other personages are drawn with similar discrimi- nation. Each is distinguished by some peculia. feature ; and the general grouping of the whole has this particular excellence, that not one could be wanted without injuring the unity and beauty of the desiixn. The drama of the tale is also manajred with equal skill and effect. There are no extra- vagant incidents, and no forced or improbable situ- ations; one event rises out of another in the same easy and natural manner as flows the language of the narration; the interest never flags, and is kept up to the last by the expedient of concealing the real character of Burchell. But it is the moral ol the work which entitles the author to the praise ot supereminent merit in this species of writing. No writer has arrived more successfully at the great ends of a moralist. By the finest examples, he in- culcates the practice of benevolence, patience in suffering, and reliance on the providence of God. A short time after the publication of the "Vicai of Wakefield," Goldsmith printed his beautiful ballad of the "Hermit." His friend Dr. Percy had published, in the same year, "Reliques of An- cient English Poetry;" and as the "Hermit" was found to bear some resemblance to a tale in thai collection, entitled "The Friar of Orders Graj'," the scribblers of the time availed themselves of the circumstance to tax him with plagiarism. Irritated at the charge, he publislied a letter in the St. James's Chronicle, vindicating the priority of his own poem, and asserting that the plan of the other must have been taken from his. It is probable, however, that both poems were taken from a very ancient ballad in the same collection, beginning "Gentle Heardsman." Our author had seen and admired this ancient poem, in the possession of Dr. Percy, long before it was jmntcd ; and some of the stanzas he appears, perhaps undesignedly, to have imitated in the "Hermit," as the reader will perceive on examining the following specimens:— » OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 35 FROM THE OLD BALLAD. And grew soe coy and nice to please, As women's loolces are often soe, Ho might not kisse, nor hand forsootlie, Unless I willed him so to doe. Thus being wearyed with delayes, • ' , To see I pittyed not his greeffe, ' ' He gotl him to a secrett place, And there hee dyed without releefle. And for his sake these weeds I weare, And sacrifice my tender age ; ' . And every day I'll beg my bread, To uiidergo this pilgrimage. Thus every day I fast and pray, .... And ever will doe till I dye ; And gett mo to some secrett place; For soe did hee, and soe will I. FROM TIIE HERMIT. For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain ; And while his passion touch'd my heart, I Iriumph'd in his pain. Till, quite dejected by my scorn, , ' He left me to my pride ; And sought a solitude forlorn, ' ■ ' , In secret, where he died. But mine the sorrow, mine the fault. And well my life shall pay ; I'll seek the solitude he sought. And stretch me where he lay. And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die ; ' • ' 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, . And so for him will L , There has been an attempt, in later days, to cast a doubt upon the title of Goldsmith to the whole of this poem. It has been asserted that the " Her- mit" was a translation of an ancient French poem entitled "Raimond and Angeline." The pretend- ed original made its appearance in a trifling peri- odical publication, entitled "Theauiz." It bears internal evidence of being in reality an unitation of Goldsmith's poem. The frivolous source of tliis flippant attack, and its transparent fiilsity, would have caused it to pass unnoticed here, had it not been made a matter of grave discussion in some periodical journals. To enter into a detailed refu- tation would be absurd. The poem of "The Hermit" was at first in- scribed to the Countess (afterwards Duchess) of Northumberland, who had shown a partiality for productions of this kind, by patronizing Percy's "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry '' Tliis led to a renewed intercourse with the d-jce, to whom we have already narrated Goldsmith's first visit; but the time had gone by when liis grace could have been politically useful, and we do not know that our author reaped any other advantage from the notice that nobleman took of him, than the gratification of being recognized by a man of the dulce's high rank as a literary friend. Tliis distinguished peer and his duchess were accustomed to spend part of each summer at Bath; and one year, after their return to London, her grace related to Dr. Percy, with considerable hu- mour, the following occurrence, characteristic of our author's occasional abstraction of mind. On one of the parades at Bath, the duke and Lord Nugent had hired two adjacent houses. Gold- smith, who was then resident on a visit with the latter, one morning walked up into the duke's din- ing room, as he and the duchess were preparing to sit down to breakfast. In a manner the most free and easy he threw himself on a sofa ; and, as he was then perfectly known to them both, they in- quired of him the Bath news of the day. But per- ceiving him to be rather in a meditative humour, they rightly guessed there was some mistake, and endeavoured, by easy and cheerful conversation to prevent his becoming embarrassed. When break- fast was served up, they invited him to stay and partake of it ; and then poor Goldsmith awoke from his reverie, declared he thought he had been in the house of his friend Lord Nugent, and with confu- sion hastily withdrew; not, however, till the good- humoured duke and duchess had made him promise to dine with them. Something akin to this incident, is the well known blunder committed by our author during a conversation with the Earl of Shelbourne. One evening, while in company with this nobleman. Goldsmith, after a variety of conversation, fell into a fit of musing. At last, as if suddenly recovering from his abstraction, he addressed his lordship ab- ruptly in this manner; — "My lord, I have often wondered why every body should call your lordship Malagrida; for Malagrida, you know, was a very good man." The well bred peer only replied to this awkward compliment bj^ a smile, and the heedless poet went on totally unconscious of his error. It was afterwards remarked by Dr. John- son, that this mistake of Goldsmith was only a blunder in emphasis, and that the expression meant nothing more than, "I wonder they should use Malagrida as a term of reproach." About this period, or perhaps a little earlier, Goldsmith, in addition to the apartments he occu- pied in the Temple, took a country-house on the Edgeware-road, in conjunction with a Mr. Bott, one of his literary friends, for the benefit of good air, and the convemence of retirement. To this little mansion he gave the jocular appellation of Sh oe- maker's Paradise, the architecture being in a fan- tastic style, after the taste of its original possessor, who was one of the craft. Here he began and finished one of his most pleasing and successful compilations, a " History of England, in a Scriew of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son," This 36 LIFE AND WRITINGS little work was at first published anonymously, and was very generally ascribed to the pen of Lord Lyttleton. That nobleman then held some rank in the world of letters, and as the chief feature in the performance was an easy elegance of language, without much depth of thought, or investigation, the public were the more easily betrayed into a be- lief that it was the work of his lordship. It hat! likewise the honour to be ascribed to the Earl of Orrery, and some other noble authors of that period. That it was really the production of Goldsmith, However, was soon afterwards generally known; a circumstance, which in all probability, greatly en- hanced its value in the estimation of the world. Few books have had a more extensive sale or wider circulation. The fame our author had now acquired as a critic, a novelist, and a poet, prompted him to ad- venture in the drama. His first effort produced " The Good-natared Man." This comedy was offered to Garrick, to be brought out at his theatre of Drury-Lane ; but after much fluctuation between doubt and encouragement, with his customary hesi- tation and uncertainty, he at length declined it. The ConductofGarrick in this instance was the more sur- prising, as the piece had been read and applauded in manuscript by most of the author's literary friends, and had not only the sanction of Burke's critical judgment, but Johnson himself had engaged to write the prologue. Colman, the manager of Cov- ent-Garden Theatre, was, however, not so scrupu- lous; especially when he found it presented under such patronage. It was therefore agreed that it should be'produced at his theatre ; and it was repre sented there for the first time on the 29th of Janu ary, 1768. Contrary to the expectations of the au- thor and his friends, it did not meet with unquali- fied applause ; and though it kept possession of the stage nine nights, it was finally withdrawn. The pecidiar genius of its author was apparent in the ease and elegance of the dialogue, and throughout the whole there were many keen remarks on men and manners; but the piece was deficient in stage- effect. The Bailiff scene, in particular, was gene- rally reprobated, though the characters were well drawn. Tliis scene was afterwards greatly abridg- ed. Whatever were the faults of the piece as a whole, it was admitted that many of the parts pos- sessed great comic effect, and these were highly applauded. The part of Croaker, in particular, was allowed to be excellent. It was admirably sup- ported by Shutcr, the most popular comedian of liis day. The drollery of his manner while reading the incendiary letter in the fourth act, and his ex- pression of the different passions by which he was agitated, were so irresistibly comical, that he brought down thunders of applause. Goldsmith himself was so overcome with the acting of Shuter, that he ex- pressed his delight before the whole company, as- suring him that " he had exceeded his own ide« of the character, and that the fine comic richncsf of his colouring made it almost appear as new tsr him as to any other person in the house." Dr. Johnson furnished the prologue, and publicly de- clared, that in his opinion, " The Good-natured Man" was the best comedy that had appeared since " The Provoked Husband." He dwelt with much complacency on the character of Croaker, and averred that none equal to it in originality had for a long time been exhibited on the stage. Goldsmith used to acknowledge, that for his con- ception of this character he was indebted to John- son's Suspirius in the "Rambler." That of Honey- wood, in its undistinguisliing benevolence, bear* some resemblance to his own. " The Good-na- tured Man" has undoubtedly great merit; and though deficient in effect for the stage, will always be a favourite in the closet. Mr. Cumberland rC' marks, that it "has enough to justify the good opinion of its literary patrons, and secure its au- thor against any loss of reputation; for it has the stamp of a man of talents upon it, though its popu- larity with the audience did not quite keeppacewith the expectations that were grounded on the fiat it had antecedently been honoured with." Short as its career was, however, its author by the sale of the copy, and the profits of his three nights, acquired not less than five hundred pounds, a sum which enabled him to enlarge his domestic establishment, and improve his style of living, though it is believ- ed on rather a too expensive scale. On removing, at this time from an attic in the Inner- Temple, to elegant chambers in Brick-court, Middle-Temple, he is said to have laid out upwards of four hundred pounds. Goldsmith's improved circumstances, did not, however, compensate for the