IRVING'S LIFE OF
GOLDSMITH
Class ___^.U__5_4.3_5 Book. X^
Copyiight]^".
13 03
COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
A BIOGRAPHY
Placmillan'g pocket American anti lEngltsf) Classics*
A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc.
l6mo.
Cloth.
25c. each.
Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley.
Browning's Shorter Poems.
Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected).
Burke's Speech on Conciliation.
Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
Byron's Shorter Poems.
Carlyle's Essay on Burns.
Chaucer's Prologue and Knight's Tale.
Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner.
Cooper's The Deerslayer.
Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans.
De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite.
Early American Orations, 1760-1824.
Eliot's Silas Marner.
Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History.
Franklin's Autobiography.
Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield.
Hawthorne's Twice-told Tales (Selec- tions from).
Irving's Life of Goldsmith.
Irving's.The Alhambra.
Irving's Sketch Book.
Longfellow's Evangeline.
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal.
Macaulay's Essay on Addison. Macaulay's Essay on Hastings. Macaulay's Essay on Lord Clive. Macaulay's Essay on Milton. Milton's Comus and Other Poems. Milton's Paradise Lost, Bks. I and IL Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from). Pope's Homer's Iliad. Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. Scott's Ivanhoe. Scott's The Lady of the Lake. Scott's Marmion. Shakespeare's As You Like It. Shakespeare's Hamlet. Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Shakespeare's Macbeth. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Shelley and Keats : Poems. Southern Poets : Selections. Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. Stevenson's Treasure Island. Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Tennyson's The Princess. Tennyson's Shorter Poems. Woolman's Journal. Wordsworth's Shorter Poems.
OTHERS TO FOLLOW.
^^^u^-Y' ^/r-^ni,^^.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
A BIOGRAPHY
BY
WASHINGTON IRVING
EDITED WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTION
BY .
GILBERT SYKES BLAKELY, A.M. (Harvard)
TEACHER OF ENGLISH IN THE MORRIS HIGH SCHOOL NEW YORK CITY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 1903
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I
Two Cepies Receiver |
SEP 16 1903
. Coj^ynght Entry
T^slM' *^' ^^^^ -CLASS eu XXc. No
COPY B.
COPYBIGHT, 1903,
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up, electrotyped, and published August, 1903.
•i rPc4>lis2ie^ §y •permission of*Sl(»ssrs.*&* P, Putnam's Sons puKltshers (?f *Qie*c9n]Dl«te and auwiocized edition of the works
of Washington Irving.]
>•; ••- : •: ••• •••
ISTortoooli 5teg0
J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
i ;$^
CONTENTS
Introduction :
Sketch of living's Life
Irving the Author . Subjects for Composition . Chronology of Irving' s Life Chronology of Goldsmith's Life Books for Reference
Life of Oliver Goldsmith Preface Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chaptpr IX Chapter X
PAGE
ix
xiv
xvii
xviii
xix
XX
3 5
14
26 32 41 49 55 58 64 71
vi CONTENTS
PAGE
ChapterXI 84
Chapter XII 89
Chapter XIII 94
^ Chapter XIV 101
Chapter XV . 109
Chapter XVI 113
Chapter XVII 120
Chapter XVIII . 127
Chapter XIX . . . . . . . . .132
Chapter XX . . .136
Chapter XXI 141
Chapter XXII , .... 144
Chapter XXIII 148
Chapter XXIV 152
Chapter XXV . 155
Chapter XXVI . . 161
Chapter XXVII . . ' 167
Chapter XXVIII . . . . . . . . 172
Chapter XXIX ' 178
Chapter XXX . . . . .. . . . . 186
Chapter XXXI . . 190
Chapter XXXII . 194
Chapter XXXIII .' . ... . . . 197
Chapter XXXIV . 201
Chapter XXXV ........ 208
Chapter XXXVI ...... . . 216
Chapter XXXVII ........ 220
CONTENTS VU
PAGE
Chapter XXXVIII .229
CHapter XXXIX 234
Chapter XL 241
Chapter XLI 244
Chapter XLII . .249
Chapter XLIII 253
Chapter XLIV 258
Chapter XLV 266
The Deserted Village ..••... 275
Notes 287
A SKETCH OF IRYING'S LIFE
Washington Irving was born in New York, April 3, 1783. The hmise was in William Street, between Fulton and John, but it has now been torn down. His Scotch father and Eng- lish mother liad been married in England and had emigrated to America more than twenty years before. At the time of Washington's birth the city was in the hands of the British, for the Revolutionary War was not yet over. It had sadly inter- fered with business. Half the city had been burned down, and many of the people had fled till better times. Among them the Irvings had left their home and for a short time lived in New Jersey; but they had returned to the beleaguered city, though they remained true to the country of their adoption. Before their baby was christened, however, the war ceased, and the loyal, grateful mother named him Washington.
Some years after, when all New York was joyfully welcoming George Washington as our first President, a proud and devoted Scotch servant-girl of the Irvings addressed the general, as she encountered him in a small shop, with, "Please, your Honor, here's a bairn was named after you." The great " Father of his Country " patted him kindly on the head and gave him his blessing.
The lad born in such a stirring time and named after the great hero seems to have grown up much like other boys. His stern Presbyterian father he feared, but his tender-hearted, sympa- thetic mother he loved devotedly. He was not a studious boy, though he early developed a marked taste for reading books of travel, tales of the sea, etc. Warm-hearted and full of fun, he had no difficulty in attaching to himself a large number of £riends. Two of his brothers went to Columbia College, but
ix
X A SKETCH OF IRVmG' S LIFE
Washington never entered college, though his biographer says he never ceased in later life to regret his mistake.
At sixteen he entered a law office, but his lack of application and his dislike of careful study account for the fact that he never knew much law and never attempted to practise. During these years of young manhood, the time when a boy lays the foundation for his future career, Irving was living a free and easy life, reading much, working little, going into society, where he was a general favorite, and taking an occasional trip into the country along the Hudson. As events proved, he was get- ting no mean training for his successful career, but he gave little promise then of any great success. His health, too, gave grave anxiety to his friends. He coughed much and had severe pains in his chest, so that there were not a few who predicted an early death. His brothers, however, determined to send him abroad in the hope that the voyage and life in southern Europe might benefit him. He was gone from 1804 to 1806, and, besides regaining his health, gained a wide and varied knowledge from his wanderings over Europe.
As early as 1802 Irving had contributed articles to the Morning Chronicle, written in imitation of the periodical essays of Addison's time, and signed Jonathan Oldstyle. These were much copied and revealed some of those traits that later made him famous. After his return from Europe, he, in company with others, established a periodical, called Salmagundi, which was very popular during its short existence, but its young authors soon tired of their labor and gave it up. When he was twenty- six years old he published his first book, Tlie Knickerbocker History of Neiv York. It was a clever satire on the old Dutch inhabitants of the city and made a reputation for its author among all classes, even among the Dutch, who did not always relish his humor.
While he was engaged on this his first important literary venture, he received a blow that nearly crushed him. He had formed a strong attachment for Miss Matilda Hoifman of !N"ew York, according to all accounts a beautiful and lovable girl. They were engaged to be married and were waiting till the young man should find something by which he could reason- ably hope to support a family. Suddenly, however, Miss Hoff-
A SKETCH OF IRVING^ S LIFE xi
man died, in her eighteenth year, and Irving was inconsolable. His devotion to her memory is beautiful to consider ; he carefully treasured a few reminders of her, but never wished to talk of her; her memory was sacred. He never married, though he was a general favorite and exceedingly fond of ladies' society, to say nothing of his love of a home. It is not certain that he re- frained from marriage because of his devotion to Miss Hoffman, but it is certain that he never forgot her nor outlived his grief.
The following year, 1810, we find Washington Irving enter- ing into business with two of his brothers, Peter and Ebenezer. He did not seem to contemplate active business, for he was contested to take one-fifth of the profits while each of the others took two-fifths. In spite of this partnership, he contin- ued to live the easy life of a man of leisure for the next few years, a social favorite, not only in New York, but also in Phila- delphia, Baltimore, and Washington. At the White House he was well known and was on the best of terms with Mrs. Madison and the ladies who gathered there.
In 1814, roused by the war with England, he offered his ser- vices to the governor of New York. The latter immediately appointed him to a place on his staff with the title of colonel. This new sort of life was highly pleasing to our society gentle- man, as his letters of this time abundantly show. It was pleas- ing to him apparently, not only because it took him here and there in new experiences, but also because he felt that he was really doing a man's work, something that was worth while.
This military work was of course of short duration, so in a few months he was at liberty to take up something else. At this juncture, in 1815, he suddenly decided to make another visit to Europe, a visit that was fraught with momentous conse- quences for him.
After a few months spent pleasantly in travelling through England and Wales and in visiting friends, Irving found that the affairs of his firm needed attention. Accordingly he de- voted himself to business as he never had before, although the work was distasteful to him and the conditions under which he was laboring were extremely discouraging. For three years he was in fact a business man, but still found time to meet distin- guished men of literature : Scott, Byron, Campbell, Rogers, and
xii A SKETCH OF IRVIWO'S LIFE
others. The burdens grew heavier and heavier until at last, in 1818, Washington and his brother Peter went into bankruptcy. He never took up business again, but was for some time in per- plexity over what he should do for his support.
He was now thirty-five years old. He had studied law, but had never practised, nor found the work to his liking. He had made a failure in business. But from his boyhood he had had a taste for literature, though apparently he had never considered it as a means of livelihood. Had it not been for the business failure of the Irvings, we might never have had The Sketch-Book nor The Alhamhra. Under these hard conditions, however, he roused himself to show a strength of character that even his friends had not discovered. From the easy-going society gen- tleman and traveller he became an indefatigable worker.
First The S ketch-Book was prepared and published in Amer- ica in seven parts, but it was so favorably received in England as well as in America, that an English edition was soon pub- lished. The book was remarkably successful, and has been ever since one of the classics of English literature. Two years later he published Bracebridge Hall, and again after three years The Tales of a Traveller. Then, after a year or two of rather unproductive work, he took up his residence in Spain, that he might gather material for a life of Columbus.
It is to this three years' residence in Spain that we owe a large and important part of the work for which we love and admire the first American author to gain an international repn- tation. The history and traditions of Spain, as well as the poetic temperament of her people, appealed to his fancy. He forgot himself in the dim past of Moorish tradition, and lived again in the fairy splendor of the Alhambra. The Life of Columbus was published in 1828, and was soon followed by The Conquest of Granada, The Companions of Columbus, and The Alhambra. Those who had hesitated to give Irving a high place as an author, on the ground that his works were light and fanciful, praised The Life of Columbus as a book worthy of the great talents of its author. The English Royal Society of Literature awarded him a gold medal given by King George IV, and Oxford conferred upon him the degree of D.C.L.
Although he was busying himself with other literary projects,
A SKETCH OF IRVING^ S LIFE xiii
he was called to serve his country as Secretary of the Legation at London, and was constrained to accept it. Bnt he was grow- ing restive to visit his home and native land.
During all these years, spent in England, France, Germany, Italy, and Spain, Irving was through and through an American. It is true that certain criticisms had been made upon him at home because of his long foreign residence, but it is safe to say they were not made by those who knew him. In 1832, after seventeen years abroad, the longing to see America became too strong to be resisted. He reached New York in May and re- ceived a welcome far beyond that ever given before to a return- ing Aqjerican. He was astonished at the changes in his native city and was overwhelmed by the attentions that he received on all sides. A notable public dinner was given to him in New York, and his name was honored in every village of the land.
After travelling extensively through the West and South that he might know more of his own country, he bought a few acres of land on the shores of the Hudson at Tarrytown. Here he built a small but substantial house and made a home for several nieces and other members of his family. Sunnyside, as he called this quaint but beautiful place, was visited during the next twenty years by hundreds of foreigners as well as Americans. "Irving was most hospitable, not only to his imme- diate friends, but also to the large number of admirers who were attracted thither by his kindness and greatness of character.
Here in the quiet of his own charming home he wrote several books, among them A Tour on the Prairies, Wolferfs Roost (a collection of essays), Mahomet and his Successors, The Life of Goldsmith, and The Life of Washington. The last mentioned he regarded his greatest work. He spent many years gather- ing his materials, and by his accuracy and faithfulness in de- tail justified the world in ranking him high as a historian.
While he was in the midst of this his greatest work he was astonished one morning to receive through the mail the an- nouncement of his nomination by the President to the position of Minister to Spain. It cost him a struggle to give up his home and private life for four years of public life in a foreign land, but he was extremely gratified by the appointment, which he regarded an honor, not merely to himself, but also to the
xiv IRVING THE AUTHOR
profession of literature. Political affairs in Spain were in a very unsettled state, but though his position was a delicate one he acquitted himself so well that he was deservedly popular and respected both at home and in Spain. The experiment of appointing a literary man to a diplomatic position has since been several times repeated, and we can point with pride to Hawthorne, Lowell, Bancroft, Howells, and to Hardy, our present minister to Spain.
In 1846 he joyfully returned to America and Sunnyside, to spend the remaining thirteen years of his life in the place that he loved best, surrounded by his friends, honored by his country, and working happily and successfully to the end. He had time to revise his works and had the satisfaction of seeing the new edition sell beyond his fondest expectations. Late in the autumn of 1859, in the seventy- seventh year of his age, he died suddenly, and was buried in the little cemetery overlooking the " Sleepy Hollow " that he had made famous. His home and his grave are still visited yearly by thousands, many of them schoolboys and schoolgirls, who have learned to love the creator of Ichabod Crane and Kip Yan Winkle.
IRVING THE AUTHOR
For more than forty years, as we have seen, Irving held a large place among English-speaking people. He has been called the " Father of American Literature." In the words of Thackeray, he was " The first ambassador whom the new world of letters sent to the old." But what we are interested to know, is what position he now holds among the large number of American authors who have made themselves known both at home and abroad, and what qualities give him the rank that he is conceded to have.
It is, of course, not to be expected that all of his fifteen or more volumes will continue to be read. It is enough that sev- eral of them are read and loved hy each new generation. It is more than forty years since Irving died, but he is a living presence in American literature. He had not the creative
IRVING THE AUTHOR XV
power of Hawthorne, nor the intellectual grasp of Emerson, but in his own domain he has never been excelled. And what was his domain ? It was the short story or sketch representing real life, truth in the realm of fiction, humor, pathos. The vivid representations of Dutch life in The Knickerhocker History of New York, of English life in The Sketch-Book and Bracebridge Hall, of Spanish life in The Alhambra, and of American life in many books are vivid and are the source of perennial enjoy- ment.
His several biographies are probably the most careful work that he did. The Life of Columbus gave him rank as a man of learning ; it was prepared with great care and at great expense of time and labor. The Life of Washington was undertaken by the author in the hope that it would be the greatest of his works, and into it he put the best thought of a mature man- hood. While neither of these may be put into the rank of the greatest biographies, they may both be regarded as entirely worthy of a great author. The Life of Goldsmith, while not a great work, is one of the most delightful of biographies. Irving was by nature well fitted to appreciate and sympathize with the checkered life of this remarkable genius. This book, too, illustrates well what I think is the delight of Irving's biographies, — it is full of stories. What should an interesting biography be, to be sure, but the stories of a man's life care- fully chosen and forcefully told ? As in the sketches, so in the biographies, the charm lies in the stories, vividly, clearly told.
It is then as a story-teller and a descriptive writer that we must regard Irving ; it is to his sketches and stories that we must look to find his art. But what gives him his power? Is it his command of language ? Is it his easy flow of sentences ? His words are certainly well chosen ; they are simple and force- ful ; they seem to be the words just fitted for their places ; they are so concrete that the pictures stand out clearly, so suggestive that they bring a full as well as a clear meaning. And yet all this excellence of diction will not account for the magic of his style. We look in vain to his sentences, — clear, easy, logical though they are, and to his orderly paragraphs, — the charm is not here. We must look back of the words, the sentences, the paragraphs, to the personality, the character of the man.
xvi IRVING THE AUTHOR
His humor has helped us to while away many an hour that would otherwise have been dull, his pathos has held us firmly and tenderly, and his satire has amused and delighted us; but all these qualities combined are far short of what we call Irving. It is the man himself, so pure, so open, so friendly, so large it sympathy and judgment, that holds and pleases us. In a pe- culiar way we feel that we know this author. If he sometimes puts on a mask, he cannot hide entirely his own genial face. But what his character is we cannot fully express. He had a soundness of judgment, a wholesome view of life, a catholicity of spirit, which we admire and respect; and yet these only partly express his character. It is his large and many-sided seK that impresses itself upon us in every line, that reveals itself in a thousand ways and yet is never quite fathomable, that makes the work of Washington Irving, not only pleasing, but great.
Charles Dudley Warner said : " And this leads me to speak of Irving's moral quality, which I cannot bring myself to ex- clude from a literary estimate, even in the face of the current gospel of art for art's sake. There is something that made 8cott and Irving personally loved by the millions of their readers, who had only the dimmest ideas of their personality. This was some quality perceived in what they wrote. Each one can define it for himself ; there it is, and I do not see why it is not as integral a part of the authors — an element in the esti- mate of their future position — as what we term their intellect, their knowledge, their skill, or their art. However you rate it, you cannot account for Irving's influence in the world with- out it.
" In his tender tribute to Irving, the great-hearted Thackeray, who saw as clearly as anybody the place of mere literary art in the sum total of life, quoted the dying words of Scott to Lock- hart, — 'Be a good man, my dear.' We know well enough that the great author of The Newcomes, and the great author of The Heart of Midlothian, recognized the abiding value in litera- ture of integrity, sincerity, purity, charity, faith. These are beneficences ; and Irving's literature, walk round it and measure it by whatever critical instruments you will, is a beneficent lit- erature_._ The author loved good women and little children and
COMPOSITION SUBJECTS xvii
â– ^ pure life ; he had faith in his fellow-men, a kindly sympathy jwith the lowest, without any subserviency to the highest ; he .retained a belief in the possibility of chivalrous actions, and j^id not care to envelop them in a cynical suspicion; he was an author still capable of an enthusiasm. His books are whole- some, full of sweetness and charm, of humor without any sting, , of amusement without any stain ; and their more solid qualities ,are marred by neither pedantry nor pretension."
COMPOSITION SUBJECTS
1. Oliver Goldsmith — A Description.
2. Paddy Byrne — " A capital tutor for a poet."
3. The Boyhood of Goldsmith and the Boyhood of Irving.
4. Goldsmith's Education. (Compare with that of Irving and
of other literary men.)
5. Goldsmith's Travels in Europe. (Compare with Irving's
and with Longfellow's.)
6. Goldsmith's Introduction to London. (Com;pare with
Johnson's, Chapter XII, and with that of other literary men.)
7. A Physician's Equipment.
8. Goldsmith the Physician.
9. Goldsmith and Johnson. (Compare them as writers, as
conversationalists, as companions, as men of genius, as
successful men.) LO. Goldsmith's Associates. (What two distinct classes did he
have in London ? When he could have the higher, why
did he often choose the lower ?) Johnson's Interview with the King. Irving's Estimate of Boswell. Macaulay's Estimate of Boswell. Goldsmith the Historian. Goldsmith the Dramatist. Goldsmith the Poet. Autobiographical Touches in The Vicar of Wakefield,
XVlll
CHRONOLOGY OF IRVING' S LIFE
18. 19. 20.
21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.
30.
Descriptions in The Deserted Village.
Goldsmith's Humor and living's Humor.
Griffiths' Defence. (Imagine Griffiths defending himself
against the charges that Irving and others bring against
him.) Why is Irving called " The American Goldsmith " ? Goldsmith's Two Trijos to the Continent — A Contrast. Goldsmith the Musician. Goldsmith the Friend of Children. Was Goldsmith Vain? Goldsmith's Improvidence.
" The child is father of the man" applied to Goldsmith. The Literary Club. E:ffect of Novels and Romances on the Youthful Mind.
(See Chapter X.) Contradictions in Goldsmith's Character.
CHRONOLOGY OF IRVING'S LIFE
Born April 3
Entered a law office .
Wrote for The Chronicle
Went to Europe
Admitted to the bar .
Published Salmagundi
Published Knickerbocker History of Neiu
Formed a partnership with his brothers
Was made Colonel on Governor's Staff
Made second visit to Europe
Went into bankruptcy
Published The Sketch Book
Published Bracehridge Hall
Published Tales of a Traveller
Resided in Spain
Published Life of Columbus
Published Conquest of Granada
York
. 1783 . 1799 . 1802 . 1804 . 1806
1806-1807 . 1809 . 1810 . 1814 . 1815 . 1818
1819-1820 . 1822 . 1824
1826-1829 . 1828
^ . 1829
CHRONOLOGY OF GOLDSMITH'S LIFE
XIX
Published The Voyages of the Companions of Columbus
Received King's Medal from the Royal Academy
Received Degree D.C.L. from Oxford
Published The Alhamhra .
Returned home . . .
Purchased Sunnyside
Published The Crayon Miscellany
Published Astoria
Published The A dventures of Captain
Was Minister to Spain
Published Life of Goldsmith ^ .
Published Mahomet and his Successors
Published Wolfert's Roost .
Published The Life of Washington
Died
Bonneville
1831
1830
. 1830
. 1832
. 1832
. 1835
. 1835
. 1836
. 1837
1842-1846
. 1849
1849-1850
. 1855
1859
1859
1855-
CHRONOLOGY OF GOLDSMITH'S LIFE
ear
Born Nov. 10
Entered Trinity College, Dublin, June 11 Was graduated Feb. 27 ... . Went to Edinburgh to study medicine Went to the Continent to study medicine Returned to England ....
Published Inquiry into the Present State of Polite L
in Europe . . . . Published The Traveller . » . . . Published The Vicar of Wakefield Completed The Good-natured Man . Was made Professor of History in Royal Academy Published The Deserted Village .... Completed She Stoops to Conquer Died April 4
ming
1728 1744 1749 1752 1754 1756
1759 1764 1766 1767 1769 1770 1772 1774
XX BOOKS FOR REFERENCE
BOOKS FOR ref.ere;nce
. • , ,, --- .
For the study of living's life the student must go, of course, to the authorized biography, Life and Letters of Washington Lrving, by Pierre M. Irving, in three volumes, published by Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons. He will find a briefer, and per- haps, therefore, more serviceable, biography in the American Men of Letters Series, by Charles Dudley Warner. Thackeray has written briefly of him in his Round-about Papers, and Curtis in his Literary and Social Essays.
Those who would go farther into the life of Goldsmith will consult Dobson's Life of Goldsmith, in the Great Writers Series ; William Black's Goldsmith, in the English Men of Letters Series ; Forster's Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith ; and Prior's Life of Oliver Goldsmith. Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson is full of information concerning Goldsmith and his contemporaries.
LIFE OF GOLDSMITH
PREFACE
In the course of a revised edition of my works I have come to a biographical sketch of Goldsmith, published several years since. It was written hastily, as introductory to a selection from ffis writings ; and, though the facts contained in it were collected from various sources, I was chiefly indebted for them 5 to the voluminous work of Mr. James Prior, who had collected and collated the most minute particulars of the poet's history with unwearied research and scrupulous fidelity ; but had ren- dered them, as I thought, in a form too cumbrous and overlaid with details and disquisitions, and matters uninteresting to the 10 general reader.
When I was about of late to revise my biographical sketch, preparatory to republication, a volume was put into my hands, recently given to the public by Mr. John Forster, of the Inner Temple, who, likewise availing himself of the labors of the inde- 15 fatigable Prior, and of a few new lights since evolved, has pro- duced a biography of the poet, executed with a spirit, a feeling, a grace, and an eloquence, that leave nothing to be desired. Indeed it would have been presumption in me to undertake the subject after it had been thus felicitously treated, did I not 20 stand committed by my previous sketch. That sketch now appeared too meagre and insufficient to satisfy public demand; yet it had to take its place in the revised series of my works unless something more satisfactory could be substituted. Under these circumstances I have again taken up the subject, and gone 25 into it with more fulness than formerly, omitting none of the facts which I considered illustrative of the life and character of the poet, and giving them in as graphic a style as I could com- mand. Still the hurried manner in which I have had to do this amidst the pressure of other claims on my attention, and with 30
3
4 PREFACE
the press dogging at my heels, has prevented me from giving some parts of the subject the thorough handling I could have wished. Those who would like to see it treated still more at large, with the addition of critical disquisitions and the advan- 5 tage of collateral facts, would do well to refer themselves to Mr. Prior's circumstantial volumes, or to the elegant and discursive pages of Mr. Forster.
For my own part, I can only regret my shortcomings in what to me is a labor of love; for it is a tribute of gratitude to the 10 memory of an author whose writings were the delight of my childhood, and have been a source of enjoyment to me through- out life ; and to whom, of all others, I may address the beauti- ful apostrophe of Dante to Virgil : —
15 Tu se' lo naio maestro°, e '1 mio autore :
Tu se' solo colui, da cu' lo tolsi Lo bello stile, che m' ha f atto onore.
W.I.
SUNNYSIDE, Aug. 1, 184:9.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER I
Birth an«[ Parentage. — Characteristics of the Goldsmitli Race. — Poetical Birthplace. — Goblin House. — Scenes of Boyhood. — Lissoy. — Pictui'e of a Country Parson. — Goldsmith's Schoolmistress. — Byrne, the Village Schoolmaster. — Goldsmith's Hornpipe and Epigram. — Uncle Contarine. — School Studies and School Sports. — Mistakes of a Night.
There are few writers for whom the reader feels such per- sonal kindness as for Oliver Goldsmith, for few have so emi- nently possessed the magic gift of identifying themselves with their writings. We read his character in every page, and grow into familiar intimacy with him as we read. The artless benevo- 5 lence that beams throughout his works ; the whimsical, yet airiiable views of human life and human nature; the unforced humor, blending so happily with good feeling and good sense, and singularly dashed at times with a pleasing melanclioly; even the very nature of his mellow, and flowing, and softly- 10 tinted style, — all seem to bespeak his moral as well as his intel- lectual qualities, and make us love the man at the same time that we admire the author. While the productions of writers of loftier pretension and more sounding names are suffered to moulder on our shelves, those of Goldsmith are cherished and 15 laid in our bosoms. We do not quote them with ostentation, but they mingle with our minds, sweeten our tempers, and har- monize our thoughts ; they put us in good-humor with ourselves and with the, world, and in so doing tliey make us happier and better men. 20
An acquaintance with the private biography of Goldsmith lets us into the secret of his gifted pages, We there discover
5
6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
them to be little more than transcripts of his own heart and. picturings of his fortunes. There he shows himself the same kind, artless, good-humored, excursive, sensible, whimsical, intel- ligent being that he appears in his writings. Scarcely an adven- 5 ture or character is given in his works that may not be traced to his own parti-colored story. Many of his most ludicrous scenes and ridiculous incidents have been drawn from his own blunders and mischances, and he seems really to have been buf- feted into almost every maxim imparted by him for the instruc-
10 tion of his reader.
Oliver Goldsmith was born on the 10th of November, 1728, at the hamlet of Pallas, or Pallasmore, county of Longford, in Ireland. He sprang from a respectable, but by no means a thrifty stock. Some families seem to inherit kindliness and
15 incompetency, and to hand down virtue and poverty from gen- eration to generation. Such was the case with the Goldsmiths. "They were always," according to their own accounts, " a strange family ; they rarely acted like other peo23le ; their hearts were in the right place, but their heads seemed to be doing anything
20 but what they ought." — " They were remarkable," says another statement, " for their worth, but of no cleverness in the ways of the world." Oliver Goldsmith will be found faithfully to inherit the virtues and weaknesses of his race.
His father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, with hereditary
25 improvidence, married when very young and very poor, and starved along for several years on a small country curacy ° and the assistance of his wife's friends. His whole income, eked out by the produce of some fields which he farmed, and of some occasional duties performed for his wife's uncle, the rector of an
30 adjoining parish, did not exceed forty pounds.
*' And passing rich with forty pounds a year."
He inhabited an old, half rustic mansion, that stood on a rising ground in a rough, lonely part of the country, overlooking a low tract occasionally flooded by the river Inny. In this house Gold- 35 smith was born, and it was a birthplace worthy of a poet ; for, by all accounts, it was haunted ground. A tradition handed down among the neighboring peasantry states that, in after-years, the
CHAPTER I 7
house, remaining for some time untenanted, went to decay, tlie root" fell in, and it became so lonely and forlorn as to "be a resort for the " good people " or fairies, who in Ireland are supposed to delight in old, crazy, deserted mansions for their midnight revels. All attempts to repair it were in vain ; the fairies battled stoutly 5 to maintain possession. A huge misshapen hobgoblin used to bestride the house every evening with an immense pair of jack- boots, which, in his efforts at hard riding, he would thrust through the roof, kicking to pieces all the work of the preced- ing day. The house was therefore left to its fate, and went to 10 ruin.
Suclj is the popular tradition about Goldsmith's birthplace. About two years after his birth a change came over the circum- stances of his father. By the death of his wife's uncle he suc- ceeded to the rectory ° of Kilkenny West ; and, abandoning the 15 old goblin mansion, he removed to Lissoy,° in the county of Westmeath, where he occupied a farm of seventy acres, situated on the skirts of that pretty little village.
This was the scene of Goldsmith's boyhood, the little world whence he drew many of those pictures, rural and domestic, 20 whimsical and touching, which abound throughout his works, and which appeal so eloquently both to the fancy and the heart. Lissoy is confidently cited as the original of his "Auburn" in the Deserted Village; his father's establishment, a mixture of farm and parsonage, furnished hints, it is said, for the rural 25 economy of the Vicar of Wakefield; and his father himself, with his learned simplicity, his guileless wisdom, his amiable piety, and utter ignorance of the world, has been exquisitely portrayed in the worthy Dr. Primrose. Let us pause for a moment, and draw from Goldsmith's writings one or two of 30 those pictures which, under feigned names, represent his father .and his family, and the happy fireside of his childish days.
" My father," says the " Man in Black," ° who, in some respects, is a counterpart of Goldsmith himself, — " my father, the younger son of a good family, was possessed of a small living 35 in the church. His education was above his fortune, and his generosity greater than his education. Poor as he was, he had his flatterers poorer than himself : for every dinner he gave them, they returned him an equivalent in praise ; and this was
8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
all he wanted. The same ambition that actuates a monarch at the head of his army, influenced my father at the head of his table ; he told the story of the ivy- tree, and that was laughed at; he repeated the jest of the two scholars and one pair of
5 breeches, and the company laughed at that ; but the story of Taffy in the sedan-chair was sure to set the table in a roar. Thus his pleasure increased in proportion to the pleasure he gave ; he loved all the world, and he fancied all the world loved him.
10 '' As his fortune was but small, he lived up to the very extent of it : he had' no intention of leaving his children money, for that was dross ; he resolved they should have learning, for learning, he used to observe, was better than silver or gold. For this purpose he undertook to instruct us himself, and took
15 as much care to form our morals as to improve our understand- ing. AVe were told that universal benevolence was what first cemented society : we were taught to consider all the wants of mankind as our own ; to regard the human face divine with affection and esteem ; he wound us up to be mere machines of
20 pity, and rendered us incapable of withstanding the slightest impulse made either by real or fictitious distress. In a word, we were perfectly instructed in the art of giving away thou- sands before we were taught the necessary qualifications of get- ting a farthing."
25 In the Deserted Village we have another picture of his father and his father's fireside : —
'* His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
30 Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast ;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ;
35 Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
40 His pity gave ere charity began."
CHAPTER 1 ^ 9
The family of the worthy pastor consisted of five sons and three daughters. Henry, the eldest, was the good man's pride and hope, and he tasked his slender means to the utmost in educating him for a learned and distinguished career. Oliver was the second son, and seven years younger than Henry, who 5 w^s the guide and protector of his childhood, and to whom he was most tenderly attached throughout life.
Oliver's education began when he was about three years old ; that is to say, he was gathered under the wings of one of those good old motherly dames, found in every village, who cluck to- 10 gether the whole callow brood of the neighborhood, to teach them ^eir letters and keep them out of harm's way. Mistress Elizabeth Delap, for that was her name, flourished in this capacity for upward of fifty years, and it was the pride and boast of her declining days, when nearly ninety years of age, 15 that she was the first that had put a book (doubtless a horn- book°) into Goldsmith's hands. Apparently he did not much profit by it, for she confessed he was one of the dullest boys she had ever dealt with, insomuch that she had sometimes doubted whether it was possible to make anything of him : a common 20 case with imaginative children, who are apt to be beguiled from the dry abstractions of elementary study by the picturings of the fancy.
At six years of age he passed into the hands of the village schoolmaster, one Thomas (or, as he was commonly and irrev-25 erently named, Paddy) Byrne, a capital tutor for a poet. He had been educated for a pedagogue, but had enlisted in the army, served abroad during the wars of Queen Anne's time,° and risen to the rank of quartermaster of a regiment in Spain. At the return of peace, having no longer exercise for the sword, 30 he resumed the ferule, and drilled the urchin populace of Lissoy. Goldsmith is supposed to have had him and his school in view in the following sketch in his Deserted Village : —
" Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom 'd iurze unprofitably gay, 35
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school ; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew :
10 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face ;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 5 Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd :
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault ;
The village all declared how much he knew, 10 'T was certain he could write, and cipher too ;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage ;
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge :
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still, 15 While words of learned length and thund'ring sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around —
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew."
There are certain whimsical traits in the character of Byrne,
20 not given in the foregoing sketch. He was fond of talking of his vagabond wanderings in foreign lands, and had brought with him from the wars a world of campaigning stories, of which he was generally the hero, and which he would deal fortli to his wondering scholars when he ought to have been teaching
25 them their lessons. These traveller's tales had a powerful effect upon the vivid imagination of Goldsmith, and awakened an unconquerable passion for wandering and seeking adventure.
Byrne was, moreover, of a romantic vein, and exceedingly superstitious. He was deeply versed in the fairy superstitions
30 which abound in Ireland, all which he professed implicitly to believe. Under his tuition Goldsmith soon became almost as great a proficient in fairy lore. From this branch of good-for- nothing knowledge, his studies, by an easy transition, extended to the histories of robbers, pirates, smugglers, and the whole
35 race of Irish rogues and rapparees. Everything, in short, that savored of romance, fable, and adventure, was congenial to his poetic mind, and took instant root there ; but the slow plants of useful knowledge were apt to be overrun, if not choked, by the weeds of his quick imagination.
40 Another trait of his motley preceptor, Byrne, was a disposi- tion to dabble in poetry, and this likewise was caught by his
CHAPTER I 11
pupil. Before he was eight years old, Goldsmith had contracted a habit of scribbling verses on small scraps of paper, which, in a little while, he would throw into the fire. A few of these sibylline leaves,° however, were rescued from the flames and conveyed to his mother. The good woman read them with a 5 mother's delight, and saw at once that her son was a genius and a poet. From that time she beset her husband with solicita- tions to give the boy an education suitable to his talents. The worthy man was already straitened by the costs of instruction of his eldest son Henry, and had intended to bring his second 10 son up to a trade ; but the mother would listen to no such thing ; as usual, her influence prevailed, and Oliver, instead of being instructed in some humble, but cheerful and gainful handicraft, was devoted to poverty and the Muse.
A severe attack of the small-pox caused him to be taken 15 from under the care of his story-telling preceptor, Byrne. His malady had nearly proved fatal, and his face remained pitted through life. On his recovery he was placed under the charge of the Rev. Mr. Griffin, schoolmaster of Elphin, in Boscommon, and became an inmate in the house of his uncle, John Gold- 20 smith, Esq., of Ballyoughter, in that vicinity. He now entered upon studies of a higher order, but without making any un- common progress. Still a careless, easy facility of disposition, an amusing eccentricity of manners, and a vein of quiet and peculiar humor, rendered him a general favorite, and a trifling 25 incident soon induced his uncle's family to concur in his mother's opinion of his genius.
A number of young folks had assembled at his uncle's to dance. One of the company, named Cummings, played on the violin. In the course of the evening Oliver undertook a horn- 30 pipe. His short and clumsy figure, and his face pitted and discolored with the small-pox, rendered him a ludicrous figure in the eyes of the musician, who made merry at his expense, dubbing him his little ^sop. Goldsmith was nettled by the jest, and stopping short in the hornpipe, exclaimed, — 35
" Our herald hath proclaimed this saying, See jEsop dancing, and his monkey playing."
The repartee was thought wonderful for a boy of nine years
12 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
old, and Oliver became forthwith the wit and the bright genius of the family. It was thought a pity he should not receive the same advantages with his elder brother Henry, who had been sent to the University; and, as his father's circumstances would 5 not afford it, several of his relatives, spurred on by the repre- sentations of his mother, agreed to contribute towards the ex- pense. The -greater part, however, was borne by his uncle, the Eev. Thomas Contarine. This worthy man had been the college companion of Bishop Berkeley,"^ and was possessed of
10 moderate means, holding the living of Carrick-on-Shannon. He had married the sister of Goldsmith's father, but was now a widower, with an only child, a daughter, named Jane. Con- tarine was a kind-hearted man, with a generosity beyond his means. He took Goldsmith into favor from his infancy ;^ his
15 house was open to him during the holidays ; his daughter Jane, two years older than the poet, was his early playmate ; and uncle Contarine continued to the last one of his most active, unwavering, and generous friends.
Fitted out in a great measure by this considerate relative,
20 Oliver was now transferred to schools of a higher order, to prepare him for the University ; first to one at Athlone, kept by the Rev. Mr. Campbell, and, at the end of two years, to one at Edgeworthstown, under the superintendence of the Rev. Patrick Hughes.
25 Even at these schools his proficiency does not appear to have been brilliant. He was indolent and careless, however, rather than dull, and, on the whole, appears to have been well thought of by his teachers. In his studies he inclined towards the Latin poets and historians; relished Ovid and Horace, and de-
30 lighted in Livy. He exercised himself with pleasure in reading and translating Tacitus, and was brought to pay attention to style in his compositions by a reproof from his brother Henry, to whom he had written brief and confused letters, and who told him in reply, that, if he had but little to say, to endeavor
35 to say that little well.
The career of his brother Henry at the University was enough to stimulate him to exertion. He seemed to be realizing all his father's hopes, and was winning collegiate honors that the good man considered indicative of his future 'success in life.
CHAPTER I 13
In the meanwhile, Oliver, if not distinguished among his teachers, was popular among his schoolmates. He had a thoughtless generosity extremely captivating to young hearts : his temper was quick and sensitive, and easily offended ; but his anger was momentary, and it was impossible for him to 5 harbor resentment. He was the leader of all boyish sports and athletic amusements, especially ball-playing, and he was fore- most in all mischievous pranks. Many years afterward, an old man. Jack Fitzsimmons, one of the directors of the sports, and keeper of the ball-court at Ballymahon, used to boast of having 10 been schoolmate of " Noll Goldsmith," as he called him, and would dwell with vainglory on one of their exploits, in robbing the orchard of Tirlicken, an old family residence of Lord An- naly. The exploit, however, had nearly involved disastrous consequences ; for the crew of juvenile depredators were cap- 15 tured like Shakspeare and his deer-stealing colleagues'^; and nothing but the respectability of Goldsmith's connections saved him from the punishment that would have awaited more ple- beian delinquents.
An amusing incident is related as occurring in Goldsmith's last 20 journey homeward from Edgeworthstown. His father's house was about twenty miles distant ; the road lay through a rough country, impassable for carriages. Goldsmith procured a horse for the journey, and a friend furnished him with a guinea for travelling expenses. He was but a stripling of sixteen, and being 25 thus suddenly mounted on horseback, with money in his pocket, it is no wonder that his head was turned. He deter- mined to play the man, and to spend his money in independent traveller's style. Accordingly, instead of pushing directly for home, he halted for the night at the little town of Ardagh, 30 and, accosting the first person he met, inquired, with some- what of a consequential air, for the best house in the place. Unluckily, the person he had accosted was one Kelly, a notorious wag, who was quartered in the family of one Mr. Featherstone, a gentleman of fortune. Amused with the self-consequence 35 of the stripling, and willing to play oif a practical joke at his expense, he directed him to what was literally " the best house in the place," namely, the family mansion of Mr. Feather- stone. Goldsmith accordingly rode up to what he supposed
14 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
to be an inn, ordered his horse to be taken to the stable, walked into the parlor, seated himself by the fire, and de- manded what he could have for supper. On ordinary occa- sions he was diffident and even awkward in his manners, 5 but here he was " at ease in his inn," and felt called upon to show his manhood and enact the experienced traveller. His person was by no means calculated to play off his pretensions, for he was short and thick, with a pock-marked face, and an air and carriage by no means of a distinguished cast. The owner
10 of the house, however, soon discovered his whimsical mistake, and, being a man of humor, determined to indulge it, especially as he accidentally learned that this intruding guest was the son of an old acquaintance.
Accordingly, Goldsmith was " fooled to the top of his bent,"
15 and permitted to have full sway throughout the evening. I^ever was schoolboy more elated. When supper was served, he most condescendingly insisted that the landlord, his wife, and daugh- ter should partake, and ordered a bottle of wine to crown the repast and benefit the house. His last flourish was on
20 going to bed, when he gave especial orders to have a hot cake at breakfast. His confusion and dismay, on discovering the next morning that he had been swaggering in this free and easy way in the house of a private gentleman, may be readily conceived. True to his habit of turning the events of his life
25 to literary account, we find this chapter of ludicrous blunders and cross-purposes dramatized many years afterward in his admirable comedy of She Stoops to Conquer or The Mistakes of a Night.
CHAPTER n
Improvident Marriages in the Goldsmith Family. — Goldsmith at the University. — Situation of a Sizer. — Tyranny of Wilder, the Tutor. — Pecuniary Straits. — Street-Ballads. — College Eiot. — Gallows Walsh. — College Prize. — A Dance interrupted.
While Oliver was making his way somewhat negligently
30 through the schools, his elder brother Henry was rejoicing his
father's heart by his career at the University. He soon dis-
CHAPTER II 15
tinguished himself at the examinations, and obtained a scholar- ship in 1743. This is a collegiate distinction which serves as a stepping-stone in any of the learned professions, and which leads to advancement in the University should the individual choose to remain there. His father now trusted that he would 5 push forward for that comfortable provision, a fellowship, and thence to higher dignities and emoluments. Henry, however, had the improvidence or the." unworldliness " of his race : returning to the country during the succeeding vacation, he married for love, relinquished, of course, all his collegiate pros- 10 pects and advantages, set up a school in his father's neigh- borhooji, and buried his talents and acquirements for the remainder of his life in a curacy of forty pounds a year.
Another matrimonial event occurred not long afterward in the Goldsmith family, to disturb the equanimity of its worthy 15 head. This was the clandestine marriage of his daughter Catherine with a young gentleman of the name of Hodson, who had been confided to the care of her brother Henry to complete his studies. As the youth was of wealthy parentage, it was thought a lucky match for the Goldsmith family ; but the 20 tidings of the event stung the- bride's father to the soul. Proud of his integrity, and jealous of that good name which was his chief possession, he saw himself and his family sub- jected to the degrading suspicion of having abused a trust reposed in them to promote a mercenary match. In the first 25 transports of his feelings, he is said to have uttered a wish that his daughter might never have a child to bring like shame and sorrow on her head. The hasty wish, so contrary to the usual benignity of the man, was recalled and repented of almost as soon as uttered ; but it was considered baleful in its effects by 30 the susperstitious neighborhood ; for, though his daughter bore three children, they all died before her.
A more effectual measure was taken by Mr. Goldsmith to ward off the apprehended imputation, but one which imposed a heavy burden on his family. This was to furnish a marriage 35 portion of four hundred pounds, that his daughter might not be said to have entered her husband's family empty-handed. To raise the sum in cash was impossible; but he assigned, to Mr. Hodson his little farm and the income of his tithes until
16 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
the marriage portion should be paid. In the mean time, as his living did not amount to £200 per annum, he had to practise the strictest economy to pay off gradually this heavy tax incurred by his nice sense of honor. 5 The first of his family to feel the effects of this economy was Oliver. The time had now arrived for him to be sent to the University; and, accordingly, on the 11th June, 1745,° when seventeen years of age, he entered Trinity College, Dublin ; but his father was no longer able to place him there as a pensioner,"
10 as he had done his eldest son Henry ; he was obliged, therefore, to enter him as a sizer, or " poor scholar." He was lodged in one of the top rooms adjoining the library of the building, numbered 35, where it is said his name may still be seen, scratched by himself upon a window-frame.°
15 A student of this class is taught and boarded gratuitously, and has to pay but a small sum for his room. It is expected, in return for these advantages, that he will be a diligent student, and render himself useful in a variety of ways. In Trinity College, at the time of Goldsmith's admission, several deroga-
20 tory, and, indeed, menial offices were exacted from the sizer, as if the college sought to indemnify itself for conferring benefits by inflicting indignities. He was obliged to sweep part of the courts in the morning; to carry up the dishes from the kitchen to the fellows' table, and to wait in the hall until that body had
25 dined. His very dress marked the inferiority of the " poor stu- dent " to his happier classmates. It was a black gown of coarse stuff without sleeves, and a plain black cloth cap without a tas- sel. We can conceive nothing more odious and ill-judged than these distinctions, which attached the idea of degradation to
30 poverty, and placed the indigent youth of merit below the
worthless minion of fortune. They were calculated to wound
and irritate the noble mind, and to render the base mind baser.