vexations he suffered from the virulence of some of the periodical critics. "At that time," says Mr. Cumberland, "there was a nest of vipers in league against every name to which any degree of celebrity was attached ; and they kept their hold upon the papers till certain of their leaders were compelled to fly their country, some to save their ears, and some to save theit necks. They were well known ; and I am sorry to say, some men whose minds should have been superior to any terrors they could hold out, made suit to them for favour, nay even combined witn them on some occasions, and were mean enough to enrol themselves under their despicable ban- ners." From this class of critics, poor Goldsmith's sensitive feelings suffered the horrors of crucifixion. To add to his mortification, the comedy of " False Delicacy," written by his friend Kelly, came out at Drury-Lane Theatre about the same time with " The Good-natured Man" at Covent-Garden, and had such an unexampled run of success, that it was said to have driven its opponent fairly off the OF DR. GOLDSMITH. field. This might, perhaps, he in some measure owing to the able management of Garrick, under whose special superintendence it was got up; but at that time sentimental writing was the prevailing taste of the town, and Kelly's piece was the finest speciinen of the sentimental school that had ap- peared. Although " False. Delicacy," according to Dr. Johnson, was "totally devoid of character," no less than ten thousand copies were sold in the course of only one season; and the booksellers con- cerned in the copyright, as a mark of the sense they entertained of the comedy, evinced by its ex- traordinary sale, presented Kelly with a piece of plate of considerable value, and gave a sumptuous entertainment to him and his friends. These cir- cumstances so wrought upon the irritable feelings of Goldsmith, in whose disposition, warm and generous as it was, envy had an unhappy predomi- nance, that he renounced the friendship of Kelly, and could with difficulty be brought to forgive him this temporary success. Our author, though in the cliief features of his character the original of his own " Good-natured ]Man," was yet strangely jealous of the success of others, and particularly in whatever regarded literary fame. We find it difficult to reconcile the possession of so odious a quality with affectionate habits and benevolent propensities like his. True it is, how- ever, that he was prone to indulge this unamiable passion to so ridiculous an excess, that the instances of it are hardly credible. When accompanying two beautiful young ladies,* with their mother, on a tour in France, he was amusingly angry that more attention was paid to them than to him. And once, at the exhibition of the Fantoccini in Lon- don, when those who sat next him observed with what dexterity a puppet was maJe to toss a pike, he could not bear that it should have such praise, and exclaimed with some warmtli, " Pshaw! I can do it better myself" In fact, on his way home with Mr. Burke to supper, he broke his shin, by attempting to exhibit to the company how much better he could jump over a stick than the puppets. His envy of Johnson was one day strongly ex- hibited at the house of Sir Joshua Reynolds. While the doctor was relating to the circle there assembled the particulars of his celebrated uiter- view with the king. Goldsmith remained unmoved upon a sofa at some distance, affecting not to join in the least in the eager curiosity of the company. At length, however, the frankness and simplicity of his natural character prevailed. He spruna from the sofa, advanced to Johnson, and in a kind m flutter, from imagining liimself in the situation he had just been hearing described, exclaimed, "Well, you acquitted \'ourself in this conversation better than I should have done ; for I should have bowed and stammered through the whole of it." On another occasion, during an interesting ar gument carried on by Johnson, Mayo, and Top- lady, at the table of Messrs. Dilly, the booksellers, ' Goldsmith sat in restless agitation, from a wish to get in and shine. Finding himself excluded, he had taken his hat to go away, but remained for some time with it in his hand, like a gamester who, at the close of a long night, lingers for a little while, to see if he can have a favourable opening to finish with success. Once when he was beginning to speak, he found himself overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the table, and did not perceive Goldsmith's attempt. Thus disappointed of his wish to obtain the atten- tion of the company. Goldsmith in a passion threw down his hat, looking angrily at Johnson, and ex- claiming in a bitter tone " 7''ake it." When Top- lady was going to speak, Johnson uttered some sound, which led Goldsmith to think that he wag beginning again, and taking the words from Top- lady. Upon which he seized this opportunity of venting his own spleen, under the pretext of sup- porting another person : "Sir," said he to Johnson, "the gentleman has heard you patiently for an hour: pray allow us now to hear liim." Johnson replied, " Sir, 1 was not interrupting the gentle- man ; I was only giving hiin a signal of my atten- tion. Sir, you are impertinent." Goldsmith made no reply. Johnson, Boswell, and Mr. Langton, towards the evening, adjourned to the club, where they found Burke, Garrick, and some other mem- bers, and amongst them their friend Goldsmith, who sat silently brooding over Johnson's reprimand to him after dinner. Johnson perceived this, and said aside to some of them, "I'll make Goldsmith forgive me;" and then called to him in a loud voice, " Dr. Goldsmith, — something passed to-day where you and I dined ; I ask your pardon." Gold- smith answered placidly, "It must be much from you, sir, that I take ill." And so at once me dif- ference was over ; they were on as easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual.' The tincture of envy thus conspicuous in the dis- position of our author, was accompanied by another characteristic feature, more innocent but withal ex cecdingly ridiculous. He was vain of imaginary qualifications, and had an incessant desire of being conspicuous in company ; and this was the occasion of his sometimes appearing to such disadvantage as one should hardly have supposed possible in a man of his genius. When his literary reputation had risen deservedly high, and his society was much courted, his jealousy of the great attention paid to Johnson was more strikingly apparent. One eve- ning, in a circle of wits, he found fault with Bos- * The Miss Hornecks, one of whom was afterwards married ^'"^''^ *"^^'' t'dking of Johnson as entitletl to the lionour to Uemy Buiibury, Esq. and ihe oil.er to Colonel Gwja |0f unquestionable superiority. "Sir," said h^ 38 LIFE AND WRITINGS " you are for making a monarchy of what should be a republic." He was still more mortified, when, talking in a company with fluent vivacity, and, as he flattered himself, to the admiration of all who were present, a German who sat next him, and perceived Johnson rolling himself, as if about to speak, suddenly stop- ped him, saying, " Stay, stay ; Toctor Shonson is going to say something." This was very provok- ing to one so irritable as Goldsmith, who frequently mentioned it with strong expressions of indigna- tion. There is thus much to be said, however, for the envy of Goldsmith. It was rarely excited but on oc- casions of mere literary competition ; and, perhaps, appeared much more conspicuous in him than other men, because he had less art, and never attempted to conceal it. Mr. Boswell used to defend him against Dr. Johnson for this fault, on the grovmd of his frank and open avowal of it on all occasions; but Johnson had the best of the argument. " He ' talked of it to be sure often enough," said the latter, " but he had so much of it that he could not con- ceal it. Now, sir, what a man avows, he is not ashamed to think ; though many a man thinks what he is ashamed to avow. We are all envious na- turally ; but by checking envy, we get the better of it. So we are all thieves naturally ; a child al- ways tries to get at what it wants the nearest way : by good instructions and good habits this is cured, till a man has not even an inclination to seize what is another's ; has no struggle with himself about it." But, after all, if ever envy was entitled to be called innocent, it certainly was so in the person of Goldsmith. Whatever of this kind appeared in his conduct was but a momentary sensation, which he knew not like other men how to disguise or con- ceal. Rarely did it influence the general tenor of his conduct, and, it is believed, was never once knowm to have embittered his heart. While Goldsmith was occupied with his comedy of the "Good-natured Man," he was, as usual, busily employed in the compilation of various pub- Kcations for the booksellers, particularly a series of histories for the instruction of young readers. These were, his " History of Rome," in 2 vols. 8vo. and the " History of England," in 4 vols. 8vo. The " History of Greece," in 2 vols. 8vo. pub- lished under his name after his death, can not with certainty be ascribed to his pen. For the "History of England," Da\'ies the bookseller con- tracted to pay him 500Z. and for an abridgment of the Roman history, the sum of fifty guineas.* These historical compilations possess all the ease, grace and simplicity, peculiar to the general style of their author, and are well calculated to attract young readers by the graces of composition. But the more advanced student of history mus* resort to other sources for information. In the History of England, in particular, there are several mis-statements; and one instanoj may be given from his account of a remarkable occur- rence in the affairs of his own country, to wliich it might have been expected he would have paid more than ordinary attention. This is to be found in his narrative of the famous siege of London- derry, in 1689, sustained against the French army during a hundred and four days, after the city was found to be without provisions for little more than a week, and had besides been abandoned by the military commanders as utterly untenable. For this memorable defence the country was indebted to the courage, conduct, and talents of the Rev. George Walker, a clergyman who happened ta take refuge in the city after it was abandoned by the miUtary. Under the direction of Walker, as- sisted by two officers accidentally in the place, the defence was conducted with so much skill, couracre, and perseverance, and the citizens displayed such valour, patience, and fortitude, under innumerable hardsliips and privations, that the city was finally saved.