Indeed, the galling effect of these servile tasks upon youths of
proud spirits and quick sensibilities became at length too noto-
35 rious to be disregarded. About fifty years since, on a Trinity Sunday, a number of persons were assembled to witness the col- lege ceremonies ; and as a sizer was carrying up a dish of meat to the fellows' table, a burly citizen in the crowd made some sneering observation on the servility of his office. Stung to the
CHAPTER II 17
quick, the high-spirited youth instantly flung the dish and its contents at the head of the sneerer. The sizer was sharply reprimanded for this outbreak of wounded pride, but the de- grading task was from that day forward very properly consigned to menial hands. 5
It was with the utmost repugnance that Goldsmith entered college in this capacity. His shy and sensitive nature was affected by the inferior station he was doomed to hold among his gay and opulent fellow-students, and he became, at times, moody and despondent. A recollection of these early mortifications 10 induced him, in after-years, most strongly to dissuade his brothei»- Henry, the clergyman, from sending a son to college on alike footing. "If he has ambition, strong passions, and an exquisite sensibility of contempt, do not send him there, unless you have no other trade for him except your own." 15
To add to his annoyances, the fellow of the college who had the peculiar control of his studies, the Rev. Theaker Wilder, was a man of violent and capricious temper, and of diametrically opposite tastes. The tutor was devoted to the exact sciences; Goldsmith was for the classics. Wilder endeavored to force his 20 favorite studies upon the student by harsh means, suggested by his own coarse and savage nature. He abused him in presence of the class as ignorant and stupid ; ridiculed him as awkward and ugly, and at times in the transports of his temper indulged in personal violence. The effect was to aggravate a passive dis- 25 taste into a positive aversion. Goldsmith was loud in express- ing his contempt for mathematics and his dislike of ethics and logic ; and the prejudices thus imbibed continued through life. Mathematics he always pronounced a science to which the meanest intellects were competent. 30
A truer cause of this distaste for the severer studies may probably be found in his natural indolence and his love of con- vivial pleasures. " I was a lover of mirth, good-humor, and even sometimes of fun," said he, "from my childhood." He sang a good song, was a boon companion, and could not resist any 35 temptation to social enjoyment. He endeavored to persuade himself that learning and dulness went hand in hand, and that genius was not to be put in harness. Even in riper years, when the consciousness of his own deficiencies ought to have con-
18 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
vinced him of the importance of early study, he speaks slight- ingly of college honors.
" A lad," says he,° " whose passions are not strong enough in youth to mislead him from that path of science which his tutors, 5 and not his inclination, have chalked out, by four or live years' perseverance will probably obtain every advantage and honor his college can bestow. I would compare the man whose youth has been thus passed in tranquillity of dispassionate prudence, to liquors that never ferment, and, consequently, continue
10 always muddy."
The death of his worthy father, which took place early in 1747, rendered Goldsmith's situation at college extremely irk- some. His mother was left with little more than the means of providing for the wants of her household, and was unable to
15 furnish him any remittances. He would have been compelled, therefore, to leave college, had it not been for the occasional contributions of friends, the foremost among whom was his generous and warm-hearted uncle Contarine. Still these sup- plies were so scanty and precarious, that in the intervals be-
20 1 ween them he was put to great straits. He had two college associates from whom he would occasionally borrow small sums ; one was an early schoolmate, by the name of Beatty ; the other a cousin, and the chosen companion of his frolics, Ivobert (or rather Bob) Bryanton, of Ballymulvey House near Ballymahon.
25 When these casual supplies failed him, he was more than once obliged to raise funds for his immediate wants by pawning his books. At times he sank into despondency, but he had what he termed " a knack at hoping," which soon buoyed him up again. He began now to resort to his poetical vein as a source
30 of profit, scribbling street-ballads, which he privately sold for five shillings each at a shop which dealt in such small wares of literature. He felt an author's affection for these unowned bantlings, and we are told would stroll privately through the streets at night to hear them sung, listening to the comments
35 and criticisms of by-standers, and observing the degree of ap- plause which each received.
Edmund Burke° was a fellow-student with Goldsmith at the college. Neither the statesman, nor the poet gave promise of their future celebrity, though Burke certainly surpassed his
CHAPTER II 19
contemporary in industry and application, and evinced more disposition for self-improvement, associating himself with a number of his fellow-students in a debating club, in which they discussed literary topics, and exercised themselves in composition.
Goldsmith may likewise have belonged to this association, 5 but his propensity was rather to mingle with the gay and thoughtless. On one occasion we find him implicated in an affair that came nigh producing his expulsion. A report was brought to college that a scholar was in the hands of the bailiffs. This was an insult in which every gownsman felt 10 himself involved. A number of the scholars flew to arms, and sallied forth to battle, headed by a hair-brained fellow nick- named " Gallows" Walsh, noted for his aptness at mischief and fondness for riot. The stronghold of the bailiff was carried by storm, the scholar set at liberty, and the delinquent catch-pole° 15 borne off captive to the college, where, having no pump to put him under, they satisfied the demands of collegiate law by duck- ing him in an old cistern.
Flushed with this signal victory. Gallows Walsh now ha- rangued his followers, and proposed to break open Newgate, or 20 the Black Dog, as the prison was called, and effect a general jail-delivery. He was answered by shouts of concurrence, and away went the throng of madcap youngsters, fully bent upon putting an end to the tyranny of law. They were joined by the mob of the city, and made an attack upon the prison with 25 true Irish precipitation and thoughtlessness, never having pro- vided themselves with cannon to batter its stone walls. A few shots from the prison brought them to their senses, and they beat a hasty retreat, two of the townsmen being killed, and several wounded. 30
A severe scrutiny of this affair took place at the University. Four students, who had been ringleaders, were expelled ; four others, who had been prominent in the affray, were publicly ad- monished ; among the latter was the unlucky Goldsmith.
To make up for this disgrace, he gained, within a month 35 afterward, one of the minor prizes of the college. It is true it was one of the very smallest, amounting in pecuniary value to but thirty shillings, but it was the first distinction he had gained in his whole collegiate career. This turn of success and
20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
sudden influx of wealth proved too much for the head of our poor student. He forthwith gave a supper and dance at his chamber to a number of young persons of both sexes from the city, in direct violation of college rules. The unwonted sound 5 of the fiddle reached the ears of the implacable Wilder. He rushed to the scene of unhallowed festivity, inflicted corporal punishment on the " father of the feast," and turned his aston- ished guests neck and heels out-of-doors.
This filled the measure of poor Goldsmith's humiliations ; he
10 felt degraded both within college and without. He dreaded the ridicule of his fellow-students for the ludicrous termination of his orgie, and he was ashamed to meet his city acquaint- ances after the degrading chastisement received in their pres- ence, and after their own ignominious expulsion. Above all, he
15 felt it impossible to submit any longer to the insulting tyranny of Wilder : he determined, therefore, to leave, not merely the college, but also his native land, and to bury what he conceived to be his irretrievable disgrace in some distant country. He ac- cordingly sold his books and clothes, and sallied forth from the
20 college walls the very next day, intending to embark at Cork for — he scarce knew where — America, or any other part beyond sea. With his usual heedless imprudence, however, he loitered about Dublin until his finances were reduced to a shilling ; with this amount of specie he set out on his journey.
25 For three whole days he subsisted on his shilling ; when that was spent, he parted with some of the clothes from his back, until, reduced almost to nakedness, he was four-and- twenty hours without food, insomuch that he declared a handful of gray peas, given to him by a girl at a wake, was one of the
30 most delicious repasts he had ever tasted. Hunger, fatigue, and destitution brought down his spirit and calmed his anger. Fain would he have retraced his steps, could he have done so with any salvo for the lingerings of his pride. In his extremity he conveyed to his brother Henry information of his distress, and
35 of the rash project on which he had set out. His affectionate brother hastened to his relief ; furnished him with money and clothes; soothed his feelings with gentle counsel; prevailed upon him to return to college, and effected an indifferent recon- ciliation between him and Wilder.
CHAPTER II 21
After this irregular sally upon life he remained nearly two years longer at the University, giving proofs of talent in occa- sional translations from the classics, for one of which he received a premium, awarded only to those who are the first in literary merit. Still he never made much figure at college, his nat- 5 ural disinclination to study being increased by the harsh treat- ment he continued to experience from his tutor.
Among the anecdotes told of him while at college is one in- dicative of that prompt but thoughtless and often whimsical benevolence which throughout life formed one of the most ec- 10 centric, yet endearing points of his character. He was engaged to brea4tfast one day with a college intimate, but failed to make his appearance. His friend repaired to his room, knocked at the door, and was bidden to enter. To his surprise, he found Goldsmith in his bed, immersed to his chin in feathers. A 15 serio-comic story explained the circumstance. In the course of the preceding evening's stroll he had met with a woman with five children, who implored his charity. Her husband was in the hospital; she was just from the country, a stranger, and destitute, without food or shelter for her helpless offspring. 20 This was too much for the kind heart of Goldsmith. He was almost as poor as herself, it is true, and had no money in his pocket; but he brought her to the college-gate, gave her the blankets from his bed to cover her little brood, and part of his clothes for her to sell and purchase food ; and, finding himself 25 cold during the night, had cut open his bed and buried himself among the feathers.
At length, on the 27th of Febraary, 1749, O. S.,° he was ad- mitted to the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and took his final leave of the University. He was freed from college rule, that 30 emancipation so ardently coveted by the thoughtless student, and which too generally launches him amid the cares, the hard- ships, and vicissitudes of life. He was freed, too, from the bru- tal tyranny of Wilder. If his kind and placable nature could retain any resentment for past injuries, it might have been 35 gratified by learning subsequently that the passionate career of Wilder was terminated by a violent death in the course of a dissolute brawl ; but Goldsmith took no delight in the misfor- tunes even of his enemies.
22 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
He now returned to his friends, no longer the student to sport away the happy interval of vacation, but the anxious man, who is henceforth to shift for himself and make his way through the world. In fact, he had no legitimate home to return to. 5 At the death of his father, the paternal house at Lissoy, in which Goldsmith had passed his childhood, had been taken by Mr. Hodson, who had married his sister Catherine. His mother had removed to Ballymahon, where she occupied a small house, and had to practise the severest frugality. His elder brother
10 Henry served the curacy and taught the school of his late father's parish, and lived in narrow circumstances at Gold- smith's birthplace, the old goblin -house at Pallas.
None of his relatives were in circumstances to aid him with anything more than a temjDorary home, and the aspect of every
15 one seemed somewhat changed. In fact, his career at college had disappointed his friends, and they began to doubt his being the great genius they had fancied him. He whimsically alludes to this circumstance in that piece of autobiography, The Man in Black, in the Citizen of the World.
20 " The first opportunity my father had of finding his expecta- tions disappointed was in the middling figure I made at the University : he had flattered himself that he should soon see me rising into the foremost rank in literary reputation, but was mortified to find me utterly unnoticed and unknown.
25 His disappointment might have been partly ascribed to his having overrated my talents, and partly to my dislike of math- ematical reasonings at a time when my imagination and mem- ory, yet unsatisfied, were more eager after new objects than desirous of reasoning upon those I knew. This, however, did
30 not please my tutors, who observed, indeed, that I was a little dull, but at the same time allowed that I seemed to be very good-natured, and had no harm in me." ^
The only one of his relatives who did not appear to lose faith in him was his uncle Contarine. This kind and considerate
35 man, it is said, saw in him a warmth of heart requiring some skill to direct, and a latent genius that wanted time to mature ; and these impressions none of his subsequent follies and irregu-
1 Citizen of the World, letter xxvii.
CHAPTER II 23
larities wholly obliterated. His purse and affection, therefore, as well as his house, were now open to him, and he became his chief counsellor and director after his father's death. He urged him to prepare for holy orders ; and others of his relatives con- curred in the advice. Goldsmith had a settled repugnance to a 5 clerical life. This has been ascribed by some to conscientious scruples, not considering himself of a temper and frame of mind for such a sacred office ; others attributed it to his roving pro- pensities, and his desire to visit foreign countries ; he himself gives a whimsical objection in his biography of The Man in 10 Black: — "To be obliged to wear a long wig when I liked a short oiie, or a black coat when I generally dressed in brown, I thought such a restraint upon my liberty that I absolutely re- jected the proposal."
In effect, however, his scruples were overruled, and he agreed 15 to qualify himself for the office. He was now only twenty-one, and must pass two years of probation. They were two years of rather loitering, unsettled life. Sometimes he was at Lissoy, participating with thoughtless enjoyment in the rural sports and occupations of his brother-in-law, Mr. Hodson ; sometimes 20 he was with his brother Henry, at the old goblin mansion at Pallas, assisting him occasionally in his school. The early marriage and unambitious retirement of Henry, though so sub- versive of the fond plans of his father, had proved happy in their results. He was already surrounded by a blooming f am- 25 ily ; he was contented with his lot, beloved by his parishioners, and lived in the daily practice of all the amiable virtues, and the immediate enjoyment of their reward. Of the tender affec- tion inspired in the breast of Goldsmith by the constant kind- ness of this excellent brother, and of the longing recollection 30 with which, in the lonely wanderings of after-years, he looked back upon this scene of domestic felicity, we have a touch- ing instance in the well-known opening to his poem of The Traveller : —
" Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 35
Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po ;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
24 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my hrother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
*' Eternal hlessings crown my earliest friend, 5 And round his dwelling guardian saints attend;
Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire;
Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair : 10 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, 15 And learn the luxury of doing good."
During this loitering life Goldsmith pursued no study, but rather amused himself with miscellaneous reading; such as biography, travels, poetry, novels, plays — everything, in short, that administered to the imagination. Sometimes he strolled
20 along the banks of the river Inny ; where, in after-years, when he had become famous, his favorite seats and haunts used to be pointed out. Often he joined in the rustic sports of the vil- lagers, and became adroit at throwing the sledge, a favorite feat of activity and strength in Ireland. Recollections of these
25 " healthful sports " we find in his Deserted Village : —
" How often have I bless'd the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree : 30 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground.
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round."
A boon companion in all his rural amusements was his cousin and college crony, Robert Bryanton, with whom he sojourned occasionally at Ballymulvey House in the neighborhood. They 35 used to make excursions about the country on foot, sometimes fishing, sometimes hunting otter in the limy. They got up a country club at the little inn of Ballymahon, of which Gold- smith soon became the oracle and prime wit; astonishing his unlettered associates by his learning, and being considered cap-
CHAPTER II 25
ital at a song and a story. From the rustic conviviality of the inn at Ballymahon, and the company which used to assemble there, it is surmised that he took some hints in after-life for his picturing of Tony Lumpkin and his associates^ : "Dick Mug- gins, the exciseman; Jack Slang, the horse-doctor; little Amin-5 idab, that grinds the music-box, and Tom Twist, that spins the pewter platter." Nay, it is thought that Tony's drinking- song at the " Three Jolly Pigeons " ° was but a revival of one of the convivial catches at Ballymahon : —
" Then come put the jorum about, 10
And let us be merry and clever, -Our hearts and our liquors are stout,
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons forever. Let some cry of woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons 15
But of all the gay birds in the air, Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll."
Notwithstanding all these accomplishments and this rural popularity, his friends began to shake their heads and shrug 20 their shoulders when they spoke of him; and his brother Henry noted with anything but satisfaction his frequent visits to the club at Ballymahon. He emerged, however, unscathed from this dangerous ordeal, more fortunate in this respect than his com- rade Bryanton ; but he retained throughout life a fondness for 25 clubs: often, too, in the course of his checkered career, he looked back to this period of rural sports and careless enjoy- ments as one of the few sunny spots of his cloudy life ; and though he ultimately rose to associate with birds of a finer feather, his heart would still yearn in secret after the " Three 30 Jolly Pigeons."
26 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER III
Goldsmith rejected by the Bishop. — Second Sally to see the World. — Takes Passage for America. — Ship sails without him. — Return on Fiddle-back. — A hospitable Friend. — The Counsellor.
The time had now arrived for Goldsmith to apply for orders, and he presented himself accordingly before the Bishop of Elphin for ordination. We have stated his great objection to clerical life, the obligation to wear a black coat ; and, whimsi-
5 cal as it may appear, dress seems in fact to have formed an obstacle to his entrance into the Church. He had ever a passion for clothing his sturdy but awkward little person in gay colors; and on this solemn occasion, when it was to be supposed his garb would be of suitable gravity, he appeared luminously arrayed
10 in scarlet breeches ! He was rejected by the bishoj) : some say for want of sufficient studious preparation; his rambles and frolics with Bob Bryanton, and his revels with the club at Ballymahon, having been much in the way of his theological studies ; others attribute his rejection to reports of his college
15 irregularities, which the Bishop had received from his old tyraut Wilder ; but those who look into the matter with more know- ing eyes, pronounce the scarlet breeches to have been the fun- damental objection. "My friends," says Goldsmith, speaking through his humorous representative, the "Man in Black," —
20 " my friends were now perfectly satisfied I was undone ; and yet they thought it a pity for one that had not the least harm in him, and was so very good-natured." His uncle Contarine, however, still remained unwavering in his kindness, though much less sanguine in his expectations. He now looked round
25 for a humbler sphere of action, and through his influence and exertions Oliver was received as tutor in the family of a Mr. Flinn, a gentleman of the neighborhood. The situation was apparently respectable ; he had his seat at the table ; and joined the family in their domestic recreations and their evening game
30 at cards. There was a servility, however, in his position, which was not to his taste ; nor did his deference for the family in-
CHAPTER III 27
crease upon familiar intercourse. He charged a member of it with unfair play at cards. A violent altercation ensued, which ended in his throwing up his situation as tutor. On being paid off he found himself in possession of an unheard-of amount of money. His wandering propensity and his desire to see the 5 world were instantly in the ascendency. Without communicat- ing his plans or intentions to his friends, he procured a good horse, and, with thirty pounds in his pocket, made a second sally forth into the world.
The worthy niece and housekeeper of the hero of La Mancha'^ 10 could not have been more surprised and dismayed at one of the Don's clandestine expeditions than were the mother and friends of Gol(^mith when they heard of his mysterious departure. Weeks elapsed, and nothing was seen or heard of him. It was feared that he had left the country on one of his wandering 15 freaks, and his poor mother was reduced almost to despair when one day he arrived at her door almost as forlorn in plight as the prodigal son. Of his thirty pounds not a shilling was left; and, instead of the goodly steed on which he had issued forth on his errantry, he was mounted on a sorry little pony, 20 which he had nicknamed Fiddle-back. As soon as his mother wai^ well assured of his safety, she rated him soundly for his inconsiderate conduct. His brothers and sisters, who were ten- derly attached to him, interfered, and succeeded in mollifying her ire ; and whatever lurking anger the good dame might 25 have, was no doiibt effectually vanquished by the following whimsical narrative which he drew uj) at his brother's house and dispatched to her : —
" My dear mother,° if you will sit down and calmly listen to w^hat I say, you shall be fully resolved in every one of those 30 many questions you have asked me. I went to Cork and con- verted my horse, which you prize so much higher than Fiddle- back, into cash, took my passage in a ship bound for America, and, at the same time, paid the captain for my freight and all the other expenses of my voyage. But it so happened that the 35 wind did not answer for three weeks, and you know, mother, that I could not command the elements. My misfortune was, that, when the wind served, I happened to be with a party in the country, and my friend the captain never inquired after
28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
me, but set sail with as much indifference as if I had been on board. The remainder of my time I employed in the city and its environs, viewing everything curious, and you know no one can starve while he has money in his pocket. 5 " Reduced, however, to my last two guineas, I began to think of my dear mother and friends whom I had left behind me, and so bought that generous beast, Fiddle-back, and bade adieu to Cork with only five shillings in my pocket. This, to be sure, was but a scanty allowance for man and horse towards a
10 journey of above a hundred miles ; but I did not despair, for I knew I must find friends on the road.
" I recollected particularly an old and faithful acquaintance I made at college, who had often and earnestly pressed me to spend a summer with him, and he lived but eiglit miles from
15 Cork. This circumstance of vicinity he would expatiate on to me with peculiar emphasis. ' We shall,' says he, ' enjoy the delights of both city and country, and you shall command my stable and my purse.'
" However, upon the way I met a poor woman all in tears,
20 who told me her husband had been arrested for a debt he was not able to pay, and that his eight children must now starve, bereaved as they w^ere of his industry, which had been their only support. I thought myself at home, being not far from my good friend's house, and therefore parted with a moiety of
25 all my store, and pray, mother, ought I not have given her the other half-crown, for what she got would be of little use to her? However, I soon arrived at the mansion of my affectionate friend, guarded by the vigilance of a huge mastiff, who flew at me and would have torn me to pieces but for the assistance of
30 a woman, whose countenance was not less griiu than that of the dog ; yet she with great humanity relieved me from the jaws of this Cerberus,® and was prevailed on to carry up my name to her master.
" Without suffering me to wait long, my old friend, who was
35 then recovering from a severe fit t)f sickness, came down in his nightcap, nightgown, and slippers, and embraced me with the most cordial welcome, showed me in, and, after giving me a history of his indisposition, assured me that he considered him- self peculiarly fortunate in having under his roof the man he
CHAPTER III 29
most loved on earth, and whose stay with him must, above all things, contribute to perfect his recovery. I now repented sorely I had not given the poor woman the other half- crown, as I thought all my bills of humanity would be punctu- ally answered by this worthy man. I revealed to him my 5 whole soul ; I opened to him all my distresses ; and freely owned that I had but one half-crown in my pocket; but that now like a ship after weathering out the storm, I considered myself secure in a safe and hospitable harbor. He made no answer, but walked about the room, rubbing his hands as one 10 in deep study. This I imputed to the sympathetic feelings of a tender ijeart, which increased my esteem for him, and, as that increased, I gave the most favorable interpretation to his silence. I construed it into delicacy of sentiment, as if he dreaded to wound my pride by expressing his commiseration in 15 words, leaving his generous conduct to speak for itself.
" It now approached six o'clock in the evening ; and as I had eaten no breakfast, and as my spirits were raised, my appetite for dinner grew uncommonly keen. At length the old woman came into the room with two plates, one spoon, and a dirty 20 cloth, which she laid upon the table. This appearance, without increasing my spirits, did not diminish my appetite. My pro- tectress soon returned with a small bowl of sago, a small por- ringer of sour milk, a loaf of stale brown bread, and the heel of an old cheese all over crawling with mites. My friend apolo- 25 gized that his illness obliged him to live on slops, and that better fare was not in the house ; observing, at the same time, that a milk diet was certainly the most healthful ; and at eight o'clock he again recommended a regular life, declaring that for his part he would lie down ivith the lamb and rise ivith the lark. 30 My hunger was at this time so exceedingly sharp that I wished for another slice of the loaf, but was obliged to go to bed with- out even that refreshment.
" This lenten entertainment I had received made me resolve to depart as soon as possible ; accordingly, next morning, when 35 I spoke of going, he did not oppose my resolution ; he rather commended my design, adding some very sage counsel upon the occasion. ' To be sure,' said he, ' the longer you stay away from your mother, the more you will grieve her and your other
30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
friends; and possibly they are already afflicted at hearing of this foolish expedition you have made.' J^otwithstanding all this, and without any hope of softening such a sordid heart, I again renewed the tale of my distress, and asking ' how he 5 thought I could travel above a hundred miles upon one half- crown ? ' I begged to borrow a single guinea, which I assured him should be repaid with thanks. ' And you know, sir,' said I, ' it is no more than I have done for you.' To which he firmly answered, ' Why, look you, Mr. Goldsmith, that is neither here
10 nor there. I have paid you all you ever lent me, and this sickness of mine has left me bare of cash. But I have be- thought myself of a conveyance for you ; sell your horse, and I will furnish you a much better one to ride on.' I readily grasped at his proposal, and begged to see the nag ; on which
15 he led me to his bedchamber, and from under the bed he pulled out a stout oak stick. ' Here he is,' said he ; ' take this in your hand, and it will carry you to your mother's with more safety than such a horse as you ride.' I was in doubt, when I got it into my hand, whether I should not, in the first place, apply it
20 to his pate ; but a rap at the street-door made the wretch fly to it, and when I returned to the parlor he introduced me, as if nothing of the kind had happened, to the gentleman who entered, as Mr. Goldsmith, his most ingenious and worthy friend, of whom he had so often heard him speak with rapture.
25 1 could scarcely compose myself ; and must have betrayed in- dignation in my mien to the stranger, who was a counsellor-at- law in the neighborhood, a man of engaging aspect and polite address.
" After spending an hour, he asked my friend and me to dine
30 with him at his house. This I declined at first, as I wished to have no farther communication with my hospitable friend ; but at the solicitation of both I at last consented, determined as I was by two motives: one, that I was prejudiced in favor of the looks and manner of the counsellor ; and the other, that I stood
35 in need of a comfortable dinner. And there, indeed, I found everything that I could wish, abundance without profusion, and elegance without affectation. In the evening, when my old friend, who had eaten very plentifully at his neighbor's table, but talked again of lying down with the lamb, made a
CHAPTER III 31
motion to me for retiring, our generous host requested I should take a bed with him, upon which I plainly told my old friend that he might go home and take care of the horse he had given me, but that I should never reenter his doors. He went away with a laugh, leaving me to add this to the other little things 5 the counsellor already knew of his plausible neighbor,
" And now, my dear mother, I found sufficient to reconcile me to all my follies ; for here I spent three whole days. The counsellor had two sweet girls to his daughters, who played enchantingly on the harpsichord ; and yet it was but a melan- 10 choly pleasure I felt the first time I heard them ; for that being the first time also that either of them had touched the instru- ment since their mother's death, I saw the tears in silence trickle down their father's cheeks. I every day endeavored to go away, but every day was pressed and obliged to stay. On my 15 going, the counsellor offered me his purse, with a horse and servant to convey me home ; but the latter I declined, and only took a guinea to bear my necessary expenses on the road.
" Oliver Goldsmith.
" To Mrs. Anne Goldsmith, Ballymahon." 20
Such is the story given by the poet-errant of this his second sally in quest of adventures. We cannot but think it was here and there touched up a little with the fanciful pen of the future essayist, with a view to amuse his mother and soften her vexa- tion ; but even in these respects it is valuable as showing the 25 early play of his humor, and his happy knack of extracting sweets from that worldly experience which to others yields nothing but bitterness.
32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER IV
Sallies forth as a Law Student. — Stumbles at the Outset. — Cousin Jane and the Valentine. — A Family Oracle. — Sallies forth as a Student of Medicine. — Hocus-pocus of a Boarding-House. — Transformations of a Leg of Mutton. — The mock Ghost. — Sketches of Scotland.— Trials of Toadyism. — A Poet's Purse for a Continental Tour.
A NEW consultation was held among Goldsmith's friends as to his future course, and it was determined he should try the law. His uncle Contarine agreed to advance the necessary funds, and actually furnished him with fifty pounds, with which
5 he set off for London, to enter on his studies at the Temple. ° Unfortunately, he fell in company at Dublin with a Roscommon acquaintance, one whose wits had been sharpened about town, who beguiled him into a gambling-house, and soon left him as penniless as when he bestrode the redoubtable Fiddle-back.
10 He was so ashamed at this fresh instance of gross heedless- ness and imprudence, that he remained some time in Dublin without communicating to his friends his destitute condition. They heard of it, however, and he was invited back to the country, and indulgently forgiven by his generous uncle, but
15 less readily by his mother, who was mortified and disheartened at seeing all her early hopes of him so repeatedly blighted. His brother Henry, too, began to lose patience at these succes- sive failures, resulting from thoughtless indiscretion; and a quarrel took place, which for some time interrupted their usu-
20 ally affectionate intercourse.
The only home where poor erring Goldsmith still received a welcome, was the parsonage of his affectionate forgiving uncle. Here he used to talk of literature with the good simple-hearted man, and delight him and his daughter with his verses.
25 Jane, his early playmate, was now the woman grown; their intercourse was of a more intellectual kind than formerly ; they discoursed of poetry and music ; she played on the harpsichord, and he accompanied her with his flute. The music may not have been very artistic, as he never performed but by ear ; it
CHAPTER IV 33
had probably as much merit as the poetry, which, if we may judge by the following specimen, was as yet but juvenile : —
TO A YOUNG LADY ON VALENTINE'S DAY
WITH THE DRAWING OF A HEART
With submission at your shrine, 5
Comes a heart your Valentine ; From the side where once it grew, See it panting flies to you. Take it, fair one, to your breast,
Soothe the fluttering thing to rest ; 10
* Let the gentle, spotless toy
Be your sweetest, greatest joy;
Every night when wrapp'd in sleep.
Next your heart the conquest keep ;
Or if dreams your fancy move, 15
Hear it whisper me and love ;
Then in pity to the swain,
Who must heartless else remain,
Soft as gentle dewy show'rs,
Slow descend on April flow'rs; 20
Soft as gentle riv'lets glide,
Steal unnoticed to my side ;
If the gem you have to spare,
Take your own and place it there.
If this Valentine was intended for the fair Jane, and expres-25 sive of a tender sentiment indulged by the stripling poet, it was unavailing ; as not long afterwards she was married to a Mr. Lawder. We trust, however, it was bitt a poetical passion of that transient kind which grows up in idleness and exhales itself in rhyme. While Oliver was thus piping and poetizing 30 at the parsonage, his uncle Contarine received a visit from Dean Goldsmith of Cloyne, — a kind of magnate in the wide but improvident family connection, throughout which his word was law and almost gospel. This august dignitary was pleased to discover signs of talent in Oliver, and suggested that, as he had 35 attempted divinity and law without success, he should now try physic. The advice came from too important a source to be disregarded, and it was determined to send him to Edinburgh to commence his studies. The Dean having given the advice,
34 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
added to it, we -trust, his blessing, but no money; that was furnished from the scantier purses of Goldsmith's brother, his sister (Mrs. Hodson), and his ever-ready uncle, Contarine. It was in the autumn of 1752 that Goldsmith arrived in 5 Edinburgh. His outset in that city came near adding to the list of his indiscretions and disasters. Having taken lodgings at haphazard, he left his trunk there, containing all his worldly effects, and sallied forth to see the town. After sauntering about the streets until a late hour, he thought of returning
10 home, when, to his confusion, he found he had not acquainted himself with the name either of his landlady or of the street in which she lived. Fortunately, in the height of his whimsical perplexity, he met the cawdy° or porter who had carried his trunk, and who now served him as a guide.
35 He did not remain long in the lodgings in which he had put up. The hostess was too adroit at that hocus-pocus of the table which often is practised in cheap boarding-houses. No one could conjure a single joint through a greater variety of forms. A loin of mutton, according to Goldsmith's account, would serve
20 him and two fellow-students a whole week. " A brandered chop was served up one day, a fried steak another, collops with onion-sauce a third, and so on until the fleshy parts were quite consumed, when finally a dish of broth was manufactured from the bones on the seventh day, and the landlady rested from her
25 labors." Goldsmith had a good-humored mode of taking things, and for a short time amused himself with the shifts and expedi- ents of his landlady, which struck him in a ludicrous manner ; he soon, however, fell in with fellow-students from his own coun- try, whom he joined at more eligible quarters.
30 He now attended medical lectures, and attached himself to an association of students called the Medical Society. He set out, as usual, with the best intentions, but, as usual, soon fell into idle, convivial, thoughtless habits. Edinburgh was indeed a place of sore trial for one of his temperament. Convivial
35 meetings were all the vogue, and the tavern was the universal r a] lying-place of good-fellowship. And then Goldsmith's inti- macies lay chiefly among the Irish students, who were always ready for a wild freak and frolic. Among them he was a prime favorite and somewhat of a leader, from his exuberance of
CHAPTER IV â– 35
spirits, his vein of humor, and his talent at singing an Irish song and telling an Irish story.
His usual carelessness in money-matters attended him. Though his supplies from home were scanty and irregular, he never could bring himself into habits of prudence and economy; 5 often he was stripped of all his present finances at play ; often he lavished them away in fits of unguarded charity or generosity. Sometimes among his boon companions he assumed a ludicrous swagger in money-matters, which no one afterward was more ready than himself to laugh at. At a convivial meeting with a 10 number of his fellow-students he suddenly proposed to draw lots with any one present which of the two should treat the whole party to the play. The moment the proposition had bolted from his lips, his heart was in his throat. " To my great though secret joy," said he, " they all declined the challenge. 15 Had it been accepted, and had I proved the loser, a part of my wardrobe must have been pledged in order to raise the money."
At another of these meetings there was an earnest dispute on the question of ghosts, some being firm believers in the possi- bility of departed spirits returning to visit their friends and fa- 20 miliar haunts. One of the disputants set sail the next day for London, but the vessel put back through stress of weather. His return was unknown except to one of the believers in ghosts, who concerted with him a trick to be played off on the opposite party. In the evening, at a meeting of the students, the discus- 25 sion was renewed ; and one of the most strenuous opposers of ghosts was asked whether he considered himself proof against ocular demonstration. He persisted in his scoffing. Some sol- emn process of conjuration was performed, and the comrade â– supposed to be on his way to London made his appearance. 30 The effect was fatal. The unbeliever fainted at the sight, and ultimately went mad. We have no account of what share Gold- smith took in this transaction, at which he was present.
The following letter to his friend Bryanton contains some of Goldsmith's impressions concerning Scotland and its inhabit- 35 ants, and gives indications of that humor which characterized some of his later writings.
36 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
" Robert Bryanton, at Ballymahon, Ireland.
"Edinburgh, September 26th, 1753. " My dear Bob, —
" How many good excuses (and you know I was ever good at 5 an excuse) might I call up to vindicate my past shameful si- lence. I might tell how I wrote a long letter on my first coming hither, and seem vastly angry at my not receiving an answer ; I might allege that business (with business you know I was always pestered) had never given me time to finger a pen. But
10 I suppress those and twenty more as plausible, and as easily invented, since they might be attended with a slight inconven- ience of being known to be lies. Let me then speak truth. An hereditary indolence (I have it from the mother's side) has hitherto prevented my writing to you, and still prevents my
15 writing at least twenty-five letters more, due to my friends in Ireland. JSTo turn-spit-dog° gets up into his wheel with moi"e reluctance than I sit down to write ; yet no dog ever loved the roast meat he turns better than I do him I now address.
" Yet what shall I say now I am entered? Shall I tire you
20 with a description of this unfruitful country ; where I must lead you over their hills all brown with heath, or their valleys scarcely able to feed a rabbit ? Man alone seems to be the only creature who has arrived to the natural size in this poor soil. Every part of the country presents the same dismal land-
25 scape. No grove, nor brook, lend their music to cheer the stranger, or make the inhabitants forget their poverty. Yet with all these disadvantages to call him down to humility, a Scotchman is one of the proudest things alive. The poor have pride ever ready to relieve them. If mankind should happen
30 to despise them, they are masters of their own admiration ; and that they can plentifully bestow upon themselves.
" From their pride and poverty, as I take it, results one ad- vantage this country enjoys ; namely, the gentlemen here are much better bred than among us. No such character here as
35 our fox- hunters ; and they have expressed great surprise when I informed them that some men in Ireland, of one thousand pounds a year, spend their whole lives in running after a hare,
CHAPTER IV 37
and drinking to be drunk. Truly, if such a being, equipped in his hunting-dress, came among a circle of Scotch gentry, they would behold him with the same astonishment that a country- man does King George on horseback.
" The men here have generally high cheek-bones, and are lean 5 and swarthy, fond of action, dancing in particular. Now that I have mentioned dancing, let me say something of their balls, which are very frequent here. When a stranger enters the dancing-hall, he sees one end of the room taken up by the ladies, who sit dismally in a group by themselves ; — in the other end 10 stand their pensive partners that are to be; — but no more in- tercourse, between the sexes than there is between two countries at war. The ladies indeed may ogle, and the gentlemen sigh ; but an embargo is laid on any closer commerce. At length, to Interrupt hostilities, the lady directress, or intendant, or w^hat 15 you will, pitches upon a lady and gentleman to walk a minuet ; which they perform with a formality that approaches to de- spondence. After five or six couple have thus walked the gaunt- let, all stand up to country dances ; each gentleman furnished with a partner from the aforesaid lady directress ; so they dance 20 much, say nothing, and thus concludes our assembly. I told a Scotch gentleman that such profound silence resembled the ancient procession of the Roman matrons in honor of Ceres° ; and the Scotch gentleman told me (and, faith I believe he was right) that I was a very great pedant for my pains. 25
" Now I am come to the ladies ; and to show that I love Scot- land, and everything that belongs to so charming a country, I insist on it, and will give him leave to break my head that denies it — that the Scotch ladies are ten thousand times finer and handsomer than the Irish. To be sure, now, I see your sisters 30 Betty and Peggy vastly surprised at my partiality, — but tell them flatly, I don't value them — or their fine skins, or eyes, or
good sense, or , a potato ; — for I say, and will maintain it ;
and as a convincing proof (I am in a great passion) of what I assert, the Scotch ladies say it themselves. But to be less 35 serious ; where will you find a language so prettily become a pretty mouth as the broad Scotch ? And the women here speak it in its highest purity ; for instance, teach one of your young ladies at home to pronounce the " Whoar wull I gong ? "
38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
with a becoming widening of mouth, and I'll lay my life they'll wound every hearer.
" We have no such character her^ as a coquette, but alas ! -how many envious prudes ! Some days ago I walked into my 5 Lord Kilcoubry's (don't be surprised, my lord is but a glover), ^ when the Duchess of Hamilton (that fair who sacrificed her beauty to her ambition, and her inward peace to a title and gilt equipage) passed by in her chariot ; her battered husband, or more properly the guardian of her charms, sat by her side. Straight
10 envy began, in the shape of no less than three ladies who sat with me, to find faults in her faultless form. — ' For my part,' says the first, ' I think what I always thought, that the Duchess has too much of the red in her complexion.' ' Madam, I am of your opinion,' says the second ; ' I think her face has a palish cast
15 too much on the delicate order.' ' And, let me tell you,' added the third lady, whose mouth was puckered up to the size of an issue, 'that the Duchess has fine lips, but she wants a mouth.' — At this every lady drew up her mouth as if going to pro- nounce the letter P.
20 " But how ill, my Bob, does it become me to ridicule women with whom I have scarcely any correspondence ! There are, 'tis certain, handsome women here ; and 'tis certain they have hand- some men to keep them company. An ugly and poor man is soci- ety only for himself ; and such society the world lets me enjoy
25 in great abundance. Fortune has given you circumstances, and Xature a person to look charming in the eyes of the fair. Nor do I envy my dear Bob such blessings, while I may sit down and laugh at the world and at myself — the most ridiculous object in it. But you see I am grown downright splenetic, aud
30 perhaps the fit may continue till I receive an answer to this. I know you cannot send me much news from Ballymahon, but such as it is, send it all ; everything you send will be agreeable to me.
" Has George Conway put up a sign yet ; or John Bincly ° left
35 off drinking drams ; or Tom Allen got a new wig ? But I leave
1 William Maclellan, who claimed the title, and whose son succeeded in establishing the claim in 1773. The father is said to have voted at the election of the sixteen Peers for Scotland ; and to have sold gloves in the lobby at this and other xJublic assemblages.
CHAPTER IV 39
fou to your own choice what to write. While I live, know you have a true friend in yours, &c. &c. &c.
" Oliver Goldsmith.
"P. S. — Give my sincere respects (not compliments, do you mind) to your agreeable family, and give my service to my 5 mother, if you see her ; for, as you express it in Ireland, I have
a sneaking kindness for her still. Direct to me, , Student
in Physic, in Edinburgh."
Nothing worthy of preservation appeared from his pen during his residence in Edinburgh ; and indeed his poetical powers, 10 highly as they had been estimated by his friends, had not as yet produced anything of superior merit. He made on one occasion a month's excursion to the Highlands. " I set out the first day on foot," says he, in a letter to his uncle Contarine, " but an ill- iiatured corn I have on my toe has for the future prevented that 15 cheap mode of travelling ; so the second day I hired a horse, about the size of a ram, and he walked away (trot he could not) as pensive as his master."
During his residence in Scotland his convivial talents gained him at one time attentions in a high quarter, which, however, 20 he had the good sense to appreciate correctly. " I have spent," says he, in one of his letters, " more than a fortnight every second day at the Duke of Hamilton's ; but it seems they like me more as a jester than as a companion, so I disdained so servile an employment as unworthy my calling as a physician." Here 25 we again find the origin of another passage in his autobiogra- phy, under the character of the "Man in Black," wherein that worthy figures as a flatterer to a great man. " At first," says he, " I was surprised that the situation of a flatterer at a great man's table could be thought disagreeable; there was no great 30 trouble in listening attentively when his lordship spoke, and laughing when he looked round for api^lause. This, even good manners might have obliged me to perform. I found, however, - too soon, his lordship was a greater dunce than myself, and from that moment flattery was at an end. I now rather aimed 35 at setting him right than at receiving his absurdities with sub- mission : to flatter those we do not know is an easy task ; but to
40 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
flatter our intimate acquaintances, all whose foibles are strong: _ in our eyes, is drudgery insupportable. Every time I now opened my lips in praise, my falsehood went to my conscience; his lordship soon perceived me to be very unfit for his service : I 5 was therefore discharged ; my patron at the same time being: graciously pleased to observe that he believed I was tolerably good-natured and had not the least harm in me."
After spending two winters at Edinburgh, Goldsmith pre- pared to finish his medical studies on the Continent, for which
10 his uncle Contarine agreed to furnish the funds. " I intend,"' said he, in a letter to his uncle, " to visit Paris, where the great! Farheim, Petit, and Du Hamel de Moncean instruct their pupil^^ in all the branches of medicine. They speak French, and con- sequently! shall have much the advantage of most of my conn-
15 try men, as I am perfectly acquainted with that language, and few who leave Ireland are so. I shall spend the spring and summer in Paris, and the beginning of next winter go tO'i Leyden. The great Albinus^ is still alive there, and 'twill be proper to go, though only to have it said that we have studied
20 in so famous a university.
"As I shall not have another opportunity of receiving money' from your bounty till my return to Ireland, so I have drawn for the last sum that I hope I shall ever trouble you for; 'tis £20. And now, dear sir, let me here acknowledge the humility of the;
25 station in which you found me ; let me tell how I was de- • spised by most, and hateful to myself. Poverty, hopeless pov- erty, was my lot, and Melancholy was beginning to make me
her own, when you But I stop here, to inquire how your
health goes on? How does my cousin Jenny, and has she
30 recovered her late complaint? How does my poor Jack Gold- smith? I fear his disorder is of such a nature as he won't easily recover. I wish, my dear sir, you would make me hapj^y by another letter before I go abroad, for there I shall hardly hear from you. . . . Give my — how shall I express it ? — give
35 my earnest love to Mr. and Mrs. Lawder."
Mrs. Lawder was Jane, his early playmate — the object of his valentine — his first poetical inspiration. She had been for some time married. Medical instruction, it will be perceived, was the ostensible
CHAPTER V 41
motive for this visit to the Continent, but the real one, in all probability, was his long-cherished desire to see foreign parts. This, however, he would not acknowledge even to himself, but sought to reconcile his roving propensities with some grand moral purpose. "I esteem the traveller who instructs the 5 tieart," says he, in one of his subsequent writings, " but I de- spise him who only indulges the imagination. A man who leaves home to mend himself and others, is a philosopher ; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind im- pulse of curiosity, is only a vagabond." He, of course, was to 10 travel as a philosopher, and in truth his outfits for a Continen- tal tour were in character. " I shall carry just £33 to France," said he, " with good store of clothes, shirts, &c., and that with economy will suffice.'" He forgot to make mention of his flute, which it will be found had occasionally to come in play when 15 economy could not replenish his purse, nor philosophy find him a supper. Thus slenderly provided with money, prudence, or experience, and almost as slightly guarded against " hard knocks " as the hero of La Mancha, whose head-piece was half iron, half pasteboard, he made his final sally forth upon the 20 world; hoping all things; believing all things; little antici- pating the checkered ills in store for him ; little thinking when he penned his valedictory letter to his good uncle Contarine, that he was never to see him more ; never to return after all his wandering to the friend of his infancy; never to revisit his 25 early and fondly remembered haunts at "sweet Lissoy" and Ballymahon.