* For his services on this occasion Mr, " MEMORANDUM. " Russell street, Covent Garden. " It is agreed between Oliver Goldemith, M, B., on the one Viand, and Thomas Da vie.s, bookseller, of Russell street Covent Garden, on the other, that Oliver Goldsmith shall write for Thomas Davies, a History of England, from the birth of the British Empire, to the death of George the II., in four volumes, octavo, of the size and letter of the Roman History, written by Oliver Goldsmith. The said History of Eiigland shall be written and compiled in the space of two years from the data hereof And when the said History is written and delivered in manuscript, the primer giving his opinion that the ntantity above mentioned is completed, that then Oliver Goltismith shall be paid by Thomas Davies the sum of 500^. sterling, for having written and compiled the same. It is agreed also, tha; Oliver Goldsmith shall print his name to the said work. In witness whereof we have set our names the 13th of June, 1769. " Oliver Gotdsynith. " Thomas Davies." ' The articles of agreement relative to these works between the bookseller and Goldsmith having been preserved, we quote them for tlie gratification of our reader's curiosity, especially v they were drawn by the doctor liimself. « MEMORANDIBI. " September \5, 1770. " It is agreed between Oliver Goldsmith, M.B., and Thomas Davies, of Covent Garden, bookseller, that Oliver Goldsmith shall abridge, for Thomas Davies, the book entitled Gold- smith's Roman Histoiy, in two volumes, 8vo, into one volume in 12mo, so as to fit it for the use of such as will not be at the expense of that in Svo. For tlie abridging of the said history, and for putting his name thereto, said Thomas Davies shall pay Oliver Goldsmith fifty guineas; to be paid him on the auridgment and delivering of the copy. As witness our handa. " Oliver Goldsmith. " Tliomas Davies." * A ciu-ious journal whiclt Mr. Walker h.ad kept of all the occurrences during the siege, was published at that period, in 4to, and was afterwards republished by the late Dr. Browi^ OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 39 Walker, who belonged to the Established Church, was afterwards created Bishop of Dromore by ICing William ; but his military zeal prompted him to volunteer liis services at the battle of the Boyne, where he was unfortunately killed. Of this ex- traordinary character Goldsmith takes a very sUght and rather disrespectful notice, stating him to have been a dissenting minister, which he was not, and neglecting to record either his promotion or his death.* Goldsmith, besides his regular employment in the compilation of these histories, had now all the other business of an author by profession. Either through friendship or for money, but oftener from charity to the needy or unsuccessful of his brethren, he was frequently engaged in the composition of prefaces, dedications, and introductions to the performances of other writers. These exhibit ingenious proofs of his ready talent at general writing, and for the most part gave a much better display of the subjects treated of than could have been done by their own authors. But in this view he is rather to be con- sidered as an advocate pleading the cause of ano- ther, than as delivering the sentiments of his own mind; for he often recommends the doubtful pecu- liarities, and even the defects of a work, which it is obvious, had been engaged on the other side, he could with equal ability have detected and exposed. Something like this our readers will find in an Ad- dress to the Public, which was to usher in propo- sals for "A New History of the World, from the creation to the present time," in 12 vols. 8vo. by Guthrie and others, to be printed for Newberry. This undertaking was to form an abridgment of all the volumes of the ancient and modern universal his- tories ; and our author urges a great variety of topics in praise of such contractions and condensing of liis- torical materials, which, with equal ingenuity, he author of the Estimate, etc. One very providential circum- stance happened to the besieged. Being reduced by the ex- tremity of famine to eat every kind of unwliolesome food, they were dying in great numbers of the bloody flux ; but the acci- dental discovery of some concealed barrels of starch and tal- lovr, relieved their hunger, and cured the dysentery at the eame time. ' Our avithor's inaccuracy, with regard to Mr. Walker, was corrected in the following letter addressed to him by Mr. Woolsey, of Dundalk : " To Dr. Goklsmilh. — Sir, I beg leave to acquaint you, there is a mistake in your abridgment of the History of England, respecting Dr. Walker, viz. ' one Walker, a dissenting minister.' "I venture to assure you, Mr. Walker was a clergyman ol the Established Church of Ireland, who was appointed Uishop of Dromore by King William, for his services at Derry, but was unfortunately killed at the battle of the Boyne; which I hope you will be pleased to insert in future editions of your late book. "Tlie Duke of Schomberg was certainly killed in passing the river Boyne. I am, Sir, with great respect, your most oljedient humble servant, " TViomas Woolsey." 'Dundalk, April 10, 1772." could have opposed and refuted. But the whole ia truly excellent as a composition. About the same time, he drew up a preface or introduction to Dr. Brookes's " System of Natural History," in G vols. 12mo, in itself a very dull and uninteresting work ; but such an admirable display of the subject wai> given in the preface, whicli he rendered doubly cap- tivating by the charms of his style, that the book- sellers immediately engaged liim to undertake his own larger work of the " History of the Earth and Animated Nature." It was this work which Dr. Johnson emphaticaHy said, its author would " make as entertaining as a Persian Talc." The result proved the accurac}' of the judgment thus passed on it; for, although it contains numerous defects, yet the witchery of its language has kept it buoyant in spite of criticism. The numerous editions through which it has passed attest, that, if not a profound, it is at least a popular work ; and few will be dispos- ed to deny, that with all its faults, if not the most instructive, it is undoubtedly the most amusing work of the kind yet published. It would be absurd to aver, that an adept would find himself enlightened by the doctor's labours in that science : but a com- mon reader will find his curiosity gratified, and that time agreeably disposed of which he bestows on this work. When our autlior engaged in this compi- lation, he resolved to make a translation of Pliny, and, by the help of a commentary, to make that agreeable writer more generally acceptable to the public; but the appearance of Bufi'on's work induced him to change his plan, and instead of translating an ancient writer, he resolved to imitate the last and best of the moderns who had written on the same subject. To this illustrious Frenchman Gold- smith acknowledges tlie higliest obligations, but, unluckily, he has copied him without discrimina- tion, and, while he selected his beauties, heedlessly adopted his mistakes. In a serio-comical apostrophe to the author, Mr. Cumberland observes, on the subject of this work, that " distress drove Goldsmith upon undertakings neither congenial with his studies, nor worthy of his talents. I remember him, when, in his ciiambers in the Temple, he showed me the beginning of his ' Animated Nature;' it was with a sigh, such as ge- nius draws, when hard necessity diverts it from its bent to drudge for bread, and talk of birds, and beasts, and creeping things, which Pidcock's showman would have done as well. Poor fellow, he hardly knew an ass from a nmle, nor a turkey from a goose, but when he saw it on the table. But publishers hate poetry, and Patcrnostcr-row is not Parnassus. Even the mighty Dr. Hili, who was not a very deh- cate feeder, could not make a dinner out of tha press, till, by a happy transformation into Hannah Glass, he turned himself into a cook, and sold re- ceipts for made-dishes to all the savoury readers ui the kingdom. Then, indeed, the press acknow- 40 LIFE AND WRITINGS ledged him second in fame only to John Bunyan : his feasts kept pace in sale with Nelson's Fasts ; and when his own name was fairly written out of credit, he wrote himself into immortality under an alias. Now, though necessity, or I should rather say, the desire of finding money for a masquerade, drove Oliver Goldsmith upon abridging histories, and turning Buffon into English, yet I much doubt, if, without that spur, he would ever have put his Pegasus into action : no, if he had been rich, the world would have been poorer than it is, by the loss of all the treasures of his genius, and the con- tributions of his pen." Much in the same style was Goldsmith himself accustomed to talk of his mercenary labours. A poor writer consulted him one day on what subjects he might employ his pen with most profit : " My dear fellow," said Goldsmith, laughing, indeed, but in good earnest, "pay no regard to the draggle-tail Muses; for my part, I have always found produc- tions in prose nacre sought after and better paid for." On another occasion, one of his noble friends, whose classical taste he knew and admired, lament- ed to him his neglect of the Muses, and enquired of him why he forsook poetry, to compile histories, and write novels'] "My lord," said our author, "by courting the Muses I shall starve, but by my other labours, I eat, drink, and have good clothes, and enjoy ihe luxuries of life." This is, no doubt, the reason that his poems bear so small a pro[)or- tion to his other productions; but it is said, that he al\vays reflected on these sacrifices to necessity with the bitterest regret. Although Goldsmith thus toiled for a livelihood in the drudgery of compilation, we do not find that he had become negligent of fame. His leisure hours were still devoted to his Muse ; and the next voluntary production of his pen was the highly- finished poem of " The Deserted Village." Pre- vious to its publication, the bookseller who had bar- gained for the manuscript, gave him a note for one hundred guineas. Having mentioned this soon afterwards to some of his friends, one of them re- marked, that it was a very great sum for so short a performance. "In truth," said Goldsmith, "I think so too; it is much more than the honest man can afford, or the piece is worth : I have not been easy since I received it; I will therefore go back and return him his note :" which he actually, did, and left it entirely to the bookseller to pay him accord- ino- to the success of the sale and the profits it might produce. His estimate of the value of this perform- ance was formed from data somewhat singular for a poet, who most commonly appreciates his la- bours rather by their quality than their quantity. he computed, that a hundred guineas was equal to j five sliillings a couplet, which, he modestly observ-. ed, "was certainly too much, because more than hs thought any publisher could afford, or, indeed, than any modern poetry whatever could be worth." The sale of this poem, however, was so rapid and extensive, that the bookseller soon paid him the full amount of the note he had returned, with an ac- knowledgment for the disinterestedness he had evinced on the occasion. Although criticism has allotted the highest rank to "The Traveller," there is no doubt that "The Deserted Village" is the most popular and favourite poem of the two. Perhaps no poetical piece of equal length lias been more universally read by all classes or has more frequently supplied extracts for apt quotation. It abounds with couplets and single lines, so simply beautiful in sentiment, so musical in cadence, and so perfect in expression, that the ear is delighted to retain them for theij truth, while their tone of tender melancholy indeli- bly engraves them on the heart. — The character- istic of our author's poetry is a prevailing simplici- ty, which conceals all the artifices of versification : but it is not confined to his expression alone, for it pervades every feature of the poem. His delinea- tion of rural scenery, his village portraits, his moral, political, and classical allusions, while marked by singular fidelity, chasteness, and elegance, are all chiefly distinguished for this pleasing and natural character. The finishing is exquisitely delicate, without being overwrought; and, with the feelings of tenderness and melancholy which runs through the poem, there is occasianally mixed up a slight tincture of pleasantry, which gives an additional interest to the whole. " The Deserted Village" is written in the same style and measure with " The Traveller," and may in some degree be considered a suite of that poem : pursuing some of the views and illustrating in their results .some of the principles there laid down. But the poet is here more intimately interested in his subject. The case is taken from his own experi- ence, the scenery drawn from his own home, and the application especially intended for his own country. The main intention of the poem is to contrast agriculture with commerce, and to maintain that the former is the most worthy pursuit, both as it regards individual happiness and national prosperi- ty. He proceeds to show that commerce, while it causes an influx of wealth, introduces also luxury, and its attendant vices and miseries. He dwells with pathos on the effects of those lordly fortunes which create little worlds of solitary magnificence around them, swallowing up the small farms in their wide and useless domains ; thus throwing an air of splendour over the country, while in fact they hedge and wall out its real life and soul — its hardjf peasantry. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 41 III fares the land, to hasfnin? ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay ; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them as a breath has made; Kuta bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied. ' The poet, again personified in the traveller, re- turns from his wanderings in distant countries to the village of his childhood. In the opening of the poem he draws from memory a minute and beauti- ful picture of the place, and fondly recalls its sim- ple sports and rustic gambols. In all his journey- ings, his perils, and his sufferings, he had ever look- ed forward to this beloved spot, as the haven of re- pose for the evening of his days. And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, \ still had hopes, my long vexations past, ilere to return, and die at home at last. With these expectations he returns, after the lapse of several years, and finds the village desertetl and desolate. A splendid mansion had risen in its neighbourhood ; the cottages and hamlets had been demolished; their gardens and fields were thrown into parks and pleasure-grounds; and their rustic inhabitants, thrust out from their favourite abodes, had emigrated to another hemisphere. To distant climes, a dieary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with feinting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Dejected at this disappointment of his cherished hope, the poet wanders among the faint traces of past scenes, contrasting their former life and gaiety with their present solitude and desolation. This gives occasion for some of the richest and mellow- est picturing to be found in any poetry. The village-preacher and his modest mansion; the schoolmaster and his noisy troop ; the ale-house and its grotesque frequenters, are all masterpieces of their kind. The village alluded to in this poem is at present sufficiently ascertained to be Lishoy, near Bally- mahon, in the county of Westmeath, Ireland, in which Goldsmith passed his youth. It has been remarked, that the description of the place and the people, together with the introduction of the nightingale, a bird, it is said, unknown in the Irish ornithology, savour more of the rural scenery and rustic life of an English than an Irish village. But this presents no insuperable difficulty. Such li- censes are customary in poetry; and it is notorious that the clear blue sky and the delicious tempera- ture of Italy, have with much greater freedom been appropriated by English bards to deck out their descriptions of an English spring. It is evi- dent, indeed, that Goldsmitii meant to represent his village as an English one. He took from Lis- hoy, therefore, only such traits and characteristics as might be applied to village-life in England, and modified them accordingly. He took what be- longed to human nature in rustic hfe, and adapted it to the allotted scene. In the same way a painter takes his models from real life around him, even when he would paint a foreign or a classic group. There is a verity in the scenes and characters of "The Deserted Village" that shows Goldsmith to have described what he had seen and felt; and it is upon record that an occurrence took place at Lishoy, during his life time, similar to that wliich produced the desolation of the village in the poem. This occurrence is thus related by the Rev. Dr. Strean, of the diocese of Elphin, in a letter to Mr. Mangin, and inserted in that gentleman's "Essay on light reading." "The poem of 'The Deserted Village,'" says Dr. Strean, "took its origin from the circumstance of General Robert Napier, the grandfather of the gentleman who now lives in the house, within half a mile of Lishoy, built by the general, having purchtised an extensive tract of the country sur- rounding Lishoy, or Auburn; in consequence of which, many families, here called cottiers, were re- moved to make room for the intended improve- ments of what was now to become the wide do- main of a rich man, warm with the idea of chang- ing the face of his new acquisition, and were forc- ed, 'with fainting steps,' to go in search of 'torrid tracts,' and 'distant climes.' "This fact might be sufficient to establish the seat of the poem; but there can not remain a doubt in any unprejudiced mind, when the following are added ; viz. that the character of the village preach- er, the above-named Henry, the brother of the poet, is copied from nature. He is described exactly as hehvcd: and his 'modest mansion' as it existed. Burn, the name of the village-master, and the site of his school-house, and Catherine Giraghty, a lonely widow, The wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread. (and to this day the brook and ditches near the spot where her cabin stood abound with cresses), still remain in the memory of the inhabitants, and Catherine's children live in the neighbourhood. The pool, the busy mill, the house where 'nut- brown draughts inspired,' are still visited as the poetic scene; and the 'hawthorn bush,' growing in an open space in front of the house, which I knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one, the other two having been cut, from time to time, bv persons carrying pieces of it away to be made into toys, etc. in honour of the bard, and of the celebrity of his poem. All these contribute to the same proof; and the 'decent church,' which I at- tended for upwards of eighteen years, and which 'tops the neighbouruig liill,' is exactly described 42 LIFE AND WRITINGS as seen from Lishoy, the residence of the preach- er." To the honour of Ireland, and in particular of a gentleman named Hogan, grandson to General Napier the destroyer, we are enabled to add that the village of Lishoy, now bearing its poetical name of Auburn, has been renovated and restor- ed, at least as to its locahties, to what it was in its happiest days. The parsonage, rescued from a legion of pigs and poultry, which had taken possession of its lower apartments, and relieved from loads of grain and fodder, under which its upper chambers had for some years groaned, has resumed its ancient title of Lishoy-house : the church yet crowns the hill, and is again entitled to the appellation of decent; the school-house maintains its station; and the village-inn, with its sign repainted, its chambers re-whitewashed, and the varnished clock replaced in its corner, echoes once more with the voices of rustic politicians, merry peasants, and buxom maids, Half willing to be press'd, Who kiss the cup to pass it to tlie rest To render the dispensation of poetical justice still more complete, the usurping mansion, the erection of which occasioned the downfall of the village, has become dismantled and dilapidated, and has b«>en converted into a barrack.* * Hie following account of the renovation of this village la extracted from a number of the New Monthly Magazine. "About three miles from Ballymahon, a very central town in the sister kingdom, is the mansion and village of Auburn, so called by their present possessor, Captain Hogan. Through Uie taste and improvement of this gentleman, it is now a beau- tiful spot, although fifteen years since it presented a very bare and unpoetical aspect. This, however, was owing to a caase which serves strongly to corroborate the assertion, that Gold- smith had tills scene in vie w when he wrote his poem of ' The Deserted Village.' The then possessor, General Napier, turn- ed all his tenants out of their farms, that he might enclose them in his own private domain. Littleton, the mansion of the General, stands not far off, a complete emblem of the deso- lating spirit lamented by the poet, dilapidated and converted into a barrack. "The chief object of attraction is Lishoy, once the parson- age-house of Henry Goldismith, that brother to whom the poet dedicated his ' Traveller,' and who is represented as the Village Pastor, Passing rich with forty younds a-year. "When I was in the country, the lower chambers were in- habited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-rooms by oats. Captain Hogan, however, has, I believe, got it since into his possession, and has, of course, improved its condition. "Though at first strongly inclined to ''ispute the identity of Auburn, Lishoy-house overcame my scruples. As I clambered ever the rotten gate, and crossed the grass-grown lawn, or court, the tide of association became too strong for casuistry : here thf poet dwelt and wrote, and here his thoughts fondly recurred when comi-iosing his ' Traveller,' in a foreign lan(l. Yonder was the decent church, that literally ' topped the neigh- Goldsmith dedicated "The Deserted Village" to his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, from motives of af- fection. "I can have no expectations," said the poet, " in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am igno- rant of that art in which you are said to excel : and I may lose much by the severity of your judg- ment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest therefore aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem to you." bouring hill.' Before me lay the little hill of Knocknie, on which he declares, in one of his letters, he had rather sit with a book in hand, than mingle in the proudest assemblies. And above all, startingly true, beneath my feet was Yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild. "A painting from the life could not be more exact. 'Tha stubborn currant-bush' lifts its head above the rank gra-ss, an4 the proud hollyhock flaimts where its sisters of the flower- knot are no more. "Li the middle of the village stands the old 'hawthorn- iree,' built up witli masonry, to distinguish and preserve it*, it is old and stunted, and suffers much from the depreda tions of post-chaise travellers, who generally stop to procure a twig. Opposite to it is the village ale-house, over the door of which swings 'The Three Jolly Pigeons.' Within, every thing iaarrjinged according to the letter: The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The vamish'd clock that click'd behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; The pictures placed for ornament and use. The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose. " Captain Hogan, I have heard, found great difficulty In obtaining ' the twelve good ndes,' but at length purchased them at some London book-stw, is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. I ^\'ill short- ly also send my friends over the Shannon some mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I have written a hundred letters to different friends in your country, and never received an answer from any of them. I do not know how to account for this, or why they are unvsdlling to keep up for me those regards which I must ever retain for them. If then you have a mind to obhge me, you will write often, whether I an- swer you or not. Let me particularly have the riews of our family and old acquaintances. For instance, you may begin by telling me about the family where you reside, how they spend their time, and whether they ever make mention of me. Tell me about my mother, my brother Hodson, and his son, my brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family of Ballyoughter, what is be- come of them, where they Uve, and how they do. You talked of being my only brother; I don't un- derstand you : Where is Charles? A sheet of pa- per occasionally filled with news of this kind would make me very happy, and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear brother, believe me to be yours most affectionately."* The lives of Lord Bolingbroke and Dr. Parnell, undertaken for the booksellers, were the next pro- ductions that came from his pen. They were pre- fixed to the respective works of these writers, pub- lished about 1770 or 1771. Both performances are executed with his wonted taste and felicity of ex- pression ; and, in his memoir of Parnell, the pover- ty of incident peculiar to the life of a scholar is in- geniously supplied by the author's own reflections. When Dr. Johnson afterwards undertook to write the " Lives of the Poets," he concluded the series with that of Parnell, and seized the opportunity it afforded liim of paying an elegant compliment to the memory of his deceased friend. " The life of Dr. Parnell," said he, " is a task which I should very willingly decline, since it has lately been writ- ten by Goldsmith; a man of such variety of powers, and such felicity of pcrfomiance, that he always seemed to do best that which he was doing; a man who had the art of being minute without tedious- ness, and general without confusion; whose lan- guage was copious without exuberance, exact Avith- out constraint, and easy without weakness. • To the oriiinal of this letter there is annexed a receipt, which shows the siiin of 15/. was paid to Maurice Goldsmitli, for a legacy bequeathed to Oliver Goldsmith by the late Rev. Thomas Coniarine, da'ed 4th February, 1770. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 45 •' What such an author told, who would tell it again? I have made an abstract from his larger nar- ration; and have this gratification from my attempt, that it gives me an opportunity of paying due tri- bute to the memory of Goldsmith." Amongst his various undertakings for the book- eellers at this period, there was one, however, in which Goldsmith was peculiarly unfortunate. He had been employed by Griffin to make a selection of elegant poems from the best English classics, for the use of boarding-schools, and to prefix to it one of his captivating prefaces. In noting the selections for the printer, Goldsmith unluckily marked off one of the most indecent tales in Prior, — a circumstance that effectually ruined the reputation and the sale of the work at the same time. It has been said, that the error in this instance must have arisen from inadvertency or carelessness; but the inadver- tency must have been excessive, as the tale is actu- ally introduced with a criticism. Goldsmith, when conversing on the subject of his labours at this time as a compiler, used to refer to the " Selection of English Poetry," as a striking instance of the facility with which such work might sometimes be performed. He remarked " that of all his compilations, tliis showed most the art of the profession." To furnish copy for it required no in- vention, and but little thought: he had only to mark with a pencil the particular passages for the printer, so that he easily acquired two hundred pomids; "but then," said he, "lest the premium should be deemed more than a compensation for the labour, a man shows his judgment in these selec- tions, and he may be often twenty years of his life cultivating that judgment." In 1771, Goldsmith was in^•ited by Mr. Bennet Langton and liis lady, the Countess of Rothes, to spend some part of the autumn with them at their seat in Lincolnshire. Sir Joshua Reynolds, it would seem, had promised to accompany him on this visit; but, from the following letter to Mr. Langton, neither he nor Sir Joshua were able at that time to avail themselves of the invitation. The letter is dated Temple, Brick-court, September 7, 1771. "My Dear Sir, — Since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, I have been almost wholly in the country at a farmer's house quite alone, trying to write a comedy. It is now finished , but when, or how it will be acted, or whether it will be acted at all, are questions I can not resolve. I am therefore so much employed upon tliat, that I am under the necessity of putting olf my intended visit to Lin- colnshire for tliis senson. — Reynolds is just return- ed from Paris, and finds himself now in the case of a truant, that must make up for his idle time by diligence. We have therefore agreed to postpone our journey till next summer, when we hope to have the honour of waiting upon Lady Rotlies and you, and staying double the time of our late intend- ed visit. We often meet, and never without re- membering you. I see Mr. Beauclerk very often, both in town and country. He is now going di- rectly forward to become a second Boyle : deep in chemistry and j)hysics. Johnson has been down upon a visit to a country parson, Dr. Taylor, and is returned to his old haunts at Mrs Thrale's. Burke is a farmer, en attendant a better place ; but visiting about too. Every soul is visiting about, and merry, but myself: and that is hard, too, as I have been trying these three months to do some, thing to make people laugh. There have I been strolling about the hedges, studying jests, with a most tragical countenance. The ' Natural Histo- ry' is about half finished, and I will shortly finish the rest. God knows I am tired of this kind of finishing, which is but bungling work ; and that not so much my fault as the fault of my scur- vy circumstances. They begin to talk in town of the Opposition's gaining ground; the cry of liberty is still as loud as ever. I have published, or Davies has published for me, ' An Abridgment of the His- tory of England,' for which I have been a good deal abused in the newspapers for betraying the liberties of the people. God knows I had no thought for or against liberty in my head; my whole aim being to make up a book of a decent size, that, as Squire Richard says, ' would do no harm to nobo- dy.' However, they set me down as an arrant Tory, and consequently an honest man. When you come to look at any part of it, you will say that I am a sour Whig. God bless you; and, with my most respectful compliments to her ladyship, I re- main, dear sir, your most affectionate humble ser- vant." Goldsmith's residence at the farmer's house men- tioned in this letter, appears to have been continu- ed for a considerable time. It was situated near to the six-mile stone on the Edgeware-road ; and Mr. Boswell mentions that he and Mr. Mickle, transla- tor of " The Lusiad," paid him a visit there, in April, 1112. Unfortunately they did not find him at home ; but having some curiosity to see his apart- ment, they went in, and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled upon the wall, with a black lead pencil. He had carried down his books thither, that he might pursue his labours with less interruption. According to the testimo- ny of a literary friend, who had close intercourse with him for the last ten vears of his life, the fol- lowintT was his mode or study and living, while in the country. He first read in a morning from this original works requisite for the compilation he had in hand, as nnich as he designed for one letter or chapter marking down the passages referred to on a sheet of paper, with remarks. He then rode or walked out with a friend or two, returned to dinner, spent the day generally conviviaUy, without much 46 LIFE AND WRITINGS drinking, to which he was never addicted ; and besides a critic of acknowledged taste and acumen. when he retired to his bed-chamber, took up his books and papers with him, where he generally wrote the chapter, or the best part of it, before he went to rest. This latter exercise, he said, cost him very little trouble ; for having all his materi- als duly preiiared, he wrote it with as much ease as a common letter. The mode of life and study thus described. Goldsmith, however, only pursued by fits. He loved the gaieties, amusements, and so- ciety of London ; and amongst these he would oc- casionally lose himself for months together. To make up for his lost time he would again retire to the farm-house, and there devote himself to his la- bours with such intense application, that, for weeks successively, he would remain in his apartments without taking exercise. This desultory system is supposed to have injured his health, and to have brought on those fits of the strangury to which he was subject in tlie latter part of his life. He used to say, that " he believed the farmer's family with whom he lodged thought him an odd character, simi- lar to that in which the Spectator appeared to his landlady and herchildren : he was The Gentleman." About this period he was concerned in a work called "The Gentleman's Journal," published once a fortnight. It was conducted under the joint ma- nagement of Kenrick, Bickerstaff, and others; but Was soon discontinued. When a friend was talk- ing to our author one day on the subject of this work, he concluded his remarks by observing, what an extraordinary sudden death it had. "Not at all, sir," said Goldsmith; "a very conunoncase; it died of too many doctors." His next performance was his second attempt as a dramatist. Not discouraged by tlie cold re- ception which his first play had met with, he re- solved to try his fate with a second, and, maugre a host of adverse critics, succeeded. In his letter to Mr. Langton he mentions, that he had been occu- pied in writing a comedy, "trying these three months to do something to make the people laugh," and "strolling about the hedges, studying jests, with a most tragical countenance." This was the drama-which he afterwards christened "She Stoops to Conquer; or, The Mistakes of a Night." Al- though then just finished, its publication was de- layed till it should be acted at one of the theatres; and from the various obstacles and delays which arc there thrown in an author's way, it was not produced till March, 1773. Much difference of opinion existed as to the probability of its success. The majority of critics to whom it had been sub- mitted were apprehensive of a total failure; and it was not till after great solicitation, that Mr. Col- aian, the manager of Covent Garden theatre, con- sented to put it in rehearsal. That gentleman had himself given incontestable proofs of dramatic ge- oius, in the production of various pieces, and was His reluctance to accept of our author's play, therefore, and his decided condemnation of it at its last rehearsal, was almost considered decisive of its fate. Goldsmith, however, did not despair of it himself; and the opinion of Dr. Johnson, without being sanguine, leaned to the favourable side. In a letter to Mr. Boswell he says, " Dr. Goldsmith has a new comedy, which is expected in the spring. No name is yet given to it. The chief diversion arises from a stratagem, by which a lovt t is made to mistalce his future father-in-law's house for an inn. This, you see, borders upon farce. The di- alogue is quick and gay, and the incidents are so prepared as not to seem improbable." And after- wards, when Colman had actually consented to bring it out, Johnson wrote thus to the Rev. Mr. White : " Dr. Goldsmith has a new comedy in re- hearsal at Covent Garden, to which the manager predicts ill success. I hope he will be mistaken : I think it deserves a very kind reception." Others of Goldsmith's friends also entertained favourable opinions of the piece ; and a few of them even pro- phetically anticipated a triumph over the judgment of the manager. Perhaps, however, the strong and decided interest taken by these friends in the fate of the play was one great cause of its success. A large party of them, with Johnson at their head, attended to witness the representation, and a scheme to lead the plaudits of the house, which had been preconcerted with much address, was carried into execution with triumphant effect. This contri- vance, and