CHAPTER V
The agreeable Fellow-Passengers. — Risks from Friends picked up by the Wayside. — Sketches of Holland and the Dutch. — Shifts while a poor Student at Leyden. — The Tulip-Speculation. — The provident Flute. — Sojourn at Paris. — Sketch of Voltaire. — Travelling Shifts of a Philosophic Vagabond.
His usual indiscretion attended Goldsmith at the very out- set of his foreign enterprise. He had intended to take shipping at Leith for Holland ; but on arriving at that port, he found a 30
42 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
ship about to sail for Bordeaux, with six agreeable passengers, whose acquaintance he had probably made at the inn. He was not a man to resist a sudden impulse ; so, instead of embarking for Holland, he found himself ploughing the seas on his way 5 to the other side of the Continent. Scarcely had the shi23 been two days at sea, when she was driven by stress of weather to jSTewcastle-upon-Tyne. Here " of course " Goldsmith and his agreeable fellow-passengers found it expedient to go on shore and " refresh themselves after the fatigues of the voyage." " Of
10 course " they frolicked and made merry until a late hour in the
evening, when, in the midst of their hilarity, the door was
burst open, and a sergeant and twelve grenadiers entered with
fixed bayonets, and took the whole convivial party prisoners.
It seems that the agreeable companions with whom our
15 greenhorn had struck up such a sudden intimacy, were Scotch- men in the French service, who had been in Scotland enlisting recruits for the French army.
In vain Goldsmith protested his innocence ; he was marched off with his fellow-revellers to prison whence he with difficulty
20 obtained his release at the end of a fortnight. With his cus- tomary facility, however, at ]Dalliating his misadventures, he found everything turn out for the best. His imprisonment saved his life, for during his detention the ship proceeded on her voyage, but was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, and
25 all on board perished.
Goldsmith's second embarkation was for Holland direct, and in nine days he arrived at Rotterdam, whence he proceeded, without any more deviations, to Leyden. He gives a whimsical picture,° in one of his letters, of the appearance of the Hol-
30 landers. " The modern Dutchman is quite a different creature from him of former times : he in everything imitates a French- man but in his easy, disengaged air. He is vastly ceremonious, and is, perhaps, exactly what a Frenchman might have been in the reign of Louis XIY. Such are the better bred. But the
35 downright Hollander is one of the oddest figures in nature. Upon a lank head of hair he wears a half-cocked narrow hat laced with black ribband ; no coat, but seven waistcoats and nine pair of breeches, so that his hips reach up almost to his armpits. This well-clothed vegetable is now fit to see company
CHAPTER V 43
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 Flan- ders lace ; and for every pair of breeches he carries, she puts on two petticoats.
" A Dutch lady burns nothing about her phlegmatic admirer 5 but his tobacco. You must know, sir, every woman carries in her hand a stove of coals, which, when she sits, she snugs under her petticoats, and at this chimney, dozing Strephon° lights his pipe."
In the same letter he contrasts Scotland and Holland. " There, 10 hills and rocks intercept every prospect ; here, it is all a contin- ued plain. There you might see a well-dressed Duchess issu- ing from a dirty close, and here a dirty Dutchman inhabiting a palace. The Scotch may be compared to a tulip, planted in dung; but I can never see a Dutchman in his own house, but 15 I think of a magnificent Egyptian temple dedicated to an ox."
The country itself awakened his admiration, "l^othing," said he, " can equal its beauty ; wherever I turn my eyes, fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottos, vistas, present them- selves ; but when you enter their towns, you are charmed 20 beyond description. No misery is to be seen here, every one is usefully employed." And again, in his noble description in The Traveller: —
"To men of other minds my fancy flies, Imbosom'd in the deep where Holland lies, 25
Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Lift tlie tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 30
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow ; Spreads its long arms amid the watery roar. Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile Sees an amphibious world before him smile : 35
The slow canal, the yellow blossom'd vale. The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail. The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, A new creation rescued from his reign."
He remained about a year at Leyden, attending the lectures 40 of Gaubius on chemistry and Albinus on anatomy ; though his
44 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
studies are said to have been miscellaneous, and directed to literature rather than science. The thirty-three pounds with which he had set out on his travels were soon consumed, and he was put to many a shift to meet his expenses until his pre-
5 carious remittances should arrive. He had a good friend on
these occasions in a fellow-student and countryman, named
Ellis, who afterwards rose to eminence as a physician. He
used frequently to loan small sums to Goldsmith, which were
' always scrupulously paid. Ellis discovered the innate merits
10 of the poor awkward student, and used to declare in after-life that "it was a common remark in Leyden, that in all the pecu- liarities of Goldsmith, an elevation of mind was to be noted ; a philosophical tone and manner; the feelings of a gentleman, and the language and information of a scholar."
15 Sometimes, in his emergencies, Goldsmith undertook to teach the English language. It is true he was ignorant of the Dutch, but he had a smattering of the French, picked up among the Irish priests at Ballymahon. He depicts his whimsical embar- rassment in this respect, in his account in the Vicar of Wakejield
20 of the "Philosophic Vagabond" who went to Holland to teach the natives English, without knowing a word of their own lan- guage. Sometimes, when sorely pinched, and sometimes, per- haps, when flush, he resorted to the gambling-tables, which in those days abounded in Holland. His good friend Ellis repeat-
25 edly warned him against this unfortunate propensity, but in vain. It brought its own cure, or rather its own punishment, by stripping him of every shilling.
Ellis once more stepped in to his relief with a true Irishman's generosity, but with more considerateness than generally char-
30 acterizes an Irishman, for he only granted pecuniary aid on con- dition of his quitting the sphere of danger. Goldsmith gladly consented to leave Holland, being anxious to visit other parts. He intended to proceed to Paris and pursue his studies there, and was furnished by his friend with money for the journey.
35 Unluckily, he rambled into the garden of a florist just before quitting Leyden. The tulip-mania was still prevalent in Hol- land, and some species of that splendid flower brought immense prices. In wandering through the garden. Goldsmith recol- lected that his uncle Contarine was a tulip-fancier. The
CHAPTER V 45
thought suddenly struck him that here was an opportunity of testifying, in a delicate manner, his sense of that generous uncle's past kindnesses. In an instant his hand was in his pocket; a number of choice and costly tulip-roots were pur- chased and packed up for Mr. Contarine ; and it was not until 5 he had paid for them that he bethought himself that he had spent all the money borrowed for his travelling expenses. Too proud, however, to give up his Journey, and too shamefaced to make another appeal to his friend's liberality, he determined to travel on foot, and depend upon chance and good luck for 10 the means of getting forward; and it is said that he actually set off on a tour of the Continent, in February, 1755, with but one spare shirt, a flute, and a single guinea.
" Blessed," says one of his biographers, " with a good consti- tution, an adventurous spirit, and with that thoughtless, or, per- 15 haps, happy disposition which takes no care for to-morrow, he continued his travels for a long time in spite of innumerable privations." In his amusing narrative of the adventures of a " Philosophic Vagabond " in the Vicar of Wakefield, we find shadowed out the expedients he pursued. " I had some knowl- 20 edge of music, with a tolerable voice ; I now turned what was once my amusement into a present means of subsistence. I passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor enough to be very merry, for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to their wants. When- 25 ever I approached a peasant's house towards nightfall, I played one of my merriest tunes, and that procured me not only a lodg- ing, but subsistence for the next day ; but in truth I must own, whenever I attempted to entertain persons of a higher rank, they always thought my performance odious, and never made 30 me any return for my endeavors to please them."
At Paris he attended the chemical lectures of Rouelle, then in great vogue, where he says he witnessed as bright a circle of beauty as graced the court of Versailles. His love of the- atricals also led him to attend the performances of the celebrated 35 actress Mademoiselle Clairon,° with which he was greatly de- lighted. He seems to have looked upon the state of society with the eye of a philosopher, but to have read the signs of the times with the prophetic eye of a poet. In his rambles about the en-
46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
viroiis of Paris he was struck with the immense quantities of game running about almost in a tame state ; and saw in those costly and rigid preserves for the amusement and luxury of the privileged few, a sure " badge of the slavery of the people." 5 This slavery he predicted was drawing towards a close. " When I consider that these parliaments, the members of which are all created by the court, and the presidents of which can only act by immediate direction, presume even to mention privileges and freedom, who till of late received directions from the throne
10 with implicit humility; when this is considered, I cannot help fancying that the genius of Freedom has entered that kingdom in disguise. If they have but three weak monarchs more succes- sively on the throne, the mask will be laid aside, and the coun- try will certainly once more be free." Events have testified^ to
15 the sage forecast of the poet.
During a brief sojourn in Paris, he appears to have gained access to valuable society, and to have had the honor and pleas- ure of making the acquaintance of Voltaire° ; of whom, in after- years, he wrote a memoir. "As a companion," says he, "no
20 man ever exceeded him when he pleased to lead the conversa- tion; which, however, was not always the case. In company which he either disliked or despised, few could be more reserved than he ; but when he was warmed in discourse, and got over a hesitating manner, which sometimes he was subject to, it
25 was rapture to hear him. His meagre visage seemed insensi- bly to gather beauty; every muscle in it had meaning, and his eye beamed with unusual brightness. The person who writes this memoir," continues he, " remembers to have seen him in a select company of wits of both sexes at Paris, when the subject
30 happened to turn upon English taste and learning. Fontenelle, (then nearly a hundred years old,) who was of the party, and who being unacquainted with the language or authors of the country he undertook to condemn, with a spirit truly vul- gar began to revile both. Diderot, who liked the English, and
35 knew something of their literary pretensions, attempted to vin- dicate their poetry and learning, but with unequal abilities. The company quickly perceived that Fontenelle was superior in the dispute, and w^ere surprised at the silence which Voltaire had preserved all the former part of the night, particularly as
CHAPTER V 47
the conversation happened to turn upon one of his favorite topics. Fontenelle continued his triumph until about twelve o'clock, when Voltaire appeared at last roused from his reverie. His whole frame seemed animated. He began his defence with the utmost defiance mixed with spirit, and now and then let 5 fall the finest strokes of railery upon his antagonist ; and his harangue lasted till three in the morning. I must confess, that, whether from national partiality, or from the elegant sensibility of his manner, I never was so charmed, nor did 1 ever remem- ber so a^ssolute a victory as he gained in this dispute." Gold- 10 smith's ramblings took him into Germany and Switzerland, from which last-mentioned country he sent to his brother in Ireland the first brief sketch, afterwards amplified into his poem of The Traveller.
At Geneva he became travelling tutor to a mongrel young 15 gentleman, son of a London pawnbroker, who had been sud- denly elevated into fortune and absurdity by the death of an uncle. The youth, before setting up for a gentleman, had been an attorney's apprentice, and was an arrant pettifogger in money-matters. Never were two beings more illy assorted than 20 he and Goldsmith. We may form an idea of the tutor and the pupil from the following extract from the narrative of the " Philosophic Yagabond."
" I was to be the young gentleman's governor, but with a proviso that he could always be permitted to govern himself. 25 My pujDil, in fact, understood the art of guiding in money-con- cerns much better than I. He was heir to a fortune of about two hundred thousand pounds, left him by an uncle in the West Indies ; and his guardians, to qualify him for the management of it, had bound him apprentice to an attorney. Thus avarice 30 was his prevailing passion ; all his questions on the road were, how money might be saved, — which was the least expensive course of travel, — whether anything could be bought that would turn to account when disposed of again in London ? Such curiosities on the way as could be seen for nothing he was 35 ready enough to look at ; but if the sight of them was to be paid for, he usually asserted that he had been told that they were not worth seeing. He never paid a bill that he would not observe how amazingly expensive travelling was ; and all this though not yet twenty-one." 40
48 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
In this sketch Goldsmith undoubtedly shadows forth his annoyances as travelling tutor to this concrete young gentle- man, compounded of the pawnbroker, the pettifogger, and the West Indian heir, with an overlaying of the city miser. They 5 had continual difficulties on all points of expense until they reached Marseilles, where both were glad to separate.
Once more on foot, but freed from the irksome duties of " bear-leader," and with some of his pay, as tutor, in his pocket, Goldsmith continued his half vagrant peregrinations through
10 part of France and Piedmont° and some of the Italian States. He had acquired, as has been shown, a habit of shifting along and living by expedients, and a new one presented itself in Italy. " My skill in music," says he, in the '' Philosophic Vaga- bond," " could avail me nothing in a country where every
15 peasant was a better musician than I ; but by this time I had acquired another talent, which answered my purpose as well, and this was a skill in disputation. In all the foreign univer- sities and convents there are, upon certain days, philosophical theses maintained against every adventitious disputant, for
20 which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night." Though a poor wandering scholar, his reception in these learned piles was as free from humiliation as in the cottages of the peasantry. " With the members of these establishments," said
25 he, " I could converse on topics of literature, and then I alicays forgot the meanness of my circumstances."
At Padua, where he remained some months, he is said to have taken° his medical degree. It is probable he was brought to a pause in this city by the illness of his uncle Contarine;
30 who had hitherto assisted him in his wanderings by occasional, , though, of course, slender remittances. Deprived of this source of supplies, he wrote to his friends in Ireland, and especially to his brother-in-law, Hodson, describing his destitute situation. His letters brought him neither money nor reply. It appears,
35 from subsequent correspondence, that his brother-in-law actu- ally exerted himself to raise a subscription for his assistance * among his relatives, friends, and acquaintance, but without success. Their faith and hope in him were most probably at an end ; as yet he had disappointed them at every point, he
CHAPTER VI 49
had given none of the anticipated proofs of talent, and they were too poor to support what they may have considered the wandering propensities of a heedless spendthrift.
Thus left to his own precarious resources, Goldsmith gave up all further wandering in Italy, without visiting the south, 5 though Rome and Naples must have held out powerful attrac- tions to one of his poetical cast. Once more resuming his pilgrim staff, he turned his face toward England, '^walking along from city to city, examining mankind more nearly, and seeing b«th sides of the picture." In traversing France his 10 flute — his magic flute! — was once more in requisition, as we may conclude by the following passage in his Traveller : —
"Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir 15
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire ! Where shading elms along the margin grew, And freshened from the wave the zephyr flew; And haply though my harsh note falt'ring still, But mocked all tune, and niarr'd the dancer's skill; 20
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, And dance forgetful of the noontide hour. Alike all ages ; Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, 25
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of three-score."
CHAPTER VI
Landing in England. — Shifts of a Man without Money. — The Pestle and Mortar. — Theatricals in a Barn. — Launch upon London. — A City Night-Scene. — Struggles with Penury. — Miseries of a Tutor.
— A Doctor in the Suburb. — Poor Practice and second-hand Finery.
— A Tragedy in Embryo. — Project of the Written Mountains.
After two years spent in roving about the Continent, "pur- suing novelty," as he said, "and losing content," Goldsmith landed at Dover early in 1756. He appears to have had no definite plan of action. The death of his uncle Contarine,° and 30
50 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
the neglect of his relatives and friends to reply to his letters, seem to have produced in him a temporary feeling of loneliness and destitution, and his only thought was to get to London, and throw himself npon the world. But how was he to get 5 there ? His purse was empty. England was to him as com- pletely a foreign land as any part of the Continent, and where on earth is a penniless stranger more destitute? His flute and his philosophy were no longer of any avail ; the English boors cared nothing for music ; there were no convents ; and as to
10 the learned and the clergy, not one of them would give a vagrant scholar a supper and night's lodging for the best thesis that ever was argued. " You may easily imagine," says he, in a subsequent letter to his brother-in-law, " what difficulties I had to encounter, left as I was without friends, recommendations,
15 money, or impudence, and that in a country where being born an Irishman 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, I had principle to resist the one, and resolution to combat the other." j
20 He applied at one place, we are told, for employment in the I shop of a country apothecary ; but all his medical science gath- ered in foreign universities could not gain him the manage- ment of a pestle and mortar. He even resorted, it is said, to the stage as a temporary expedient, and figured in low comedy
25 at a country town in Kent. This accords with his last shift of the " Philosophic Vagabond," ° and with the knowledge of coun- try theatricals displayed in his Adventures of a Strolling Player, or may be a story suggested by them. AH this part of his career, however, in which he must have trod the lowest paths of
30 humility, are only to be conjectured from vague traditions, or
scraps of autobiography gleaned from his miscellaneous writings.
At length we find him launched on the great metropolis, or
rather drifting about its streets, at night, in the gloomy month
of February, with but a few half-pence in his pocket. The
35 Deserts of Arabia are not more dreary and inhospitable than the streets of London at such a time, and to a stranger in such a plight. Do we want a picture as an illustration? We have it in his own works, and furnished, doubtless, from his own experience.
CHAPTER VI 51
" The clock has just struck two ; what a gloom hangs all around ! no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. How few appear in those streets, which but some few hours ago were crowded ! But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a short repose from 5 wretchedness at the doors of the opulent? They are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great even for pity. Some are without the covering even of rags, and others emaci- ated witiii disease ; the world has disclaimed them ; society turns 10 its back upon their distress, and has given them up to naked- ness and hunger. These poor shivering females have once seen happier days, and heen flattered into beauty. They are now turned out to meet the severity of winter. Perhaps now, lying at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to wretches whose hearts 15 are insensible, or debauchees who may curse, but will not re- lieve them.
" Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches I cannot relieve ! Poor houseless creatures ! The world will give you reproaches, but will not give you relief." ° 20
Poor houseless Goldsmith! we may here ejaculate — to what shifts he must have been driven to find shelter and sustenance for himself in this his first venture into London ! Many years afterwards, in the days of his social elevation, he startled a polite circle at Sir Joshua Reynolds's° by humorously dating an 25 anecdote about the time he " lived among the beggars at Axe Lane." Such may have been the desolate quarters with which he was fain to content himself when thus adrift upon the town, with but a few half-pence in his pocket.
The first authentic trace we have of him in this new part of 30 his career, is filling the situation of an usher to a school, and even this employ he obtained with some difficulty, after a refer- ence for a character to his friends in the University of Dublin. In the Vicar of Wakefield he makes George Primrose un- dergo a whimsical catechism concerning the requisites for an 35 usher. "Have you been bred apprentice to the business?" "No." "Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair?" "No." " Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed ? " " No." " Then you will never do for
52 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
a school. Have you a good stomach?" "Yes." "Then you will by no means do for a school. I have been an usher in a boarding-school, myself, and may I die of an anodyne neck- lace,° but I had rather be under-turnkey in Newgate. I was up
5 early and late : I was browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys."
Goldsmith remained but a short time in this situation, and to the mortifications experienced there we doubtless owe the picturings given in his writings of the hardships of an usher's
10 life. " He is generally," says he, " the laughing-stock of the school. Every trick is played upon him ; the oddity of his manner, his dress, or his language, is a fund of eternal ridicule ; the master himself now and then cannot avoid joining in the laugh ; and the poor wretch, eternally resenting this ill-usage,
15 lives in a state of war with all the family." ... " He is obliged, perhaps, to sleep in the same bed with the French teacher, who disturbs him for an hour every night in papering and fillet- ing his hair, and stinks worse than a carrion with his rancid pomatums, when he lays his head beside him on the bolster." °
20 His next shift was as assistant in the laboratory of a chemist near Fish-Street Hill. After remaining here a few months, he heard that Dr. Sleigh, who had been his friend and fellow- student at Edinburgh, was in London. Eager to meet with a friendly face in this land of strangers, he immediately called on
25 him ; " but though it was Sunday, and it is to be supposed I was 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 friendship with me during his continuance in
30 London."
Through the advice and assistance of Dr. Sleigh, he now com- menced the jDractice of medicine, but in a small way, in Bank- side, Southwark,° and chiefly among the poor ; for he wanted the figure, address, polish, and management, to succeed among
35 the rich. His old schoolmate and college companion, Beatty, who used to aid him with his purse at the university, met him about this time, decked out in the tarnished finery of a second- hand suit of green and gold, with a shirt and neckcloth of a fortnigfht's wear.
CHAPTER VI 53
Poor Goldsmith endeavored to assume a prosperous air in the eyes of his early associate. " He was practising physic," he said, " and doing very tcell ! " At this moment poverty was pinching him to the bone in spite ai' his practice and his dirty finery, tlis fees were necessarily small and ill paid, and he was 5 fain to seek some precarious assistance from his pen. Here his quondam fellow-student, Dr. Sleigh, was again of service, intro- ducing him to some <^f the booksellers, who gave him occasional, though starveling, employment. According to tradition, how- ever, his most efficient patron just now was a journeyman 10 printer, one of his poor patients of Bankside, who had formed a good opinion of his talents, and perceived his poverty and his literary shifts. The printer was in the employ of Mr. Samuel Richardson, ° the author of Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison ; who combined the novelist and the publisher, and 15 was in flourishing circumstances. Through the journeyman's intervention Goldsmith is said to haye become acquainted with Richardson, who employed him as reader and corrector of the press, at his printing establishment in Salisbury Court, — an occupation which he alternated with his medical duties. 20
Being admitted occasionally to Richardson's parlor, he began to form literary acquaintances, among whom the most impor- tant was Dr. Young, the author of Night Thoughts, a poem in the height of fashion. It is not probable, however, that much familiarity took place at the time between the literary lion of 25 the day and the poor iEsculapius° of Bankside, the humble cor- rector of the press. Still the communion with literary men had its effect to set his imagination teeming. Dr. Farr, one of his Edinburgh fellow-students, who was at London about this time, attending the hospitals and lectures, gives us an amusing ac-30 count of Goldsmith in his literary character.
" Early in January he called upon me one morning before I was up, and, on my entering the room, I recognized my old acquaintance, dressed in a rusty, full-trimmed black suit, with his pockets full of papers, which instantly reminded me of the 35 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 inability, when he began to read ; and every part on which I
54 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
expressed ^ doubt as to the propriety was immediately blotted out. I then most earnestly pressed him not to trust to my judgment, but to take the opinion of persons better qualified to decide on dramatic compositions. He now told me he had sub- 5 mitted his production, so far as he had written, to Mr. Richard- son, the author of Clarissa, on which I peremptorily declined offering another criticism on the performance."
From the graphic description given of him by Dr. Farr, it will be perceived that the tarnished finery of green and gold had
10 been succeeded by a professional suit of black, to which, we are told, were added the wig and cane indispensable to medical doctors in those days. The coat was a second-hand one, of rusty velvet, with a patch on the left breast, which he adroitly covered with his three-cornered hat during his medical visits ;
15 and we have an amusing anecdote of his contest of courtesy with a patient who persisted in endeavoring to relieve him from the hat, which only made him press it more devoutly to his heart.
Nothing further has ever been heard of the tragedy men-
20 tioned by Dr. Farr ; it was probably never completed. The same gentleman speaks of a strange Quixotic scheme which Goldsmith had in contemplation at the time, " of going to decipher the inscriptions on the loritten mountains ° though he was altogether ignorant of Arabic, or the language in which
25 they might be supposed to be written. " Tlie salary of three hundred pounds," adds Dr. Farr, " which had been left for the purpose, was the temptation." This was probably one of many dreamy projects with which his fervid brain was apt to teem. On such subjects he was prone to talk vaguely and magnifi-
30 cently, but inconsiderately, from a kindled imagination rather than a well-instructed judgment. He had always a great notion of expeditions to the East, and wonders to be seen and effected in the Oriental countries.
CHAPTER VII 55
CHAPTER YII
Life of a Pedagogue. — Kindness to Schoolboys. — Pertness in Return. . — Expensive Charities. — The Griffiths and the Monthly Review. — Toils of a Literary Hack. — Rupture with the Griffiths.
Among the most cordial of Goldsmith's intimates in London during. this time of precarious struggle, were certain of his former fellow-students in Edinburgh. One of these was the son of a Dr. Milner, a dissenting minister, who kept a classical school of eminence at Peckham, in Surrey. Young Milner had 5 a favorable opinion of Goldsmith's abilities and attainments, and cherished for him that goodwill which his genial nature seems ever to have inspired among his school and college asso- ciates. His father falling ill, the young man negotiated with Goldsmith to take temporary charge of the school. The latter 10 readily consented; for he was discouraged by the slow growth of medical reputation and practice, and as yet had no confidence in the coy smiles of the Muse. Laying by his wig and cane, therefore, and once more wielding the ferule, he resumed the character of the pedagogue, and for some time reigned as vice- 15 gerent over the academy at Peckham. He appears to have been well-treated by both Dr. Milner and his wife ; and became a favorite with the scholars from his easy, indulgent good-nature. He mingled in their sports ; told them droll stories ; ]3layed on the flute for their amusement; and spent his money in treating 20 them to sweetmeats and other schoolboy dainties. His famil- iarity was sometimes carried too far ; he indulged in boyish pranks and practical jokes, and drew upon himself retorts in kind, which, however, he bore with great good-humor. Once, indeed, he was touched to the quick by a piece of schoolboy 25 pertness. After playing on the flute, he spoke with enthusi- asm of music, as delightful in itself, and as a valuable accom- plishment for a gentleman, whereupon a youngster, with a glance at his ungainly person, wished to know if he considered himself a gentleman. Poor Goldsmith, feelingly alive to the 30 awkwardness of his appearance and the humility of his situa-
56 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
tion, winced at this unthinking sneer, which long rankled in his mind.
As usual, while in Doctor Milner's employ, his benevolent feelings were a heavy tax upon his purse, for he never could 5 resist a tale of distress, and was apt to be fleeced by every sturdy beggar; so that, between his charity and his munifi- cence, he was generally in advance of his slender salary. " You had better, Mr. Goldsmith, let me take care of your money," said Mrs. Milner one day, " as I do for some of the
10 young gentlemen." "In truth, madam, there is equal need!" was the good-humored reply.
Dr. Milner was a man of some literary pretensions, and wrote occasionally for the Monthly Review, of which a bookseller, by the name of Griffiths, was proprietor. This
15 work was an advocate for Whig principles,° and had been in prosperous existence for nearly eight years. Of late, however, periodicals had multiplied exceedingly, and a formidable Tory rival had started up in the Critical Review, published by Archibald Hamilton, a bookseller, and aided by the powerful
20 and popular pen of Dr. Smollett.° Griffiths was obliged to recruit his forces. While so doing he met Goldsmith, a hum- ble occupant of a seat at Dr. Milner's table, and was struck with remarks on men and books, w^iich fell from him in the course of conversation. He took occasion to sound him pri-
25vately as to his inclination and capacity as a reviewer, and was furnished by him with specimens of his literary and criti- cal talents. They proved satisfactory. The consequence was that Goldsmith once more changed his mode of life, and in April, 1757, became a contributor to the Monthly Revieiv,
30 at a small fixed salary, with board and lodging ; and accord- ingly took up his abode with Mr. Griffiths, at the sign of the Dunciad, Paternoster Row. As usual we trace this phase of his fortunes in his semi-fictitious writings ; his sudden trans- mutation of the pedagogue into the author being humorously
35 set forth in the case of "George Primrose" in the Vicar of Wakefield. "Come," says George's adviser, "1 see you are a lad of spirit and some learning ; what do you think of commencing author like me? You have read in books, no doubt, of men of genius starving at the trade : at present I'll
CHAPTER VII 57
show you forty very dull fellows about town that live by it in opulence. All honest, jog-trot men, who go on smoothly and dully, and write history and politics, and are praised : men, sir, who, had they been bred cobblers, would all their lives only have mended shoes, but never made them." " Finding " (says George) 5 " that there was no great degree of gentility affixed to the char- acter of an usher, I resolved to accept his proposal ; and, having the highest respect for literature, hailed the antiqua mater of Grub Street° with reverence. I thought it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden° and Otway° trod before me." Alas, Dry- 10 den struggled with indigence all his days; and Otway, it is said, fell a victim to famine in his thirty-fifth year, being strangled by a roll of bread, which he devom'ed with the vorac- ity of a starving man.
In Goldsmith's experience the track soon proved a thorny 15 one. Griffiths was a hard business-man, of shrewd, worldly good sense, but little refinement or cultivation. He meddled or rather muddled with literature, too, in a business-way, alter- ing and modifying occasionally the writings of his contributors, and in this he was aided by his wife, who, according to Smol- 20 lett, was an antiquated female critic and a dabbler in the Review. Such was the literary vassalage to which Gold- smith had unwarily subjected himself. A diurnal drudgery was imposed on him, irksome to his indolent habits, and at- tended by circumstances humiliating to his pride. He had to 25 write daily from nine o'clock until two, and often throughout the day ; whether in the vein or not and on subjects dictated by his task-master, however foreign to his taste; in a word, he was treated a's a mere literary hack. But this was not the worst ; it was the critical supervision of Griffiths and his wife, 30 which grieved him ; the " illiterate, bookselling Griffiths," as Smollett called them, " who presumed to revise, alter, and amend the articles contributed to their Beview. Thank Heaven," crowed Smollett, " the Critical Review is not written under the restraint of a bookseller and his wife. Its principal 35 writers are independent of each other, unconnected with book- sellers, and unawed by old women ! "
This literary vassalage, however, did not last long. The bookseller became more and more exactins:. He accused his
58 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
hack writer of idleness ; of abandoning his writing-desk and literary work-shop at an early hour of the day ; and of assum- ing a tone and manner above his situation. Goldsmith, in return, charged him with impertinence ; his wife, with meanness and 5 parsimony in her household treatment of him, and both of literary meddling and marring. The engagement was broken off at the end of five months, by mutual consent, and without any violent rupture, as it will be found they afterwards had occasional dealings with each other.
10 Though Goldsmith was now nearly thirty years of age, he had produced nothing to give him a decided rep^^tation. He was as yet a mere writer for bread. The articles he had con- tributed to the Revieio were anonymous, and were never avowed by him. They have since been, for the most part,
15 ascertained ; and though thrown off hastily, often treating on subjects of temporary interest, and marred by the Griffiths inter- polations, they are still characterized by his sound, easy good sense, and the genial graces of his style. Johnson° observed that Goldsmith's genius flowered late ; he should have said it
20 flowered early, but was late in bringing its fruit to maturity.
CHAPTER yill
Newbery, of Picture-Book Memory. — How to keep up Appearances. — Miseries of Authorship. — A poor Relation. — Letter to Hodson,
Being now known in the publishing world. Goldsmith began to find casual employment in various quarters ; among others he wrote occasionally for the Literary Magazine, a produc- tion set on foot by Mr. John Newbery, bookseller, St. Paul's
25 Churchyard, renowned in nursery literature throughout the latter half of the last century for his picture-books for children. Newbery was a worthy, intelligent, kind-hearted man, and a seasonable, though cautious friend to authors, relieving them with small loans when in pecuniary difficulties, though always
30 taking care to be well repaid by the labor of their pens. Gold-
CHAPTER VIII 59
smith introduces him in a hmnorous yet friendly manner in his novel of the Vicar of WaJceJield. " This person was no other° than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Churchyard, who has written so many little books for children; he called himself their friend ; but he was the friend of all mankind. He was no 5 sooner alighted but he was in haste to be gone ; for he was ever on business of importance, and was at that time actually com- piling materials for the history of one Mr. Thomas Trip. I immediately recollected this good-natured man's red-pimpled face." - 10
Besides his literary job-work, Goldsmith also resumed his medical practice, but with very trifling success. The scantiness of his purse still obliged him to live in obscure lodgings some- where in the vicinity of Salisbury Square, Fleet Street; but his extended acquaintance and rising importance caused him 15 to consult appearances. He adopted an expedient, then very common, and still practised in London among those who have to tread the narrow path between pride and poverty : while he burrowed in lodgings suited to his means, he " hailed," as it is termed, from the Temple Exchange Coffee-House° near Temple 20 Bar.° Here he received his medical calls ; hence he dated his letters ; and here he passed much of his leisure hours, convers- ing with the frequenters of the place. " Thirty pounds a year," said a poor Irish painter, who understood the art of shifting, "is enough to enable a man to live in London without being 25 contemptible. Ten pounds will find him in clothes and linen ; he can live in a garret on eighteen pence a week ; hail from a coffee-house, where, by occasionally spending threepence, he may pass some hours each day in good company ; he may breakfast on bread and milk for a penny ; dine for sixpence ; 30 do without supper ; and on clean-shirt-day he may go abroad and pay visits."
Goldsmith seems to have taken a leaf from this poor devil's manual in respect to the coffee-house at least. Indeed, coffee- houses in those days were the resorts of wits and literati ; where 35 the topics of the day were gossiped over, and the affairs of literature and the drama discussed and criticised. In this way he enlarged the circle of his intimacy, which now embraced several names of notoriety.
60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Do we want a picture of Goldsmith's experience in this part of his career? we have it in his observations on the life of an author in the Inquiry into the State of Polite Leai^ning, pub- lished some years afterwards. 5 ' " The author, unpatronized by the great,° has naturally re- course to the bookseller. There cannot, perhaps, be imagined a combination more prejudicial to taste than this. It is the interest of the one to allow as little for writing, and for the other to write as much as possible ; accordingly, tedious com-
lOpilations and periodical magazines are the result of their joint endeavors. In these circumstances the author bids adieu to fame ; writes for bread and for that only ; imagination is seldom called in. He sits down to address the venal Muse with the most phlegmatic apathy; and, as we are told of the
15 Russian, courts his mistress by falling asleep in her lap."
Again. " Those who are unacquainted with the world are apt to fancy the man of wit as leading a very agreeable life. They conclude, perhaps, that he is attended with silent admira- tion, and dictates to the rest of mankind with all the eloquence
20 of conscious superiority. Very different is his present situa- tion. He is called an author, and all know that an author is a thing only to be laughed at. His person, not his jest, becomes the mirth of the company. At his approach the most fat, un- thinking face brightens into malicious meaning. Even alder-
25 men laugh, and avenge on him the ridicule which was lavished
on their forefathers The poet's poverty is a standing topic
of contempt. His writing for bread is an unpardonable offence. Perhaps of all mankind, an author in these times is used most hardly. We keep him poor, and yet revile his poverty. We
30 reproach him for living by his wit, and. yet allow him no other means to live. His taking refuge in garrets and cellars has of late been violently objected to him, and that by men who, I have hope, are more apt to pity than insult his distress. Is poverty a careless fault ? No doubt he knows how to prefer a
35 bottle of champagne to the nectar of the neighboring ale-house, or a venison pasty to a plate of potatoes. Want of delicacy is not in him, but in those who deny him the opportunity of mak- ing an elegant choice. Wit certainly is the property of those who have it, nor should we be displeased if it is the only prop-
CHAPTER VIII 61
erfcy a man sometimes has. We must not underrate him who uses it for subsistence, and flees from the ingratitude of the age, even to a bookseller for redress." . . .
" If the author be necessary among us, let us treat him with proper consideration as a child of the public, not as a rent- 5 charge on the community. And indeed a child of the public he is in all respects; for while so well able to direct others, how incapable is he frequently found of guiding himself. His simplicity exposes him to all the insidious approaches of cunning : his sensibility to the slightest invasions of contempt. 10 Though-possessed of fortitude to stand unmoved the expected bursts of an earthquake, yet of feelings so exquisitely poignant, as to agonize under the slightest disappointment. Broken rest, tasteless meals, and causeless anxieties shorten life and render it unfit for active employments ; prolonged vigils and intense 15 applications still farther contract his span, and make his time glide insensibly away."
While poor Goldsmith was thus struggling with the difficulties and discouragements which in those days beset the path of an author, his friends in Ireland received accounts of his literary 20 success and of the distinguished acquaintances he was making. This was enough to put the wise heads at Lissoy and Bally- mahon in a ferment of conjectures. With the exaggerated notions of provincial relatives concerning the family great man in the metropolis, some of Goldsmith's poor kindred pictured 25 him to themselves seated in high places, clothed in purple and fine linen, and hand and glove with the givers of gifts and dis- pensers of patronage. Accordingly, he was one day surprised at the sudden apparition, in his miserable lodging, of his younger brother Charles, a raw youth of twenty -one, endowed with a 30 double share of the family heedlessness, and who expected to be forthwith helped into some snug by-path to fortune by one or other of Oliver's great friends. Charles was sadly disconcerted on learning that, so far from being able to provide for others, his brother could scarcely take care of himself. He looked 35 round with a rueful eye on the poet's quarters, and could not help expressing his surprise and disappointment at finding him no better off. " All in good time, my dear boy," replied poor Goldsmith, with infinite good-humor; "I shall be richer by-and-
62 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
by. Addison, let me tell you, wrote his poem of the Cam- paign° in a garret in the Haymarket, three stories high, and you see I am not come to that yet, for I have only got to the second story." 5 Charles Goldsmith did not remain long to embarrass his brother in London. With the same roving disposition and inconsiderate temper of Oliver, he suddenly departed in an humble capacity to seek his fortune in the West Indies, and nothing was heard of him for above thirty years, when, after
10 having been given up as dead by his friends, he made his reappearance in England.
Shortly after his departure. Goldsmith wrote a letter to his brother-in-law, Daniel Hodson, Esq., of which the following is an extract; it was partly intended, no doubt, to dissipate
15 any further illusions concerning his fortunes which might float on the magnificent imagination of his friends in Bally- mahon : —
"I suppose you desire to know my present situation. As there is nothing in it at which I should blush or which man-
20 kind 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 reputation as a poet, I make a shift to live. Nothing is more apt to introduce us to the gates of the Muses than pov- erty; but it were well if they only left us at the door. The
25 mischief is, they sometimes choose to give us their company to the entertainment ; and want, instead of being gentleman- usher, often turns master of the ceremonies.
" Thus, upon learning I write, no doubt you imagine I starve ; and the name of an author naturally reminds you of
30 a garret. In this particular I do not think proper to unde- ceive my friends. But, whether I eat . or starve, live in a first floor or four pairs of stairs high, I still remember them with ardor ; nay, my very country comes in for a share of ray affection. Unaccountable fondness for country, this maladie
35 du pais° as the French call it ! Unaccountable that he should still have an affection for a place, who never, when in it, re- ceived above common civility ; who never brought anything out of it except his brogue and his blunders. Surely my affection is equally ridiculous with the Scotchman's, who
CHAPTER VIII 63
refused to be cured of the itch because it made him unco'° thoughtful of his wife and bonny Inverary.
" But, now, to be serious : let me ask myself what gives me a wish to see Ireland again. The country is a fine one, per- haps V No. There are good company in Ireland ? No. The 5 conversation there is generally made up of a smutty toast or a bawdy song; the vivacity supported by some humble cousin, who had just folly enough to earn his dinner. Then, perhaps, there's more wit and learning among the Irish ? Oh, Lord, no ! There has been more money spent in the encouragement 10 of the -Padareen mare there 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 ? Then, all at 15 once, because you, my dear friend, and a few more who are exceptions to the general picture, have a residence there. This it is that gives me all the pangs I feel in separation. I confess I carry this spirit sometimes to the souring the pleas- ures I at present possess. If I go to the opera, where Signora 20 Columba pours out all the mazes of melody, I sit and sigh for Lissoy fireside, and Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-night from Peggy Golden. If I climb Hampstead Hill, than where nature never exhibited a more magnificent prospect, I confess it fine ; but then I had rather be placed on the little mount 25 before Lissoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most pleasing- horizon in nature.
" Before Charles came hither, my thoughts sometimes found refuge from severer studies among my friends in Ireland. I fancied strange revolutions at home ; but I find it was the 30 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 sally out in visits among the neighbors, and sometimes make 35 a migration from the blue bed to the bro^i^n. I could from my heart wish that you and she (Mrs. Hodson), and Lissoy and Ballymahon, and all of you, would fairly make a migra- tion into Middlesex ; though, upon second thoughts, this might
64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
be attended with a few inconveniences. Therefore, as the mountain will not come to Mohammed, why Mohanjmed shall go to the mountain ; or, to speak plain English, as you cannot conveniently pay me a visit, if next summer I can contrive to
5 be absent six weeks from London, I shall spend three of them among my friends in Ireland. But first, believe me, my design is purely to visit, and neither to cut a figure nor levy contribu- tions •, neither to excite envy nor solicit favor; in fact, my circumstances are adapted to neither. I am too jDOor to be
10 gazed at, and too rich to need assistance."
CHAPTER IX
Hackney Authorship. — Thoughts of Literary Suicide. — Return to Peck- ham. — Oriental Projects. — Literary Enterprise to raise Funds. — Letter to Edward Mills; to Robert Bryauton. — Death of Lncle Contarine. — Letter to Cousin Jane.
For some time Goldsmith continued to write miscellaneously for reviews and other periodical publications, but without mak- ing any decided hit, to use a technical term. Indeed as yet he appeared destitute of the strong excitement of literary am-
15 bition, and wrote only on the spur of necessity and at the urgent importunity of his bookseller. His indolent and truant disposition, ever averse from labor and delighting in holiday, had to be scourged up to its task ; still it was this very truant disposition which threw an unconscious charm over everything
20 he wrote; briuging with it honeyed thoughts and pictured images which had sprung up in his mind in the sunny hours of idleness : these effusions, dashed off on compulsion in the exi- gency of the moment, were published anonymously; so that they made no collective impression on the public, and reflected
25 no fame on the name of their author.
In an essay published some time subsequently in the Bee, Goldsmith adverts in his own humorous way to his impatience at the tardiness with which his desultory and unacknowledged essays crept into notice. " I was once induced," says he, " to
CHAPTER IX 65
show my indignation against the public by discontinuing my efforts to please ; and was bravely resolved, like Raleigh, ° to vex them by burning my manuscripts in a passion. Upon re- flection, however, I considered what set or body of people would be displeased at my rashness. The sun, after so sad an accident, 5 might shine next morning as bright as usual; men might laugh and sing the next day, and transact business as before ; and not a single creature feel any regret but myself. Instead of having Apollo in mourning or the Muses in a fit of the spleen; instead of having the learned world apostrophizing at my untimely 10 decease ; perhaps all Grub Street might laugh at my fate, and self-approving dignity be unable to shield me from ridicule."
Circumstances occurred about this time to give a new direc- tion to Goldsmith's hopes and schemes. Having resumed for a brief period the superintendence of the Peckham school, 15 during a fit of illness of Dr. Milner, that gentleman, in requital for his timely services, promised to use his influence with a friend, an East-India director," to j)i'ocure him a medical ajD- pointment in India.