the circumstances which led to it are . detailed by Mr. Cumberland in his Memoirs. " It was now," says Mr. Cumberland, "that I first met him at the British Coffee-house. He dined with us as a visiter, introduced, as I think, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and we held a consultation upon the naming of his comedy, which some of the company had read, and which he detailed to the rest after his manner with a great deal of good humour. Somebody suggested — She Stoops to Conquer; and that title was agreed upon. When I perceived an embarrassment in his manner towards me, which I could readily account for, I lost no time to put him at his ease ; and I flatter myself I was success- ful. As my heart was ever warm towards my con- temporaries, I did not counterfeit, but really felt a cordial interest in his behalf; and I had soon the pleasure to perceive, that he credited me for my sincerity. — 'You and I,' said he, 'have very diflcr- ent motives for resorting to the stage. I write for money, and care little about fame." — I was touched by this melancholy confession, and from that mo- ment busied myself assiduously amongst all my connexions in his cause. The whole company pledged themselves to the support of the ingenu- ous poet, and faithfully kej)t their promise to him. In fact, he needed all that could be done for him, OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 47 Rs Mr. Colman, then manager of Covent Garden grossed by his person and performances, that the theatre, protested against the comedy, when as yet ! progress of the play seemed likely to become a se he had not struck upon a name for it. Johnson condary object, and I found it prudent to insinuate at length stood forth in all his terrors as champion for the piece, and backed by us, his clients and re- tainers, demanded a foir trial. Colman again pro- tested ; but, with that salvo for his own reputation, liberally lent his stage to one of the most eccentric productions that ever found its vray to it ; and ' She Stoops to Conquer' was put into rehearsal. " We were not over sanguine of success, but perfectly determined to struggle hard for our au- thor: we accordingly assembled our strength at the Shakspeare Tavern in a considerable body for an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul of the corps : the poet took post silently by his side, with the Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbcrt, Caleb Wliitefoord, and a phalanx of North British predetermined applauders, under the banner of Major Mills, all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in inimitable glee: and poor Goldsmith that day took all his raillery as patiently and complacently as my friend Bos- well would have done any day, or every day of liis life. In the mean time we did not forget our du- ty; and though we had a better comedy going, in which Johnson was chief actor, we betook our- selves in good time to our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful drawing up of the cur- tain. As our stations were preconcerted, so were our signals for plaudits arranged and determined upon in a manner that gave every one his cue where to look for them, and how to follow them up. " We had amongst us a very worthy and efficient member, long since lost to his friends and the •world at large, Adam Drummond, of amiable me- mory, who was gifted by nature with the most so- norous, and at the same time the most contagious, laugh that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the horse of the son of Hystaspes was a v/hisper to it ; the whole thunder of the thea- tre could not drowii it. This kind and ingenu- ous friend fairly forewarned us, that he knew no more when to give his fire than the cannon did that was planted on a battery. He desired, there- fore, to have a flapper at his elbow, and I had the honour to be deputed to that office. 1 planted him in an upper box, pretty _nearly over the stage, in full view of the pit and galleries, and perfectly well situated to give the echo all its play through the hollows and recesses of the theatre. The success of our manoeuvres was complete. All eyes were upon Johnson, who sat in a front row of a side box; and when he lau^rhod, every body thought themselves warranted to roar. In the mean time mv friend followed signals with a rattle so irresisti- to him that he might halt his music without any prejudice to the author; but, alas! it was now too late to rein him in : he had laughed upon my sig- nal where he found no joke, and now unluckily he fancied that he found a joke in almost every thing that was said ; so that nothing in nature could be more mal-a-propos than some of his bursts every now and then were. These were dangerous mo- ments, for the pit began to take umbrage ; but we carried our point through, and triumphed not only over Colman's judgment but our own." The victory thus achieved was a source of infi- nite exultation to Goldsmith, not more from the pride of success, than from the mortification he imagined it caused to the manager, at whom he was not a little piqued in consequence of the fol- lowing circumstance. " . On the first night of performance he did not come to the house till towards the close of the re- presentation, having rambled into St. James's Park to ruminate on the probable fate of liis piece ; and such was his anxiety and apprehension, that he was with much difficulty prevailed on to repair to the theatre, on the suggestion of a friend, who pointed out the necessity of his presence, in order to mark any objectionable passages, for the purpose of omission or alteration in the repetition of the performance. With expectation suspended be* tween hope and fear, he had scarcely entered the passage that leads to the stage, when his ears were shocked with a hiss, which came from the audience as a token of their disapprobation of the farcical supposition of Mrs. Hardcastle being so deluded as to suppose herself at a distance of fifty miles from home while she was actually not distant fitly yards. Such was our poor author's tremor and agitation on this unwelcome salute, that running up to the manager, he exclaimed, "What's thaf} what's thaf]" — "Pshaw, doctor!" replied Colman, in a sarcastic tone, "don't be terrified at squibs, when we have been sitting these two hours upon a barrel of gunpoirder." The pride of Goldsmith was so mortified by tliis remark, that the friendship which had before subsisted between him and the manager was from that moment dissolved. The play of " She Stoops to Conquer" is found- ed upon the incident already related, -r hich befel the author in his younger days, when he mistook a gentleman's house for an inn. Although, from the extravagance of the plot, and drollery of the incidents, we must admit that the piece is very nearly allied to farce, yet the dialogue is carried on in such pure and elegant language, and the strokes of wit and humour are so easy and natural, that oly comic, that, when he had rojieated it several 'few productions of the drama aflbrd more pleasure times, the attention of the spectators was so en- in the representation. It still keeps possession ci 48 LIFE AND WRITINGS the stage as a stock play, and is frequently acted ; a circumstance which proves the accuracy of the opinion expressed by Dr. Johnson, "that he knew of no comedy for many years that had so much exhilarated an audience; that had answered so much the great end of comedy — that of making an audience merry." In publishing this play, Gold- smith paid his friend Johnson the compliment of a dedication, and expressed in the strongest man- ner the high regard he entertained for him. "By inscribing this slight performance to you," said he, " I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character without impairing the most unaffected piety." The good fortune which attended this drama was productive of its usual concomitants — a mixed portion of applause and censure, with instances of fulsome flattery and furious detraction. While from less fortunate bards, whose poverty induced them to solicit his bounty, he received the incense of adulation in a torrent of congratulatory address- es; from others, more independent, who were jealous of his reputation, and envied his success, he experienced all the virulence of malignant cri- ticism and scurrilous invective. A single instance of each may gratify the curiosity of our readers. •' ON DR. GOLDSMITH'S COMEDY 'she stoops to CONaUER.' " Quite sick in her bed Thalia was laid, A sentiment puke had quite kill'd the sweet maid, Her bright eyes lost all of their fire ; When a regular doctor, one Goldsmith by name^ Found out her disorder as soon as he came, And has made her (for ever 'twill crown all his fame) As lively as one can desire. •' Oh ! doctor, a-ssist a poor bard who lies ill, Without e'er a nurse, e'er a potion, or pill : From your kindness he hopes for some ease. You're a 'good-natured man' all tlie world does allow, O would your good-nature but sliine forth just now, In a manner — I'm sure your good sense will tell how, Your servant most humbly 'twould please ! " The bearer is the author's wife, and an an- swer from Dr. Goldsmith by her, will be ever grate- fully acknowledged by lus humble servant, 'John Oakman.' " Saturday, March 27, 1773." The Other instance exhibits an attempt to check the author'= triumph on the ninth niglit after the representation of his play. It was a most illiberal personal attack, in the form of a letter (supposed to be written by Dr. Kenrick.) addressed to Gold Packet" of the 24th March, 1773, published by Mr. Thomas Evans, bookseller in Paternoster- row. Both the manner and the matter are un- worthy of Kenrick, who was a man of talents. It was probably the work of a more obscure hand. " FOR THE LONDON PACKET. , " to dr. goldsmith. " Voua V0U8 noyez par vaniti. " Sin, — The happy knack which you have learnt of puffing your own compositions, provokes me to come forth. You have not been the eilitor of newspapers and magazines, not to discover the trick of literary humbug: but the gauze is so thin, that the very foolish part of the world see through it, and discover the doctor's monkey face, and cloven foot. Your poetic vanity is as unpardona- ble as your personal. Would man believe it, and will woman bear it, to be told, that for hours the great Goldsmith will stand surveying his grotesque orang-outang's figure in a pier glass? Was but the lovely H k as much enamoured, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in vain. But your vanity ia preposterous. How will this same bard of Bedlam ring the changes in the praise of Goldy ! But what has he to be either proud or vain of? ' The Trav- eller' is a flimsy poem, built upon false principles — principles diametrically opposite to hberty. What is ' The Good-natured Man' but a poor, water-gruel, dramatic dose? What is the ' Deserted Village' but a pretty poem, of easy nmnbers, without fancy, . dignity, genius, or fire? And pray what may be the last speaking pantomime, so praised by the doctor himself, but an incoherent piece of stuffi the figure of a wo^ian with a fish's tail, without plot, incident, or intrigue? We are made to laugh at stale dull jokes, wherein we mistake pleasantry for wit, and grimace for humour ; wherein every scene is unnatural, and inconsistent with the rules, the laws of nature, and of the drama : viz. two gentlemen come to a man of fortune's house, eat, drink, etc. and take it for an inn. The one is in- tended as a lover for the daughter : he talks with her for some hours : and when he sees her again in a diflferent dress, he treats her as a bar-girl, and swears she squinted. He abuses the master of the house, and threatens to kick him out of his own doors. The 'squire, whom we are told is to be a fool, proves the most sensible being of the piece ; and he makes out a whole act, by bidding his mo- ther lie close behind a bush, persuading her that his father, her own husban;], is a highwayman, and that he has come to cut their throats, and, to give his cousin an opportunity to go off", he drives his mother over hedges, ditches, and through ponds. There is not, sweet sucking Johnson, a natural Bioith himself, and inserted in "The London 1 stroke in the whole play, but the you?ig fellow's OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 49 giving the stolen jewels to the mother, supposing her to be the landlady. That Mr. Colinan did no justice to this piece, I honestly allow; that he told his friends it would be damned, 1 positively aver ; and, from such ungenerous insinuations, without a dramatic merit, it rose to public notice ; and it is now the ton to go and see it, though I never saw a person that either liked it, or approved it, any more than the absurd plot of Home's tragedy of ' Alonzo.' Mr. Goldsmith, correct your arrogance, reduce your vanity : and endeavour to believe, as a man, you are of the plainest sort ; and, as an au- thor, but a mortal piece of mediocrity. " Brise le miroir le infidele, " Qui vous cache la verity. "Tom Tickle." Indignant at the wanton scurrility of this letter, which was pointed out to him by the officious kind- ness of a friend, and enraged at the indelicacy of in- troducing the name of a lady with whom he was ac- quainted. Goldsmith, acccompanied by one of his countrymen, waited on Mr. Evans, and remonstrat- ed with him on the malignity and cruelty of such an unmerited attack upon private character. After ar- guing upon the subject, Evans, who had really no concern in the paper, except as publisher, went to examine the file ; and while stooping down for it, the author was rashly advised by his friend to take that opportunity of using liis cane, which he imme- diately proceeded to do, and appUed it to the pub- lisher's shoulders. The latter, however, unexpect- edly made a powerful resistance, and being a stout, high-blooded Welshman, very soon returned the blows with interest. Perceiving the turn that mat- ters were taking, Goldsmith's hot-headed friend fled out of the shop, leaving him in a sad plight, and nearly overpowered by the fierce Welshman. In the mean time. Dr. Kenrick, who happened to be in a private room of the publisher's, came forward on hearing the noise, and interposed between the combatants, so as to put an end to the fight. The author, sorely bruised and battered, was then con- veyed to a coach ; and Kenrick, though suspected to be the writer of the libel, affecting great com- passion for his condition, conducted him home. This ridiculous quarrel afforded considerable sport for the newspapers before it was finally made up. An action was threatened by Evans for the assault, but it was at length compromised. Many para- graphs appeared, however, reflecting severely on the impropriety of Goldsmith's attempting to beat a person in his own house; and to these he con- ceived it incumbent on him to make a reply. Ac- cordingly the following justificatory address ap- peared in " The Daily Advertiser" of Wednesday, March 31, 1773. " TO THE PUBLIC. " Lest it may be supposed, that I have been wil- hng to correct in others an abuse of what 1 have been guilty myself, I beg leave to declare, that in all my life I never wrote or dictated a single para- graph, letter, or essay in a newspaper, except a few moral essays, under the character of a Chinese, about ten years ago, in the 'Ledger;' and a letter, to wliich I signed my name, in the ' St. James's Chronicle.' If the hberty of the press, therefore, has been abused, 1 have had no hand in it. " I have always considered the press as the pro- tector of our freedom; — as a watchful guardian, capable of uniting the weak against the encroach- ments of power. What concerns the public most properly admits of a public discussion. But, of late, the press has turned from defending public interest to making inroads upon private life ; from combating the strong to overwhelming the feeble. No condition is now too obscure for its abuse ; and the protector is become the tyrant of the people. In this manner, the freedom of the press is beginmng to sow its own dissolution; the great must oppose it from principle, and the weak from fear; till at last every rank of mankind shall be found to give up its benefits, content with security from its in- sults. "How to put a stop to this licentiousness, by which all are indiscriminately abused, and by which vice consequently escapes in the general censure, I am unable to teU. All I could wish is, that as the law gives us no protection against the injury, so it should give calumniators no shelter after having provoked correction. The insults wliich we receive before the pubUc, by being more open, arc the more distressing. By treating them with silent contempt, we do not pay a sufficient defer- ence to the opinion of the world. By recurring to legal redress, we too often expose the weakness of the law, wliich only serves to increase our morti fication by failing to relieve us. In short, every man should singly consider himself as a guardian of the liberty of the press; and, as far as his influ» ence can extend, should endeavour to prevent its li» centiousness becoming at last the grave of its free- dom. "Oliver Goldsmith." The composition of this address is so much in the style of Dr. Johnson, that it was at first gener- ally believed to be the production of his pen. John- son, however, always disclaimed any participation m 11 ; and his disavowal has since been recorded in the volumes of Mr. Boswcll. "On Saturday, April 3," says that gentleman, "the day after my arrival in London this year, I went to his (Dr. Johnson's) house late in the evening, and sat with Mrs. Williams till he came home, I found, in th« 50 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. ' London Chronicle,' Dr. Goldsmith's apology to the public for beating Evans, a bookseller, on ac- count of a paragraph in a newspaper published by him, which Goldsmith thought impertinent to him and to a lady of his acquaintance. The apology was written so much in Dr. Johnson's manner, that both Mrs. Williams and I supposed it to be liis; but when he came home he soon undeceived us when he said to Mrs. Williams, ' Well, Dr. Goldsmith's manifesto has got into your paper,' I asked him if Dr. Goldsmith had written it, with an air that made him see I suspected it was his, though subscribed by Goldsmith. — Johnson, 'Sir, Dr. Goldsmith would no more have asked me to write such a thing as that for him, than he would have asked me to feed him with a spoon, or to do any thing else that denoted his imbecility. I as much believe that he wrote it, as if I had seen him do it. Sir, had he shown it to any one friend, he would not have been allowed to publish it. He has, in- deed, done it very well ; but it is a foolish thing well done. I suppose he has been so much elated with the success of his new comedy, that he has thought every thing that concerned him must be of imj)or- tance to the XJublic' BoswcU ; ' I fancy, sir, this is the first time that he has been engaged in such an ad- venture.' Johnson ; ' Why, sir, I believe it is the first time he has heat; he may have been beaten be- fore. This, sir, is a new plume to him.' " Had it not been for the painful and ludicrous circumstances attending this unlucky squabble. Goldsmith, in all probability, would have felt more than sufficiently elated with the success of his new comedy. Independent of the literary triumph it afforded him over the judgments of Colman and others as critics, the pecuniary advanteiges he reap- ed from it were equally satisfactory. He cleared, by this performance alone, upwards of eight hun- dred pounds. Indeed, the emolument which at this period Goldsmith derived from his various pro- ductions was considerable. In less than two years, it is computed that he realised not less than eighteen hundred pounds. This comprises the profits of both his comedies, various sums received on ac- count of his "Animated Nature," which was still in progress, and the copy-money of his lives of Bolingbroke and Parnell. Nevertheless, within little more than a year after the receipt of these sums, his circumstances were by no means in a prosperous condition. The profuse liberality with which he assisted indigent authors was one of the causes which led to such a state of things. Pur- don, Pilkington, HifTernan, and others, but parti- cularly some of his own countrymen, hung per- petually about hiiin, played upon his credulity, and, under pretence of borrowing, literally robbed him of his money. Though duped again and again by some of these artful men, he never could steel his heart against their applications. A story of distress always awakened his sensibility, and emp« tied his purse. But what contributed more than any other cause to exhaust his means and embar- rass his affairs, was the return of his passion for gaming. The command of money had unfortu- nately drawn him again into that pernicious habit, and he became the easy prey of the more knowing and experienced in the art. Notwithstanding the amount of his receipts, therefore, poor Goldsmith, from the goodness of his heart, and his indiscretion at play, instead of being able to look forward to affluence, was involved in all the perplexities of debt. It is remarkable that alwut this time he attempt- ed to discard the ordinary address by which he had been long recognised; rejecting the title of Doctor, and assuming that of plain Mr. Gold- smith. The motives that induced this innovation have never been properly explained. Some have supposed that it was owing to a resolution never more to engage as a practical professor in the heal- ing art; while others have imagined that it was prompted by his dislike to the constraint imposed by the grave deportment necessary to support the appellation and character of Doctor, or perhaps from ambition to be thought a man of fashion ra- ther than a mere man of letters. Whatever were the motives, he found it impossible to throw off a designation by which he had been so long and gene- rally known ; the world continued to call him Doc- tor (though he was only Bachelor of Medicine) till the day of his death, and posterity has perpetu- ated the title. "The History of the Earth and Animated Na- ture," on which he had been engaged about four years, at fength made its appearance in the begin- ning of 1774, and finally closed the literary labours of Goldsmith. During the progress of this under- taking, he is said to have received from the publish- er eigiit hundred and fifty pounds of cojjy-money. Its character, as a work of literature and science, we have already noticed. The unfinished poem of "Retaliation," the only performance that remains to be noticed, owed its birth to some circumstances of festive merriment that occurred at one of the meetings in St. James's Coffee-house. The occasion that produced it is thus adverted to by Mr. Cumberland in his Me- moirs: "It was upon a proposal started by Edmund Burke, that a j)arty of friends, who had dined to- gether at Sir Joshua Reynolds' and my house, should meet at the St. James's Coffee-house; which accordingly took place, and was occasion- ally repeated with much festivity and good fellow- ship. Dr. Barnard, dean of Derry, a very amia- ble and old friend of mine. Dr. Douglas, since bishop of Salisbury, Johnson, David Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Oliver Goldsmith, Edmund and Richard Burke, Hickey, with two or three others OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 51 tonstituted our party. At one of these meetings, an idea was suggested of extemporary epitaphs upon the parties present ; pen and ink were called for, and Garrick otf hand wrote an epitaph with a good deal of humour upon poor Goldsmith, who was the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we committed to the grave. The dean also gave him an epitaph, and