There-was every reason to believe that the influence of Dr. 20 Milner would be effectual; but how was Goldsmith to find the ways and means of fitting himself out for a voyage to the Indies? In this emergency he was driven to a more extended exercise of the pen than he had yet attempted. His skirmish- ing among books as a reviewer, and his disputatious ramble 25 among the schools and universities and literati of the Continent, had filled his mind with facts and observations which he now set about digesting into a treatise of some magnitude, to be entitled An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe. As the work grew on his hands, his sanguine 30 temper ran ahead of his labors. Feeling secure of success in England, he was anxious to forestall the piracy of the Irish press ; for as yet, the union not having taken place, the Eng- lish law of copyright did not extend to the other side of the ]^ish channel. He wrote, therefore, to his friends in Ireland, 35 urging them to circulate his proposals for his contemplated work, and obtain subscriptions payable in advance ; the money to be transmitted to a Mr. Bradley, an eminent bookseller in Dublin, who would give a receipt for it and be accountable for
66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
the delivery of the books. The letters written by him on this occasion are worthy of copious citation as being full of character and interest. One was to his relative and college intimate, Edward Mills, who had studied for the bar, but was now living ° 5 at ease on his estate at Roscommon. "You have quitted," writes Goldsmith, " the plan of life which you once intended to pursue, and given up ambition for domestic tranquillity. I cannot avoid feeling some regi-et that one of my few friends has declined a pursuit in which he had every reason to expect
10 success. I have often let my fancy loose when you were the subject, and have imagined you gracing the bench, or thunder- ing at the bar : while I have taken no small pride to myself, and whispered to all that I could come near, that this was my cousin. Instead of this, it seems, you are merely contented to
15 be a happy man; to be esteemed by your acquaintances; to cultivate your paternal acres; to take unmolested a nap under one of your own hawthorns, or in Mrs. Mills's bedchamber, which, even a poet must confess, is rather the more comforta- ble place of the two. But, however your resolutions may be
20 altered with regard to your situation in life, I persuade myself they are unalterable with respect to your friends in it. I can- not think the world has taken such entire possession of that heart (once so susceptible of friendship) as not to have left a corner there for a friend or two, but I flatter myself that even
25 1 have a place among the number. This I have a claim to from the similitude of our dispositions ; or setting that aside, I can demand it as a right by the most equitable law of 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 at
30 this very instant I cannot avoid the painful apprehension that my present professions (which speak 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 iJ^ed, I know you are too generous to think so, and you know me too proud to stoop to unnecessary
35 insincerity ; — I have a request, it is tnie, to make; but as I know to whom I am petitioner, I make it without diffidence or confusion. It is in short this. I am going to publish a book in London," &c. The residue of the letter specifies the nature of the request, which was merely to aid in circulating his pro-
CHAPTER IX 67
posals and obtaining subscriptions. The letter of the poor author, however, was unattended to and unacknowledged by the prosperous Mr. Mills, of Roscommon, though in after-years he was proud to claim relationship to Dr. Goldsmith, when he had risen to celebrity. 5
Another of Goldsmith's letters was to Robert Bryanton, with whom he had long ceased to be in correspondence. " I believe," writes he, " that they who are drunk, or out of their wits, fancy everybody else in the same condition. Mine is a friendship that neither distance nor time can efface, which is 10 probably the reason that, for the soul of me, I can't avoid thinking yours of the same complexion ; and yet I have many reasons for being of a contrary opinion, else why, in so long an absence, was I never made a partner in your concerns V To hear of your success would have given me the utmost pleasure ; 15 and a communication of your very disappointments would divide the uneasiness I too frequently feel for my own. Indeed, my dear Bob, you don't, conceive how unkindly you have treated one whose circumstances afford him few prospects of pleasure, except those reflected from the happiness of his friends. How- 20 ever, since you have not let me hear from you, I have in some measure disappointed your neglect b}'" frequently thinking of you. Every day or so I remember the calm anecdotes of your life, from the fireside to the easy-chair ; recall the various adven- tures that first cemented our friendship ; the school, the college, 25 or the tavern ; preside in fancy over your cards ; and am dis- pleased at your bad play when the rubber goes against you, though not with all that agony of soul as when I was once your partner. Is it not strange that two of such like affections should be so much separated, and so differently employed as we 30 are? You seem placed at the centre of fortune's wheel, and, let it revolve ever so fast, are insensible of the motion. I seem to have been tied to the circumference, and whirled disagreeably round, as if on a whirligig."
He then runs into a whimsical and extravagant tirade about 35 his future prospects, the wonderful career of fame and fortune that awaits him ; and after indulging in all kinds of humorous gasconades, concludes: "Let me, then, stop my fancy to take a view of my future self, — and, as the boys say, light down
68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
to see myself on horseback. Well, now that I am down, where the d — 1 is I ? Oh gods ! gods ! here in a garret, writing for bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk score ! "
He would, on this occasion, have doubtless written to his 5 uncle Contarine, but that generous friend was sunk into a help- less hopeless state from which death soon released him.
Cut of£ thus from the kind cooperation of his uncle, he addresses a letter to his daughter Jane, the companion of his school-boy and happy days, now the wife of Mr. Lawder. The
10 object was to secure her interests with her husband in promot- ing the circulation of his proposals. The letter is full of character.
" If you should ask," he begins, " why, in an interval of so many years, you never heard from me, permit me, madam, to
15 ask the same question. I have the best excuse in recrimina- tion. I wrote to Kilmore from Leyden in Holland, from Lou- vain in Flanders, and Rouen in France, but received no answer. To what could I attribute this silence but to displeasure or forgetfulness ? Whether I was right in my conjecture I do
20 not pretend to determine ; but this I must ingenuously own, that I have a thousand times in my turn endeavored to forget them, whom I could not but look upon as forgetting me. I have attempted to blot their names from my memory, and, I confess it, spent whole days in efforts to tear their image from
25 my heart. Could I have succeeded, you had not now been troubled with this renewal of a discontinued correspondence ; but, as every effort the restless make to procure sleep serves but to keep them waking, all my attempts contributed to impress what I would forget deeper on my imagination. But this subject I
30 would willingly turn from, and yet, ' for the soul of me,' I can't till I have said all. I was, madam, when I discontinued writing to Kilmore, in such circumstances, that all my endeavors to continue your regards might be attributed to wrong motives. My letters might be looked upon as the petitions of a beggar,
35 and not the offerings of a friend ; while all my professions, instead of being considered as the result of disinterested esteem, might be ascribed to venal insincerity. I believe, indeed, you
• had too much generosity to place them in such a light, but I could not bear even the shadow of such a suspicion. The most
CHAPTER IX 69
delicate friendships ' are always most sensible of the slightest invasion, and the strongest jealousy is ever attendant on the warmest regard. I could not — I own I could not — continue a correspondence in which every acknowledgment for past favors might be considered as an indirect request for future 5 ones; and where it might be thought I gave my heart from a motive of gratitude alone, when I was conscious of having be- stowed it on much more disinterested principles. It is true, this conduct might have been simple enough ; but yourself must confess it was in character. Those who know me at all, know 10 that I have always been actuated by different principles from the rest of mankind : and while none regarded the interest of his friend more, no man on earth regarded his own less. I have often affected bluntness to avoid the imputation of flat- tery ; have frequently seemed to overlook those merits too 15 obvious to escape notice, and pretended disregard to those instances of good nature and good sense, which I could not fail tacitly to applaud; and all this lest I should be ranked among the grinning tribe, who say 'very true* to all that is said ; who fill a vacant chair at a tea-table ; whose narrow souls 20 never moved in a wider circle than the circumference of a guinea ; and who had rather be reckoning the money in your pocket than the virtue in your breast. All this, I say, I have done, and a thousand other very silly, though very disinterested, things in my time ; and for all which no soul cares a farthing 25 about me. ... Is it to be wondered that he should once in his life forget you, who has been all his life forgetting himself? However, it is probable you may one of these days see me turned into a perfect hunks, and as dark and intricate as a mouse-hole. I have already given my landlady orders for an 30 entire reform in the state of my finances. I declaim against hot suppers, drink less sugar in my tea, and check my grate with brickbats. Instead of hanging my room with pictures, I intend to adorn it with maxims of frugality. Those will make pretty furniture enough, and won't be a bit too expen- 35 sive; for I will draw them all out with my own hands, and my landlady's daughter shall frame them with the parings of my black waistcoat. Each maxim is to be inscribed on a sheet of clean paper, and wrote with my best pen ; of which the follow-
70 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
ing will serve as a specimen. Look sharp: Mind the main chance : Money is money now : If you have a thousand pounds you can put your hands hy your sides, and say you are worth a thousand pounds every day of the year: Take a farthing from a hundred 5 and it icill he a hundred no longer. Thus, which way soever I turn my eyes, they are sure to meet one of those friendly monitors ; and as we are told of an actor who hung his room round with looking-glass to correct the defects of his person, my apartment shall be furnished in a peculiar manner, to correct the errors of
10 my mind. Faith ! madam, I heartily wish to be rich, if it were only for this reason, to say without a blush how much I esteem you. But, alas ! I have many a fatigue to encounter before that happy time comes, when your poor old simple friend may again give a loose to the luxuriance of his nature ; sitting
15 by Kilmore fireside, recount the various adventures of a hard- fought life ; laugh over the follies of the day ; join his flute to your harpsichord ; and forget that ever he starved in those streets where Butler'^ and Otway starved before him. And now I mention those great names — my Uncle! he is no more that
20 soul of fire as when I once knew him. [N'ewton and Swift grew dim with age as well as he. But what shall I say? His mind was too active an inhabitant not to disorder the feeble mansion of its abode ; for the richest jewels soonest wear their settings. Yet, who but the fool would lament his condition ! He now f or-
25 gets the calamities of life. Perhaps indulgent Heaven has given him a foretaste of that tranquillity here, which he so well deserves hereafter. But I must come to business ; for business, as one of my maxims tells me, must be minded or lost. I am agoing to publish in London a book entitled The Present State of Taste
30 and Literature in Europe. The booksellers in Ireland republish every performance there without making the author any con- sideration. I would, in this respect, disappoint their avarice, and have all the profits of my labor to myself. I must, there- fore, request Mr. Lawder to circulate among his friends and
35 acquaintances a hundred of my proposals, which I have given the bookseller, Mr. Bradley, in Dame Street, directions to send to him. If, in pursuance of such circulation, he should receive any subscriptions, I entreat, when collected, they may be sent to Mr. Bradley, as aforesaid, who will give a receipt, and be
CHAPTER X 71
accountable for the work, or a return of the subscription. If this request (which, if it be complied with, will in some measure be an encouragement to a man of learning) should be disagree- able or troublesome, I would not press it ; for I would be the last man on earth to have my labors go a-begging ; but if 1 5 know Mr. Lawder (and sure I ought to know him), he will accept the employment with pleasure. All I can say — if he writes a book, I will get him two hundred subscribers, and those of the best wits in Europe. Whether this request is complied with or not, I shall not be uneasy; but there is one 10 petition t must make to him and to you, which I solicit with the warmest ardor, and in which I cannot bear a refusal. I mean, dear madam, that I may be allowed to subscribe myself, your ever affectionate and obliged kinsman, Oliver Gold- smith. Now see how I blot and blunder, when I am asking a 15 favor."
CHAPTER X
Oriental Appointment ; and Disappointment. — Examination at the College of Surgeons. — How to procure a Suit of Clothes. — Fresh Disappointment. — A Tale of Distress. — The Suit of Clothes in Pawn. — Punishment for doing an Act of Charity. — Gayeties of Green Arbor Court. — Letter to his Brother. — Life of Voltaire. — Scroggin, an Attempt at mock-heroic Poetry.
While Goldsmith was yet laboring at his treatise, the promise made him by Dr. Milner was carried into effect, and ! he was actually appointed physician and surgeon to one of the I factories on the coast of Coromandel.° His imagination was 20 immediately on fire with visions of Oriental wealth and mag- nificence. It is true the salary did hot exceed one hundred pounds, but then, as appointed x^hysician, he would have the exclusive practice of the place, amounting to one thousand pounds per annum ; with advantages to be derived from trade 25 and from the high interest of money — twenty per cent. ; in a word, for once in his life, the road to fortune lay broad and straight before him.
72 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Hitherto, in his correspondence with his friends, he had said nothing of his India scheme; but now he imparted to them his brilliant prospects, urging the importance of their circulating his proposals and obtaining him subscriptions and 5 advances on his forthcoming work, to f nrnish funds for his outfit.
In the mean time he had to task that poor drudge, his Muse, for present exigencies. Ten pounds were demanded for his appointment-warrant. Other expenses pressed hard upon
10 him. Fortunately, though as yet unknown to fame, his liter- ary capability was known to " the trade," and the coinage of his brain passed current in Grub Street. Archibald Hamilton, proprietor of the Critical Review, the rival to that of Grif- fiths, readily made him a small advance on receiving three
15 articles for his periodical. His purse thus slenderly replen- ished, Goldsmith paid for his warrant ; wiped off the score of his milkmaid ; abandoned his garret, and moved into a shabby first floor in a forlorn court near the Old Bailey ; there to await the time of his migration to the magnificent coast of
20 Coromandel.
Alas ! poor Goldsmith ! ever doomed to disappointment. Early in the gloomy month of November, that month of fog and despondency in London, he learnt the shipwreck of his hope. The great Coromandel enterprise fell through ; or
25 rather the post promised to him was transferred to some other candidate. The cause of this disappointment it is now impossible to ascertain. The death of his quasi patron. Dr. Mihier, which happened about this time, may have had some effect in producing it; or there may have been some heedless-
30 ness and blundering on his own part ; or some obstacle arising from his insuperable indigence ; — whatever may have been the cause, he never mentioned it, which gives some ground to surmise that he himself was to blame. His friends learnt with surprise that he had suddenly relinquished his appoint-
35 ment to India, about which he had raised such sa,nguine ex- pectations : some accused him of fickleness and caprice ; others supposed him unwilling to/ tear himself from the growing fascinations of the literary society of London.
In the mean time, cut down in his hopes, and humiliated in
CHAPTER X 73
his pride by the failure of his Coromandel scheme, he sought, without consulting his friends, to be examined at the College of Physicians for the humble situation of hospital mate. Even here poverty stood in his way. It was necessary to appear in a decent garb before the examining committee; but how was 5 he to do so ? He was literally out at elbows as well as out of cash. Here again the Muse, so often jilted and neglected by him, came to his aid. In consideration of four articles fur- nished to the Monthly Review, Griffiths, his old task-master, was to become his securit}^ to the tailor for a suit of clothes. 10 Goldsmith said he wanted them but for a single occasion, upon which depended his appointment to a situation in the army ; as soon as that temporary purpose was served they would either be returned or paid for. The books to be reviewed were accordingly lent to him ; the Muse was again set to her 15 compulsory drudgery ; the articles were scribbled off and sent to the bookseller, and the clothes came in due time from the tailor.
From the records of the College of Surgeons, it appears that Goldsmith underwent his examination at Surgeons' Hall, 20 on the 21st of December 1758. Either from a confusion of mind incident to sensitive and imaginative persons on such occasions, or from a real want of surgical science, which last is extremely probable, he failed in his examination and was rejected as unqualified. The effect of such a rejection was to 25 disqualify him for every branch of public service, though he might have claimed a reexamination, after the interval of a few months devoted to further study. Such a reexamination he never attempted, nor did he ever communicate his discom- fiture to any of his friends. 30
On Christmas-Day, but four days after his rejection by the College of Surgeons, while he was suffering under the mortifi- cation of defeat and disappointment, and hard pressed for means of subsistence, he was surprised by the entrance into his room of the poor woman of whom he hired his wretched 35 apartment, and to whom he owed some small arrears of rent. She had a piteous tale of distress, and w^as clamorous in her afflictions. Her husband had been arrested in the night for debt, and thrown into prison. This was too much for the quick
74 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
feelings of Goldsmith ; he was ready at any time to help the distressed, but in this instance he was himself in some measure a cause of the distress. What was to be done ? He had no money, it is true ; but there hung the new suit of clothes in which he 5 had stood his unlucky examination at Surgeons' Hall. With- out giving himself time for reflection, he sent it off to the pawnbroker's, and raised thereon a sufficient sum to pay off his own debt, and to release his landlord from prison.
Under the same pressure of penury and despondency, he
10 borrow^ed from a neighbor a pittance to relieve his immediate wants, leaving as a security the books which he had recently review^ed. In the midst of these straits and harassmt ...,, x^c received a letter from Griffiths, demanding, in peremptory terms, the return of the clothes and books, or immediate pay-
15 ment for the same. It appears that he had discovered the identical suit at the pawnbroker's. The reply of Goldsmith is not known ; it was out of his power to furnish either the .clothes or the money ; but he probably offered once more to make the Muse stand his bail. His reply only increased the ire of the
20 wealthy man of trade, and drew from him another letter still more harsh than the flirst; using the epithets of knave and sharper, and containing threats of prosecution and a prison.
The following letter from poor Goldsmith gives the most touching picture of an inconsiderate but sensitive man,
25 harassed by care, stung by humiliations, and driven almost to despondency: —
"Sir, — I know of no misery but a jail to which my own imprudences and your letter seem to point. I have seen it ijievitable these three or four weeks, and, by heavens ! request
30 it as a favor — as a favor that may prevent something more fatal. I have been some years struggling with a wretched being — with all that contempt that indigence brings with it — with all those passions w^hich make contempt insupportable. What, then, has a jail that is formidable ? I shall at least have
35 the society of wretches, and such is to me true society. I tell you, again and again, that I am neither able nor willing to pay you a farthing, but I will be punctual to any appointment you or the tailor shall make ; thus far, at least, I do not act the
CHAPTER X 75
sharper, since, unable to pay my own debts one way, I would generally give some security another. No, sir ; had I been a sharper — had I been possessed of less good-nature and native generosity, I might surely now have been in better circumstances. 5
"I am guilty, I own, of meannesses which poverty unavoid- ably brings with it : my reflections are filled with repentance for ray imprudence, but not with any remorse for being a villain: that may be a character you unjustly charge me with. Your books, I can assure you, are neither pawned nor sold, but 10 in the custody of a friend, from whom my necessities obliged me to borrow some money : whatever becomes of my person, you shall have them in a month. It is very possible both the reports you have heard and your own suggestions may have brought you false information with respect to my character ; 15 it is very possible that the man whom you now regard with detestation may inwardly burn with grateful resentment. It is very possible that, upon a second perusal of the letter I sent you, you may see the workings of a mind strongly agitated with gratitude and jealousy. If such circumstances should appear, 20 at least spare invective till my book with Mr. Dodslej'^ shall be published, and then, perhaps, you may see the bright side of a mind, when my professions shall not appear the dictates of necessity, but of .choice.
"You seem to think Dr. Milner knew^ me not. Perhaps so; 25 but he was a man I shall ever honor ; but I have friendships only with the dead ! I ask pardon for taking up so much time ; nor shall I add to it by any other professions than that I am, sir, your humble servant,
"Oliver Goldsmith. 30
" p. S. — I shall expect impatiently the result of your resolutions."
The dispute between the poet and the publisher was after- ward imperfectly adjusted, and it would appear that the clothes were paid for by a short compilation advertised by Griffiths in 35 the course of the following month ; but the parties were never really friends afterward, and the writings of Goldsmith were harshly and unjustly treated in the Monthly Review.
76 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
We have given the preceding anecdote in detail, as furnishing one of the many instances in which Goldsmith's prompt and benevolent impulses outran all prudent forecast, and involved him in difficulties and disgraces which a more selfish man would 5 have avoided. The pawning of the clothes, charged upon him as a crime by the grinding bookseller, and apparently admitted by him as one of " the meannesses which poverty unavoidably brings with it," resulted, as we have shown, from a tenderness of heart and generosity of hand, in which another man would
10 have gloried ; but these were such natural elements with him, that he was unconscious of their merit. It is a pity that wealth does not oftener bring such " meannesses " in its train.
And now let us be indulged in a few particulars about these lodgings in which Goldsmith was guilty of this thoughtless act
15 of benevolence. They were in a very shabby house, No. 12 Green Arbor Court, between the Old Bailey° and Fleet Market. An old woman was still living in 1820 who was a relative of the identical landlady whom Goldsmith relieved by the money received from the pawnbroker. She was a child about seven
20 years of age at the time that the poet rented his apartment of her relative, and used frequently to be at the house in Green Arbor Court. She was drawn there, in a great measure, by the good-humored kindness of Goldsmith, who was always exceed- ingly fond of the society of children, tie used to assemble
25 those of the family in his room, give them cakes and sweet- meats, and set them dancing to the sound of his flute. He was very friendly to those around him, and cultivated a kind of in- timacy with a watchmaker in the Court, who possessed much native wit and humor. He passed most of the day, however, in
30 his room, and only went out in the evenings. His days were no doubt devoted to the drudgery of the pen, and it would appear that he occasionally found the booksellers urgent task- masters. On one occasion a visitor was shown up to his room, and immediately their voices were heard in high altercation,
35 and the key was turned within the lock. The landlady, at first, was disposed to go to the assistance of her lodger ; but a calm succeeding, she forbore to interfere.
Late in the evening the door was unlocked; a supper ordered by the visitor from a neighboring tavern, and Goldsmith and
CHAPTER X 77
his intrusive guest finished the evening in great good-humor. It was probably his old task -master Griffiths, whose press might have been waiting, and who found no other mode of getting a stipulated task from Goldsmith than by locking him in, and staying by him until it was finished. 5
But we have a more particular account of these lodgings in Green Arbor Court from the Rev. Thomas Percy, afterward Bishop of Dromore, and celebrated for his relics of ancient poetry, his beautiful ballads, and other works. During an oc- casional visit to London, he was introduced to Goldsmith by 10 Grainger, and ever after continued one. of his most steadfast and valued friends. The following is his description of the poet's squalid apartment : " I called on Goldsmith at his lodg- ings in March, 1759, and found him writing his Inquiry, in a miserable, dirty-looking room, in which there was but one 15 chair ; and when, from civility, he resigned it to me, he himself was obliged to sit in the window. While we were conversing together, some one tapped gently at the door, and, being desired to come in, a poor ragged little girl, of a very becoming de- meanor, entered the room, and, dropping a courtesy, said, 20 ' My mamma sends her compliments, and begs the favor of you to lend her a chamber-pot full of coals.' "
We are reminded in this anecdote of Goldsmith's picture of the lodgings of Beau Tibbs, and of the peep into the secrets of a make-shift establishment given to a visitor by the^l blundering old Scotch woman.
" By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs would permit us ta ascend, till we came to what he was facetiously pleased to call the first floor down the chimney; and, knocking at the door, a voice from within demanded ' Who's there ? ' My 30 conductor answered that it was him. But this not satisfying the querist, the voice again repeated the demand, to which he answered louder than before ; and now the door was opened by an old woman with cautious reluctance.
" When we got in, he welcomed me to his house with great 35 ceremony; and, turning to the old woman, asked where was her lady. ' Good troth,' replied she, in a peculiar dialect, ' she's washing your twa shirts at the next door, because they have taken an oath against lending the tub any longer.' 'My
78 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
two shirts,' cried he, in a tone that faltered with confusion ; ' what does the idiot mean ? ' 'I ken what I mean weel enough,' replied the other ; ' she's washing your twa shirts at the next door, because' — 'Fire and fury ! no more of thy stupid ex- 5 planations,' cried he ; 'go and inf oi-m her we have company. Were that Scotch hag to be forever in my family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget that absurd poisonous accent of hers, or testify the smallest specimen of breeding or high life ; and yet it is very surprising too, as I had her from a Par-
lOliament man, a friend of mine from the Highlands, one of the politest men in the world ; but that's a secret.' " ^
Let us linger a little in Green Arbor Court, a place conse- crated by the genius and the poverty of Goldsmith, but recently obliterated in the course of modern improvements. The writer of
15 this memoir visited it not many years since on a literary pil- grimage, and may be excused for repeating a description of it which he has heretofore inserted in another publication. " It then existed in its pristine state, and was a small square of tall and miserable houses, the very intestines of which seemed
20 turned inside out, to judge from the old garments and frippery that fluttered from every window. It appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the little square, on which clothes were dangling to dry.
" Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place between
25 two viragoes about a disputed right to a wash-tub, and immedi- ately the whole community was in a hubbub. Heads in mob- caps popped out of every window, and such a clamor of tongues ensued that I was fain to stop my ears. Every amazon took part with one or other of the disputants, and brandished her
30 arms, dripping with soapsuds, and fired away from her window as from the embrasure of a fortress ; while the screams of chil- dren nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the general concert." ^
35 While in these forlorn quarters, suffering under extreme depression of spirits, caused by his failure at Surgeons' Hall, the disappointment of his hopes, and his harsh collisions with
1 Citizen of the World, letter iv. ^ Tales of a Traveller.
CHAPTER X 79
Griffiths, Goldsmith wrote the following letter to his brother Henry, some parts of which are most touchingly mournful.
" Deak Sir, —
"Your punctuality in answering a man whose trade is writ- ing, is more than T had reason to expect ; and yet you see me 5 generally fill a whole sheet, which is all the recompense I can make for being so frequently troublesome. The behavior of Mr. Mills and Mr. Lawder is a little extraordinary. However, their answering neither you nor me is a sufficient indication of theij disliking the employment which I assigned them. As 10 their conduct is different from what I had expected, so I have made an alteration in mine. I shall, the beginning of next month, send over two hundred and fifty books,i which are all that I fancy can be well sold among you, and I would have you make some distinction in the persons who have subscribed. 15 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 resolutions altered; though, at the 20 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 con- ceive how much eight years of disapxDointment, anguish, and 25 study have worn me down. If I remember right, you are seven or eight years older than me, yet I dare venture to say, that, if a stranger saw us both, he would pay me the honors of seniority. Imagine to yourself a pale, melancholy visage, with two great wrinkles between the eyebrows, with an eye 30 disgustingly severe, and a big wig, and you may have a perfect picture of my present appearance. On the other hand, I con- ceive 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 1 35 have not known. I have passed my days among a parcel of
1 The Inquiry into Polite Literature. His previous remarks apply to the subscription.
80 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
cool, designing beings, and have contracted all their suspicious manner in my own behavior. I should actually be as unfit for the society of my friends at home, as I detest that which I am obliged to partake of here. I can now neither partake of the 5 pleasure of a revel, nor contribute to raise its jollity. I can neither laugh nor drink ; have contracted a hesitating, dis- agreeable manner of speaking, and a visage that looks ill- nature itself; in short, I have thought myself into a settled melancholy, and an utter disgust of all that life brings with
10 it. Whence this romantic turn that all our family are pos- sessed with ? Whence this love for every place and every country but that in which we reside — for every occupation but our own? this desire of fortune, and yet this eagerness to dissipate? I perceive, my dear sir, that I am at intervals for
15 indulging this splenetic manner, and following my own taste, regardless of yours.
" The reasons you have given me for breeding up your son a scholar are judicious and convincing ; I should, however, be glad to know for what particular profession he is designed.
20 If he be assiduous and divested of strong passions (for pas- sions 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,
25 and an exquisite sensibility of contempt, do not send him there, unless you have no other trade for him but your own. It is impossible to conceive how much may be done by proper education at home. A boy, for instance, who understands per- fectly well Latin, French, arithmetic, and the principles of the
30 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 inculcated, let him be designed for what- ever calling he will.
"Above all things, let him never touch a romance or novel:
35 these paint beauty in colors 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 happiness that never existed; to despise the little good which fortune
CHAPTER X 81
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 who has studied human nature more by experience than precept; take my word for it, I say, that books teach us very little of the w^orld. The greatest merit in a state of 5 poverty would only serve to make the possessor ridiculous — may distress, but cannot relieve 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 preferment. Teach then, my dear sir, to your son, thrift and economy. Let 10 his poi?r wandering uncle's example be placed before his eyes. I had learned from books to be disinterested and generous, before I was taught from experience the necessity of being- prudent. I had contracted the habits and notions of a philos- opher, while I was exposing myself to the approaches of insid- 15 ious cunning ; and often by being, even with my narrow finances, charitable to excess, I forgot the rules of justice, and placed myself in the very situation of the wretch who thanked me for my bounty. When I am in the remotest part of the world, tell him this, and perhaps he may improve from my example. But 20 I find myself 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 circum- stances I could not, for to behold her in distress without a capacity of relieving her from it, would add much to my splene- 25 tic habit. Your last letter was much too short; it should have answered some queries I had made in my former. Just sit down as I do, and write forward until you have filled all your paper. It requires no thought, at least from the ease with which my own sentiments rise when they are addressed to you. 30 For, believe me, my head has no share in all I write ; my heart dictates the whole. Pray give my love to Bob Bryanton, and entreat him from me not to drink. My dear sir, give me some account about poor Jenny.^ Yet her husband loves her : if so, she cannot be unhappy. 35
"I know not whether I should tell you — yet why should I conceal these trifles, or, indeed, anything from you ? There is
1 His sister, Mrs. Johnston ; her marriage, fike that of Mrs. Hodson, was private, but in pecuniary matters much less fortunate.
82 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
St. book of mine will be published 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 catchpenny. However, I spent but four weeks on the whole performance, for 5 which I received twenty pounds. When published, I shall take some method of conveying it to you, unless you may think it dear of the postage,^ which may amount to four or five shil- lings. However, I fear you will not find an equivalent of amusement.
10 " Your last letter, I repeat it, was too short ; you should have given me your opinion of the design of the heroi-comical poem which I sent you. You remember I intended to introduce the hero of the poem as lying in a paltry ale-house. You may take the following specimen of the manner, which I flatter myself is
15 quite original. The room in which he lies may be described somewhat in this way : —
'* ' The window, patched with paper, lent a ray That feebly show'd the state in which he lay; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread,
20 The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ;
The game of goose was there exposed to view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ;° The Seasons, framed with listing, found a place, And Prussia's monarch show'd his lamp-black face.
25 The morn was cold : he views with keen desire^
A rusty grate unconscious of a fire ; An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scored, And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney-board.'
" And now imagine, after his soliloquy, the landlord to make 30 his appearance in order to dun him for the reckoning : —
" ' Not with that face, so servile and so gay, That welcomes every stranger that can pay : With sulky eye he smoked the patient man, Then pull'd his breeches tight, and thus began,' &c.i
35 " 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 da not care how much they play the fool. Take
1 The projected poem, of which the above were specimens, appears never to have been completed.
CHAPTER X 83
my present follies as instances of my regard. Poetry is a mnch easier and more agreeable species of composition than prose; and, could a man live by it, it were not 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 already, 5 I mean that I am your most affectionate friend and brother
" Oliver Goldsmith."
The Life of Voltaire, alluded to in the latter part of the pre- ceding letter, was the literary job undertaken to satisfy the demands of Griffiths. It was to have preceded a translation 10 of the JIenriarle° by Ned Purdon, Goldsmith's old schoolmate, now a Grub-Street writer, who starved rather than lived by the exercise of his pen, and often tasked Goldsmith's scanty means to relieve his hunger. His miserable career was summed up by our poet in the following lines written some years after the 15 time we are treating of, on hearing that he had suddenly dropped dead in Smithfield : —
" Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack ; He led such a damnable life in this world, 20
I don't think he'll wish to come back."
The memoir and translation, though advertised to form a vol- ume, were not published together, but appeared separately in a magazine.
As to the heroi-comical poem, also, cited in the foregoing 25 letter, it appears to have perished in embryo. Had it been brought to maturity, we should have had further traits of auto- biography : the room already described was probably his own squalid quarters in Green Arbor Court ; and in a subsequent morsel of the poem we have the poet himself, under the 30 euphonious name of Scroggin : —
"Where the Red Lion peering o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; Where Calvert's butt and Parson's black champaigne Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane : 35
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, The muse found Scroggin stretch'd beneath a rug ; A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by night, a stocking all the day! "
84 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
It is to be regretted, that this poetical conception was not carried out ; like the author's other M^ritings, it might have abounded with pictures of life and touches of nature drawn from his own observation and experience, and mellowed by his 5 own humane and tolerant spirit ; and might have been a worthy companion or rather contrast to his Traveller and Deserted Village, and have remained in the language a first-rate speci- men of the mock-heroic.
CHAPTER XI
Publication of The Inquiry. — Attack by Griffiths' Review. — Kenrick the Literary IslimaeUte. —Periodical Literature. — Goldsmith's Assays. — Garrick as a Manager. — Smollett aud his Schemes. — Change of Lodgings. — The Eobin Hood Club.
Towards the end of March, 1759, the treatise on which
10 Goldsmith had laid so much stress, on which he at one time had calculated to defray the expenses of his outfit to India, and to which he had adverted in his correspondence with Griffiths, made its appearance. It was published by the Dodsleys, and entitled An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning
15 in Europe.
In the present day, when the whole field of contemporary literature is so widely surveyed and amply discussed, and when the current productions of every country are constantly collated and ably criticised, a treatise like that of Goldsmith would be
20 considered as extremely limited and unsatisfactory ; but at that time it possessed novelty in its views and wideness in its scope, and being imbued with the peculiar charm of style inseparable from the author, it commanded public attention and a profitable sale. As it was the most important production that had
25 yet come from Goldsmith's pen, he was anxious to have the credit of it; yet it appeared without his name on the title-page. The authorship, however, was well known throughout the world of letters, and the author had now grown into sufficient literary
CHAPTER XI 85
importance to become an object of hostility to the underlings of the press. One of the most virulent attacks upon him was in a criticism on this treatise, and appeared in the Monthly Re- vieiv to which he himself had been recently a contributor. It slandered him as a man while it decried him as an author, and 5 accused him, by innuendo, of "laboring under the infamy of having, by the vilest and meanest actions, forfeited all preten- sions to honor and honesty," and of practising " those acts which bring the sharper to the cart's tail or the pillory."
It will be remembered that the Review was owned by Griffiths 10 the bookseller, with whom Goldsmith had recently had a mjs- understaniding. The criticism, therefore, was no doubt dictated by the lingerings of resentment ; and the imputations upon Goldsmith's character for honor and honesty, and the vile and mean actions hinted at, could only allude to the unfortunate 15 pawning of the clothes. All this, too, was after Griffiths had received the affecting letter from Goldsmith, drawing a picture of his poverty and perplexities, and after the latter had made him a literary compensation. Griffiths, in fact, was sensible of the falsehood and extravagance of the attack, and tried to ex- 20 onerate himself by declaring that the criticism was written by a person in his employ ; but we see no difference in atrocity be- tween him who wields the knife and him who hires the cut- throat. It may be well, however, in passing, to bestow our mite of notoriety upon the miscreant who launched the slander. He 25 deserves it for a long course of dastardly and venomous attacks, not merely upon Goldsmith, but upon most of the successful authors of the day. His name was Kenrick. He was originally a mechanic, but possessing some degree of talent and industry, applied himself to literature as a profession. This he pursued for 30 many years, and tried his hand in every department of prose and poetry; he wrote plays and satires, philosophical tracts, critical dissertations, and works on philology; nothing from his pen ever rose to first-rate excellence, or gained him a popular name, though he received from some university the degree of 35 Doctor of Laws. Dr. Johnson characterized his literary career in one short sentence. " Sir, he is one of the many who have made themselves /?M^>//c without making themselves known."
Soured by his own want of success, jealous of the success of
86 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
others, his natural irritability of temper increased by habits of intemperance, he at length abandoned himself to the practice of reviewing, and became one of the Ishmaelites of the press.° In this his malignant bitterness soon gave him a notoriety 5 which his talents had never been able to attain. We shall dis- miss him for the present with the following sketch of him by the hand of one of his contemporaries : —
" Dreaming of genius° which he never had, Half wit, half fool, half critic, and half mad ;
10 Seizing, Uke Shirley, on the poet's lyre,
With all his rage, but not one spark of fire ; Eager for slaughter, and resolved to tear From others' brows that wreath he must not wear — Next Kenrick came : all furious and replete
15 With brandy, malice, pertness, and conceit ;
Unskill'd in classic lore, through envy blind To all that's beauteous, learned, or refined : For faults alone behold the savage prowl, With reason's offal glut his ravening soul ;
20 Pleased with his prey, its inmost blood he drinks.
And mumbles, paws, and turns it — till it stinks."
The British press about this time was extravagantly fruitful of periodical publications.^ That " oldest inhabitant," the Gentleman's Magazine, almost coeval with St. John's gate which
25 graced its title-page, had long been elbowed by magazines and reviews of all kinds : Johnson's Rambler had introduced the fashion of periodical essays, which he had followed up in his Adventurer and Idler. Imitations had sprung up on every side, under every variety of name ; until British literature was en-
30 tirely overrun by a weedy and transient efflorescence. Many of these rival periodicals choked each other almost at the out- set, and few of them have escaped oblivion.
Goldsmith wrote for some of the most successful, such as the Bee, the Busy-Body, and the Lady's Magazine. His essays,
35 though characterized by his delightful style, his pure, benevo- lent morality, and his mellow, unobtrusive humor, did not pro- duce equal effect at first with more garish writings of infinitely less value ; they did not " strike," as it is termed ; but they had that rare and enduring merit which rises in estimation on every
40 perusal. They gradually stole upon the heart of the public,
CHAPTER XI " 87
were copied into numerous contemporary publications, and now they are garnered up among the choice productions of British literature.
In his Inquiry into the State of Polite Learning, Goldsmith had given offence to David Garrick, at that time autocrats of the drama, and was doomed to experience its effect. A clamor had been raised against Garrick for exercising a despot- ism over the stage, and bringing forward nothing but old plays to the exclusion of original productions. Walpole° joined in this charge. "Garrick," said he, "is treating the town as it de-10 serves and likes to be treated, — with scenes, fire-works, and his own foritings. A good new play I never expect to see more ; nor have seen since the Provoked Husband, which came out when I was at school." Goldsmith, who was extremely fond of the theatre, and felt the evils of this system, inveighed in his 15 treatise against the wrongs experienced by authors at the hands of managers. " Our poet's performance," said he, "must undergo a process truly chemical before it is presented to the public. It must be tried in the manager's fire; strained through a licenser, suffer from repeated corrections, till it ma3^20 be a mere caput mortuum when it arrives before the public." Again, — " Getting a play on even in three or four years is a privilege reserved only for the happy few who have the arts of courting the manager as well as the Muse; who have adula- tion to please his vanity, powerful patrons to support their 25 merit, or money to indemnify disappointment. Our Saxon ancestors had but one name for a wit and a witch. I will not dispute the propriety of uniting those characters then ; but the man who under present discouragements ventures to write for the stage, whatever claim he may have, to the appellation 30 of a wit, at least has no right to be called a conjurer." But a passage which perhaps touched more sensibly than all the rest on the sensibilities of Garrick, was the following : —
"I have no particular spleen against the fellow who sweeps the stage with the besom, or the hero who brushes it with his 35 train. It were a matter of indifference to me, whether our heroines are in keeping, or our candle-snuffers burn their fingers, did not such make a great part of public care and polite conversation. Our actors assume all that state off the
88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
stage which they do on it; and, to use an expression borrowed from the green-room, every one is up in his part. I am sorry to say it, they seem to forget their real characters."
These strictures were considered by Garrick as intended for 5 himself, and they were rankling in his mind when Goldsmith waited upon him and solicited his vote for the vacant secre- taryship of the Society of Arts,° of which the manager was a member. Garrick, puffed up by his dramatic renown and his intimacy with the great, and knowing Goldsmith only by his
10 budding reputation, may not have considered him of sufficient importance to be conciliated. In reply to his solicitations, he observed that he could hardly expect his friendly exertions after the unprovoked attack he had made upon his manage- ment. Goldsmith replied that he had indulged in no person-
15 alities, and had only spoken what he believed to be the truth. He made no further apology nor application; failed to get the appointment, and considered Garrick his enemy. In the second edition of his treatise he expunged or modified the pas- sages which had given the manager offence ; but though the
20 author and actor became intimate in after years, this false step at the outset of their intercourse was never forgotten.
About this time Goldsmith engaged with Dr. Smollett, who was about to launch the British Magazine. Smollett was a com- plete schemer and speculator in literature, and intent upon
25 enterprises that had money rather than reputation in view. Goldsmith has a good-humored hit at this propensity in one of his papers in the Bee, in which he represents Johnson, Hume, and others taking seats in the stage-coach bound for Fame, while Smollett prefers that destined for Riches.
30 Another promitjent employer of Goldsmith was Mr. John Xewbery, who engaged him to contribute occasional essays to a newspaper entitled the Public Ledger, which made its first appearance on the 12th of January, 1760. His most valu- able and characteristic contributions to this paper were his
35 Chinese Letters subsequently modified into the Citizen of the World. These lucubrations attracted general attention; they were reprinted in the various periodical publications of the day, and met with great applause. The name of the author, how- ever, was as yet but little known.
CHAPTER XII 89
Being now easier in circumstances, and in the receipt of frequent sums from the booksellers, Goldsmith, about the middle of 1760, emerged from his dismal abode in Green Arbor Court, and took respectable apartments in Wine-Office Court, Fleet Street. 5
Still he continued to look back with considerate benevolence to the poor hostess, whose necessities he had relieved by pawn- ing his gala coat, for we are told that "he often supplied her with food from his own table, and visited her frequently with the sole purpose to be kind to her." 10
He now became a member of a debating club called the Robin Hood, which used to meet near Temple Bar, and in which Burke, while yet a Temple student, had first tried his powers. Goldsmith spoke here occasionally, and is recorded in the Robin Hood archives as " a candid disputant with a clear 15 head and an honest heart, though coming but seldom to the society." His relish was for clubs of a more social, jovial nature, and he was never fond of argument. An amusing anecdote is told of his first introduction to the club, by Samuel Derrick, an Irish acquaintance of some humor. On entering, 20 Goldsmith was struck with the self-important appearance of the chairman ensconced in a large gilt chair. " This," said he, "must be the Lord Chancellor at least." "No, no," replied Derrick, "he's only master of the rolls." — The chairman was a baker. 25
CHAPTER Xn
New Lodgings. — Visits of Ceremony. — Hangers-on. — Pilkington and the White Mouse. — Introduction to Dr. Johnson. — Da vies and his Bookshop. — Pretty Mrs. Davies. — Foote and his Projects. — Criticism of the Cudgel.
In his new lodgings in Wine-Office Court, Goldsmith began to receive visits of ceremony, and to entertain his literary friends. Among the latter he now numbered several names of note, such as Guthrie,° Murphy,° Christopher Smart,° and
90 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Bickerstaff.° He had also a numerous class of hangers-on, the small fry of literature ; who, knowing his almost utter incapa- city to refuse a pecuniary request, were apt, now that he was considered flash, to levy continual taxes upon his purse.
5 Among" others, one Pilkington, an old college acquaintance, but now a shifting adventurer, duped him in the most ludicrous manner. He called on him with a face full of perplexity. A lady of the first rank having an extraordinary fancy for curious animals, for which she was willing to give enormous sums, he
10 had procured a couple of white mice to be forwarded to her from India. They were actually on board of a ship iu the river. Her grace had been apprised of their arrival, and was all impa- tience to see them. Unfortunately he had no cage to put them in, nor clothes to appear in before a lady of her rank. Two
15 guineas would be sufficient for his purpose, but where were two guineas to be procured !
The simple heart of Goldsmith was touched ; but, alas ! he had but half a guinea in his pocket. It was unfortunate, but, after a pause, his friend suggested, with some hesitation, " that
20 money might be raised upon his watch : it would but be the loan of a few hours." So said, so done ; the watch was deliv- ered to the worthy Mr. Pilkington to be pledged at a neighbor- ing pawnbroker's, but nothing farther was ever seen of him, the watch,, or the white mice. The next that Goldsmith heard of
25 the poor shifting scapegrace, he was on his death-bed, starving with want, upon which, forgetting or forgiving the trick he had played upon him, he sent him a guinea. Indeed he used often to relate with great humor the foregoing anecdote of his credu- lity, and was ultimately in some degree indemnified by its sug-
30 gesting to him the amusing little story of Prince Bonbennin and the White Mouse in the Citizen of the World.
In this year Goldsmith became personally acquainted with Dr. Johnson, toward whom he was drawn by strong sympathies, though their natures were widely different. Both had struggled
35 from early life with poverty, but had struggled in different ways. Goldsmith, buoyant, heedless, sanguine, tolerant of evils, and easily pleased, had shifted along by any temporary expedient ; cast down at every turn, but rising again with in- domitable good-humor, and still carried forward by his talent
CHAPTER XII 91
at hoping. Johnson, melancholy, and hypochondriacal, and prone to apprehend the worst, yet sternly resolute to battle with and conquer it, had made his way doggedly and gloomily, but with a noble principle of self-reliance and a disregard of foreign aid. Both had been irregular at college : Goldsmith, as we 5 have shown, from the levity of his nature and his social and convivial habits ; Johnson, from his acerbity and gloom. When, in after-life, the latter heard himself spoken of as gay and frolic- some at college, because he had joined in some riotous excesses there, " Ah, sir! " replied he, " I was mad and violent. It was 10 bitterness which they mistook for frolic. / luas miserably poor, and I thought to fight my way hy my literature and my wit. So I disregarded all power and all authority."
Goldsmith's poverty was never accompanied by bitterness ; but neither was it accompanied by the guardian pride which 15 kept Johnson from falling into the degrading shifts of poverty. Goldsmith had an unfortunate facility at borrowing, and helping himself along by the contributions of his friends; no doubt trusting in his hopeful way, of one day making retribution. Johnson never hoped, and therefore never borrowed. In his 20 sternest trials he proudly bore the ills he could not master. In his youth, when some unknown friend, seeing his shoes com- pletely worn out, left a new pair at his chamber-door, he dis- dained to accept the boon, and threw them away.
Though like Goldsmith an immethodical student, he had im- 25 bibed deeper draughts of knowledge, and made himself a riper scholar. While Goldsmith's happy constitution and genial humors carried him abroad into sunshine and enjoyment, John- son's physical infirmities and mental gloom drove him upon himself ; to the resources of reading and meditation ; threw a 30 deeper though darker enthusiasm into his mind, and stored a retentive memory with all kinds of knowledge.