Sir Joshua illuminated the dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in pen and ink, inimitably caricatured. Neither .Tohnson nor Burke wrote any thing ; and wlien I perceived Oliver was rather sore, and seemed to watch me with that kind of attention which indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of burlesque with theirs, I thought it time to press the joke no far- ther, and wrote a few couplets at a side-table ; which, when I had finished, and was called upon by the company to exhibit, Goldsmith, with much agitation, besought me to spare him ; and I was about to tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of my hand, and in a loud voice read them at the table. I have now lost all recollection of them, and in fact they were little worth remembering; but as they were serious and complimentary, the effect they had upon Goldsmith was the more pleas- ing for being so entirely unexpected. The con- cluding line, which is the only one I can call to mind, was — ' All mourn the poet, I lament the man.' This I recollect, because he repeated it several times, and seemed much gratified by it. At our next meeting, he produced his epitaphs as they stand in the little posthumous poem abovemen- tioned ; and this was the last time he ever enjoyed the company of his friends." The delicacy with which Mr. Cumberland acted on this occasion, and the compliment he paid to our author, were not thrown away. In drawing the character of Cumberland in return. Goldsmith, while he demonstrated his judgment as a critic, proved his gratitude and friendship at the same time, in designating him, ;. . " The Terence of England, the mender of hearts." Other members of the club, however, were hit off with a much smaller portion of complunent, and for the most part with more truth than flattery ; yet the wit and humour with which he discrimi- nated their various shades of character, is hap})ily free from the slightest tincture of ill-nature. His epitaph on Mr. Burke proves him to have been in- timately acquainted with the disposition and quali- ties of that celebrated orator. The characteristics of Mr. Burke's brother are humorously delineated, and were highly appropriate ; the portrait of Dr. Douglas is critically true ; but the most masterly sketch in the piece is undoubtedly the character of Grarrick, who had been pecuUarly severe in liis epitaph on Goldsmith. On the evening that Goldsmith produced " Re- taliation" he read it in full club, and the members were afterwards called on for their opinions. Some expatiated largely in its praise, and others seemed to be delighted with it; yet, when its pubUcation was suggested, the prevailing sentiment was de- cidedly hostile to such a measure. Goldsmith hence discovered, that a little sprinkling of fear was not an unnecessary ingredient in the friendship of the world ; and though he meant not immediately to publish his poem, he determined to keep it, as he expressed himself to a friend, " as a rod in pickle for any future occasion that might occur." But this occasion never presented itself: a more awful period was now approaching. A short time previous to this, he had projected an important literary work, under the title of " A Universal Dictionary of Arts and Sciences." In this undertaking he is said to have engaged all his literary friends, including most of the members of the Literary Club, particularly Johnson, Reynolds, and Burke, who promised to promote the design with all their interest, and to furnish liim with original articles on various subjects to be embraced by the work. So much had he this project at heart, — so sanguine was he of its success, — and so little doubt did he entertain of encouragement from the booksellers, that without previous concert with any one of the trade, he actually printed and pub- lished the Prospectus at his own expense. These gentlemen, however, were not, at that time, dis- posed to enter upon so heavy an undertalving, and of course received his proposals so coldly, that he found himself obliged to abandon the design. It is supposed that he had fondly promised himself re- lief from his pecuniary difficulties by this scheme, and consequently his chagrin at the disappointment was the more keenly felt. He frequently lamented the circumstance to his friends ; and there is little doubt that it contributed, with other vexations, to aggravate the disease wliich ended in Ms dissolu- tion. Goldsmith had been, for some years, occasionally afflicted with a strangury. The attacks of this disease had latterly become more frequent and vio- lent; and these, combined with anxiety of mind on the subject of his accvnnulating delits, embittered his days, and brought on almost habitual despon- dency. While in this unhappy condition, he was attacked by a nervous fever in the spring ot 1774. On Friday, tlie 25th of March, that year, finding himself extremely ill, he sent at eleven o'clock at night for Mr. Havves, an apothecary, to whom he complained of a violent pain extending all over the fore-part of his head ; his tongue was moist, he had a cold sliivering, and his pulse boat about ninety strokes in a minute. Ho said he had taken two ounces of ipecacuanlia wine as a vomit, and that it was nis intention to take Dr. James's fever pew- 52 LIFE AND WRITINGS ders, which he desired might be sent him. Mr. Hawes replied, that in his opiiiion this medicine Was very improper at that time, and begged he would not think of it; but every argument used seemed only to render him more determined in his own opinion. Mr. Hawes knowing that on former occasions Goldsmith had always consulted Dr. Fordyce, and that he entertained the highest opinion of his abili- ties as a physician, requested permission to send for him. To this, with great reluctance, he gave consent, as the taking of Dr. James's powders, ap- peared to be the only object that employed his at- tention ; and even after he had given his consent, he endeavoured to throw an obstacle in the way, by saying, that Dr. Fordyce was gone to spend the evening in Gerrard-street, "where," added he, "I should also have been myself, if I had not been indis- posed." Mr. Hawes immediately dispatched a mes- senger for Dr. Fordyce, whom he found at home, and who instantly waited upon Goldsmith. Dr. Fordyce, on perceiving the symptoms of the disease, was of the same opinion with Mr. Hawes respecting Dr. James's powders; and strongly re- presented to the patient the impropriety of liis tak- ing that medicine in his present situation. Un- happily, however, he was deaf to all remonstrances, and persevered in his own resolution. On the following morning Mr. Hawes visited his patient, and found him very much reduced; Iiis voice feeble, and his pulse very quick and small. When he inquired of him how he did, Goldsmith sighed deeply, and in a very low and languid tone said, " he wished he had taken his friendly advice last night." Dr. Fordyce arrived soon after Mr. Hawes, and saw v.dth alarm the danger of their patient's situa- tion. He therefore proposed to send for Dr. Tur- ton, of whose talents and skill he knew Goldsmith had a great opinion : to this proposal the patient readily consented, and ordered his servanrt to go di- rectly. Doctors Fordyce and Turton accordingly met at the time appointed, and had a consultation. This they continued twice a day till the 4th of April, 1774, when the disorder terminated in the death of tlie poet, in the forty-fifth year of his age. Goldsmith's suJden and unexpected dissolution created a general feeling of regret among the litera- ry circles of that period. The newspapers and pe- riodical publications teemed with tributary verses to his memory ; and perhaps no poet was ever more lamented in every possible variety of sonnet, elegy, epitaph, and dirge. I^lr. Woty's hues on the oc- casion we select from the general mass of eulogy. Another's woe thy heart could always melt ; None gave more free, — for none more deeply felJ. Sweet bard, adieu ! tliy own harmonious lays Have sculptured out thy monument of praise; Yes, — these survive to time's remotest day, While drops the bust, and boastful tombs decay. Reader, if number'd in the Muses' train, Go, tune the lyre, and imitate his strain ; But, if no poet thou, reverse the plan, Depart in peace, and imitate the man." '•' Allien, sw^et bnrd ! to each fine feeling true, Thy virtu-^ manv, and thy foibles few; Tliose i'jr;:i'd to ohanii e'en vicious minds — and these With harmlesa mirth the social soul to please. " Of poor Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, in an- swer to a query of Boswell's, "there is little to be told more than the papers have made public. He died of a fever, made, I am afraid, more violent by uneasiness of mind. His debts began to be heavy, and all his resources were exhausted. Sir Joshua is of opinion, that he owed no less than two thou- sand pounds.* Was ever poet so trusted before?" The extraordinary sum thus owing by Gold- smith excited general surprise after his death, and gave rise to some ill-natured and injurious reflec- tions. To those, however, who were intimately acquainted with his careless disposition and habits, the wonder was not, that he should be so much in debt, but, as Johnson remarks, that he should have been so much trusted. He was so liberal in his donations, and profuse in his general disburse- ments ; so unsettled in his mode of living, and im- prudent in gaming; and altogether so little accus- tomed to regulate his expenses by any system of economy, that at last his debts greatly exceeded hia resources ; and their accumulation towards the close of his hfe was by no means matter of astonishment. These debts, however, consisted chiefly of sums that he had taken up in advance, from the mana- gers of the two theaters, for comedies which he had engaged to furnish to each ; and from the booksel- lers for publications which he was to finish for the press; — all which engagements he fully intended, and would probably have been able to fulfil, as he had done on former occasions in similar exigencies; but his premature death unhappily prevented the execution of his plans. The friends of Goldsmith, literary as well as per- sonal, were exceedingly numerous, and so attach- ed to his memory, that they determined to honour his rcmams with a public funeral, and to bury hiiij in Westminster Abbey. His pall was to have been supported by Lord Shelburne, Lord Louth, Sir Joshua Reynolds, the Hon. Mr. Beauclerk, Mr. Edmund Burke, and Mr. Garrick. Some cir- cumstances, which have never been explained, oc- ccurred to prevent this resolution from being carri- ed into effect. It is generally believed that the chief reason was a feeling of delicacy, suggested by the disclosure of his embarrassed affairs, and the extra- ordinary amount of his debts. He was, therefore, privately interred in the Temple burying-ground, '4000/. — Campbell's Biography of Goldsmith. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 53 X few select friends paying the last sad offices to his remains. A short time afterwards, however, the members of the Literary Club suggested, and zealously promoted, a subscription to defray the ex- pense of a monument to his memory. The neces- sary funds were soon realized, and the chisel of NoUekens was employed to do honour to the poet. The design and workmanship of this memorial were purposely simple and inexpensive. It was erected in Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey, br. Goldsmith. The epi- taph, written for him by Dr. .Johnson, became the subject of conversation, and various emendations were suggested, which it was agreed should be submitted to the Toctor's considera- tion. But the question was, Who should have the comase to In addition to this eulogium on the literary qua- lities of hi.s friend, Jolm.son afterwards honoured his memory with the following tetrastick in Greek. Tof Tsi^ov iWopaa( tcu Oy^tCup:cio, kovihv A