After several years of youth passed in the country as usher, teacher, and an occasional writer for the press, Johnson, when twenty-eight years of age, came up to London with a half-writ- 35 ten tragedy in his pocket ; and David Garrick, late his pupil, and several years his junior, as a companion, both poor and pen- niless, — both, like Goldsmith, seeking their fortune in the metropolis. "We rode and tied," said Garrick sportively in
92 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
after years of prosperity, when he spoke of their humble way- faring. " I came to London," said Johnson, " with twopence halfpenny in my pocket." — "Eh, what's that you say?" cried Garrick, " with twopence halfpenny in your pocket ? " 5 " Why, yes : I came with twopence halfpenny in my pocket, and thou, Davy, with but three halfpence in thine." Nor was there much exaggeration in the picture ; for so poor were they in purse and credit, that after their arrival they had, with difficulty, raised five pounds, by giving their joint note to a book-
10 seller in the Strand.
Many, many years had Johnson gone on obscurely in London, " fighting his way by his literature and his wit; " enduring all the hardships and miseries of a Grub-Street writer : so destitute at one time, that he and Savage° the poet had walked all night
15 about St. James's Square, both too poor to pay for a night's lodging, yet both full of poetry and patriotism, and determined to stand by their country ; so shabby in dress at another time, that, when he dined at Cave's, his bookseller, when there was prosperous company, he could not make his appearance at
20 table, but had his dinner handed to him behind a screen.
Yet through all the long and dreary struggle, often diseased
in mind as well as in body, he had been resolutely self-dependent,
and proudly self-respectful ; he had fulfilled his college vow,
he had " fought his way by his literature and his wit." His
25 Rambler and Idler had made him the great moralist of the age, and his Dictionary and History of the English Language, that stupendous monument of individual labor, had excited the admiration of the learned world. He was now at the head of intellectual society; and had become as distinguished by
30 his conversational as his literary powers. He had become as much an autocrat in his sphere as his fellow-wayfarer and adventui^er Garrick had become of the stage, and had been hu- morously dubbed by Smollett, " The Great Cham of Literature." Such was Dr. Johnson, when on the 31st of May, 1761, he
35 was to make his appearance as a guest at a literary supper given by Goldsmith to a numerous party at his new lodgings in Wine-Office Court. It was the opening of their acquaint-; ance. Johnson had felt and acknowledged the merit of Gold- smith as an author, and been pleased by the honorable]
CHAPTER XII 93
mention made of himself in the Bee and the Chinese Letters. Dr. Percy called upon Johnson to take him to Goldsmith's lodgings; he found Johnson arrayed with unusual care in a new suit of clothes, a new hat, and a well-powdered wig ; and could not but notice his uncommon spruceness. " Why, sir," 5 replied Johnson, " I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard of cleanliness and decency by quoting my practice, and I am desirous this night to show him a better example."
The acquaintance thus commenced ripened into intimacy in 10 the course of frequent meetings at the shop of Davies, the bookselier, in Russell Street, Covent Garden. As this was one of the great literary gossiping-places of the day, especially to the circle over which Johnson presided, it is worthy of some specification. Mr. Thomas Davies, noted in after-times as the 15 biographer of Garrick, had originally been on the stage, and though a small man, had enacted tyi'annical tragedy with a pomp and magniloquence beyond his size, if we may trust the description given of him by Churchill in the Rosciad° : —
" Statesman all over — in plots famous grown, 20
He mouths a sentence as cu7's mouth a bone."
This unlucky sentence is said to have crippled him in the midst of his tragic career, and ultimately to have driven him from the stage. He carried into the bookselling craft some- what of the grandiose manner of the stage, and was prone to 25 be mouthy and magniloquent.
Churchill had intimated, that while on the stage he was more noted for his prett}^ wife than his good acting: —
" With him came mighty Davies ; on my life, That fellow has a very pretty wife." 30
" Pretty Mrs. Davies " continued to be the loadstar of his fortunes. Her tea-table became almost as much a literary lounge as her husband's shop. She found favor in the eyes of the Ursa Major of literature by her winning ways, as she poured out for him cups without stint of his favorite beverage. 35 Indeed it is suggested that she was one leading cause of his habitual resort to this literary haunt. Others were drawn
94 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
thither for the sake of Johnson's conversation, and thus it became a resort of many of the notorieties of the day. Here might occasionally be seen Bennet Langton, George Steevens, Dr. Percy, celebrated for his ancient ballads, and sometimes 5 Warburton in prelatic state. Garrick resorted to it for a time, but soon grew shy and suspicious, declaring that most of the authors who frequented Mr. Davie s's shop went merely to abuse him.
Foote, the Aristophanes^ of the day, was a frequent visitor ;
10 his broad face beaming with fun and waggery, and his satirical eye ever on the lookout for characters and incidents for his farces. He was struck with the odd habits and appearance of Johnson and Goldsmith, now so often brought together in Davies's shop. He was about to put on the stage a farce called
15 The Orators, intended as a hit at the Robin Hood debating- club, and resolved to show up the two doctors in it for the entertainment of the town.
" What" is the common price of an oak stick, sir? " said Johnson to Davies. " Sixpence," was the reply. " Why then, sir, give
20 me leave to send your servant to purchase a shilling one. I'll have a double quantity, for I am told Foote means to take me off as he calls it, and I am determined the fellow shall not do it with impunity."
Foote had no disposition to undergo the criticism of the
25 cudgel wielded by such potent hands, so the farce of The Orators appeared without the caricatures of the lexicographer and tlie essayist.
CHAPTER Xni
Oriental Projects. — Literary Jobs. — The Cherokee Chiefs. — Merry Islington and the White Condnit House. — Letters on the History of England. — James Boswell. — Dinner of Davies. — Anecdotes of Johnson and Goldsmith.
"N'oTwiTHSTANDiNG his growiug success, Goldsmith continued
to consider literature a mere makeshift, and his vagrant imagi-
30 nation teemed with schemes and plans of a grand but indefinite
CHAPTER XIII 95
nature. One was for visiting the East and exploring the inte- rior of Asia. He had, as has been before observed, a vague notion that valuable discoveries were to be made there, and many useful inventions in the arts brought back to the stock of European knowledge. " Thus, in Siberian Tartary," observes 5 he, in one of his writings, " the natives extract a strong spirit from milk, which is a secret probably unknown to the chemists of Europe. In the most savage parts of India they are possessed of the secret of dyeing vegetable substances scarlet, and that of refining lead into a metal which, for hardness and color, is little IG inferior to silver." °
Gold«nith adds a description of the kind of person suited to such an enterprise, in which he evidently had himself in view.
" He should be a man of philosophical turn, one apt to deduce consequences of general utility from particular occurrences ; 15 neither swoln with pride, nor hardened by prejudice ; neither wedded to one particular system, nor instructed only in one par- ticular science ; neither wholly a botanist, nor quite an anti- quarian; his mind should be tinctured with miscellaneous knowledge, and his manners humanized by an intercourse 20 with men. He should be in some measure an enthusiast to the design ; fond of travelling, from a rapid imagination and an innate love of change; furnished with a body capable of sustain- ing every fatigue, and a heart not easily terrified at danger."
In 1761, when Lord Bute became prime minister on the acces-25 sion of George the Third, Goldsmith drew up a m^emorial on the subject, suggesting the advantages to be derived from a mission to those countries solely for useful and scientific pur- poses ; and, the better to insure success, he preceded his appli- cation to the government by an ingenious essay to the same 30 effect in the Public Ledger.
His memorial and his essay were fruitless, his project most probably being deemed the dream of a visionary. Still it con- tinued to haunt his mind, and he would often talk of making an expedition to Aleppo some time or other, when his means 35 were greater, to inquire into the arts peculiar to the East, and to bring home such as might be valuable. Johnson, who knew how little poor Goldsmith was fitted by scientific lore for this favorite scheme of his fancy, scoffed at the project when it was
96 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
mentioned to him. " Of all men," said he, " Goldsmith is the most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry, for he is utterly- ignorant of such arts as we already possess, and, consequently, could not know what would be accessions to our present stock 5 of mechanical knowledge. Sir, he would bring home a grind- ing-barrow, which you see in every street in London, and think that he had furnished a wonderful improvement."
His connection with ]^ewbery the bookseller now led him into a variety of temporary jobs, such as a jjamphlet on the Cock-
10 Lane Ghost,° a Life of Beau Nash, the famous Master of Cere- monies at Bath, &c. : one of the best things for his fame, however, was the remodelling and republication of his Chinese Letters under the title of The Citizen of the World, a work which has long since taken its merited stand among the classics of the
15 English language. " Few works," it has been observed by one of his biographers, " exhibit a nicer perception, or more delicate delineation of life and manners. Wit, humor, and sentiment pervade every page ; the vices and follies of the day are touched with the most playful and diverting satire ; and English char-
20 acteristics, in endless variety, are hit off with the pencil of a master."
In seeking materials for his varied views of life, he often mingled in strange scenes and got involved in whimsical situa- tions. In the summer of 1762 he was one of the thousands who
25 went to see the Cherokee chiefs, whom he mentions in one of his writings. The Indians made their appearance in grand costume, hideously painted and besmeared. In the course of the visit Goldsmith made one of the chiefs a present, who, in the ecstasy of his gratitude, gave him an embrace that left his
30 face well bedaubed with oil and red ochre.
Towards the close of 1762 he removed to '' merry Islington," then a country village, though now swallowed up in omnivorous London. He went there for the benefit of country air, his health being injured by literary application and confinement, ,
35 and to be near his chief employer, Mr. Newbery, who residec" ' in the Canonbiiry House. In this neighborhood he used tc take his solitary rambles, sometimes extending his walks to the gardens of the " White Conduit House," ° so famous among the essayists of the last century. While strolling one day in these
CHAPTER XIII 97
gardens, he met three females of tlie family of a respectable tradesman to whom he was under some obligation. With his prompt disposition to oblige, he conducted them about the garden, treated them to tea, and ran up a bill in the most open- handed manner imaginable ; it was only when he came to pay 5 that he found himself in one of his old dilemmas — he had not the wherewithal in his pocket. A scene of perjDlexity now took place between him and the waiter, in the midst of which came up some of his acquaintances, in whose eyes he wished to stand particularly well. This completed his mortification. There 10 was no concealing the awkwardness of his position. The sneers of the j^^aiter revealed it. His acquaintances amused them- selves for some time at his expense, professing their inability to relieve him. When, however, they had enjoyed their banter, the waiter was paid, and poor Goldsmith enabled to convoy off 15 the ladies with flying colors.
Among the various productions thrown off: by him for the booksellers during this growing period of his reputation, was a small work in two volumes, entitled The History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son. It was 20 digested from Hume, Rapin, Carte, and Kennet. These authors he would read in the morning; make a few notes ; ramble with a friend into the country about the skirts of "merry Isling- ton" ; return to a temperate dinner and cheerful evening ; and, before going to bed, wi'ite off what had arranged itself in his 25 head from the studies of the morning. In this way he took a more general view of the subject, and wrote in a more free and fluent style than if he had been mousing at the time among authorities. The work, like many others written by him in the earlier part of his literary career, was anonymous. Some attrib- 30 uted it to Lord Chesterfield," others to Lord Orrery, and others to Lord Lyttelton. The latter seemed pleased to be the puta- tive father, and never disowned the bantling thus laid at his door ; and well might he have been proud to be considered capable of producing what has been well-pronounced "the most 35 finished and elegant summary of English history in the same compass that has been or is likely to be written."
The reputation of Goldsmith, it will be x)erceived, grew slowly ; he was known and estimated by a few ; but he had not
98 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
those brilliant though fallacioas qualities which flash upon the public, and excite loud but transient applause. His works were more read than cited ; and the charm of style, for which he was especially noted, was more apt to be felt than talked about. He 5 used often to repine, in a half humorous, half querulous man- ner, at his tardiness in gaining the laurels which he felt to be his due. " The public," he would exclaim, " will never do me justice ; whenever I write anything, they make a point to know nothing about it."
10 About the beginning of 1763 he became acquainted with Boswell, whose literary gossipings were destined to have a deleterious effect upon his reputation. Boswell was at that time a young man, light, buoyant, pushing, and presumptuous. He had a morbid passion for mingling in the society of men
15 noted for wit and learning, and had just arrived from Scotland, bent upon making his way into the literary circles of the metropolis. An intimacy with Dr. Johnson, the great literary luminary of the day, was the crowning object of his aspiring and somewhat ludicrous ambition. He expected to meet him
20 at a dinner to which he was invited at Davies the bookseller's, but was disappointed. Goldsmith was present, but he was not as yet sufficiently renowned to excite the reverence of Boswell. " At this time," says he in his N'otes, " I think he had published nothing with his name, though it was pretty generally under-
25 stood that one Dr. G-oldsmith was the author oi An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe, and of The Citizen of the World, a series of letters supposed to be written from London, by a Chinese."
A conversation took place at table between Goldsmith and
30 Mr. Robert Dodsley, compiler of the well-known collection of modern poetry, as to the merits of the current poetry of the day. Goldsmith declared there was none of superior merit. Dodsley cited his own collection in proof of the contrary. " It is true," said he, " we can boast of no palaces nowadays, like
35 Dryden's Ode to St. Cecilia's Day, but we have villages com- posed of very pretty houses." Goldsmith, however, maintained that there was nothing above mediocrity, an opinion in which Johnson, to whom it was repeated, concurred, and with reason, for the era was one of the dead levels of British poetry.
CHAPTER XIII 99
Boswell has made no note of this conversation ; he was an unitarian in his literary devotion, and disposed to worship none but Johnson. Little Davies endeavored to console him for his disappointment, and to stay the stomach of his curiosity, by giving him imitations of the great lexicographer; mouth- 5 ing his words, rolling his head, and assuming as ponderous a manner as his petty person would permit. Boswell was shortly afterwards made happy by an introduction to Johnson, of whom he became the obsequious satellite. From him he like- wise imbibed a more favorable opinion of Goldsmith's merits, 10 though he was fain to consider them derived in a great meas- ure from his Magnus Apollo. " He had sagacity enough," says he, " t(5' cultivate assiduously the acquaintance of Johnson, and his faculties were gradually enlarged by the contemplation of such a model. To me and many others it appeared that he 15 studiously copied the manner of Johnson, though, indeed, upon a smaller scale." So on another occasion he calls him " one of the brightest ornaments of the Johnsonian school." " His re- spectful attachment to Johnson," adds he, " was then at its height; for his own literary reputation had not yet distin-20 guished him so much as to excite a vain desire of competition with his great master."
What beautiful instances does the garrulous Boswell give of the goodness of heart of Johnson, and the passing homage to it by Goldsmith. They were speaking of a Mr. Levett, long an 25 inmate of Johnson's house and a dependent on his bounty ; but who, Boswell thought, must be an irksome charge upon him, " He is poor and honest," said Goldsmith, " which is recom- mendation enough to Johnson."
Boswell mentioned another person of a very bad character, 30 and wondered at Johnson's kindness to him. " He is now ' become miserable," said Goldsmith, " and that insures the pro- tection of Johnson." Encomiums like these speak almost as much for the heart of him who praises as of him who is praised. 35
Subsequently, when Boswell had become more intense in his literary idolatry, he affected to undervalue Goldsmith, and a lurking hostility to him is discernible throughout his writings, which some have attributed to a silly spirit of jealousy of the
LofC.^
100 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
superior esteem evinced for the poet by Dr. Johnson. We have a gleam of this in his account of the first evening he spent in company with those two eminent authors at their famous resort, the Mitre Tavern, in Fleet Street. This took place on the 1st 5 of July, 1763. The trio supped together, and passed some time in literary conversation. On quitting the tavern, Johnson, who had now been sociably acquainted with Goldsmith for two years, and knew his merits, took him with him to drink tea with his blind pensioner," Miss Williams, — a high privilege
10 among his intimates and admirers. To Boswell, a recent acquaintance, whose intrusive sycophancy had not yet made its way into his confidential intimacy, he gave no invitation. Boswell felt it with all the jealousy of a little mind. " Dr. Goldsmith," says he, in his Memoirs, "being a privileged man
15 went with him, strutting away, and calling to me, with an air of superiority like that of an esoteric over an exoteric disciple of a sage of antiquity, ' I go to Miss Williams.' I confess I then envied him this mighty privilege, of which he seemed to be so proud ; but it was not long before I obtained the same mark of
20 distinction."
Obtained ! but how? not like Goldsmith, by the force of un- pretending but congenial merit, but by a course of the most pushing, contriving, and spaniel-like subserviency. Really, the
. ambition of the man to illustrate his mental insignificance, by
25 continually placing himself in juxtaposition with the great lexicographer, has something in it perfectly ludicrous. Never, since the days of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, has there been presented to the world a more whimsically contrasted x^air of associates than Johnson and Boswell.
30 " Who is this Scotch cur at Johnson's heels?" asked some one when Boswell had worked his way into incessant compan- ionship. " He is not a cur," replied Goldsmith, " you are too severe; he is only a bur. Tom Davies flung him at Johnson in sport, and he has the faculty of sticking."
CHAPTER XIV 101
CHAPTER XIV
Hogarth a Visitor at Islington ; His Character. — Street Studies.— Sympathies between Autliors and Painters. — Sir Joshua Reynolds ; His Character ; his Dinners. — The Literary Club ; Its Members. — Johnson's Revels with Lanky and Beau. — Goldsmith at the Club.
Among the intimates who used to visit the poet occasionally in his retreat at Islington, was Hogarth the painter. ° Gold- smith had spoken well of him in his essays in the Public Ledger, and this formed the first link in their friendship. He was at this time upwards of sixty years of age, and is described as 5 a stout, active, bustling little man, in a sky-blue coat, satirical and dogmatic, yet full of real benevolence and the love of human nature. He was the moralist and philosopher of the pencil ; like Goldsmith he had sounded the depths of vi<;e and misery, without being polluted by them ; and though 10 his picturings had not the pervading amenity of those of the essayist, and dwelt more on the crimes and vices than the follies and humors of mankind, yet they were all calculated, in like manner, to fill the mind with instruction and precept, and to make the heart better. 15
Hogarth does not appear to have had much of the rural feel- ing with which Goldsmith was so amply endowed, and may not have accompanied him in his strolls about hedges and green lanes : but he was a fit companion with w^hom to explore the mazes of London, in which he was continually on the lookout 20 for character and incident. One of Hogarth's admirers speaks of having come upon him in Castle Street, engaged in one of his street-studies, watching two boys who were quarrelling ; pat- ting one on the back who flinched, and endeavoring to spirit him up to a fresh encounter. " At him again ! D — him, if 1 25 would take it of him ! At him again ! "
A frail memorial of this intimacy between the painter and the poet exists in a portrait in oil, called Goldsiniih's Hostess. It is supposed to have been painted by Hogarth in the course of his visits to Islington, and giye;i by him to the poet as a 30
102 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
means of paying his landlady. There are no friendships among men of talents more likely to be sincere than those between painters and poets. Possessed of the same qualities of mind, governed by the same principles of taste and natural laws of 5 grace and beauty, but applying them to different yet mutually illustrative arts, they are constantly in sympathy, and never in collision with each other.
A still more congenial intimacy of the kind was that con- tracted by Goldsmith with Mr. (afterwards Sir Joshua) Rey-
10 nolds. The latter was now about forty years of age, a few years older than the poet, whom he charmed by the blandness and benignity of his manners^ and the nobleness and generosity of his disposition, as much as he did by the graces of his pencil and the magic of his coloring. They were men of kindred
15 genius, excelling in corresponding qualities of their several arts, for style in writing is what color is in painting ; both are innate endowments, and equally magical in their effects. Cer- tain graces and harmonies of both may be acquired by diligent study and imitation, but only in a limited degree ; whereas by
20 their natural possessors they are exercised spontaneously, almost unconsciously, and with ever-var3'-ing fascination. Reynolds soon understood and appreciated the merits of Goldsmith, and a sincere and lasting friendship ensued between them.
At Reynolds's house Goldsmith mingled in a higher range of
25 company than he had been accustomed to. The fame of this celebrated artist, and his amenity of manners, were gathering round him men of talents of all kinds, and the increasing affluence of his circumstances enabled him to give full indul- gence to his hospitable disposition. Poor Goldsmith had not
30 yet, like Dr. Johnson, acquired reputation enough to atone for his external defects and his want of the air of good society. Miss Reynolds used to inveigh against his personal appearance, which gave her the idea, she said, of a low mechanic, a journey- man tailor. One evening at a large supper-party, being called
35 upon to give as a toast the ugliest man she knew, she gave Dr. Goldsmith, upon which a lady who sat opposite, and whom she had never met before, shook hands with her across the table, and '^ hoped to become better acquainted."
We have a graphic and amusing picture of Reynolds's hospi-
CHAPTER XIV 103
table but motley establishinent, in an account given by a Mr. Courtenay to Sir James Mackintosh"; though it speaks of a time after Reynolds had received the honor of knighthood. " There was something singular," said he, " in the style and economy of Sir Joshua's table that contributed to pleasantry 5 and good humor, — a coarse, inelegant plenty, without any regard to order and arrangement. At five o'clock j)recisely, dinner was served, whether all the invited guests had arrived or not. Sir Joshua was never so fashionably ill-bred as to wait an hour perhaps for two or three persons of rank or title, and 10 put the rest of the company out of humor by this invidious distinction. His invitations, however, did not regulate the number of his guests. Many dropped in uninvited. A table prepared for seven or eight was often compelled to contain fif- teen or sixteen. There was a consequent deficiency of knives, 15 forks, plates, and glasses. The attendance was in the same style, and those who were knowing in the ways of the house took care on sitting down to call instantly for beer, bread, or wine, that they might secure a supply before the first course was over. He was once pi'e vailed on to furnish the table with 20 decanters and glasses at dinner, to save time and prevent con- fusion. These gradually were demolished in the course of ser- vice, and were never replaced. These trifling embarrassments, however, only served to enhance the hilarity and singular pleasure of the entertainment. The wine, cookery, and dishes 25 were but little attended to ; nor was the fish or venison ever talked of or recommended, Amidst this convivial animated bustle among his guests, our host sat perfectly composed; always attentive to what was said, never minding what was ate or drank, but left every one at perfect liberty to scramble for himself." 80
Out of the casual but frequent meeting of men of talent at this hospitable board rose that association of wits, authors, scholars, and statesmen, renowned as the Literary Club. Rey- nolds was the first to propose a regular association of the kind, and was eagerly secondeel by Johnson, who proposed as a model 35 a club which he had formed many years previously in Ivy- Lane, but which was now extinct. Like that club the number of members was limited to nine. They were to meet and sup together once a week, on Monday night, at the Turk's Head
104 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
on Gerard Street, Soho, and two members were to constitute a meeting. It took a regular form in the year 1764, but did not receive its literary appellation until several years afterwards. The original members were Reynolds, Johnson, Burke, Dr. 5 Nugent, Bennet Langton, Topham Beauclerc, Chamier, Haw- kins, and Goldsmith ; and here a few words concerning some of the members may be acceptable. Burke was at that time about thirty -three years of age ; he had mingled a little in politics and been Under-Secretary to Hamilton at Dublin,
10 but was again a writer for the booksellers, and as yet but in the dawning of his fame. Dr. Nugent was his father-in-law, a Roman Catholic, and a physician of talent and instruction. Mr. (afterwards Sir John) Hawkins was admitted into this association from having been a member of Johnson's Ivy-Lane
15 club. Originally an attorney, he had retired from the practice of the law, in consequence of a large fortune which fell to him in right of his wife, and was now a Middlesex magistrate. He was, moreover, a dabbler in literature and music, and was act- ually engaged on a history of music, which he subsequently
20 published in five ponderous volumes. To him we are also indebted for a biography of Johnson, which appeared after the death of that eminent man. Hawkins was as mean and parsi- monious as he was pompous and conceited. He forbore to partake of the suppers at the club, and begged therefore to be
25 excused from paying his share of the reckoning. " And was he excused?" asked Dr. Barney of Johnson. " Oh, yes, for no man is angry with another for being inferior to himself. We all scorned him and admitted his plea. Yet I really believe him to be an honest man at bottom, though to be sure he is penu-
30 rious, and he is mean, and it must be owned he has a tendency to savageness." He did not remain above two or three years in the club ; being in a manner elbowed out in consequence of his rudeness to Burke.
Mr. Anthony Chamier was Secretary in the war -office, and a
35 friend to Beauclerc, by whom he was proposed. We have left out mention of Bennet Langton and Topham Beauclerc until the last, because we have most to say about them. They were doubtless induced to join the club through their devotion to Johnson, and the intimacy of these two very young and aristo-
CHAPTER XIV 105
cratic men with the stern and somewhat melancholy moralist is among the curiosities of literature.
Benuet Langton was of an ancient family, who held their an- cestral estate of Langton in Lincolnshire, — a great title to respect with Johnson. " Langton, sir," he would say, "has a 5 grant of free-warren"^ from Henry the Second ; and Cardinal Stephen Langton, in King John's reign, was of this family,"
Langton was of a mild, contemplative, enthusiastic nature. When but eighteen years of age he was so delighted with read- ing Johnson's Rambler, that he came to London chiefly with 10 a view to obtain an introduction to the author. Boswell gives us an account of his first interview, which took place in the morning. It is not often that the j)ersonal appearance of an author agrees with the preconceived ideas of his admirer. Langton, from perusing the writings of Johnson, expected to 15 find him a decent, well-dressed, in short a remarkably decorous philosopher. Instead of which, down from his bedchamber about noon, came, as newly risen, a large uncouth figure, with a little dark wig which scarcely covered his head, and his clothes hanging loose about him. But his conversation was so 20 rich, so animated, and so forcible, and his religious and politi- cal notions so congenial with those in which Langton had been educated, that he conceived for him that veneration and attach- ment which he ever preserved.
Langton went to pursue his studies at Trinity College, Oxford, 25 where Johnson saw much of him during a visit which he paid to the University. He found him in close intimacy with Top- ham Beauclerc, a youth two years older than himself, very gay and dissipated, and w^ondered what sympathies could draw two young men together of such opposite characters. On becoming 30 acquainted with Beauclerc he found that, rake though he was, he possessed an ardent love of literature, an acute understanding, polished wit, innate gentility, and high aristocratic breeding. He was, moreover, the only son of Lord Sidney Beaucjerc and grandson of the Duke of St. Albans, and was thoughtln some 35 particulars to have a resemblance to Charles the Second. These were high recommendations with Johnson; and when the youth testified a profound respect for him and an ardent ad- miration of his talents, the conquest was complete, so tliat in a
106 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
" short time," says Boswell, " the moral pious Johnson and the gay dissipated Beauclerc were companions."
The intimacy begun in college chambers was continued wiien the youths came to town during the vacations. The uncouth, 5 unwieldy moralist was flattered at finding himself an object of idolatry to two high-born, high-bred, aristocratic young men, and throwing gravity aside, was ready to join in their vagaries and play the part of a " young man upon town." Such at least is the picture given of him by Boswell on one occasion when
10 Beauclerc and Langton, having supped together at a tavern, determined to give Johnson a rouse at three o'clock in the morn- ing. They accordingly rapped violently at the door of his chambers in the Temple. The indignant sage sallied forth in his shirt, poker in hand, and a little black wig on the top of his
15 head, instead of helmet ; pre^Dared to wreak vengeance on the assailants of his castle ; but when his two young friends Lanky and Beau, as he used to call them, presented themselves, sum- moning him forth to a morning ramble, his whole manner changed. " What, is it you, ye dogs?" cried he. " Faith, I'll
20 have a frisk with you ! "
So said so done. They sallied forth together into Covent- Garden ; figured among the green-grocers and fruit-women, just come in from the country with their hampers ; repaired to a neighboring tavern, where Johnson brewed a bowl of bishop, a
25 favorite beverage with him, grew merry over his cups, and anathematized sleep in two lines, from Lord Lansdowne's° drinking-song : —
" Short, very short, be then thy reign, For I'm in haste to laugh and drink again."
30 They then took boat again, rowed to Billingsgate, and Johnson and 'Beauclerc determined, like "mad wags," to "keep it up" for the rest of the day. Langton, however, the most sober- minded of the three, pleaded an engagement to breakfast with some young ladies ; whereupon the great moralist reproached
35 him with " leaving his social friends to go and sit with a set of wretched un-idea'd girls."
This madcap freak of the great lexicographer made a sensa- tion, as may well be supposed, among his intimates. " I heard
CHAPTER XIV 107
of your frolic t'other night," said Garrick to him ; " you'll be in the Chronicle." He uttered worse forebodings to others. "I shall have my old friend to bail out of the round-house," said he. Johnson, however, valued himself upon having thus enacted a chapter in the Rake's Progress ° and crowed over Garrick on 5 the occasion. " He durst not do such a thing ! " chuckled he ; " his ivife would not let him ! "
When these two young men entered the club, Langton was about twenty-two, and Beauclerc about twenty-four years of age, and both were launched on London life. Langton, how- 10 ever, was still the mild, enthusiastic scholar, steeped to the lips in Greek, with fine conversational powers, and an invaluable talent fm* listening. He was upwards of six feet high, and very spare. " Oh ! that we could sketch him," exclaims Miss Haw- kins, in her Memoirs', " with his mild countenance, his elegant 15 features, and his sweet smile, sitting with one leg twisted round the other, as if fearing to occupy more space than was equi- table ; his person inclining forward, as if wanting strength to support his weight, and his arms crossed over his bosom, or his hands locked together on his knee." Beauclerc, on such occa- 20 sions, sportively compared him to a stork in Raphael's Cartoons, standing on one leg. Beauclerc was more a "man upon town," a lounger in St. James's Street, an associate with George Selwyn, with Walpole, and other aristocratic wits ; a man of fashion at court ; a casual frequenter of the gaming-table ; yet, 25 with all this, he alternated in the easiest and liap]:>iest manner the scholar and the man of letters ; lounged into the club with the most perfect self -possession, bringing with him the careless grace and polished wit of high-bred society, but making him- self cordially at home among his learned fellow-members. 30
The gay yet lettered rake maintained his sway over Johnson, who was fascinated by that air of the world, that ineffable tone of good society in which he felt himself deficient, especially as the possessor of it always paid homage to his superior talent. " Beauclerc," he would say, using a quotation from Pope, " has 35 a love of folly, but a scorn of fools ; everything he does shows the one, and everything he says, the other." Beauclerc de- lighted in rallying the stern moralist of whom others stood in awe, and no one, according to Boswell, could take equal liberty
108 " OLIVER GOLDSMITH
with him with impunity. Johnson, it is well known, was often shabby and negligent in his dress, and not overcleanly in his person. On receiving a pension from the crown, his friends vied with each other in respectful congratulations. Beauclerc 5 simply scanned his person with a whimsical glance, and hoped that, like Falstaff,° "he'd in future purge and live cleanly like a gentleman," Johnson took the hint with unexpected good- humor, and profited by it.
Still Beauclerc's satirical vein, which darted shafts on every
10 side, was not always tolerated by Johnson. " Sir," said he on
one occasion, " you never open your mouth but with intention
to give pain ; and yoa have often given me pain, not from the
power of what you have said, but from seeing your intention."
When it was at first proposed to enroll Goldsmith among the
15 members of this association, there seems to have been some demur ; at least so says the pompous Hawkins. " As he wrote for the booksellers, we of the club looked on him as a mere lit- erary drudge, equal to the task of compiling and translating, but little capable of original and still less of poetical composi-
20 tion."
Even for some time after his admission he continued to be regarded in a dubious light by some of the members. Johnson and Reynolds, of course, were well aware of his merits, nor was Burke a stranger to them ; but to the others he was as yet a
25 sealed book, and the outside was not prepossessing. His un- gainly person and awkward manners were against him with men accustomed to the graces of society, and he was not suffi- ciently at home to give play to his humor and to that bon- homie which won the hearts of all who knew him. He felt
30 strange and out of place in his new sphere ; he felt at times the cool satirical eye of the courtly Beauclerc scanning him, and the more he attempted to appear at his ease, the more awkward he became.
CHAPTER XV 109
CHAPTER XV
Johnson a Monitor to Goldsmith ; Finds him in Distress with his Land- lady ; Relieved by The Vicar of Wakefield. — The Oratorio. — Poem of The Traveller. — The Poet and his Dog. — Success of the Poem. — Astonishment of the Club. — Observations on the Poem.
Johnson had now become one of Goldsmith's best friends and advisers. He knew all the weak points of his character, but he knew also his merits ; and while he would rebuke him like a child, and rail at his errors and follies, he would suffer no one else to undervalue him. Goldsmith knew the soundness of his 5 jadgment and his practical benevolence, and often sought his counsel and aid amid the difficulties into which his heedlessness was continually plunging him.
"I received one morning," says Johnson, "a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and, as it was not 10 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 hira directly. 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 15 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 he might be extricated. He then told me he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it and 20 saw its merit ; told the landlady I should soon return ; 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."
The novel in question ° was The Vicar of Wakefield ; the book- 25 seller to whom Johnson sold it was Francis Newbery, nephew to John. Strange as it may seem, this captivating work, which has obtained and preserved an almost unrivalled popularity in various languages, was so little appreciated by the bookseller, that he kept it by him for nearly two years unpublished ! 30
110 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Goldsmith had, as yet, produced nothing of moment in poetry. Among his literary jobs, it is true, was an Oratorio entitled The Captivity, founded on the bondage of the Israelites in Bab- ylon. It was one of those unhappy offsprings of the Muse 5 ushered into existence amid the distortions of music. Most of the Oratorio has passed into oblivion ; but the following song from it will never die.
" The wretch condemned from life to part, Still, still on hope relies, 10 And every pang that rends the heart
Bids expectation rise.
" Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Illumes and cheers our way ; And still, as darker grows the night, 15 Emits a brighter ray."
Goldsmith distrusted his qualifications to succeed in poetry, and doubted the disposition of the public mind in regard to it. "I fear," said he, "I have come too late into the world ; Pope and other poets have taken up the places in the temple of Fame ;
20 and as few at any period can possess poetical reputation, a man of genius can now hardly acquire it." Again, on another oc- casion, he observes : " Of all kinds of ambition, as things are now circumstanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest. What from the increased refinement of the
25 times, from the diversity of judgment produced by opposing systems of criticism, and from the more prevalent divisions of opinion influenced by party, the strongest and happiest efforts can expect to please but in a very narrow circle."
At this very time he had by him his poem of The Traveller.
30 The plan of it, as has already been observed, was conceived many years before, during his travels in Switzerland, and a sketch of it sent from that country to his brother Henry in Ireland. The original outline is said to have embraced a wider scope; but it was probably contracted through diffidence, in;
35 the process of finishing the parts. It had lain by him for sev-> eral years in a crude state, and it was with extreme hesitatioi and after much revision that he at length submitted it to DrJj Johnson. The frank and warm approbation of the latter en--
CHAPTER XV 111
couraged him to finish it for the press ; and Dr. Johnson him- self contributed a few lines towards the conclusion.
We hear much about " poetic inspiration," and the " poet's eye in a fine phrensy rolling ; " but Sir Joshua Reynolds gives an anecdote of Goldsmith while engaged upon his poem, cal- 5 dilated to cure our notions about the ardor of composition. Calling upon the poet one day, he opened the door without ceremony, and found him in the double occupation of turning a couplet and teaching a pet dog to sit upon his haunches. At one time he would glance his eye at his desk, and at an- 10 other shake his finger at the dog to make him retain his posi- tion. The last lines on the page were still wet ; they form a part c^ the description of Italy : —
" By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, The sports of children satisfy the child." 15
Goldsmith, with his usual good-humor, joined in the laugh caused by his whimsical employment, and acknowledged that his boyish sport with the dog suggested the stanza.
The poem was published on the 19th of December, 1764, in a quarto form, by Newbery, and was the first of his works to 20 which Goldsmith prefixed his name. As a testimony of cherished and well-merited affection, he dedicated it to his brother Henry. There is an amusing affectation of indiffer- ence as to its fate expressed in the dedication. "What re- ception a poem may find," says he, " which has neither abuse, 25 party, nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know." The truth is, no one was more emulous and anxious for poetic fame ; and never was he more anxious than in the present instance, for it was his grand stake. Dr. Johnson aided the launching of the poem by a favorable notice 30 in the Critical Review; other periodical works came out in its favor. Some of the author's friends complained that it did not command instant and wide popularity ; that it was a poem to win, not to strike : it went on rapidly increasing in favor ; in three months a second edition was issued; shortly after- 35 wards, a third ; then a fourth ; and, before the year was out, the author was pronounced the best poet of his time.
The appearance of The Traveller at once altered Gold-
112 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
smith's intellectual standing in the estimation of society ; but its effect upon the club, if we may judge from the account given by Hawkins, was almost ludicrous. They were lost in astonishment that a "newspaper essayist" and "bookseller's 5 drudge " should have written such a poem. On the evening of its announcement to them Goldsmith had gone away early, after " rattling away as usual," and they knew not how to reconcile his heedless garrulity with the serene beauty, the easy grace, the sound good sense, and the occasional elevation
10 of his poetry. They could scarcely believe that such magic numbers had flowed from a man to whom in general, says Johnson, "it was with difliculty they could give a hearing." " Well," exclaimed Chamier, " I do believe he wrote this poem himself, and let me tell you, that is believing a great deal."
15 At the next meeting of the club, Chamier sounded the au- thor a little about his poem. " Mr. Goldsmith," said he, " what do you mean by the last word in the first line of your Traveller, 'Remote, unfriended, melancholy, sloio'f — do you mean tardi- ness of locomotion?" — "Yes," replied Goldsmith, inconsider-
20 ately, being probably flurried at the moment. " No, sir," interposed his protecting friend Johnson, " you did not mean tardiness of locomotion ; you meant that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude." — "Ah," exclaimed Goldsmith, " that was what I meant." Chamier immediately
25 believed that Johnson himself had written the line, and a rumor became prevalent that he was the author of man 3^ of the finest passages. This was ultimately set at rest by John- son himself, who marked with a pencil all the verses he had contributed, nine in number, inserted towards the conclusion,
30 and by no means the best in the poem. He moreover, with generous warmth, pronounced it the finest poem that had appeared since the days of Pope.
But one of the highest testimonials to the charm of the poem was given by Miss Reynolds, who had toasted poor
35 Goldsmith as the ugliest man of her acquaintance. Shortly after the appearance of The Traveller, Dr. Johnson read it aloud from beginning to end in her presence. "Well," ex- claimed she, when he had finished, " I never more shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly ! "
CHAPTER XVI 113
On another occasion, when the merits of The Traveller were discussed at Reynolds's board, Langton declared " there was not a bad line in the poem, not one of Dryden^s careless verses." "I was glad," observed Reynolds, "to hear Charles Fox say it was one of the finest poems in the English language." "Why 5 were you glad?" rejoined Langton, "you surely had no doubt of this before." "No," interposed Johnson, decisively; "the merit of The Traveller is so well established, that Mr. Fox's praise cannot augment it, nor his censure diminish it."
Boswell, who was absent from England at the time of the 10 publication of The Traveller, was astonished, on his return, to find Goldsmith, whom he had so much undervalued, suddenly elevated almost to a par with his idol. He accounted for it by concluding that much both of the sentiments and expression of the poem had been derived from conversations with Johnson. 15 "He imitates you, sir," said this incarnation of toadyism. "Why no, sir," replied Johnson, "Jack Hawksworth is one of my imitators, but not Goldsmith. Goldy, sir, has great merit." " But, sir, he is much indebted to you for his getting so high in the public estimation." " Why, sir, he has, perhaps, got sooner 20 to it by his intimacy with me."
The poem went through several editions in the course of the first year, and received some few additions and corrections from the author's pen. It produced a golden harvest to Mr. New- bery ; but all the remuneration on record, doled out by his nig- 25 gard hand to the author, was twenty guineas !
CHAPTER XVI
New Lodgings. — Johnson's Compliment. — A Titled Patron. — The Poet at Northumberland House. — His Independence of the Great. — The Countess of Northumberland. — Edwin and Angelina. — Gosfield and Lord Clare. — Publication of Essays. — Evils of a Rising Reputa- tion.— Hangers-on. — Job-Writing. — Goody Two-Shoes. — A Medi- cal Campaign. — Mrs. Sidebotham.
Goldsmith, now that he was rising in the world, and becom- ing a notoriety, felt himself called upon to improve his style of
114 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
living. He accordingly emerged from Wine-Office Court, and took chambers in the Temple. It is true they were but of humble pretensions, situated on what was then the library staircase, and it would appear that he was a kind of inmate 5 with Jeffc's, the butler of the society. Still he was in the Tem- ple, that classic region rendered famous by the Spectator and other essayists as the abode of gay wits and thoughtful men of letters ; and which, with its retired courts and embowered gardens, in the very heart of a noisy metropolis, is, to the quiet-
10 seeking student and author, an oasis freshening with verdure in the midst of a desert. Johnson, who had become a kind of growling supervisor of the poet's affairs, paid him a visit soon after he had installed himself in his new quarters, and went prying about the apartment, in his near-sighted manner, ex-
15 amining everything minutely. Goldsmith was fidgeted by this curious scrutiny, and apprehending a disposition to find fault, exclaimed, with the air of a man who had money in both pockets, " I shall soon be in better chambers than these." The harmless bravado drew a reply from Johnson, which touched
20 the chord of proper pride. " Nay, sir," said he, " never mind that. Nil te quaesiveris extra," ° — implying that his reputation rendered him independent of outward show. Happy would it have been for poor Goldsmith, could he have kept this consola- tory compliment perpetually in mind, and squared his expenses
25 accordingly.
Among the persons of rank who were struck with the merits of The Traveller was the Earl (afterwards Duke) of Northum- berland. He procured several other of Goldsmith's writings, the perusal of which tended to elevate the author in his good
30 opinion, and to gain for him his good will. The Earl held the office of Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and understanding Gold- smith was an Irishman, was disposed to extend to him the patronage which his high post afforded. He intimated the same to his relative, Dr. Percy, who, he found, was well ac-
35 quainted with the poet, and expressed a wish that the latter should wait upon him. Here, then, was another opportunity for Goldsmith to better his fortune, had he been knowing and worldly enough to profit by it. Unluckily the path to fortune lay through the aristocratical mazes of Northumberland House,
CHATTER XVI 115
and the poet blundered at the outset. The foUowmg is the account he used to give of his visit : " I dressed myself in the best manner I could, and, after studying some compliments I thought necessary on such an occasion, proceeded to Northum- berland House, and acquainted the servants that I had particular 5 business with the Duke. They showed me into an antechamber, where, after waiting some time, a gentleman, very elegantly dressed, made his appearance : taking him for the Duke, I deliv- ered all the fine things I had composed in order to compliment him on the honor he had done me ; when, to my great astonish- 10 ment, he told me I had mistaken him for his master, who would see me immediately. At that instant the Duke came into the apartnftent, and I was so confounded on the occasion that I wanted words barely sufficient to express the sense I entertained of the Duke's politeness, and went away exceedingly chagrined 15 at the blunder I had committed."
Sir John Hawkins, in his Life of Dr. Johnson, gives some farther particulars of this visit, of which he was, in part, a wit- ness. " Having one day," says he, " a call to make On the late Duke (then Earl) of Northumberland, I found Goldsmith wait- 20 ing for an audience in an outer room : I asked him what had brought him there ; he told me, an invitation from his lordship. I made my business as short as I could, and, as a reason, men- tioned that Dr. Goldsmith w^as waiting without. The Earl asked me if I was acquainted with him. I told him that I 25 was, adding what I thought was most likely to recommend him. I retired, and stayed in the outer room to take him home. Upon his coming out, I asked him the result of his conversation. ' His lordship,' said he, ' told me he had read my poem, mean- ing The Traveller, and was much delighted wdth it; that he was 30 going to be Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and that, hearing I was a native of that country, he should be glad to do me any kind- ness.' 'And what did you answer,' said I, 'to this gracious offer? ' ' Why,' said he, 'I could say nothing but that I had a brother there, a clergyman, that stood in need of help : as for 35 myself, I have no great dependence on the promises of great men ; I look to the booksellers for support ; they are my best friends, and I am not inclined to forsake them for others.' " "Thus," continues Sir John, "did this idiot in the affairs of
116 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
the world trifle with his fortunes, and put back the hand that was held out to assist him."
We cannot join with Sir John in his worldly sneer at the con- duct of Goldsmith on this occasion. While we admire that 5 honest independence of spirit which prevented him from asking favors for himself, we love that warmth of affection which instantly sought to advance the fortunes of a brother ; but the peculiar merits of poor Goldsmith seem to have been little understood by the Hawkinses, the Boswells, and the other biog-
10 raphers of the day.
After all, the introduction to Northumberland House did not prove so complete a failure as the humorous account given by Goldsmith, and the cynical account given by Sir John Hawkins, might lead one to suppose. Dr. Percy, the heir male of the
15 ancient Percies, brought the poet into the acquaintance of his kinswoman, the countess; who, before her marriage with the Earl, was in her own right heiress of the House of ISTorthum- berland. " She was a lady," says Boswell, " not only of high dignity of spirit, such as became her noble blood, but of excel-
20 lent understanding and lively talents." Under her auspices a poem of Goldsmith's had an aristocratical introduction to the world. This was the beautiful ballad of The Hermit° origi- nally published under the name of Edwin and Angelina. It was suggested by an old English Ballad j^begimiing " Gentle
25 Herdsman," shown him by Dr. Percy, who was at that time making his famous collection, entitled Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, which he submitted to the inspection of Gold- smith j)iior to publication. A few copies only of The Hermit were printed at first, with the following title-page : Edioin and
30 A ngelina : a Ballad. By Mr. Goldsmith. Printed for the Amusement of the Countess of Northumberland.
All this, though it may not have been attended with any immediate pecuniary advantage, contributed to give Gold- smith's name and poetry the high stamp of fashion, so potent
35 in England : the circle at ISTorth umber land House, however, was of too stately and aristocratical a nature to be much to his taste, and we do not find that he became familiar in it.
He was much more at home at Gosfield, the seat of his coun- tryman, Robert Nugent, afterwards Baron Nugent and Viscount
CHAPTER XVI 111
Clare, who appreciated his merits even more heartily than the Earl of Northumberland, and occasionally made him his guest both in town and country. Nugent is described as a jovial voluptuary, who left the Roman-Catholic for the Protestant religion, with a view to bettering his fortunes ; he had an Irish- 5 man's inclination for rich widows, and an Irishman's luck with the sex ; having been thrice married, and gained a fortune with each wife. He was now nearly sixty, with a remarkably loud voice, broad Irish brogue, and ready, but somewhat fcoarse wit. With all his occasional coarseness he was capable of high 10 thought, and had produced poems which showed a truly poetic vein. He was long a member of the House of Commons, where his ready wit, his fearless decision, and good-humored audacity of expression always gained him a hearing, though his tall per- son and awkward manner gained him the nickname of Squire 15 Gawky among the political scribblers of the clay. With a patron of this jovial temperament. Goldsmith probably felt more at ease than with those of higher refinement.
The celebrity which Goldsmith had acquired by his poem of The Traveller occasioned a resuscitation of many of his miscel- 20 laneons and anonymous tales and essays from the various news- papers and other transient publications in which they lay dormant. These he published in 1765, in a collected foi'm, under the title of Essays by Air. Goldsmith. " The following Essays" observes he in his preface, " have already appeared at 25 different times, and in different publications. The pamphlets in which they were inserted being generally unsuccessful, these shared the common fate, without assisting the booksellers' aims, or extending the author's reputation. The public were too stren- uously employed with their own follies to be assiduous in esti- 30 mating mine; so that many of my best attempts in this way have fallen victims to the transient topic of the times — the Ghost in Cock Lane, or the Siege of Ticonderoga.
" But, though they have passed pretty silently into the world, lean by no means complain of their circulation. . The maga-35 zines and papers of the day have indeed been liberal enough in this respect. Most of these essays have been regularly reprinted twice or thrice a year, and conveyed to the public through the kennel of some engaging compilation. If there be a pride in
118 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
multiplied editions, I have seen some of my labors sixteen times reprinted, and claimed by different parents as their own. I have seen them flourished at the beginning with praise, and signed at the end with the names of Philautos,° Philalethes, 5 Phileleutheros, and Philanthropos. It is time, however, at last to vindicate my claims ; and as these entertainers of the public, as they call themselves, have partly lived upon me for some years, let me now try if I cannot live a little upon myself." It w^as but little, in fact ; for all the pecuniary emolument he
10 received from the volume was twenty guineas. It had a good circulation, however, was translated into French, and has main- tained its stand among the British classics.
N"otwithstanding that the reputation of Goldsmith had greatly risen, his finances were often at a very low ebb, owing
15 to his heedlessness as to expense, his liability to be imposed upon, and a spontaneous and irresistible propensity to give to every one who asked. The very rise in his reputation had increased these embarrassments. It had enlarged his circle of needy acquaintances, authors poorer in pocket than himself,
20 who came in search of literary counsel ; which generally meant a guinea and a breakfast. And then his Irish hangers-on! '* Our Doctor," said one of these sponges, " had a constant levee of his distressed countrymen, whose wants, as far as he was able, he always relieved ; and he has often been known to leave
25 himself without a guinea, in order to supply the necessities of others."
This constant drainage of the purse therefore obliged him to undertake all jobs proposed by the booksellers, and to keep up a kind of running account with Mr. ^ewbery; who was his
30 banker on all occasions, sometimes for pounds, sometimes for shillings ; but who was a rigid accountant, and took care to be amply repaid in manuscript. Many effusions, hastily penned in these moments of exigency, were published anonymously, and never claimed. Some of them have but recently been
35 traced to his pen ; while of many the true authorship will probably never be discovered. Among others, it is suggested, and with great probability, that he wrote for Mr. JSI'ewbery the famous nursery story of Goody Two Shoes, which appeared in 1765, at a moment when Goldsmith was scribbling for New-
CHAPTER Xri 119
bery, and much pressed for funds. Several quaint little tales introduced in his Essays show that he had a turn for this species of mock history ; and the advertisement and title-page bear the stamp of his sly and playful humor.
" We are desired to give notice that there is in the press, and 5 speedily Avill be published, either by subscription or otherwise, as the public shall please to determine, the History of Little Goody Two Shoes, otherwise Mi^s. Margery Two Shoes ; with the means by which she acquired learning and wisdom, and, in con- sequence thereof, her estate ; set forth at large for the benefit 10 of those
"Who, from a state of rags and care,
And having shoes hut half a pair, ^ Then- fortune and their fame should fix,
And gallop in a coach and six." 15
The world is probably not aware of the ingenuity, humor, good sense, and sly satire contained in many of the old English nursery-tales. They have evidently been the sportive produc- tions of able writers, who would not trust their names to productions that might be considered beneath their dignity. 20 The ponderous works on which they relied for immortality have perhaps sunk into oblivion, and carried their names down with them ; while their unacknowledged offspring. Jack the Giant Killer, Giles Gingerbread, and Tovi Thumb, flourish in wide-spreading and never-ceasing popularity. 25
As Goldsmith had now acquired popularity and an extensive acquaintance, he attempted, with the advice of his friends, to procure a more regular and ample support by resuming the medical profession. He accordingly launched himself upon the town in style ; hired a man-servant ; replenished his wardrobe 30 at considerable expense, and appeared in a professional wig and cane, purple silk small-clothes, and a scarlet roquelaure but- toned to tiie chin : a fantastic garb, as we should think at the present day, but not unsuited to the fashion of the times.
With his sturdy little person thus arrayed in the unusual 35 magnificence of purple and fine linen, and his scarlet roquelaure flaunting from his shoulders, he used to strut into the apart- ments of his patients swaying his three-cornered hat in one hand and his medical sceptre, the cane, in the other, and
120 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
assuming an air of • gravity and importance suited to the solemnity of liis wig ; at least, such is the picture given of him by the waiting gentlewoman who let him into the chamber of one of his lady -patients. 5 He soon, however, grew tired and impatient of the duties and restraints of his profession ; his practice was chiefly among his friends, and the fees were not sufficient for his maintenance ; he was disgusted with attendance on sick-chambers and capricious patients, and looked back with longing to his tavern-haunts and
10 broad convivial meetings, from which the dignity and duties of his medical calling restrained him. At length, on prescribing to a lady of his acquaintance, who, to use a hackneyed phrase, "rejoiced" in the aristocratical name of Sidebotham, a warm dispute arose between him and the apothecary as to the quan-
15 tity of medicine to be administered. The Doctor stood up for the rights and dignities of his profession, and resented the interference of the compounder of drugs. His rights and dignities, however, were disregarded ; his wig and cane and scarlet roquelaure were of no avail; Mrs. Sidebotham sided with
20 the hero of the pestle and mortar ; and Goldsmith flung out of the house in a passion. "I am determined henceforth," said he to Topham Beauclerc, " to leave off prescribing for friends." " Do so, my dear Doctor," was the reply ; "whenever you under- take to kill, let it be only your enemies."
25 This was the end of Goldsmith's medical career.
CHAPTER XVII
Publication of The Vicar of Wakefield ; Opinions concerning it : Of Dr. Johnson ; Of Kogers tiie Poet ; Of Goethe ; Its Merits ; Exquisite Extract. — Attack by Kenrick.— Reply. — Book-Building. — Project of a Comedy.
The success of the poem of The Traveller, and the popular- ity which it had conferred on its author, now roused the atten- tion of the bookseller in whose hands the novel of The Vicar of
CHAPTER XVII 121
Wakefield had been slumbering for nearly two long years. The idea has generally prevailed that it was Mr. John Newbery to whom the manuscript had been sold, and much surprise has been expressed that he should be insensible to its merit and suifer it to remain unpublished, while putting forth various 5 inferior writings by the same author. This, however, is a mis- take ; it was his nephew, Francis JSTewbery, who had become the fortunate purchaser. Still the delay is equally unaccount- able. Some have imagined that the uncle and nephew had business arrangements together, in which this work was in- 10 eluded, and that the elder ISTewbery, dubious of its success, retarded the publication until the full harvest of The Traveller should be reaped. Booksellers are prone to make egregious mistalfes as to the merit of works in manuscript; and to under- value, if not reject, those of classic and enduring excellence, 16 when destitute of that false brilliancy commonly called " effect." In the present instance, an intellect vastly superior to that of either of the booksellers was equally at fault. Dr. Johnson, speaking of the work to Boswell, some time subsequent to its publication, observed, "I myself did not think it would have 20 had much success. It was written and sold to a bookseller be- fore The Traveller, but published after, so little expectation had the bookseller from it. Had it been sold after The Trav- eller^ he might have had twice as much money; though sixty guineas ivas no mean price." 25
Sixty guineas for The Vicar of Wakefield ! and this could be pronounced no mean price by Dr. Johnson, at that time the arbiter of British talent, and who had had an opportunity of witnessing the effect of the work upon the public mind ; for its success was immediate. It came out on the 27th of March, 30 1766 ; before the end of May a second edition was called for ; in three months more, a third; and so it went on, widening in a popularity that has never flagged. Ilogers,° the Nestor of British literature, whose refined purity of taste and exquisite mental organization rendered him eminently calculated to 35 appreciate a work of the kind, declared that of all the books which through the fitful changes of three generations he had seen rise and fall, the charm of The Vicar of Wakefield had alone continued as at first ; and could he revisit the world after
122 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
an interval of many more generations, he should as surely look to find it undiminished. Nor has its celebrity been con- fined to Great Britain. Though so exclusively a picture of British scenes and manners, it has been translated into almost 5 every language, and everywhere its charm has been the same. Goethe, the great genius of Germany, declared in his eighty- first year, that it was his delight at the age of twenty, that it had in a manner formed a part of his education, influencing his taste and feelings throughout life, and that he had recently
10 read it again from beginning to end — with renewed delight, and with a grateful sense of the early benefit derived from it. It is needless to expatiate upon the qualities of a work which has thus passed from country to country, and language to lan- guage, until it is now known throughout the whole reading-
15 world and is become a household book in every hand. The secret of its universal and enduring popularity is undoubtedly its truth to nature, but to nature of the most amiable kind, to nature such as Goldsmith saw it. The author, as we have occa- sionally shown in the course of this memoir, took his scenes and
20 characters in this, as in his other writings, from originals in his own motley experience ; but he has given them as seen through the medium of his own indulgent eye, and has set them forth with the colorings of his own good head and heart. Yet how contradictory it seems that this, one of the most delightful pic-
25tures of home and homefelt happiness should be drawn by a homeless man ; that the most amiable picture of domestic virtue and all the endearments of the married state should be drawn by a bachelor, who had been severed from domestic life almost from boyhood; that one of the most tender, touching, and
30 affecting appeals on behalf of female loveliness should have been made by a man whose deficiency in all the graces of person and manner seemed to mark him out for a cynical disparager of the sex.
We cannot refrain from transcribing from the work a short
35 passage illustrative of what we have said, and which within a wonderfully small compass comprises a world of beauty of im- agery, tenderness of feeling, delicacy and refinement of thought, and matchless purity of style. The two stanzas which conclude it, in which are told a whole history of woman's wrongs and
CHAPTER XVII 123
sufferings, is, for pathos, simplicity, and euphony, a gem in the language. The scene depicted is where the poor Vicar is gathering around him the wrecks of his shattered family, and endeavoring to rally them back to happiness.
" The next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth for 5 the season, so that we agreed to breakfast together on the honeysuckle bank ; where, while we sat, my youngest daughter at my request joined her voice to the concert on the trees about us. It was in this place my poor Olivia first met her seducer, and every object served to recall her sadness. But that melan- 10 choly which is excited by objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes the heart instead of corroding it. Her mother, too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress, and wept, and loved her daughter as before. 'Do, my pretty Olivia,' cried she, ' let us have that melancholy air your father 15 was so fond of ; your sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do, child, it will please your old father.' She complied in a man- ner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me.
" ' When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray, 20
What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ?
*' ' The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shaine from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, 25
-^d wring his bosom — is to die.' "
Scarce had The Vicar of Wakefield made its appearance and been received with acclamation, than its author was subjected to one of the usual penalties that attend success. He was at- tacked in the newspapers. In one of the chapters he had intro- 30 duced his ballad of The Hermit, of which, as we have mentioned, a few copies had been printed some considerable time previously for the use of the Countess of Northumberland. This brought forth the following article in a fashionable journal of the day :
" To the Printer of the ' St. James's Chronicle.'' 35
"Sir, — In the Reliques of Ancient Poetry, published about two years ago, is a very beautiful little ballad, called A Friar
124 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
of Orders Gray. The ingenious editor, Mr. Percy, supposes that the stanzas sung by Ophelia in the play of Hamlet were parts of some ballad well known in Shakspeare's time, and from these stanzas, with the addition of one or two of his own to connect 5 them, he has formed the above-mentioned ballad ; the subject of which is, a lady comes to a convent to inquire for her love who had been driven there by her disdain. She is answered by a friar that he is dead : —
" ' No, no, he is dead, gone to his death's bed. 10 He never will come again.'
The lady weeps and laments her cruelty; the friar endeavors to comfort her with morality and religion, but all in vain ; she expresses the deepest grief and the most tender sentiments of love, till at last the friar discovers himself : — â–
15 " ' And lo ! beneath this gown of gray
Thy own true love appears.'
" This catastrophe is very fine, and the whole, joined with the greatest tenderness, has the greatest simplicity ; yet, though this ballad was so recently published in the Aiicient Reliques, 20 Dr. Goldsmith has been hardy enough to publish a poem called The Hermit, where the circumstances and catastrophe are exactly the same, only with this difference, that the natural simplicity and tenderness of the original are almost entirely lost in the languid smoothness and tedious paraphrase of the copy, which 25 is as short of the merits of JNIr. Percy's ballad as the insipidity of negus is to the genuine flavor of champagne.
" I am, sir, yours, &c.,
"Detector."
This attack, supposed to be by Goldsmith's constant perse- 1
30 cutor, the malignant Kenrick, drew from him the following note '
to the editor : —
" Sir, — As there is nothing I dislike so much as newspaper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as con- cise as possible in informing a correspondent of yours that I
CHAPTER XVII 125
recommended Blaiiiville's Trauels° because I thought the book was a good one ; and I think so still. I said I was told by the bookseller that it was then first published; but in that it seems I was misinformed, and my reading was not extensive enough to set me right. 5
" Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad I published some time ago, from one by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his bal- lad was taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy some years 10 ago ; and he, as we both considered these things as trifles at best, told me, with his usual good-humor, the next time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakspeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such 15 petty anecdotes as these are scarcely worth printing ; and, were it not for the busy disposition of some of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learn- ing for communications of a much more important nature. 20
" I am, sir, yours, &c.,
"Oliver Goldsmith."
The unexpected circulation of The Vicar of Wakefield enriched the publisher, but not the author. Goldsmith no doubt thought himself entitled to participate in the profits of the repeated 25 editions ; and a memorandum, still extant, shows that he drew upon Mr. Francis Newbery, in the month of June, for fifteen guineas, but that the bill was returned dishonored. He con- tinued, therefore, his usual job-work for the booksellers, writing introductions, prefaces, and head and tail pieces for new 30 works ; revising, touching up, and modifying travels and voy- ages ; making compilations of prose and poetry, and " building books " as he sportively termed it. These tasks required little labor or talent, but that taste and touch which are the magic of gifted minds. His terms began to be proportioned to his celeb- 35 rity. If his price was at anytime objected to, "Why, sir," he would say, " it may seem large ; but then a man may be many years working in obscurity before his taste and reputa-
126 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
tion are fixed or estimated ; and then he is, as in other profes- sions, only paid for his previous labors."'
He was, however, prepared to try his fortune in a dilferent walk of literature from any he had yet attempted. We have 5 repeatedly adverted to his fondness for the drama ; he was a frequent attendant at the theatres; though, as we have shown, he considered them under gross mismanagement. He thought, too, that a vicious taste prevailed among those who wrote for the stage. " A new species of dramatic composition," says he,
10 in one of his essays, " has been introduced under the name of sentimental comedy, in which the virtues of private life are exhibited rather than the vices exposed; and the distresses rather than the faults of mankind make our interest in the piece. In these plays almost all the characters are good, and
15 exceedingly generous ; they are lavish enough of their tin money on the stage ; and though they want humor, have abundance of sentiment and feeling. If they happen to have faults or foibles, the spectator is taught not only to pardon, but to applaud them in consideration of the goodness of their
20 hearts ; so that folly, instead of being ridiculed, is commended, and the comedy aims at touching our passions, without the power of being truly pathetic. In this manner we are likely to lose one great source of entertainment on the stage; for while the comic poet is invading the province of the tragic
25 muse, he leaves her lively sister quite neglected. Of this, however, he is no ways solicitous, as he measures his fame by his profits. . . .
" Humor at present seems to be departing from the stage ; and it will soon happen that our comic players will have noth-
30 ing left for it but a fine coat and a song. It depends upon the audience whether they will actually drive those poor merry creatures from the stage, or sit at a play as gloomy as at the tabernacle. It is not easy to recover an art when once lost ; and it will be a just punishment, that when, by our being too
35 fastidious, we have banished humor from the stage, we should ourselves be deprived of the art of laughing."
Symptoms of reform in the drama had recently taken place. The comedy of The Clandestine Marriage, the joint produc- tion of Colman and Garrick, and suggested by Hogarth's inimi-
CHAPTER XVIII 127
table pictures of Marriage a la mode, had taken the town by storm, crowded the theatre with fashionable audiences, and formed one of the leading literary topics of the year. Gold- smith's emulation was roused by its success. The comedy was in what he considered the legitimate line, totally different from 5 the sentimental school ; it presented pictures of real life, deline- ations of character and touches of humor, in which he felt himself calculated to excel. The consequence was, that in the course of this year (1766) he commenced a comedy of the same class, to be entitled The Good-natured Man, at which he dili- 10 gently wrought whenever the hurried occupation of "book- building" allowed him leisure.
CHAPTER XVIII
Social Position of Goldsmith ; His Colloquial Contests with Johnson. — Anecdotes and Illustrations.
The social position of Goldsmith had undergone a material change since the publication of The Traveller. Before that event he was but partially known as the author of some clever 15 anonymous writings, and had been a tolerated member of the club and the Johnson circle, without much being expected from him. Now he had suddenly risen to literary fame, and become one of the lions of the day. The highest regions of intellectual society were now open to him ; but he was not 20 prepared to move in them with confidence and success. Bally- mahon had not been a good school of manners at the outset of life ; nor had his experience as a " poor student " at colleges and medical schools contributed to give him the polish of society. He had brought from Ireland, as he said, nothing 25 but his " brogue and his blunders," and they had never left him. He had travelled, it is true ; but the Continental tour which in those days gave the finishing grace to the education of a patrician youth, had, with poor Goldsmith, been little better than a course of literary vagabondizing. It had enriched 30 his mind, deepened and widened the benevolence of his heart,
128 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
and filled his memory with enchanting pictures, but it had contributed little to disciplining him for the polite intercourse of the world. His life in London had hitherto been a struggle with soi-did cares and sad humiliations. " You scarcely can 5 conceive," wrote he some time previously to his brother, " how much eight years of disappointment, anguish, and study have worn me down." Several more years had since been added to the term during which he had trod the lowly walks of life. He had been a tutor, an apothecary's drudge, a petty physician
10 of the suburbs, a bookseller's hack, drudging for daily bread. Each separate walk had been beset by its peculiar thorns and humiliations. It is wonderful how his heart retained its gen- tleness and kindness through all these trials; how his mind rose above the " meannesses of poverty," to which, as he says,
15 he was compelled to submit; but it would be still more wonder- ful, had his manners acquired a tone corresponding to the in- nate grace and refinement of his intellect. He was near forty years of age when he published The Traveller, and was lifted by it into celebrity. As is beautifully said of him by one of
20 his biographers, " he has fought his way to consideration and esteem ; but he bears upon him the scars of his twelve years' conflict; of the mean sorrows through which he has passed; and of the cheap indulgences he has sought relief and heljD from. There is nothing plastic in his nature now. His man-
25 ners and habits are completely formed ; and in them any fur- ther success can make little favorable change, whatever it may effect for his mind or genius." ^
We are not to be surprised, therefore, at finding him make an awkward figure in the elegant drawing-rooms which were
30 now open to him, and disappointing those who had formed an idea of him from the fascinating ease and gracefulness of his poetry.
Even the literary club, and the circle of which it formed a part, after their surprise at the intellectual flights of which he
35 showed himself capable, fell into a conventional mode of judg- ing and talking of him, and of placing him in absurd and whimsical points of view. His very celebrity operated here to his disadvantage. It brought him into continual comparison
1 Forster's Goldstnith.
CHAPTER XVIII 129
with Johnson, who was the oracle of that circle and had given it a tone. Conversation was the great staple there, and of this Johnson was a master. He had been a reader and thinker from childhaod : his melancholy temperament, which unfitted him for the pleasures of youth, had made hiin so. For many years 5 past the vast variety of works he had been obliged to consult in preparing his Dictionary, had stored an uncommonly re- tentive memory with facts on all kinds of subjects; making it a perfect colloquial armory. " He had all his life," says Bos- well, " habituated himself to consider conversation as a trial 10 of intellectual vigor and skill. He had disciplined himself as a talker as well as a writer, making it a rule to impart whatexer he knew in the most forcible language he could put it in, so that by constant practice and never suffering any care- less expression to escape him, he had attained an extraordinary 15 accuracy and command of language."
His conversation in all companies, according to Sir Joshua Reynolds, was such as to secure him universal attention, some- thing above the usual colloquial style being always expected from him. 20
"I do not care," said Orme, the historian of Hindostan, "on what subject Johnson talks ; but I love better to hear him talk than anybody. He either gives you new thoughts or a new coloring."
A stronger and more graphic eulogium is given by Dr. Percy. 25 " The conversation of Johnson," says he, " is strong and clear, and may be compared to an antique statue, where every vein and muscle is distinct and clear."
Such was the colloquial giant with which Goldsmith's celebrity and his habits of intimacy brought him into continual compari- 30 son ; can we wonder that he should appear to disadvantage ? Conversation grave, discursive, and disputatious, such as John- son excelled and delighted in, was to him a severe task, and he never was good at a task of any kind. He had not, like John- son, a vast fund of acquired facts to draw upon ; nor a retentive 35 memory to furnish them forth when wanted. He could not, like the great lexicographer, mould his ideas and balance his periods while talking. He had a flow of ideas, but it was apt to be hurried and confused ; and, as he said of himself, he had
K
130 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
contracted a hesitating and disagreeable manner of speaking. He used to say that he always argued best when he argued alone; that is to say, he could master a subject in his study, with his pen in his hand ; but when he came into company he 5 grew confused, and was unable to talk about it. Johnson made a remark concerning him to somewhat of the same purport. "No man," said he, " is more foolish than Goldsmith when he has not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he has." Yet with all this conscious deficiency he was continually getting
10 involved in colloquial contests with Johnson and other prime talkers of the literary circle. He felt that he had become a notoriety, that he had entered the lists and was expected to make fight ; so with that heedlessness which characterized him in everything else he dashed on at a venture ; trusting to chance
15 in this as in other things, and hoj)ing occasionally to make a lucky hit. Johnson perceived his haphazard temerity, but gave him no credit for the real diffidence which lay at bottom. " The misfortune of Goldsmith in conversation," said he, " is this, he goes on without knowing how he is to get off. His genius is
20 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 ib is a pity he is not knowing. He would not keep his knowledge to himself." And, on another occasion, he observes : " Goldsmith, rather than not talk, will talk of what he knows himself to be
25 ignorant, which can only end in exposing him. If in company with two founders, he would fall a-talking on the method of making cannon, though both of them would soon see that he did not know what metal a cannon is made of." And again: " Goldsmith should not be forever attempting to shine in con-
30 versation ; he has not temper for it, he is so much mortified when he fails. Sir, a game of jokes is composed 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, putting himself against another, is like a man laying a hundred to one, who can-
35 not spare the hundred. It is not worth a man's while. A man should not lay a hundred to one unless he can easily spare it, though he has a hundred chances for him ; he can get but a guinea, and he may lose a hundred. Goldsmith is in this state. When he contends, if he gets the better, it is a very little addi-
CHAPTER XVIII lol
tion to a man of his literary reputation ; if he does not get the better, he is miserably vexed."
Johnson was not aware how much he was himself to blame in producing this vexation. " Goldsmith," said Miss Reynolds, " always appeared to be overawed by Johnson, particularly when 5 in company with people of any consequence ; always as if im- pressed with fear of disgrace ; and indeed well he might. I have been witness to many mortifications he has suffered in Dr. Johnson's company."
It may not have been disgrace that he feared, but rudeness. 10 The great lexicographer, spoiled by the homage of society, was still more prone than himself to lose temper when the argument went against him. He could not brook appearing to be worsted, but w<tlild attempt to bear down his adversary by the rolling thunder of his periods, and, when that failed, would become 15 downright insulting. Boswell called it " having recourse to some sudden mode of robust sophistry " ; but Goldsmith desig- nated it much more happily. " There is no arguing with John- son," said he, "/or, when Ms pistol misses Jire, he knocks you doivn with the hut-end of it." ^ 20
In several of the intellectual collisions recorded by Boswell as triumphs of Dr. Johnson it really appears to us that Gold- smith had the best both of the wit and the argument, and espe- cially of the courtesy and good-nature.
On one occasion he certainly gave Johnson a capital reproof 25 as to his own colloquial peculiarities. Talking of fables, Gold- smith observed that the animals introduced in them seldom talked in character. "â– For instance," said he, " the fable of the little fishes, who saw birds fiy over their heads, and, envying them, petitioned Jupiter to be changed into birds. The skill 30 gonsists in making them talk like little fishes." Just then ob- serving that Dr. Johnson was shaking his sides and laughing, he immediately added, " Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think ; for, if you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales." 35
1 The following is given by Boswell, as an instance of robust sophis- try:— "Once, when I was pressing upon him with visible advantage, he stopped me thus — 'My dear Boswell, let's have no more of this; you'll make nothing of it ; I'd rather hear you whistle a Scotch tune."*
132 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
But though Goldsmith suffered frequent mortifications in society from the overbearing, and sometimes harsh, conduct of Johnson, he always did justice to his benevolence. When royal pensions were granted to Dr. Johnson and Dr. Shebbeare, a pun- 5 ster remarked, that the king had pensioned a she-hear and a he- hear; to which Goldsmith replied, " Johnson, to be sure, has a roughness in his manner, but no man alive has a more tender heart. He has nothing of the hear hut the skin."
Goldsmith, in conversation, shone most when he least thought
10 of shining ; when he gave up all effort to appear wise and learned, or to cope with the oracular sententiousness of Johnson, and gave way to his natural impulses. Even Boswell could perceive his merits on these occasions. " For my part," said he, conde- scendingly, " I like very well to hear honest Goldsmith talk
15 away carelessly ;" and many a much wiser man than Boswell delighted in those outpourings of a fertile fancy and a generous heart. In his happy moods. Goldsmith had an artless simplicity and buoyant good- humor, that led to a thousand amusing blun- ders and whimsical confessions, much to the entertainment of
20 his intimates ; yet in his most thoughtless gari'ulity there was occasionally the gleam of the gold and the flash of the diamond.
CHAPTER XIX
Social Resorts. — The Shilling Whist-Club. — A Practical Joke. — The Wednesday Chib. — The "Tun of Man." — The Pig-Butcher. — Tom King. — Hugh Kelly. — Glover and his Cliaracteristics.
Though Goldsmith's pride and ambition led him to mingle occasionally with high society, and to engage in the colloquial conflicts of the learned circle, in both of which he was ill at ease
25 and conscious of being undervalued, yet he had some social re- sorts in which he indemnified himself for their restraints by indulging his humor without control. One of them was a shil- ling whist-club, which held its meetings at the Devil Tavern, near Temple Bar, a place rendered classic, we are told, by a club
30 held there in old times, to which " rare Ben Jonson " had fur-
CHAPTER XIX 133
nished the rules. The company was of a familiar, unceremoni- ous kind, delighting in that very questionable wit which consists in playing off practical jokes upon each other. Of one of these Goldsmith was made the butt. Coming to the club one night in a hackney-coach, he gave the coachman by mistake a guinea 5 instead of a shilling, which he set down as a dead loss, for there was no likelihood, he said, that a fellow of this class would have the honesty to return the money. On the next club-evening he was told a person at the street-door wished to speak with him. He went forth, but soon returned with a radiant countenance. 10 To his surjDrise and delight the coachman had actually brought back the guinea. While he launched forth in praise of this unlook«d-for piece of honesty, he declared it ought not to go unrewarded. Collecting a small sum from the club, and no doubt increasing it largely from his own purse, he dismissed 15 the Jehu with many encomiums on his good conduct. He was still chanting his praises, when one of the club requested a sight of the guinea thus honestly returned. To Goldsmith's confusion it proved to be a counterfeit. The universal burst of laughter which succeeded, and the jokes by which he was assailed on 20 every side, showed him that the whole was a hoax, and the pre- tended coachman as much a counterfeit as the guinea. He was so disconcerted, it is said, that he soon beat a retreat for the evening.
Another of those free and easy clubs met on Wednesday even- 25 ings at the Globe Tavern in Fleet Street. It was somewhat in the style of the Three Jolly Pigeons : songs, jokes, dramatic imitations, burlesque parodies, and broad sallies of humor formed a contrast to the sententious morality, pedantic casuis- tr}'^, and polished sarcasm of the learned circle. Here a huge 30 "tun of man," by the name of Gordon, used to delight Gold- smith by singing the jovial song of Nottingham Ale, and look- ing like a butt of it. Here, too, a w^ealthy pig-butcher, charmed, no doubt, by the mild philanthropy of The Traveller, aspired to be on the most sociable footing with the author ; and here 35 was Tom King, the comedian, recently risen to consequence by his performance of Lord Ogieby in the new comedy of The Clandestine Marriage.
A member of more note was one Hugh Kelly, a second-rate
134 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
author, who, as he became a khid of coinpetitor of Goldsmith's, deserves particular mention. He was an Irishman, about twenty- eight years of age, originally apprenticed to a staymaker in
. Dublin ; then writer to a London attorney ; then a Grub-Street 5 hack, scribbling for magazines and newspapers. Of late he had set up for theatrical censor and satirist, and in a paper called Thespis, in emulation of Churchill's Rosciad, had harassed many of the poor actors without mercy, and often without wit ; but had lavished his incense on Garrick, who, in consequence,
10 took him into favor. He was the author of several works of superficial merit, but which had sufficient vogue to inflate his vanity. This, however, must have been mortified on his first introduction to Johnson ; after sitting a short time he got up to take leave, expressing a fear that a longer visit might be
15 troublesome. "Not in the least, sir," said the surly moralist, " I had forgotten you were in the room." Johnson used to speak of him as a man who had written more than he had read. A prime wag of this club was one of Goldsmith's poor country- men and hangers-on, by the name of Glover. He had originally
20 been educated for the medical profession, but had taken in early life to the stage, though apparently without much success. While performing at Cork, he undertook, partly in jest, to re- store life to the body of a malefactor, who had just been exe- cuted. To the astonishment of every one, himself among the
25 number, he succeeded. The miracle took wind. He abandoned the stage, resumed the wig and cane, and considered his fortune as secure. Unluckily, there were not many dead people to be restored to life in Ireland ; his practice did not equal his expec- tation, so he came to London, where he continued to dabble
30 indifferently, and rather unprofitably, in physic and literature. He was a great frequenter of the Globe and Devil taverns, where he used to amuse the company by his talent at story- telling and his powers of mimicry, giving capital imitations of Garrick, Foote, Colman, Sterne, and other public characters of
35 the day. He seldom happened to have money enough to pay his reckoning, but was always sure to find some ready purse among those who had been amused by his humors. Goldsmith, of course, was one of the readiest. It was .through him that Glover was admitted to the Wednesday Club, of which his
CHAPTER XIX 135
theatrical imitations became the delight. Glover, however, was a little anxious for the dignity of his patron, which appeared to him to suffer from the over-familiarity of some of the mem- bers of the club. He was especially shocked by the free and easy tone in which Goldsmith was addressed by the pig-butcher. 5 " Come, Noll," would he say, as he pledged him, ^' here's my service to you, old boy ! "
Glover whispered to Goldsmith, that he " should not allow such liberties." " Let him alone," was the reply, " you'll see how civilly I'll let him down." After a time, he called out, 10 with marked ceremony and politeness, "Mr. B., I have the honor of drinking your good health." Alas ! dignity was not poor Gt)ldsmith's forte : he could keep no one at a distance. " Thank'ee, thank'ee, Noll," nodded the pig-butcher, scarce taking the pipe out of his mouth. " I don't see the effect of 15 your reproof," whispered Glover. " I give it up," replied Gold- smith, with a good-humored shrug; "I ought to have known before now there is no putting a pig in the right way."
Johnson used to be severe upon Goldsmith for mingling in these motley circles, observing, that, having been originally 20 poor, he had contracted a love for low company. Goldsmith, however, was guided not by a taste for what was low, but for what was comic and characteristic. It was the feeling of the artist ; the feeling which furnished out some of his best scenes in familiar life, the feeling with which " rare Ben Jonson " 25 sought these very haunts and circles in days of yore, to study Every Man in his Humor °
It was not always, however, that the humor of these associates was to his taste: as they became boisterous in their merriment, he was apt to become depressed. " The company of fools," 30 says he, in one of his essays, " may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of making us melancholy." " Often he would become moody," says Glover, " and would leave the party abruptly to go home and brood over his misfortune." *
It is possible, however, that he went home for quite a dif- 35 ferent purpose : to commit to paper some scene or passage suggested for his comedy of Tlie Good-natured Man. The elaboration of humor is often a most serious task ; and we have never witnessed a ujore perfect picture of mental misery than
136 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
was once presented to us by a popular dramatic writer — still, we hope, living — whom we found in the agonies of producing a farce which subsequently set the theatres in a roar.
CHAPTER XX
The Great Cham of Literature and the King. — Scene at Sir Joshua Reynolds's. — Goldsmith accused of Jealousy. — Negotiations with Garrick. — The Author and the Actor; Their Correspondence.
The comedy of The Good-natured Man was completed by 5 Goldsmith early in 1767, and submitted to the perusal of Johnson, Burke, Reynolds, and others of the literary club, by whom it was heartily approved. Johnson, who was seldom halfway either in censure or applause, ^")ronounced it the best comedy that had been written since The Provoked Husband
10 and promised to furnish the prologue. This immediately became an object of great solicitude with Goldsmith, knowing the weight an inti'oduction from the Great Cham of literature would have with the public ; but circumstances occurred which he feared might drive the comedy and the prologue from John-
15 son's thoughts. The latter was in the habit of visiting the royal library at the Queen's (Buckingham) House, a noble collection of books, in the formation of which he had assisted the librarian, Mr. Bernard, with his advice. One evening, as he was seated there by the fire reading, he was surprised by
20 the entrance of the King (George IH.), then a young man, who sought this occasion to have a conversation with him. The conversation was varied and discursive, the King shifting from subject to subject according to his wont. " During the whole interview," says Boswell, " Johnson talked to his Majesty
25 with profound respect, but still in his open, manly manner, with a sonorous voice, and never in that subdued tone which is commonly used at the levee and in the drawing-room. ' I found his Majesty wished I should talk,' said he, ' and I made it my business to talk. I find it does a man good to be talked
30 to by his sovereign. In the first place, a man cannot be in a
CHAPTER XX 137
passion.' " It would have been well for Johnson's colloquial disputants, could he have often been under such decorous re- straint. Profoundly monarchical in his principles, he retired from the interview highly gratified with the conversation of the King and with his gracious behavior. " Sir," said he to 5 the librarian, " they may talk of the King as they will, but he is the finest gentleman I have ever seen." — "Sir," said he sub- sequently to Bennet Langton, "his manners are those of as fine a gentleman as we may suppose Louis the Fourteenth or Charles the Second." 10
While Johnson's face was still radiant with the reflex of royalty,-he was holding forth one day to a listening group at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, who were anxious to hear every par- ticular of this memorable conversation. Among other questions, the King had asked him whether he was writing anything. His 15 reply was, that he thought he had already done his part as a writer, " I should have thought so too," said the King, " if you had not written so welU" — "No man," said Johnson, com- menting on this speech, " could have made a handsomer com- pliment ; and it was fit for a King to pay. It was decisive." — 20 "But did you make no reply to this high compliment?" asked one of the company. "No, sir," replied the profoundly defer- ential Johnson; "when the King had said it, it was to be so. It was not for me to bandy civilities with my sovereign."
During all the time that Johnson was thus holding forth, 25 Goldsmith, who was present, appeared to take no interest in the royal theme, but remained seated on a sofa at a distance, in a moody fit of abstraction ; at length recollecting himself, he sprang up, and advancing, exclaimed, with what Boswell calls his usual "frankness and simplicity," — "Well, you ac-.30 quitted yourself in this conversation better than I should have done, for I should have bowed and stammered through the whole of it," He afterwards explained his seeming inatten- tion by saying that his mind was completely occupied about his play, and by fears lest Johnson, in his present state of 35 royal excitement, would fail to furnish the much-desired prologue.
How natural and truthful is this explanation. Yet Boswell presumes to pronounce Goldsmith's inattention affected, and
138 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
attributes it to jealousy. " It was strongly suspected," says he, "that he was fretting with chagrin and envy at the singular honor Dr. Johnson had lately enjoyed." It needed the little- ness of mind of Boswell to ascribe such pitiful motives to 5 Goldsmith, and to entertain such exaggerated notions of the honor paid to Dr. Johnson.
The Good-natured Man was now ready for performance, but the question was, how to get it upon the stage. The affairs of Covent Garden, for which it had been intended, were thrown
10 into confusion by the recent death of Rich, the manager. Drury Lane was under the management of Garrick ; but a feud, it will be recollected, existed between him and the poet, from the animadversions of the latter on the mismanagement of theatrical affairs, and the refusal of the former to give the
15 poet his vote for the secretaryship of the Society of Arts. Times, however, were changed. Goldsmith, when that feud took place, was an anonymous writer, almost unknown to fame, and of no circulation in society. JSTow he had become a literary lion ; he was a member of the Literary Club ; he was
20 the associate of Johnson, Burke, Topham Beauclerc, and other magnates, — in a word, he had risen to consequence in the public eye, and of course was of consequence in the eyes of David Garrick. Sir Joshua Reynolds saw the lurking scruples of pride existing between the author and actor, and think-
25 ing it a pity that two men of such congenial talents, and who might be so serviceable to each other, should be kept asunder by a worn-out pique, exerted his friendly offices to bring tliem together. The meeting took place in Reynolds's house in Leicester Square. Garrick, however, could not entirely put oft'
30 the mock majesty of the stage ; he meant to be civil, but he was rather too gracious and condescending. Tom Davies, in his Life of Garrick, gives an amusing picture of the coming to- gether of these punctilious parties. " The manager," says he, " was fully conscious of his (Goldsmith's) merit, and perhaps
35 more ostentatious of his abilities to serve a dramatic author than became a man of his prudence ; Goldsmith was, on his side, as fully persuaded of his own importance and independent! greatness. Mr. Garrick, who had so long been treated with the| complimentary language paid to a successful patentee and
CHAPTER XX 139
admired actor, expected that the writer would esteem the patronage of his play a favor; Goldsmith rejected all ideas of kindness in a bargain that was intended to be of mntiial ad- vantage to both parties, and in this he was certainly justifia- ble ; Mr. Garrick could reasonably expect no thanks for the 5 acting a new play, which he would have rejected if he had not been convinced it would have amply rewarded his pains and expense. I believe the manager was willing to accept the play, but he wished to be courted to it ; and the Doctor was not dis- posed to purchase his friendship by the resignation of his sin- 10 cerity." They separated, however, with an understanding on the parf of Goldsmith that his play would be acted. The con- duct of Garrick subsequently proved evasive, not through any lingerings of past hostility, but from habitual indecision in matters of the kind, and from real scruples of delicacy. He 15 did not think the piece likely to succeed on the stage, and avowed that opinion to Reynolds and Johnson, — but hesitated to say as much to Goldsmith, through fear of wounding his feelings. A further misunderstanding was the result of this want of decision and frankness ; repeated interviews and some 20 correspondence took place without bringing matters to a point, and in the meantime the theatrical season passed away.
Goldsmith's pocket, never well supplied, suffered grievously by this delay, and he considered himself entitled to call upon the manager, who still talked of acting the play, to advance 25 him forty pounds upon a note of the younger Newbery. Gar- rick readily complied, but subsequently suggested certain im- portant alterations in the comedy as indispensable to its success ; these were indignantly rejected by the author, but pertinaciously insisted on by the manager. Garrick proposed • to leave the 30 matter to the arbitration of Whitehead," the laureate, who officiated as his "reader" and elbow-critic. Goldsmith was more indignant than ever, and a violent dispute ensued, which was only calmed by the interference of Burke and Reynolds.
Just at this time, order came out of confusion in the affairs 35 of Covent Garden. A pique having risen between Colman and Garrick, in the course of their joint authorship of The Clan- destine Marriage, the former had become manager and part- proprietor of Covent Garden, and was preparing to open a
140 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
powerful competition with his former colleague. On hearing of this, Goldsmith made overtures to Colman ; who, without waiting to consult his fellow-proprietors, who were absent, gave instantly a favorable reply. Goldsmith felt the contrast of 5 this warm, encouraging conduct, to the chilling delays and objections of Garrick. He at once abandoned his piece to the discretion of Colman. " Dear sir," says he, in a letter dated Temple Garden Court, July 9th, " I am very much obliged to you for your kind partiality in my favor, and your tenderness
10 in shortening the interval of my expectation. That the play is liable to many objections I well know, but I am happy that it is in hands the most capable in the world of removing them. If then, dear sir, you will complete your favor by putting the piece into such a state as it may be acted, or of directing me
15 how to do it, I shall ever retain a sense of your goodness to me. And indeed, though most probably this be the last I shall ever write, yet I can't help feeling a secret satisfaction that poets for the future are likely to have a protector who declines tak- ing advantage of their dreadful situation — and scorns that
20 importance which may be acquired by trifling with their anxieties."
The next day Goldsmith wrote to Garrick, who was at Litch- field, informing him of his having transferred his piece to Covent Garden, for which it had been originally written, and
25 by the patentee of which it was claimed, observing, " As I found you had very great difficulties about that piece, I com- plied with his desire. ... I am extremely sorry that you should think me warm at our last meeting ; your judgment certainly ought to be free, especially in a matter which must
30 in some measure concern your own credit and interest. I assure you, sir, I have no disposition to differ with you on this or any other account, but am, with an high opinion of your abilities, and a very real esteem, sir, your most obedient hum- ble servant. Oliver Goldsmith."
35 In his reply, Garrick observed, " I was, indeed, much hurt that your warmth at our last meeting mistook my sincere and friendly attention to your play for the remains of a former misunderstanding, which I had as much forgot as if it had never existed. What I said to you at my own house I now
CHAPTER XXI 141
repeat, that I felt more pain in giving my sentiments than you possibly would in receiving them. It has been the business, and ever will be, of my life to live on the best terms with men of genius ; and I know that Dr. Goldsmith will have no reason to change his previous friendly disposition towards me, as I shall be glad of every future opportunity to convince him how much I am his obedient servant and well-wisher. D. Gar- rick."
CHAPTER XXI
More Hack- Authorship. — Tom Da vies and the Roman History, — Can- onbury Castle. — Political Authorship. — Pecuniary Temptation. — Death of Newbery the Elder.
Though Goldsmith's comedy was now in train to be performed, it could not be brought out before Christmas ; in the mean time 10 he must live. Again, therefore, he had to resort to literary jobs for his daily support. These obtained for him petty occasional sums, the largest of which was ten pounds, from the elder New- bery, for an historical compilation ; but this scanty rill of quasi patronage, so sterile in its products, was likely soon to cease ; 15 Newbery being too ill to attend to business, and having to trans- fer the whole management of it to his nephew.
At this time Tom Davies, the sometime Roscius,° sometime bibliopole, stepped forward to Goldsmith's relief, and proposed that he should undertake an -easy popular history of Rome in 20 two volumes. An arrangement was soon made. Goldsmith undertook to complete it in two years, if possible, for two hun- dred and fifty guineas, and forthwith set about his task with cheerful alacrity. As usual, he sought a rural retreat during the summer months, where he might alternate his literary 25 labors with strolls about the green fields. " Merry Islington " was again his resort, but he now aspired to better quarters than formerly, and engaged the chambers occupied occasionally by Mr. N"ewbery, in Canonbury House, or Castle, as it is popu- larly called. This had been a hunting-lodge of Queen Eliza- 30 beth, in whose time it was surrounded by parks and forests.
142 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
In Goldsmith's day, nothing remained of it but an old brick tower ; it was still in the country amid rural scenery, and was a favorite nestling-place of authors, publishers, and others of the literary order.^ A number of these he had for fellow-occupants
5 of the castle ; and they formed a temporary club, which held its meetings at the Crown Tavern, on the Islington lower road ; and here he presided in his own genial style, and was the life and delight of the company.
The writer of these pages visited old Canonbury Castle some
10 years since, out of regard to the memory of Goldsmith. The apartment was still shown which the poet had inhabited, con- sisting of a sitting-room and small bedroom, with panelled wainscots and Gothic windows. The quaintness and quietude of the place were still attractive. It w^as one of the resorts of
15 citizens on their Sunday walks, who would ascend to the top of the tower and amuse themselves with reconnoitring the city through a telescope. Not far from this tower were the gardens pf the White Conduit House, a Cockney Elysium, where Gold- smith used to figure in the humbler days of his fortune. In the
20 first edition of his Essays he speaks of a stroll in these gardens, where he at that time, no doubt, thought himself in perfectly genteel society. After his rise in the world, however, he became too knowing to speak of such plebeian haunts. In a new edi- tion of his Essays, therefore, the White Conduit House and its
25 gardens disappear, and he speaks of " a stroll in the Park."
While Goldsmith was literally living from hand to mouth by the forced drudgery of the pen, his independence of spirit was subjected to a sore pecuniary trial. It was the opening of Lord North's administration, a time of great political excitement.
30 The public mind was agitated by the question of American taxa-
1 See on the distant slope, majestic shows Old Canonbury's tower, an ancient pile To various fates assigned ; and where by turns Meanness and grandeur have alternate reign'd ; Thither, in latter days, hath genius fled From yonder city, to respire and die. There the sweet bard of Auburn sat, and tuned The plaintive moanings of his village dirge. There learned Chambers treasured lore for mew, And Newbery there his A-B-C's for babes.
CHAPTER XXI 143
tion, and other questions of like irritating tendency. " Junius " and Wilkes° and other powerful writers were attacking the admin- istration with all their force ; Grub Street was stirred up to its lowest depths ; inflammatory talent of all kinds was in full ac- tivity, and the kingdom was deluged with pamphlets, lampoons, 5 and libels of the grossest kinds. The ministry were looking anxiously round for literary sup23ort. It was thought that the pen of Goldsmith might be readily enlisted. His hospitable friend and countryman, Robert Nugent, politically known as Squire Gawky, had come out strenuously for colonial taxation ; had been 10 selected for a lordship of the board of trade, and raised to the rank of Baron Nugent and Viscount Clare. His example, it was thougM, would be enough of itself to bring Goldsmith into the ministerial ranks ; and then what writer of the day w^as proof against a full purse or a pension ? Accordingly one Parson 15 Scott, chaplain to Lord Sandwich, and author of Anti-Sejanvs, Panurge, and other political libels in support of the administra- tion, was sent to negotiate with the poet, who at this time was returned to town. Dr. Scott, in after-years, when his political subserviency had been rewarded by two fat crown-livings, used 20 to make what he considered a good story out of this embassy to the poet. " I found him," said he, "in a miserable suit of chambers in the Temple. I told him my authority : I told how I was empow^ered to pay most liberally for his exertions ; and, would you believe it ! he was so absurd as to say, ' I can 25 earn as much as will supply my wants without writing for any party ; the assistance you offer is therefore unnecessary to me ; ' — and so I left him in his garret ! " Who does not admire the sturdy independence of poor Goldsmith toiling in his garret for nine guineas the job, and smile with contempt at the indignant 30 wonder of the political divine, albeit his subserviency was repaid by two fat crown -livings?
Not long after this occurrence, Goldsmith's old friend, though frugal-handed employer, Newbery, of picture-book renown, closed his mortal career. The poet has celebrated him as the friend of 35 all mankind; he certainly lost nothing by his friendship. He coined the brains of his authors in the times of their exigency, and made them pay dear for the plank put out to keep them from drowning. It is not likely his death caused much lamen-
144 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
tation among the scribbling tribe ; we may express' decent re- spect for the memory of the just, but we shed tears only at the grave of the generous.
CHAPTER XXII
Theatrical Manoeuvring. — The Comedy of False Delicacy. — Fivst Performance of The Good-natured Man. — Conduct of Johnson. — Conduct of the Author. — Intermeddling of the Press.
The comedy of The Good-natured Man was doomed to experi-
5 ence delays and difficulties to the very last. Garrick, notwith- standing his professions, had still a lurking grudge against the author, and tasked his managerial arts to thwart him in his theatrical enterprise. For this purpose he undertook to build up Hugh Kelly, Goldsmith's boon companion of the Wednesday
10 club, as a kind of rival. Kelly had written a comedy called False Delicacy, in which were embodied all the meretricious qualities of the sentimental school. Garrick, though he had decried that school, and had brought out his comedy of The Clandestine Marriage in opposition to it, now lauded False
15 Delicacy to the skies, and prepared to bring it out at Drury Lane with all possible stage-effect. He even went so far as to write a prologue and epilogue for it, and to touch up some parts of the dialogue. He had become reconciled to his former col- league, Colman, and it is intimated that one condition in the
20 treaty of peace between these potentates of the realms of paste- board (equally x^rone to play into each other's hands with the confederate potentates on the great theatre of life) was, that Goldsmith's play should be kept back until Kelly's had been brought forward.
25 In the mean time the poor author, little dreaming of the deleterious influence at work behind the scenes, saw the ap- pointed time arrive and pass by without the performance of his play; while False Delicacy was brought out at Drury Lane (January 23, 1768) with all the trickery of managerial manage-
30 ment. Houses were packed to applaud it to the echo ; the news-
CHAPTER XXII 145
papers vied with each other in their venal praises, and night after night seemed to give it a fresh triumph.
While False Delicacy was thus borne on the full tide of ficti- tious prosperity, The Good-natured Man was creeping through the last rehearsals at Covent Garden. The success of the rival 5 piece threw a damp upon author, manager, and actors. Gold- smith went about with a face full of anxiety ; Colman's hopes in the piece declined at each rehearsal ; as to his fellow-pro- prietors, they declared they had never entertained any. All the actors were discontented with their parts, excepting Ned 10 Shuter, an excellent low comedian, and a, pretty actress named Miss Walford ; both of whom the poor author ever afterward held ifl grateful recollection.
Johnson, Goldsmith's growling monitor and unsparing casti- gator in times of heedless levity, stood by him at present with 15 that protecting kindness with which he ever befriended him in time of need. He attended the rehearsals ; he furnished the prologue according to promise ; he pish'd and pshaw'd at any doubts and fears on the part of the author, but gave him sound counsel, and held him up with a steadfast and manly hand. 20 Inspirited by his sympathy, Goldsmith plucked up new heart, and arrayed himself for the grand trial with unusual care. Ever since his elevation into the polite world, he had improved in his wardrobe and toilet. Johnson could no longer accuse him of being shabby in his appearance ; he rather went to the other ex- 25 treme. On the present occasion there is an entry in the books of his tailor, Mr. William Filby, of a suit of " Tyrian bloom, satin grain, and garter blue silk breeches, £8 2s. 7d." Thus magnificently attired, he attended the theatre and watched the reception of the play, and the eifect of each individual scene, 30 with that vicissitude of feeling incident to his mercurial nature.
Johnson's prologue was solemn in itself, and being delivered by Brinsley in lugubrious tones suited to the ghost in Hamlet, seemed to throw a portentous gloom on the audience. Some of the scenes met with great applause, and at such times Goldsmith 35 was highly elated ; others went off coldly, or there were slight tokens of disapprobation, and then his sjjirits would sink. The fourth act saved the piece; for Shuter, who had the main comic character of Croaker, was so varied and ludicrous in his execu-
146 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
tion of the scene in which he reads an incendiary letter, that he drew down thunders of applause. On his coming behind the scenes, Goldsmith greeted him with an overflowing heart; declaring that he exceeded his own idea of the character, and 5 made it almost as new to him as to any of the audience.
On the whole, however, both the author and his friends were disappointed at the reception of the piece, and considered it a failure. Poor Goldsmith left the theatre with his towering hopes completely cut down. He endeavored to hide his mortification,
10 and even to assume an air of unconcern while among his asso- ciates ; but the moment he was alone with Dr. Johnson, in whose rough but magnanimous nature he reposed unlimited confidence, he threw off all restraint and gave way to an almost childlike burst of grief. Johnson, who had shown no want of
15 sympathy at the proper time, saw nothing in the partial disap- pointment of over-rated expectations to warrant such ungoverned emotions, and rebuked him sternly for what he termed a silly affectation, saying that " ^N'o man should be expected to sym- pathize with the sorrows of vanity."
20 When Goldsmith had recovered from the blow, he, with his usual unreserve, made his past distress a subject of amusement to his friends. Dining one day, in company with Dr. Johnson, at the chaplain's table at St. James's Palace, he entertained the company with a particular and comic account of all his feelings
25 on the night of representation, and his despair when the piece was hissed. How he went, he said, to the Literary Club ; chatted gayly, as if nothing had gone amiss ; and, to give a greater idea of his unconcern, sang his favorite song about an old woman tossed in a blanket seventeen times as high as the
30 moon. ... " All this while," added he, " I was suffering hor- rid tortures, and, had I put a bit in my mouth, I verily believe it would have strangled me on the spot, I was so excessively ill; but I made more noise than usual to cover all that; so they never, perceived my not eating, nor suspected the anguish
35 of my heart ; but when all were gone except Johnson here, I burst out a-crying, and even swore that I would never write again."
Dr. Johnson sat in amaze at the odd frankness and childlike self-accusation of poor Goldsmith. When the latter had come
CHAPTER XXII 147
to a pause, " All this, Doctor," said he, dryly, " I thought had been a secret between you and me, and I am sure I would not have said anything about it for the world." But Goldsmith had no secrets : his follies, his weaknesses, his errors were all thrown to the surface ; his heart was really too guileless and 5 innocent to seek mystery and concealment. It is too often the false designing man that is guarded in his conduct and never offends proprieties.
It is singular, however, that Goldsmith, who thus in conver- sation could keep nothing to himself, should be the author of a 10 maxim which would inculcate the most thorough dissimulation. " Men of the world," says he in one of the papers of the Bee, " maintain that the true end of speech is not so much to express our wants as to conceal them," How often is this quoted as one of the subtle remarks of the fine-witted Talleyrand ! ° 15
The Good-natured Man was performed for ten nights in succession; the third, sixth, and ninth nights were for the author's benefit ; the fifth night it was commanded by their Majesties ; after this it was played occasionally, but rarely, having always pleased more in the closet than on the stage. 20
As to Kelly's comedy, Johnson pronounced it entirely devoid of character, and it has long since passed into oblivion. Yet it is an instance how an inferior production, by dint of puffing and trumpeting, may be kept up for a time on the surface of popular opinion, or rather of popular talk. What had been done 25 for False Delicacy on the stage was continued by the press. The booksellers vied with the manager in launching it upon the town. They announced that the first impression of three thousand copies was exhausted before two o'clock on the day of publication; four editions, amounting to ten thousand copies were 30 sold in the course of the season ; a public breakfast was given to Kelly at the Chapter Coffee-House, and a piece of plate presented to him by the publishers. The comparative merits of the two plays were continually subjects of discussion in green-rooms, coft'ee-houses, and other places where theatrical questions were 35 discussed.
Goldsmith's old enemy, Kenrick, that " viper of the press," endeavored on this, as on many other occasions, to detract from his well-earned fame ; the poet was excessively sensitive to
148 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
these attacks, and had not the art and self-command to conceal his feelings.
Some scribblers on the other side insinuated that Kelly had seen the manuscript of Goldsmith's play, while in the hands of 5 Garrick or elsewhere, and had borrowed some of the situa- tions and sentiments. Some of the wags of the day took a mischievous pleasure in stirring up a feud between the two authors. Goldsmith became nettled, though he could scarcely be deemed jealous of one so far his inferior. He spoke
10 disparagingly, though no doubt sincerely, of Kelly's play : the latter retorted. Still, when they met one day behind the scenes of Covent Garden, Goldsmith, with his customary urbanity, congratulated Kelly on his success. " If I thought you sin- cere, Mr. Goldsmith," replied the other, abruptly, "I should
15 thank you." Goldsmith was not a man to harbor spleen or ill- will, and soon laughed at this unworthy rivalship; but the jealousy and envy awakened in Kelly's mind long continued. He is even accused of having given vent to his hostility by anonymous attacks in the newspapers, the basest resource of
20 dastardly and malignant spirits ; but of this there is no positive proof.
CHAPTEK XXIII
Burning the Candle at both Ends. — Fine Apartments. — Fine Furni- ture. — Fine Clothes. — Fine Acquaintances. — Shoemaker's Holiday and Jolly-Pigeon Associates. — Peter Barlow, Glover, and the Hamp- stead Hoax. — Poor Friends among great Acquaintances.
The profits resulting from The Good-natured Man were beyond any that Goldsmith had yet derived from his works. He netted about four hundred pounds from the theatre, and 25 one hundred pounds from his publisher.
Five hundred pounds ! and all at one miraculous draught !
It appeared to him wealth inexhaustible. It at once opened
his heart and hand, and led him into all kinds of extravagance.
The first symptom was ten guineas sent to Shuter for a box-
30 ticket for his benefit, when The Good-natured Man was to be
CHAPTER XXIII 149
performed. The next was an entire change in his domicil. The shabby lodgings with Jeffs, the butler, in which he had been worried by Johnson's scrutiny, were now exchanged for chambers more becoming a man of his ample fortune. The apartments consisted of three rooms on the second floor of 5 No. 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple, on the right hand ascending the staircase, and overlooked the umbrageous walks of the Temple garden. The lease he purchased for £400, and then went on to furnish his rooms with mahogany sofas, card-tables, and bookcases ; with curtains, mirrors, and Wilton carpets. 10 His awkward little person was also furnished out in a style befitting his apartment ; for, in addition to his suit of " Tyrian bloom, ^atin grain," we find another charged about this time, in the books of Mr. Filby, in no less gorgeous terms, being " lined with silk and furnished with gold buttons." Thus 15 lodged and thus arrayed, he invited the visits of his most aristocratic acquaintances, and no longer quailed beneath the courtly eye of Beauclerc. He gave dinners to Johnson, Rey- nolds, Percy, Bickerstaff, and other friends of note ; and sup- per-parties to young folks of both sexes. These last were 20 preceded by round games of cards, at which there was more laughter than skill, and in which the sport was to cheat each other; or by romping games of forfeits and blind-man's-buff, at which he enacted the lord of misrule. Blackstone, whose chambers were immediately below, and who was studiously 25 occupied on his Commentaries ° used to complain of the racket made overhead by his revelling neighbor.
Sometimes Goldsmith would make up a rural party, composed of four or five of his "Jolly-Pigeon " friends, to enjoy what he humorously called a " shoemaker's holiday." These would 30 assemble at his chambers in the morning, to partake of a plen- tiful and rather expensive breakfast; the remains of which, with his customary benevolence, he generally gave to some poor woman in attendance. The repast ended, the party would set out on foot, in high spirits, making extensive rambles by 35 foot-paths and green lanes to Blackheath, Wandsworth, Chelsea, Hampton Court, Highgate, or some other pleasant resort, within a few miles of London. A simple but gay and heartily relished dinner, at a country inn, crowned the excursion. In the even-
150 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
ing they strolled back to town, all the better in health and spirits for a day spent in rnral and social enjoyment. Occa- sionally, when extravagantly inclined, they adjourned from diii-^ ner to drink tea at the White Conduit House ; and, now and then, 5 concluded their festive day by supping at the Grecian or Tem- ple Exchange Coffee-Houses, or at the Globe Tavern, in Fleet Street. The whole expenses of the day never exceeded a crown, and were offcener from three and sixpence to four shil- lings ; for the best part of their entertainment, sweet air and
10 rural scenes, excellent exercise and joyous conversation, cost nothing.
One of Goldsmith's humble companions, on these excursions, was his occasional amanuensis, Peter Barlow, whose quaint peculiarities afforded much amusement to the company. Peter
15 was poor but punctilious, squaring his expenses according to his means. He always wore the same garb ; fixed his regular expenditure for dinner at a trifling sum, which, if left to him- self, he never exceeded, but which he always insisted on pay- ing. His oddities always made him a welcome companion on
20 the " shoemaker's holidays." The dinner, on these occasions, generally exceeded considerably his tariff ; he put down, how- ever, no more than his regular sum, and Goldsmith made up the difference.
Another of these hangers-on, for whom, on such occasions,
25 he was content to "pay the shot," was his countryman Glover, of whom mention has already been made as one of the wags and sponges of the Globe and Devil taverns, and a prime mimic at the Wednesday Club.
This vagabond genius has bequeathed us a whimsical story
30 of one of his practical jokes upon Goldsmith, in the course of a rural excursion in the vicinity of London. They had dined at an inn on Hampstead Heights, and were descending the hill, when, in passing a cottage, they saw through the open window a party at tea. Goldsmith, who was fatigued, cast a
35 wistful glance at the cheerful tea-table. " How I should like to be of that party," exclaimed he. "Nothing more easy," replied Glover ; " allow me to introduce you." So saying, he entered the house with an air of the most perfect familiarity, though an utter stranger, and was followed by the unsuspecting
CHAPTER XXIII 151
Goldsmith, who supposed, of course, that he was a friend of the family. The owner of the house rose on the entrance of the strangers. The undaunted Glover shook hands with him in the most cordial manner possible, fixed his eye on one of the company who had a peculiarly good-natured physiognomy, 5 muttered something like a recognition, and forthwith launched into an amusing story, invented at the moment, of something which he pretended had occurred upon the road. The host supposed the new-comers were friends of his guests ; the guests, that they were friends of the host. Glover did not give them 10 time to find out the truth. He followed one droll story with another; brought his powers of mimicry into play, and kept the coqjpany in a roar. Tea was offered and accepted ; an hour went off in the most sociable manner imaginable, at the end of which Glover bowed himself and his companion out of the 15 house with many facetious last words, leaving the host and his company to compare notes, and to find out what an impudent intrusion they had experienced.
Nothing could exceed the dismay and vexation of Goldsmith when triumphantly told by Glover that it was all a hoax, and 20 that he did not know a single soul in the house. His first im- pulse was to return instantly and vindicate himself from all participation in the jest ; but a few words from his free-and- easy companion dissuaded him. "Doctor," said he, coolly, " we are unknown ; you quite as much as I ; if you return and 25 tell the story, it will be in the newspapers to-morrow; nay, upon recollection, I remember in one of their offices the face of that squinting fellow who sat in the corner as if he was treasuring up my stories for future use, and we shall be sure of being ex- posed ; let us therefore keep our own counsel." 30
This story was frequently afterward told by Glover, with rich dramatic effect, repeating and exaggerating the conversa- tion, and mimicking, in ludicrous style, the embarrassment, surprise, and subsequent indignation of Goldsmith.
It is a trite saying that a wheel cannot run in two ruts; nor 35 a man keep two opposite sets of intimates. Goldsmith some- times found his old friends of the " Jolly-Pigeon " order turning up rather awkwardly when he was in company with his new aristocratic acquaintances. He gave a whimsical account of
152 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
the sudden apparition of one of them at his gay apartments in the Temple, who may have been a welcome visitor at his squali'l quarters in Green Arbor Court. " How do you think he served me ? " said he to a friend. " Why, sir, after staying away two 5 years, he came one evening into my chambers, half drunk, as 1 was taking a glass of wine with Topham Beauclerc and Gen- eral Oglethorpe^; and sitting himself down, with most intol- erable assurance inquired after my health and literary pursuits, as if we were upon the most friendly footing. I was at first so
10 much ashamed of ever having known such a fellow, that I stifled my resentment, and drew him into a conversation on such topics as I knew he could talk upon ; in which, to do him justice, he acquitted himself very reputably; when all of a sud- den, as if recollecting something, he pulled two papers out of
15 his pocket, which he presented to me with great ceremony, say- ing, ' Here, my dear friend, is a quarter of a pound of tea, and a half pound of sugar, I have brought you ; for though it is not in my power at present to pay you the two guineas you so generously lent me, you, nor any man else, shall ever have it to
20 say that I want gratitude.' This," added Goldsmith, " was too much. I could no longer keep in my feelings, but de- sired him to turn out of my chambers directly ; which he very coolly did, taking up his tea and sugar; and I never saw him afterwards."
CHAPTER XXIV
Reduced again to Book-building. — Rural Retreat at Shoemaker's Paradise. — Death of Henry Goldsmitli ; Tributes to his Memory in The Deserted Village.
25 The heedless expenses of Goldsmith, as m.ay easily be sup- posed, soon brought him to the end of his 'â– 'â– prize-money," but when his purse gave out he drew upon futurity, obtaining ad- vances from his booksellers and loans from his friends in the confident hope of soon turning up another trump. The debts
30 which he thus thoughtlessly incurred in consequence of a tran- sient gleam of prosperity embarrassed him for the rest of his
CHAPTER XXIV 153
life ; so that the success of The Good-natured Man may be said to have been ruinous to him.
He was soon obliged to resume his old craft of book-build- iiig, and set about his History of Rome, undertaken for Davies. 5
It was his custom, as we have shown, during the summer- time, when pressed by a multiplicity of literary jobs, or urged to the accomplishment of some particular task, to take country lodgings a few miles from town, generally on the Harrow or Edgeware roads, and bury himself there for weeks and months 10 together. Sometimes he would remain closely occupied in his room, at other times he would sti'oll out along the lanes and hedgerows, and taking out paper and pencil, note down thoughts to be expanded and connected at home. His summer retreat for the present year, 1768, was a little cottage with a garden, 15 pleasantly situated about eight miles from town on the Edge- ware road. He took it in conjunction with a Mr. Edmund Botts, a barrister and man of letters, his neighbor in the Temple, having rooms immediately opposite him on the same floor. They had become cordial intimates, and Botts was one^ of those with whom Goldsmith now^ and then took the friendly but pernicious liberty of borrowing.
The cottage which they had hired belonged to a rich shoe- maker of Piccadilly, who had embellished his little domain o. half an acre with statues, and jets, and all the decorations of iv landscape gardening; in consequence of which Goldsmith gave it the name of The Shoemaker's Paradise. As his fellow- occupant, Mr. Botts, drove a gig, he sometimes, in an interval of literary labor, accompanied him to town, partook of a social dinner there, and returned with him in the evening. On one 30 occasion, when they had probably lingered too long at the table, they came near breaking their necks on their way home- ward by driving against a post on the side-walk, w^hile Botts was proving by the force of legal eloquence that they were in the very middle of the broad Edgeware road. 35
In the course of this summer. Goldsmith's career of gayety was suddenly brought to a pause by intelligence of the death of his brother Henry, then but forty-five years of age. He had led a quiet and blameless life amid the scenes of his
154 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
youth, fulfilling the duties of village pastor with unaffected piety ; conducting the school at Lissoy with a degree of in- dustry and ability that gave it celebrity, and acquitting himself in all the duties of life with undeviating rectitude and the 6 mildest benevolence. How truly Goldsmith loved and ven- erated him is evident in all his letters and throughout his works ; in which his brother continually forms his model for an exemplification of all the most endearing of the Christian virtues; yet his affection at his death was embittered by the
10 fear that he died with some doubt upon his mind of the warmth of his affection. Goldsmith had been urged by his friends in Ireland, since his elevation in the world, to use his influence with the great, which they supposed to be all-powerful, in favor of Henry, to obtain for him church-preferment. He did exert
15 himself as far as his diffident nature would permit, but without success ; we have seen that, in the case of the Earl of Northum- berland, when, as Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, that nobleman proffered him his patronage, he asked nothing for himself, but only spoke on behalf of his brother. Still some of Ids
20 friends, ignorant of what he had done and of how little he was able to do, accused him of negligence. It is not likely, how- ever, that his amiable and estimable brother joined in the ^iccusation. ^ To the tender and melancholy recollections of his early days
^5 awakened by the death of this loved companion of his child- hood, we may attribute some of the most heartfelt passages in his Deserted Village. Much of that poem we are told was com- posed this summer, in the course of solitary strolls about the green lanes and beautifully rural scenes of the neighborhood ;
30 and thus much of the softness and sweetness of English land- scape became blended with the ruder features of Lissoy. It was in these lonely and subdued moments, when tender regret was half mingled with self-upbraiding, that he poured forth that homage of the heart rendered as it were at the grave of his
35 brother. The picture of the village pastor in this poem, which we have already hinted was taken in part from the character of his father, embodied likewise the recollections of his brother Henry ; for the natures of the father and son seem to have been identical. In the following lines, however, Goldsmith
CHAPTER XXV 155
evidently contrasted the quiet settled life of his brother, passed at home in the benevolent exercise of the Christian duties, with his own restless vagrant career : —
" Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place." 5
To us the whole character seems traced as it were in an expia- tory spirit ; as if, conscious of his own wandering restlessness, he sought to humble himself at the shrine of excellence which he had not been able to practise : —
" At church with meek and unaffected grace, 10
His looks adorn 'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with douiile sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 15
Even children follow'd, with endearing wile. And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile ; His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd. Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 20
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. .»
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.'' 25
CHAPTER XXV
Dinner at Bickerstaff 's. — Hiff ernan and his Impecuniosity. — Kenrick's Epigram. — Johnson's Consolation. — Goldsmith's Toilet. — The Bloom-colored Coat. — New Acquaintances ; The Hornecks. — A Touch of Poetry and Passion. — The Jessamy Bride.
In October, Goldsmith returned to town and resumed his usual haunts. We hear of him at a dinnei given by his coun- tryman, Isaac Bickerstaff, author of Love in a Village, Lionel
156 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
and Clarissa, and other successful dramatic pieces. The dinner was to be followed by the reading by Bickerstaff of a new play. Among the guests was one Paul Hiifernan, likewise an Irish- man ; somewhat idle and intemperate ; who lived nobody knew 5 how nor where, sponging wherever he had a chance, and often of course upon Groldsmith, who was ever the vagabond's friend, or rather victim. Hiffernan was something of a physician, and elevated the emptiness of his purse into the dignity of a disease, which he termed impecuniositi/, and against which he claimed a
10 right to call for relief from the healthier purses of his friends. He was a scribbler for the newspapers, and latterly a dramatic critic, which had probably gained him an invitation to the din- ner and reading. The wine and wassail, however, befogged his senses. Scarce had the author got into the second act of his
15 play, when Hiffernan began to nod, and at length snored out- right. Bickerstaff was embarrassed, but continued to read in a more elevated tone. The louder he read, the louder Hiffernan snored ; until the author came to a pause. " Never mind the brute, Bick, but go on," cried Goldsmith. " He would have
20 served Homer just so if he were here and reading his own works."
Kenrick, Goldsmith's old enemy, travestied this anecdot^e in the following lines, pretending that the poet had compared his countryman Bickerstaff to Homer : —
25 " What are your Bretons, Komans, Grecians,
Compared with thorough-bred Milesians ! Step mto Griffin's shop, he'll tell ye Of Goldsmith, Bickerstaff, and Kelly ... And, take one Irish evidence for t'other,
30 Ev'n Homer's self is but their foster-brother."
Johnson was a rough consoler to a man when wincing under an attack of this kind. " Never mind, sir," said he to Gold- smith, when he saw that he felt the sting. " A man whose business it is to be talked of is much helped by being attacked. 35 Fame, sir, is a shuttlecock ; if it be struck only at one end of the room, it will soon fall to the ground ; to keep it up, it must be struck at both ends."
Bickerstaff, at the time of which we are speaking, was in
CHAPTER XXV 157
high vogue, the associate of the first wits of the day; a few years afterwards he was obliged to fly the country to escape the punishment of an infamous crime. Johnson expressed great astonishment at hearing the offence for which he had fled. " Why, sir ? " said Thrale, " he had long been a suspected man." 5 Perhaps there was a knowing look on the part of the eminent brewer, which provoked a somewhat contemptuous reply. " By those who look close to the ground," said Johnson, " dirt will sometimes be seen ; I hope I see things from a greater distance." 10
We have already noticed the improvement, or rather the in- creased expense, of Goldsmith's wardrobe since his elevation into polite society. " He was fond," says one of his contempo- raries,*" of exhibiting his muscular little person in the gayest apparel of the day, to which was added a bag- wig and sword." 15 Thus arrayed, he used to figure about in the sunshine in the Temple Gardens, much to his own satisfaction, but to the amusement of his acquaintances.
Boswell, in his memoirs, has rendered one of his suits forever famous. That worthy, on the 16th of October in this same 20 year, gave a dinner to Johnson, Goldsmith, Reynolds, Garrick, Miu-phy, Bickerstaff, and Davies. Goldsmith was generally apt to bustle in at the last moment, when the guests were taking their seats at table ; but on this occasion he was unusually early. While waiting for some lingerers to arrive, " he strutted about," 25 says Boswell, " bragging of his dress, and I believe was seriously vain of it, for his mind was undoubtedly *prone to such impres- sions. ' Come, come,' said Garrick, ' talk no more of that. You are perhaps the worst — eh, eh?' Goldsmith was eagerly at- tempting to interrupt him, when Garrick went on, laughing 30 ironically. ' Nay, you will always look like a gentleman ; but I am talking of your being well or ill dressed.'' ' Well, let me tell you,' said Goldsmith, ' when the tailor brought home my bloom- colored coat, he said, " Sir, I have a favor to beg of you ; when anybody asks you who made your clothes, be pleased to mention 35 John Filby, at the Harrow, in Water Lane." ' ' Why, sir,' cried Johnson, ' that was because he knew the strange color would attract crowds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a coat of so absurd a color.' "
158 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
But though Goldsmith might permit this raillery on the part of his friends, he was quick to resent any personalities of the kind from strangers. As he v/as one day walking the Strand in grand array with bag-wig and sword, he excited the merri- 5ment of two coxcombs, one of whom called to the other to " look at that fly with a long pin stuck through it." Stung to the quick. Goldsmith's first retort was to caution the passers-by to be on their guard aga^inst " that brace of disguised pick- pockets," — his next was to step into the middle of the [street,
10 where there was room for action, half-draw his sword, and beckon the joker, who was armed in like manner, to follow him. This was literally a war of wit which the other had not anticipated. He had no inclination to push the joke to such an extreme, but abandoning the ground, sneaked off with his
15 brother-wag amid the hootings of the spectators.
This proneness to finery in dress, however, which Boswell and others of Goldsmith's contemporaries, who did not understand the secret plies of his character, attributed to vanity, arose, we are convinced, from a widely different motive. It was
20 from a painful idea of his own personal defects, which had been cruelly stamped upon his mind in his boyhood, by the sneers and jeers of his playmates, and had been ground deeper into it by rude speeches made to him in every step of his struggling career, until it had become a constant cause of awk-
25wardness and embarrassment. This he had experienced the more sensibly since his reputation had elevated him into polite society ; and he was constantly endeavoring by the aid of dress to acquire that personal acceptability, if we may use the phrase, which nature had denied him. If ever he betrayed a little
30 self-complacency on first turning out in a new suit, it may, perhaps, have been because he felt as if he had achieved a triumph over his ugliness.
There were circumstances too, about the time of which we are treating, which may have rendered Goldsmith more than
35 usually attentive to his personal appearance. He had recently made the acquaintance of a most agreeable family from Devon- shire, which he met at the house of his friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds. It consisted of Mrs. Horneck, widow of Captain Kane Horneck; two daughters, seventeen and nineteen years
CHAPTER XXV
159
of age; and an only son, Charles, the Captain in Lace, as his sisters playfully and somewhat proudly called him, he having lately entered the Guards. The daughters are described as uncommonly beautiful, intelligent, sprightly, and agreeable. Catharine, the eldest, went among her friends by the name of 5 Little Comedy, indicative, very probably, of her disposition. She was engaged to Henry William Bunbury, second son of a Suffolk baronet. The hand and heart of her sister Mary were yet unengaged, although she bore the by-name among her friends of the Jessamy Bride.° This family was prepared, by 10 their intimacy with Reynolds and his sister, to appreciate the merits of Goldsmith. The poet had always been a chosen friend of the eminent painter; and Miss Reynolds, as we have shown* ever since she had heard his poem of TJie Traveller read aloud, had ceased to consider him ugl}^ The Hornecks were 15 equally capable of forgetting his person in admiring his works. On becoming acquainted with him, too, they were delighted with his guileless simplicity, his buoyant good-nature, and his innate benevolence; and an enduring intimacy soon sprang up between them. For once poor Goldsmith had met with 20 polite society, with which he was perfectly at home, and by which he was fully appreciated ; for once he had met with lovely women, to whom his ugly features were not repulsive. A proof of the easy and playful terms in which he was with them, remains in a whimsical epistle in verse, of which the 25 following was the occasion. A dinner was to be given to their family by a Dr. Baker, a friend of their mother's, at which Reynolds and Angelica Kauffman° were to be present. The young ladies were eager to have Goldsmith of the party, and their intimacy with Dr. Baker allowing them to take the 30 liberty, they wrote a joint invitation to the poet at the last moment. It came too late, and drew from him the following reply ; on the top of which was scrawled, " This is a poem ! This is a copy of verses ! "
" Your mandate I got, You may all go to pot ; Had your senses been right, You'd have sent before night : So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
And Baker and his bit, And Kauffman beside, And the Jessamy Bride, With the rest of the crew, The Reynoldses too,
35
160 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Little Comedy's face, And the Captain in Lace, — Tell each other to rue Your Devonshire crew, For seiidina: so late
To one of my state. But 'tis Reynolds's way From wisdom to stray, And Angelica's whim To befrolic like him :
But alas! your good worships, how could they he wiser, When both have been si^oil'd in to-day's Advertiser ? " i
It has been intimated that the intimacy of poor Goldsmith with the Miss Hornecks, which began in so sprightly a vein,
10 gradually assumed something of a more tender nature, and that he was not insensible to the fascinations of the younger sister. This may account for some of the phenomena which about this time appeared in his wardrobe and toilet. During the first year of his acquaintance with these lovely girls, the tell-tale
15 book of his tailor, Mr. William Filby, displays entries of four or five full suits, besides separate articles of dress. Among the items we find a green half-trimmed frock and breeches, lined with silk ; a queen's-blue dress suit ; a half -dress suit of ratteen, lined with satin; a pair of silk stocking-breeches, and
20 another pair of a bloom-color. Alas ! poor Goldsmith ! how much of this silken finery was dictated, not by vanity, but humble consciousness of thy defects; how much of it was to atone for the uncouthness of thy person, and to win favor in the eyes of the Jessamy Bride !
1 The following lines had appeared in that day's Advertiser, on the portrait of Sir Joshua by Angelica Kauff man : —
" While fair Angelica, with matchless grace, Paints Conway's burly form and Stanhope's face ; Our hearts to beauty willing homage pay, We praise, admire, and gaze our souls away. But when the likeness she hath done for thee, O Reynolds ! with astonishment we see, Forced to submit, with all our pride we own, Such strength, such harmony excelled by none, And thou art rivalled by thyself alone."
CHAPTER XXVI 161
CHAPTER XXVI
Goldsmith in the Temple. — Judge Day and Grattan. — Labor and Dis- sipation.— Publication of the Roman History; Opinions of it. — History of Animated Nature. — Temple Eookery. —Anecdotes of a Spider.
In the winter of 1768-69 Goldsmith occupied himself at his quarters in the Temple, slowly " building up " his Roman His- tory. We have pleasant views of him in this learned and half- cloistered retreat of wits and lawyers and legal students, in the reminiscences of Judge Day of the Irish Bench, who in his ad- 5 vance(f age delighted to recall the days of his youth, when he w^as a templar, and to speak of the kindness with which he and his fellow-student, Grattan, were treated by the poet. " I was just arrived from college," said he, "full freighted with academic gleanings, and our author did not disdain to receive 10 from me some opinions and hints towards his Greek and Roman histories. Being then a young man, I felt much flattered by the notice of so celebrated a person. He took great delight in the conversation of Grattan, whose brilliancy in the morning of life furnished full earnest of the unrivalled splendor which awaited 15 his meridian; and finding us dwelling together in Essex Court, near himself, where he frequently visited my immortal friend, his warm heart became naturally prepossessed towards the associate of one whom he so much admired."
The Judge goes on, in his reminiscences, to give a picture of 20 Goldsmith's social habits, similar in style to those already fur- nished. He frequented much the Grecian Coffee-House, then the favorite resort of the Irish and Lancashire Templars. He delighted in collecting his friends around him at evening parties at his chambers, where he entertained them with a cordial and 25 unostentatious hospitality. " Occasionally," adds the Judge, " he amused them with his flute, or with whist, neither of which he played well, particularly the latter, but, on losing his money, he never lost his temper. In a run of bad luck and worse play, he would fling his cards upon the floor and exclaim, ' Byefore George, 30 I ought forever to renounce thee, tickle, faithless fortune.' "
M
162 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
The Judge was aware, at the time, that all the learned labor of poor Goldsmith upon his Roman History was mere hack- work to recruit his exhausted finances. " His purse replen- ished," adds he, " by labors of this kind, the season of relaxation 5 and pleasure took its turn, in attending the theatres, Ranelagh, Vauxhall, and other scenes of gayety and amusement. When- ever his funds were dissipated, — and they fled more rapidly from being the dupe of many artful persons, male and female, who practised upon his benevolence, — he returned to his liter-
10 ary labors, and shut himself up from society to provide fresh matter for his bookseller, and fresh supplies for himself."
How completely had the young student discerned the char- acteristics of poor, genial, generous, drudging, holiday-loving Goldsmith ; toiling, that he might play ; earning his bread by
15 the sweat of his brains, and then throwing it out of the window.
The Roman History was published in the middle of May, in
two volumes of five hundred pages each. It was brought out
without parade or pretension, and was announced as for the use
of schools and colleges ; but, though a work written for bread,
20 not fame, such is its ease, perspicuity, good sense, and the delight- ful simplicity of its style, that it was well received by the critics, commanded a prompt and extensive sale, and has ever since remained in the hands of young and old.
Johnson, who, as we have before remarked, rarely praised or
25 dispraised things by halves, broke forth in a warm eulogy of the author and the work in a conversation with Boswell, to the great astonishment of the latter. " Whether we take Gold- smith," said he, " as a poet, as a comic writer, or as an historian, he stands in the first class." Boswell. — " An historian ! My
30 dear sir, you surely will not rank his compilation of the Roman History with the works of other historians of this age." John- son.— "Why, who are before him?" Boswell. — "Hume — Robertson — Lord Lyttelton." Johnson (his antipathy against the Scotch beginning to rise). — " I have not read Hume ; but
35 doubtless Goldsmith's History is better than the verbiage of Robertson, or the foppery of Dalrymple." Boswell. — " Will you not admit the superiority of Robertson, in whose history we find such penetration, such painting?" Johnson. — "Sir, you must consider how that penetration and that painting are
CHAPTER XXVI 163
employed. It is not history, it is imagination. He who de- scribes what he never saw, draws from fancy. Robertson paints minds as Sir Joshua paints faces, in a history -piece ; he im- agines an heroic countenance. You must look upon Robertson's work as romance, and try it by that standard. History it is 5 not. Besides, sir, it is the great excellence of a writer to put into his book as much as his book will hold. Goldsmith has done this in his History. Now Robertson might have put twice as much in his book. Robertson is like a man who has packed gold in wool ; the wool takes up more room than the 10 gold. No, sir, I always thought Robertson would be crushed w^ith his own weight — would be buried under his own orna- ments. Goldsmith tells you shortly all you want to know; Robertson detains you a great deal too long. No man will read Robertson's cumbrous detail a second time ; but Goldsmith's 15 plain narrative will please again and again. I would say to Robertson what an old tutor of a college said to one of his pupils, ' Read over your compositions, and whenever you meet with a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out ! ' Goldsmith's abridgment is better than that of Lucius 20 Florus° or Eutropius° ; and I will venture to say, that, if you compare him with Vertot° in the same places of the Roman History, you will find that he excels Vertot. Sir, he has the art of compiling, and of saying everything he has to say in a pleasing manner. He is now writing a Natural History, and 25 will make it as entertaining as a Persian tale."
The Natural History to which Johnson alluded was the History of Animated Nature, which Goldsmith commenced in 1769, under an engagement with Griffin, the bookseller, to com- plete it as soon as possible in eight volumes, each containing 30 upwards of four hundred pages, in pica ; a hundred guineas to be paid to the author on the delivery of each volume in manuscript.
He was induced to engage in this work by the urgent solici- tations of the booksellers, who had been struck by the sterling merits and captivating style of an introduction which he wrote to 35 Brookes's Natural History. It was Goldsmith's intention origi- nally to make a translation of Pliny,° with a popular commentary ; but the appearance of Buffon's° work induced him to change his plan, and make use of that author for a guide and model.
164 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Cumberland, speaking of this work, observes : " Distress drove Goldsmith upon undertakings neither congenial with his studies nor worthy of his talents. I remember him when, in his chambers in the Temple, he show^ed me the beginning of 5 his Animated Nature ; it was with a sigh, such as genius draws when hard necessity diverts it from its bent to drudge for bread, and talk of birds, and beasts, and creeping things, which Pidock's showman would have done as well. Poor fellow, he hardly knows an ass from a mule, nor a turkey from a goose,
10 but when he sees it on the table."
Others of Goldsmith's friends entertained similar ideas witli respect to his fitness for the task, and they were apt now and then to banter him on the subject, and to amuse themselves with his easy credulity. The custom among the natives of
15 Ofcaheite of eating dogs being once mentioned in company. Goldsmith observed that a similar custom prevailed in China ; that a dog-butcher is as common there as any other butcher ; and that, when he walks abroad, all the dogs fall on him. Johnson. — " That is not owing to his killing dogs ; sir, I re-
20 member a butcher at Litchfield, whom a dog that was in the house where I lived always attacked. It is the smell of carnage which provokes this, let the animals he has killed be what they may." Goldsmith. — "Yes, there is a general abhorrence in animals at the signs of massacre. If you put a tub full of blood
25 into a stable, the horses are likely to go mad." Johnson. — " I doubt that." Goldsmith. — "Nay, sir, it is a fact well authen- ticated." Thrale. — " You had better prove it before you put it into your book on Natural History. You may do it in my stable if you will." Johnson. — "Nay, sir, I would not have
30 him prove it. If he is content to take his information from others, he may get through his book with little trouble, and without much endangering his reputation. But if he makes experiments for so comprehensive a book as his, there would be no end to them ; his erroneous assertions would fall then upon
35 himself; and he might be blamed for not having made experi- ments as to every particular."
Johnson's original prediction, however, with respect to this work, that Goldsmith would make it as entertaining as a Per- sian tale, was verified; and though much of it was borrowed
CHAPTER XXVI 165
from Buffon, and but little of it written from his own observa- tion,— though it was by no means profomid, and was charge- able with many errors, yet the charms of his style and the play of his happy disposition throughout have continued to render it far more popular and readable than many w^orks on the sub- 5 ject of much greater scope and science. Cumberland was mis- taken, however, in his notion of Goldsmitii's ignorance and lack of observation as to the characteristics of animals. On the contrary, he was a minute and shrewd observer of them ; but he observed them wath the eye of a poet and moralist as 10 well as a naturalist. We quote two passages from his works illustrative of this fact, and we do so the more readily because they are in a manner a part of his History, and give us another j^eep into his private life in the Temple, — of his mode of occupying himself in his lonely and apparently idle moments, 15 and of another class of acquaintances which he made there.
Speaking in his Animated Nature of the habitudes of Rooks, "I have often amused myself," says he, "with observing their plans of policy from my wdndow in the Temple, that looks upon a grove, where they have made a colony in the midst of a city. 20 At the commencement of spring the rookery, which during the continuance of winter seemed to have been deserted, or only guarded by about five or six, like old soldiers in a garrison, now begins to be once more frequented, and in a short time all the bustle and hurry of business will be fairly commenced." 25
The other passage, which we take the liberty to quote at some length, is from an admirable paper in the Bee, and relates to the House-Spider.
" Of all the solitary insects I have ever remarked, the spider is the most sagacious, and its motions to me, who have atten- 30 tively considered th^m, seem almost to exceed belief. ... I perceived, about four years ago, a large spider in one corner of my room making its w^eb ; and, though the maid frequently levelled her broom against the labors of the little animal, I had the good fortune then to prevent its destruction, and I may say 35 it more than paid me by the entertainment it afforded.
" In three days the web was, with incredible diligence, com- pleted; nor could I avoid thinking that the insect seemed to exult in its new abode. It frequently trayerged it round, ex-
166 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
amined the strength of every part of it, retired into its hole, and came out very frequently. The first enemy, however, it had to encounter was another and a much larger spider, which, having no web of its own, and having probably exhausted all 5 its stock in former labors of this kind, came to invade the prop- erty of its neighbor. Soon, then, a terrible encounter ensued, in which the invader seemed to have the victory, and the labori- ous spider was obliged to take refuge in its hole. Upon this I perceived the victor using every art to draw the enemy from its
10 stronghold. He seemed to go off, but quickly returned ; and when he found, all arts in vain, began to demolish the new web without mercy. This brought on another battle, and, contrary to my expectations, the laborious spider became conqueror, and fairly killed his antagonist.
15 " Now, then, in peaceable possession of what was justly its own, it waited three days with the utmost impatience, repairing the breaches of its web, and taking no sustenance that I could perceive. At last, however, a large blue fly fell into the snare, and struggled hard to get loose. The spider gave it leave to
20 entangle itself as much as possible, but it seemed to be too strong for the cobweb. I must own I was greatly surprised when I saw the spider immediately sally out, and in less than a minute weave a new net round its captive, by which the motion of its wings was stopped ; and, when it was fairly hampered in
25 this manner, it w^as seized and dragged into the hole.
" In this manner it lived, in a precarious state ; and ISJ^ature seemed to have fitted it for such a life, for upon a single fly it subsisted for more than a week. I once put a wasp into the net ; but when the spider came out in order to seize it as usual, upon
30 perceiving what kind of an enemy it had to deal with, it instantly broke all the bands that held it fast, and contributed all that lay in its power to disengage so formidable an antagonist. When the wasp was set at liberty, I expected the spider w^ould have set about repairing the breaches that were made in its net ;
35 but those, it seems, were irreparable ; wherefore the cobweb was now entirely forsaken, and a new one begun, which was com- pleted in the usual time.
" I had now a mind to try how many cobwebs a single spider could furnish ; wherefore I destroyed this, and the insect set
CHAPTER XXVI . 167
about another. When I destroyed the other also, its whole stock seemed entirely exhausted, and it could spin no more. The arts it made use of to support itself, now deprived of its great means of subsistence, were indeed surprising, i have seen it roll up its legs like a ball, and lie motionless for hours to- 5 gether, but cautiously watching all the time ; when a fly hap- pened to approach sufficiently near, it would dart out all at once, and often seize its prey.
" Of this life, however, it soon began to grow weary, and resolved to invade the possession of some other spider, since it lo could not make a web of its own. It formed an attack upon a neighboring fortification with great vigor, and at first was as vigorously repulsed. ISTot daunted, however, with one defeat, in thj^ manner it continued to lay siege to another's web for three days, and at length, having killed the defendant, actually 15 took possession. When smaller flies happen to fall into the snare, the spider does not sally out at once, but very patiently waits till it is sure of them ; for, upon his immediately approach- ing, the terror of his appearance might give the captive strength sufficient to get loose ; the manner, then, is to wait patiently, 20 till, by ineffectual and impotent struggles, the captive has wasted all its strength, and then he becomes a certain and easy conquest.
" The insect I am now describing lived three years ; every year it changed its skin and got a new set of legs. I have sometimes plucked off a leg, which grew again in two or three 25 days. At first it dreaded my approach to its web, but at last it became so familiar as to take a fly out of my hand; and, upon my touching any part of the web, would immediately leave its hole, prepared either for a defence or an attack."
CHAPTER XXVII
Honors at the Royal Academy. — Letter to his Brother Maurice. — Family Fortunes. — Jane Contarine and the Miniature. — Portraits and Enoravings. — School Associations. — Johnson and Goldsmith in Westminster Abbey.
The latter part of the year 1768 had been made memorable 30 in the world of taste by the institution of the Royal Academy
168 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
of Arts, under the patronage of the King, and the direction of forty of the most distinguished artists. Reynolds, who had been mainly instrumental in founding it, had been unani- mously elected president, and had thereupon received the honor
5 of knighthood.i Johnson was so delighted with his friend's elevation, that he broke through a rule of total abstinence with respect to wine, which he had maintained for several years, and drank bumpers on the occasion. Sir Joshua eagerly sought to associate his old and valued friends with him in his new honors,
10 and it is supposed to be through his suggestions that, on the first establishment of professorships, which took place in Decem- ber, 1769, Johnson was nominated to that of Ancient Literature, and Goldsmith to that of History. They were mere honorary titles, without emolument, but gave distinction, from the noble
15 institution to which they appertained. They also gave the pos- sessors honorable places at the annual banquet, at which were assembled many of the most distinguished persons of rank and talent, all proud to be classed among the patrons of the arts. The following letter of Goldsmith to his brother alludes to
20 the foregoing appointment, and to a small legacy bequeathed to him by his uncle Contarine.
" To Mr. Maurice Goldsmith, at James Lawder's, Esq., at Kilmore, near Carrick-on- Shannon.
"January, 1770. 25 " Dear Brother, — T should have answered your letter sooner, but, in truth, I am not fond of thinking of the necessities of those I love, when it is so very little in my power to help them. I am sorry to find you are every way unprovided for; and what adds to my uneasiness is, that I have received a letter 30 from my sister Johnson, by which I learn that she is pretty much in the same circumstances. As to myself, I believe I could get both you and my poor brother-in-law something like that which you desire, but I am determined never to
1 We must apologize for the anachronism we have permitted our- selves in the course of this memoir, in speaking of Reynolds as Sir Joshua, when treating of circumstances which occurred prior to his heing dubbed ; but it is so customary to speak of him by that title, that we found it difficult to dispense witli it.
CHAPTER XXVII 169
ask for little things, nor exhaust any little interest I may have, until I can serve yoii, him, and myself more effectually. As yet, no opportunity has offered ; but I believe you are pretty well convinced that I will not be remiss when it arrives.
" The King has lately been pleased to make me professor of 5 Ancient History in the royal academy of painting which hehas just established, but there is no salary annexed ; and I took it rather as a compliment to the Institution than any benefit to myself. Honors to one in my situation are something like ruffles to one that wants a shirt. 10
"You tell me that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds left me in the hands of my cousin Lawder, and you ask me what I would have done with them. My dear brother, I would by no means give any directions to my dear worthy relations at Kil- more kow to dispose of money which is, properly speaking, inore 15 theirs than mine. All that I can say is, that I entirely, and this letter will serve to witness, give up any right and title to it ; and I am sure they will dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely leave it ; whether they or you may think the whole necessary to fit you out, or whether our poor sister John- 20 son may not want the half, I leave entirely to their and your discretion. The kindness of that good couple to our shattered family demands our sincerest gratitude; and, though they have almost forgotten me, yet, if good things at last arrive, I hope one day to return and increase their good-humor by adding to my 25 own.
" I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I believe it is the most acceptable present lean offer. I have ordered it to be left for her at George Faulkner's, folded in a letter. The face, you well know, is ugly enough, but it is finely 30 painted. I will shortly also send my friends over the Shannon some mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I have written a hundred letters to different friends in your country, and never received an answer to any of them. I do 35 not know how to account for this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards which I must ever retain for them.
" If, then, you have a mind to oblige me, you will write often, whether I answer you or not. Let me particularly have the
170 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
news 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, 5 my brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family of Ballyoughter, what is become of them, where they live, and how they do. You talked of being my only brother : I don't understand you. Where is Charles? A sheet of paper occasionally filled with the news of this kind would make me 10 very happy, and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear brother, believe me to be
" Yours, most affectionately,
" Oliver Goldsmith."
By this letter we find the Goldsmiths the same shifting, shift-
15 less race as formerly ; a '' shattered family," scrambling on each other's back as soon as any rise above the surface. Maurice is " every way unprovided for " ; living upon cousin Jane and her husband ; and, perhaps, amusing himself by hunting otter in the river Inny. Sister Johnson and her husband are as poorly oft" as
20 Maurice, with, perhaps, no one at hand to quarter themselves upon; as to the rest, " what is become of them? where do they live? and how do they do? what has become of Charles?" What forlorn, haphazard life is implied by these questions ! Can we wonder that, with all the love for his native place, which
25 is shown throughout Goldsmith's writings, he had not the heart to return there ? Yet his affections are still there. He wishes to know whether the Lawders (which means his cousin Jane, his early Valentine) ever made mention of him ; he sends Jane his miniature ; he believes "it is the most acceptable present he can
30 offer " ; he evidently, therefore, does not believe she has almost forgotten him, although he intimates that he does : in his memory she is still Jane Contarine, as he last saw her, when he accom- panied her harpsichord with his flute. Absence, like death, sets a seal on the image of those we have loved; we cannot realize
35 the intervening changes which time may have effected.
As to the rest of Goldsmith's relatives, he abandons his legacy of fifteen pounds, to be shared among them. It is all he has to give. His heedless improvidence is eating up the pay of the
CHAPTER XXVII 111
booksellers in advance. With all his literary success, he has neither money nor influence ; but he has empty fame and he is ready to participate with them ; he is honorary professor, without pay ; his portrait is to be engraved in mezzotint, in company with those of his friends, Burke, Reynolds, Johnson, Colman, and 5 others, and he will send prints of them to his friends over the Channel, though they may not have a house to hang them up in. What a motley letter ! How indicative of the motley character of the writer! By the bye, the publication of a splendid mezzotinto engraving of his likeness by Reynolds^ was 10 a great matter of glorification to Goldsmith, es]3ecially as it appeared in such illustrious company. As he was one day walking the streets in a state of high elation, from having just seen it figuring in the print-shop windows, he met a young gentleman with a newly married wife hanging on his arm, 15 whom he immediately recognized for Master Bishop, one of the boys he had petted and treated with sweetmeats when a humble usher at Milner's school. The kindly feelings of old times revived, and he accosted him with cordial familiarity, though the youth may have found some difficulty in recognizing in the 20 personage, arrayed, perhaps, in garments of Tyrian dye, the dingy pedagogue of the Milners. "Come, my boy," cried Goldsmith, as if still speaking to a school-boy, — "come, Sam, I am delighted to see you. I must treat you to something — what shall it be ? Will you have some apples ? " glancing at an 25 old woman's stall ; then, recollecting the print-shop window : " Sam," said he, " have you seen my picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds? Have you seen it, Sam? Have you got an engrav- ing ? " Bishoj) was caught ; he equivocated ; he had not yet bought it ; but he was f urnishing\ his house, and had fixed 30 upon the place where it was to be hung. " Ah, Sam ! " rejoined Goldsmith reproachfully, " if your picture had been published, I should not have waited an hour without having it."
After all, it was honest pride, not vanity, in Goldsmith, that 35 was gratified at seeing his portrait deemed worthy of being perpetuated by the classic pencil of Reynolds, and "hung up in history " beside that of his revered friend Johnson. Even the great moralist himself was not insensible to a feeling of this
172 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
kind. Walking one day with Goldsmith, in Westminster Abbey, among the tombs of monarchs, warriors, and states- men, they came to the sculptured mementos of literary worthies in poets' corner. Casting his eye round upon these memorials 5 of genius, Johnson muttered in a low tone to his companion, —
" Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis." °
Goldsmith treasured up the intimated hope, and shortly after- wards, as they were passing by Temple Bar, where the heads of Jacobite rebel s,° executed for treason, were mouldering aloft on 10 spikes, pointed up to the grizzly mementos, and echoed the intimation, —
*' Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis."
CHAPTER XXVIII
Publication of The Deserted Village ; Notices and Illustrations
of it.
Several years had now elapsed since the publication of The Traveller, and much wonder was expressed that the great
15 success of that poem had not excited the author to further poetic attempts. On being questioned at the annual dinner of the Royal Academy by the Earl of Lisburn, why he neglected the Muses to compile histories and write novels, " My Lord," replied he, " by courting the Muses I shall starve, but by my
20 other labors I eat, drink, have good clothes, and can enjoy the luxuries of life." So, also, on being asked by a poor writer what was the most profitable mode of exercising the pen, — " My dear fellow," replied he, good-humoredly, " pay no regard to the draggle-tailed Muses ; for my part I have found
25 productions in prose much more sought after and better paid for."
Still, however, as we have heretofore shown, he found sweet moments of dalliance to steal away from his prosaic toils, and
CHAPTER XXVIII 173
court the Muse among the green lanes and hedge-rows in the rural environs of London, and on the 26th of May, 1770, he was enabled to bring his Demrted Village before the public.
The popularity of The Traveller had prepared the way for this poem, and its sale was instantaneous and immense. The 5 first edition was immediately exhausted ; in a few days a second was issued ; in a few days more a third, and by the 16th of August the fifth edition was hurried through the press. As is the case with popular writers, he had become his own rival, and critics were inclined to give the preference to his first 10 poem ; but with the public at large we believe Tlie Deserted Village has ever been the greatest favorite. Previous to its publication the bookseller gave him in advance a note for the price agreed upon, one hundred guineas. As the latter was returnmg home he met a friend to whom he mentioned the 15 circumstance, and who, apparently judging of poetry by quantity rather than quality, observed that it was a great sum for so small a poem. "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." In fact, he 20 actually returned the note to the bookseller, and left it to him to graduate the payment according to the success of the work. The bookseller, as may well be supposed, soon repaid him in full with many acknowledgments of his disinterestedness. This anecdote has been called in question, we know not on what 25 grounds; we see nothing in it incompatible with the character of Goldsmith, who was very impulsive and prone to acts of inconsiderate generosity.
As we do not pretend in this summary memoir to go into a criticism or analysis of any of Goldsmith's writings, we shall 30 not dwell upon the peculiar merits of this poem; we cannot help noticing, however, how truly it is a mirror of the author's heart, and of all the fond jDictures of early friends and early life forever present there. It seems to us as if the very last accounts received from home, of his "shattered family," and the desoIa-35 tion that seemed to have settled upon the haunts of his child- hood had cut to the roots one feebly cherished hope, and produced the following exquisitely tender and mournful lines : —
174 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
" In all my wand' rings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has giv'n my share — I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 5 To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw, 10 And tell of all I felt and all I saw ;
And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexatious past. Here to return — and die at home at last."
15 How touchingly expressive are the succeeding lines, wrung from a heart which all the trials and temptations and buffet- ings of the world could not render worldly; which, amid a thousand follies and errors of the^ head, still retained its child- like innocence ; and which, doomed to struggle on to the last
20 amidst the din and turmoil of the metropolis, had ever been cheating itself with a dream of rural quiet and seclusion: —
" Oh bless'd retirement, friend to life's decline. Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
25 A youth of labor with an age of ease ;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep. Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ;
30 No surly porter stands, in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,
35 While resignation gently slopes the way ;
And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past."
l^OTE
The following article, which appeared in a London periodical, shows the effect of Goldsmith's poem in renovating the fortunes 40 of Lissoy.
CHAPTER XXVIII 175
" 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 the taste and improvement of this gentleman, it is now a beau- tiful spot, although fifteen years since it presented a very bare 5 and unpoetical aspect- This, however, was owing to a cause which serves strongly to corroborate the assertion, that Gold- smith had this scene in view when he wrote his poem of the Deserted Village. The then possessor. General Napier, turned all his tenants out of their farms that he might enclose them in 10 his own private domain. Littleton, the mansion of the General, stands not far off, a complete emblem of the desolating spirit lamented by the poet, dilapidated and converted into a barrack.
" The chief object of attraction is Lissoy, once the parsonage- house of Henry Goldsmith, that brother to whom the poet 15 dedicated his Traveller, and who is represented as a village pastor, —
" ' Passing rich with forty pounds a year.'
" When I was in the country, the lower chambers were in- habited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-rooms by oats. 20 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 dispute the identity of Auburn, Lissoy House overcame my scruples. As I clambered over the rotten gate, and crossed the grass-grown lawn or court, 25 the tide of association became too strong for casuistry : here the poet dwelt and wrote, and here his thoughts fondly re- curred when composing his Traveller in a foreign land. Yonder was the decent church, that literally ' topped the neigh- boring hill.' Before me lay the little hill of Knockrue, on 30 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, startlingly true, beneath my feet was
" * Yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild.' 35
" A painting from the life could not be more exact. * The stubborn currant-bush ' lifts its head above the rank grass, and
176 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
the proud hollyhock flaunts where its sisters of the flower-knot are no more.
" In the middle of the village stands the old ' hawthorn-tree,' built up with masonry to distinguish and preserve it ; it is old 5 and stunted, and suffers much from the depredations of post- chaise travellers, who generally stop to procure a twig. Oppo- site to it the village alehouse, over the door of which swings ' The Three Jolly Pigeons.' Within, everything is arranged according to the letter : —
10 " * The wliitewash'd wall, the nicely-sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door: The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; The pictures placed for ornament and use,
15 The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose.'
" Captain Hogan, I have heard, found great difficulty in obtaining ' the twelve good rules,' but at length purchased them at some London bookstall to adorn the whitewashed parlor of ' The Three Jolly Pigeons.' However laudable this may be, 20 nothing shook my faith in the reality of Auburn so much as this exactness, which had the disagreeable air of being got up for the occasion. The last object of pilgrimage is the quondam habitation of the schoolmaster, —
" * There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule.'
25 It is surrounded with fragrant proofs of identity in
" 'The blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay.'
There is to be seen the chair of the poet, which fell into the hands of its present possessors at the wreck of the parsonage- house ; they have frequently refused large offers of purchase ;
30 but more, I dare say, for the sake of drawing contributions from the curious than from any reverence for the bard. The chair is of oak, with back and seat of cane, which precluded all hopes of a secret drawer, like that lately discovered in Gay's.° There is no fear of its being worn out by the devout earnest-
35 nessof sitters — as the cocks and hens have usurped undisputed
CHAPTER XX nil 177
possession of it, and protest most clamorously against all attempts to get it cleansed or to seat one's self.
" The controversy concerning the identity of this Anbnrn was formerly a standing theme of discussion among the learned of the neighborhood ; but, since the ^jros and cons have been 5 all ascertained, the argument has died away. Its abettors plead the singular agreement between the local history of the place and the Auburn of the poem, and the exactness with which the scenery of the one answers to the description of the other. To this is opposed the mention of the nightingale, — 10
" ' And fill'd each pause the nightmgale had made ; '
there being no such bird in the island. The objection is slighted, on the other hand, by considering the passage as a mere poetical license. ' Besides,' say they, ' the robin is the Irish nightingale.' And if it be hinted how unlikely it was 15 that Goldsmith should have laid the scene in a place from which he was and had been so long absent, the rejoinder is always, ' Pray, sir, was Milton in hell when he built Pande- monium? '
" The line is naturally drawn between; there can be no doubt 20 that the poet intended England by
" ' The land to hast'ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.'
But it is very natural to suppose that, at the same time, his imagination had in view the scenes of his youth, which give 25 such strong features of resemblance to the picture."
Best, an Irish clergyman, told Davis, the traveller in Amer- ica, that the hawthorn-bush mentioned in the poem was still remarkably large. " I was riding once," said he, " with Brady, titular Bishop of Ardagh, when he observed to me, ' Ma foy, 30 Best, this huge overgrow^n bush is mightily in the way. I will order it to be cut down.' — ' What, sir ! ' replied I, ' cut
N
178 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
down the bush that supplies so beautiful an image in the Deserted Village V — ' Ma foy ! ' exclaimed the bishop, ' is that the hawthorn-bush? Then let it be sacred from the edge of the axe, and evil be to him that should cut off a branch.' " 5 — The hawthorn-bush, however, has long since been cut up, root and branch, in furnishing relics to literary pilgrims.
CHAPTER XXIX
The Poet among the Ladies ; Description of his Person and Manners.
— Expedition to Paris with the Horneck Family. — The Traveller of Twenty and the Traveller of Forty. — Hickey, the Special Attorney.
— An unlucky Exploit.
The Deserted Village had shed an additional poetic grace round the homely person of the author ; he was becoming more and more acceptable in ladies' eyes, and finding himself
10 more and more at ease in their society ; at least in the society of those whom he met in the Reynolds circle, among whom he particularly affected the beautiful family of the Hornecks.
But let us see what were really the looks and manners of Goldsmith about this time, and what right he had to aspire
15 to ladies' smiles ; and in so doing let us not take the sketches of Boswell and his compeers, who had a propensity to repre- sent him in caricature ; but let us take the apparently truthful and discriminating picture of him as he appeared to Judge Day, when the latter was a student in the Temple.
20 " In person," says the Judge, " he was short ; about five feet five or six inches ; strong, but not heavy in make ; rather fair in complexion, with brown hair ; such, at least, as could be dis- tinguished from his wig. His features were plain, but not repulsive, — certainly not so when lighted up by conversation.
25 His manners were simple, natural, and perhaps on the whole, we may say, not polished ; at least without the refinement and good-breeding which the exquisite polish of his compositions would lead us to expect. He was always cheerful and ani- mated, often, indeed, boisterous in his mirth ; entered with
CHAPTER XXIX 179
spirit into convivial society; contributed largely to its enjoy- ments by solidity of information, and the naivete and originality of his character ; talked often without premeditation, and laughed loudly without restraint."
This, it will be recollected, represents him as he appeared to 5 a young Templar, who probably saw him only in Temple coffee-houses, at students' quarters, or at the jovial supper- parties given at the poet's own chambers. Here, of course, his mind was in its rough dress ; his laugh may have been loud and his mirth boisterous ; but we trust all these matters be- 10 came softened and modified when he found himself in polite drawing-rooms and in female society.
But what say the ladies themselves of him ; and here, fortu- nately, we have another sketch of him, as he appeared at the time to one of the Horneck circle ; in fact, we believe, to the 15 Jessamy Bride herself. After admitting, apparently, with some reluctance, that " he was a very plain man," she goes on to say, " but had he been much more so, it was impossible not to love and respect his goodness of heart, which broke out on every occasion. His benevolence was unquestionable, and his counte- 20 nance hore every trace of it: no one that knew him intimately could avoid admiring and loving his good qualities." When to all this we add the idea of intellectual delicacy and refine- ment associated with him by his poetry and the newly-plucked bays that were flourishing round his brow, we cannot be sur- 25 prised that fine and fashionable ladies should be proud of his attentions, and that even a young beauty should not be altogether displeased with the thoughts of having a man of his genius in her chains.
We are led to indulge some notions of the kind from finding 30 him in the month of July, but a few weeks after the publica- tion of the Deserted Village, setting off on a six weeks' excur- sion to Paris, in company with Mrs. Horneck and her two beautiful daughters. A day or two before his departure, we find another new gala suit charged to him on the books of Mr. 35 William Filby. Were the bright eyes of the Jessamy Bride responsible for this additional extravagance of wardrobe ? Gold- smith had recently been editing the works of Parnell; had he taken courage from the example of Edwin in the Fairytale ? —
180 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
" Yet spite of all that nature did To make his uncouth form forbid,
This creature dared to love- He felt the force of Edith's eyes, 5 Nor wanted hope to gain the prize Could ladies look within"
All this we throw out as mere hints and surmises, leaving it
to our readers to draw their own conclusions. It will be found,
however, that the poet was subjected to shrewd bantering
10 among his contemporaries about the beautiful Mary Horneck,
and that he was extremely sensitive on the subject.
It was in the month of June that he set out for Paris with his fair companions, and the following letter was written by him to Sir Joshua Reynolds, soon after the party landed at Calais.
15 " My dear Friend, —
" We had a very quick passage from Dover to Calais, which we performed in three hours and twenty minutes, all of us extremely sea-sick, which must necessarily have happened, as my machine to prevent sea-sickness was not completed. We
20 were glad to leave Dover, because we hated to be imposed upon ; so were in high spirits at coming to Calais, where we were told that a little money would go a great way.
" Upon landing, with two little trunks, which was all we carried with us, we were surprised to see fourteen or fifteen
25 fellows all running down to the ship to lay their hands upon them ; four got under each trunk, the rest surrounded and held the hasps ; and in this manner our little baggage was conducted, with a kind of funeral solemnity, till it was safely lodged at the custom-house. We were well enough pleased
30 with the people's civility till they came to be paid; every creature that had the happiness of but touching our trunks with their finger expected sixpence ; and they had so pretty and civil a manner of demanding it, that there was no refusing them.
35 "When w^e had done with the porters, we had next to speak with the custom-house officers, who had their pretty civil way too. We were directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre, where a valet-de-place came to offer his service, and spoke to me ten
CHAPTER XXIX 181
minutes before I once found out that he was speakmg English. We had no occasion for his services, so we gave him a little money because he spoke English, and because he wanted it. I cannot help mentioning another circumstance : I bought a new riband for my wig at Canterbury, and the barber at Calais 5 broke it in order to gain sixpence by buying me a new one."
An incident which occurred in the course of this tour has been tortured by that literary magpie, Boswell, into a proof of Gold- smith's absurd jealousy of any admiration shown to others in his presence. While stopping at a hotel in Lisle, they were 10 drawn to the windows by a military parade in front. The ex- treme beauty of the Miss Hornecks immediately attracted the attention of the officers, who broke forth with enthusiastic speeches and compliments intended for their ears. Goldsmith was amused for a while, but at length affected impatience at 15 this exclusive admiration of his beautiful companions, and ex- claimed, with mock severity of aspect, " Elsewhere I also would have my admirers."
It is difficult to conceive the obtuseness of intellect necessary to misconstrue so obvious a piece of mock petulance and dry 20 humor into an instance of mortified vanity and jealous self- conceit.
Goldsmith jealous of the. admiration of a group of gay offi- cers for the charms of two beautiful young women ! This even out-Boswells Boswell; yet this is but one of several similar 25 absurdities, evidently misconceptions of Goldsmith's peculiar vein of humor, by which the charge of envious jealousy has been attempted to be fixed upon him. In the present instance it was contradicted by one of the ladies herself, who was an- noyed that it had been advanced against him. "I am sure," 30 said she, " from the peculiar manner of his humor, and assumed frown of countenance, what was often uttered in jest was mis- taken, by those who did not know him, for earnest." No one was more prone to err on this point than Boswell. He had a tolerable perception of wit, but none of humor. 35
The following letter to Sir Joshua Reynolds was subsequently written.
182 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
" To Sir Joshua Reynolds.
"Paris, July 29 [1770]. " My dear Friend, — I began a long letter to you from Lisle, giving a description of all that we had. done and seen, 5 but, finding it very dull, and knowing that you would show it again, I threw it aside and it was lost. You see by the top of this letter that we are at Paris, and (as I have often heard you say) we have brought our own amusement with us, for the ladies do not seem to be very fond of what we have yet seen.
10 " With regard to myself, I find that travelling at twenty and forty are very different things. I set out with all my confirmed habits about me, and can find nothing on the Continent so good as when I formerly left it. One of our chief amusements here is scolding at everything we meet with, and praising everything
15 and every person we left at home. You may judge, therefore, whether your name is not frequently bandied at table among us. To tell you the truth, I never thought I could regret your absence so much as our various mortifications on the road have often taught me to do. I could tell you of disasters and adven-
20 tures without number ; of our lying in barns, and of my being half poisoned with a dish of green peas ; of our quarrelling with postilions, and being cheated by our landladies ; but I reserve all this for a happy hour which I expect to share with you upon my return.
25 " I have little to tell you more, but that we are at present all well, and expect returning when we have stayed out one month, which I did not care if it were over this very day. I long to hear from you all, how you yourself do, how Johnson, Burke, Dyer, Chamier, Colman, and every one of the club do. I wish
30 I could send you some amusement in this letter, but I protest I am so stupefied by the air of this country (for I am sure it can- not be natural) that I have not a word to say. I have been thinking of the plot of a comedy, which shall be entitled A Journey to Paris, in which a family shall be introduced with a
35 full intention of going to France to save money. You know there i.s not a place in the world more promising for that pur- pose. As for the meat of this country, I can scarce eat it ; and though we pay two good shillings a head for our dinner, I find
CHAPTER XXIX 183
it all so tough that I have spent less time with my knife than my picktooth. I said this as a good thing at the table, but it was not understood. I believe it to be a good thing.
" As for our intended journey to Devonshire, I find it out of my power to perform it ; for, as soon as I arrive at Dover, I intend 5 to let the ladies go on, and I will take a country-lodging some- where near that place in order to do some business. I have so outrun the constable that I must mortify a little to bring it up again. For God's sake, the night you receive this, take your pen in your hand and tell me something about yourself and 10 myself, if you know anything that has happened. About Miss Reynolds, about Mr. Bickerstaff, my nephew, or anj^body that you regard. I beg you will send to Griffin the bookseller to know if there be any letters left for me, and be so good as to send them to me at Paris. They may perhaps be left for me 15 at the Porter's Lodge, opposite the pump in Temple Lane. The same messenger will do. I expect one from Lord Clare, from Ireland. As for the others, I am not much uneasy about.
" Is there anything I can do for you at Paris ? I wish you would tell me. The whole of my own purcliases here is one 20 silk coat, which I have put on, and which makes me look like a fool. But no more of that. I find that Colman has gained his lawsuit. I am glad of it. I suppose you often meet. I will soon be among you, better pleased with my situation at home than I ever was before. And yet I must say, that, if anything 25 could make France pleasant, the very good women with whom I am at present would certainly do it. I could say more about that, but I intend showing them the letter before I send it away. What signifies teasing you longer with moral observa- tions, when the business of my writing is over ? I have one thing 30 only moi<e to say, and of that I think every hour in the day, namely, that I am your most sincere and most affectionate friend,
" Oliver Goldsmith.
"Direct to me at the Hotel de Danemarc, | Rue Jacob, Fauxbourg St. Gerinains." j 05
A word of comment on this letter : — ♦
Travelling is, indeed, a very different thing with Goldsmith the poor student at twenty, and Goldsmith the poet and Pro-
184 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
fessor at forty. At twenty, though obliged to trudge on foot from town to town, and country to country, paying for a sup- per and a bed by a tune on the flute, everything pleased, every- thing was good ; a truckle-bed in a garret was a couch of down, 5 and the homely fare of the peasant a feast fit for an epicure. Now, at forty, when he posts through the country in a carriage, with fair ladies by his side, everything goes wrong : he has to quarrel with postilions, he is cheated by landladies, the hotels are barns, the meat is too tough to be eaten, and he is half
10 poisoned by green peas! A line in his letter explains the secret : " the ladies do not seem to be very fond of what we have seen." " One of our chief amusements is scolding at everything we meet with, and praising everything and every person we have left at home ! " — the true English travelling
15 amusement. Poor Goldsmith ! he has " all his confirmed hahils about him " ; that is to say, he has recently risen into high life, and acquired high-bred notions; he must be fastidious like his fellow-travellers ; he dare not be pleased with what pleased the vulgar tastes of his youth. He is unconsciously illustrating
20 the trait so humorously satirized by him in ISTed Tibbs, the shabby beau, who can find " no such dressing as he had at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's " ; whose very senses have grown genteel, and who no longer " smacks at wretched wine or praises detestable custard." A lurking thorn, too, is worrying
25 him throughout this tour ; he has " outrun the constable " ; that is to say, his expenses have outrun his means, and he will have to make up for this butterfly flight by toiling like a grub on his return.
Another circumstance contributes to mar the pleasure he had
30 promised himself in this excursion. At Paris the party is un- expectedly joined by a Mr. Hickey, a bustling attorney, who is well acquainted with that metropolis and its environs, and insists on playing the cicerone on all occasions. He and Gold- smith do not relish each other, and they have several petty
35 altercations. The lawyer is too much a man of business and method for the careless poet, and is disposed to manage every- thing. He has perceived Goldsndth's whimsical peculiarities witjiout properly appreciating his merits, and is prone to in- dulge in broad bantering and raillery at his expense, particu-
CHAPTER XXIX 185
larly irksome if indulged in presence of the ladies. He makes himself merry on his return to England, by giving the follow- ing anecdote as illustrative of Goldsmith's vanity : —
" Being with a party at Versailles, viewing the water-works, a question arose among the gentlemen present, whether the dis- 5 tance from whence they stood to one of the little islands was within the compass of a leap. Goldsmith maintained the affirmative; but, being bantered on the subject, and remember- ing his former ]3rowess as a youth, attempted the leap, but, fall- ing short, descended into the water, to the great anmsement of 10 the company."
Was the Jessamy Bride a witness of this unlucky exploit ?
This same Hickey is the one of whom Goldsmith, some time subsequently, gave a good-humored sketch, in his poem of The Retaliation. 15
" Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, And slander itself must allow him good-nature ; He clierish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper, Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser ; 20
I answer, No, no, for he always was wiser ; Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? His very worst foe can't accuse him of that; Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolishly honest? Ah, no! 25
Then what was his failing? Come, tell it, and burn ye — He was, could he help it? a special attorney."
One of the few remarks extant made by Goldsmith during his tour is the following, of whimsical import, in his Animated Nature. 30
<' In going through the towns of France, some time since, I could not help observing how much plainer their parrots spoke than ours, and how very distinctly I understood their parrots speak French, when I could not understand our own, though they spoke my native language. I at first ascribed it to the 35 different qualities of the two languages, and was for entering into an elaborate discussion on the vowels and consonants ; but a friend that was with me solved the difficulty at once, by as- suring me that the French women scarce did anything else the
186 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
whole day than sit and instruct their feathered pupils; and that the birds were thus distinct in their lessons in consequence of continual schooling."
His tour does not seem to have left in his memory the most 5 fragrant recollections; for, being asked, after his return, whether travelling on the Continent repaid " an Englishman for the privations and annoyances attendant on it," he replied, "I recommend it by all means to the sick, if they are without the sense of smelling, and to the poor if they are without the
10 sense of feeling, and to both if they can discharge from their minds all idea of what in England we term comfort."
It is needless to say that the universal improvement in the art of living on the Continent has at the present day taken away the force of Goldsmith's reply, though even at the time it
15 was more humorous than correct.
CHAPTER XXX .
Death of Goldsmith's Mother. — Biography of Parnell. — Agreement with Davies for the History of Rome. — Life of Bolingbroke, — The Haunch of Venison.
On his return to England, Goldsmith received the melancholy tidings of the death of his mother. Notwithstanding the fame as an author to which he had attained, she seems to have been disappointed in her early expectations from him. Like others
20 of his family, she had been more vexed by his early follies than pleased by his proofs of genius ; and in subsequent years, when he had risen to fame and to intercourse with the great, had been annoyed at the ignorance of the world and want of man- agement, which prevented him from pushing his fortune. He
25 had always, however, been an affectionate son, and in the latter years of her life, when she had become blind, contributed from his precarious resources to prevent her from feeling want.
He now resumed the labors of his pen, which his recent excur- sion to Paris rendered doubly necessary. We should have
30 mentioned a Life of Parnell, published by him shortly after the
CHAPTER XXX 187
Deserted Village. It was, as usual, a piece of job-work, hastily got up for pocket-money. Johnson spoke slightingly of it, and the author himself thought proper to apologize for its meagre- ness, — yet, in so doing, used a simile, which for beauty of imagery and felicity of language is enough of itself to stamp a 5 value upon the essay.
" Such," says he, " is the very unpoetical detail of the life of a poet. Some dates and some few facts, scarcely more interest- ing than those that make the ornaments of a country tomb- stone, are all that remain of one whose labors now begin to 10 excite universal curiosity. A poet, while living, is seldom an object sufficiently great to attract much attention ; his real merits are known but to a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. When his fame is increased by time, it is then too lat^ to investigate the peculiarities of his disposition; thelh dews of morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the chase hy the meridian splendor."
He now entered into an agreement with Davies to prepare an abridgment, in one volume duodecimo, of his History of Borne ; but first to write a work for which there was a more immediate 20 demand. Davies was about, to republish Lord Bolingbroke's° Dissertation on Parties, which he conceived would be exceedingly applicable to the affairs of the day, and make a probable hit dur- ing the existing state of violent political excitement ; to give it still greater effect and currency, he engaged Goldsmith to intro-25 duce it with a prefatory life of Lord Bolingbroke.
About this time Goldsmith's friend and countryman. Lord Clare, was in great affliction, caused by the death of his only son. Colonel Nugent, and stood in need of the sympathies of a kind-hearted friend. At his request, therefore. Goldsmith paid 30 him a visit at his seat of Gosfield, taking his tasks with him. Davies was in a worry lest Gosfield Park should prove a Capua° to the poet, and the time be lost. " Dr. Goldsmith " writes he to a friend, "has gone with Lord Clare into the country, and I am plagued to get the proofs from him of the Life of LordS5 Bolingbroke." The proofs, however, were furnished in time for the publication of the work in December. The Biography, though written during a time of political turmoil, and intro- ducing a work intended to be thrown into the arena of politics,
188 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
maintained that freedom from party prejudice observable in all the writings of Goldsmith. It was a selection of facts, drawn from many unreadable sources, and arranged into a clear, flow- ing narrative, illustrative of the career and character of one 5 who, as he intimates, " seemed formed by Nature to take delight in struggling with op]30sition ; whose most agreeable hours were passed in storms of his own creating; whose life was spent in a continual conflict of politics, and as if that was too short for the combat, has left his memory as a subject of lasting couten-
10 tion." The sum received by the author for this memoir is sup- posed, from circumstances, to have been forty pounds.
Goldsmith did not find the residence among the great unat- tended with mortifications. He had now become accustomed to be regarded in London as a literary lion, and was annoyed,
15 at what he considered a slight, on the part of Lord Camden. He complained of it on his return to town at a party of his friends. " I met him," said he, " at Lord Clare's house in the country; and he took no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man." "The company," says Boswell, "laughed
20 heartily at this piece of ' diverting simplicity.' " And foremost among the laughers was doubtless the rattle-pated Boswell. Johnson, how^ever, stepped forward, as usual, to defend the poet, whom he would allow no one to assail but himself ; perhaps in the present instance he thought the dignity of literature itself
25 involved in the question. "Nay, gentlemen," roared he, " Dr. Goldsmith is in the right. A nobleman ought to have made up to such a man as Goldsmith, and I think it is much against Lord Camden that he neglected him."
After Goldsmith's return to town he received from Lord
30 Clare a present of game, which he has celebrated and perpetu- ated in his amusing verses entitled the Haunch of Venison. Some of the lines pleasantly set forth the embarrassment caused by the appearance of such an aristocratic delicacy in the humble kitchen of a poet, accustomed to look up to mutton
35 as a treat : —
" Thanks, my lord, for your venison ; for finer or fatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter: The haunch was a picture for painters to study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy ;
CHAPTER XXX 189
Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting
To spoil such a delicate picture by eatiug •
I had thought in my chambers to place it in view,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu ;
As in some Irish houses where things are so-so, 5
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show ;
But, for eating a rasher, of what they take pride in,
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it was fry'd in
Tf: 7^ yfi yp T^ Ti^ T^ Tft
But hang it — to poets, who seldom can eat,
Your very good mutton's a very good treat, 10
Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt ;
It's like sending them ruffles, when ivanting a shirt."
We have an amusing anecdote of one of Goldsmith's blunders which took place on a subsequent visit to Lord Clare's, when that nobleman was residing in Bath. 15
Lord*Clare and the Duke of Northumberland had houses next to each other, of similar architecture. Returning home one morning from an early walk. Goldsmith, in one of his fre- quent fits of absence, mistook the house, and walked up into the Duke's dining-room, where he and the Duchess were about 20 to sit down to breakfast. Goldsmith, still supposing himself in the house of Lord Clare, and that they were visitors, made them an easy salutation, being acquainted with them, and threw himself on a sofa in the lounging manner of a man perfectly at home. The Duke and Duchess soon perceived his mistake, 25 and, while they smiled internally, endeavored, with the con- siderateness of well-bred people, to prevent any awkward embarrassment. They accordingly chatted sociably with him about matters in Bath, until, breakfast being served, they invited him to partake. The truth at once flashed upon poor 30 heedless Goldsmith ; he started up from his free-and-easy posi- tion, made a confused apology for his blunder, and would have retired perfectly disconcerted, had not the Duke and Duchess treated the whole as a lucky occurrence to throw him in their way, and exacted a promise from him to dine with them. 35
Tliis may be hung up as a companion-piece to his blunder on his first visit to Northumberland House.
190 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER XXXI
Dinner at the Royal Academy. — The Rowley Controversy. — Horace Walpole's Conduct to Chatterton. — Johnson at Redcliffe Church. — Goldsmith's History of England. — Davies's Criticism. — Letter to Bennet Langton.
On St. George's day of this year (1771), the first annual ban- quet of the Koyal Academy was held in the exhibition-room; the walls of which were covered with works of art, about to be submitted to public inspection. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who 5 first suggested this elegant festival, presided in his ofiicial character ; Drs. Johnson and Goldsmith, of course, were present, as Professors of the academy; and, beside the academicians, there was a large number of the most distinguished men of the day as guests. Goldsmith on this occasion drew on himself the
10 attention of the company by launching out with enthusiasm on the poems recently given to the world by Chatterton," as the works of an ancient author by the name of Rowley, discovered in the tower of Redclitfe Church, at Bristol. Goldsmith spoke of them with rapture, as a treasure of old English poetry.
15 This immediately raised the question of their authenticity ; they having been pronounced a forgery of Chatterton's. Goldsmith was warm for their being genuine. When he considered, he said, the merit of the poetry, the acquaintance with life and the human heart displayed in them, the antique quaintness of the
20 language and the familiar knowledge of historical events of their supposed day, he could not believe it possible they could be the work of a boy of sixteen, of narrow education, and con- fined to the duties of an attorney's office. They must be the productions of Rowley.
25 Johnson who was a stout unbeliever in Rowley, as he had been in Ossian,° rolled in his chair and laughed at the enthusi- asm of Goldsmith. Horace Walpole, who sat near by, joined in the laugh and jeer as soon as he found that the " trouvaille,''^ as he called it, " of Ms friend Chatterton " was in question.
30 This matter, which had excited the simple admiration of Gold- smith, was no novelty to him, he said. " He might, had he
CHAPTER XXXI 191
pleased, have had the honor of ushering the great discovery to the learned world." And so he might, had he followed his first impulse in the matter, for he himself had been an original believer ; had pronounced some specimen verses sent to him by Chatterton wonderful for their harmony and spirit; and had 5 been ready to print them and publish them to the world with his sanction. When he found, however, that his unknown correspondent was a mere boy, humble in sphere and indigent in circumstances, and when Gray and Mason° pronounced the poems forgeries, he had changed his whole conduct towards the 10 unfortunate author, and by his neglect and coldness had dashed all his sanguine hopes to the ground.
Exulting in his superior discernment, this cold-hearted man of society now went on to divert himself, as he says, with the credulity of Goldsmith, whom he was accustomed to pronounce 15 '•an inspired idiot"; but his mirth was soon dashed, for on asking the poet what had become of this Chatterton, he was answered, doubtless in the feeling tone of one who had experi- enced the pangs of despondent genius, that "he had been to London, and had destroyed himself." 20
The reply struck a pang of self-reproach even to the cold heart of Walpole ; a faint blush may have visited his cheek at his recent levity. " The persons of honor and veracity who were present," said he in after-years, when he found it necessary to exculpate himself from the charge of heartless neglect of 25 genius, "will attest with what surprise and concern I thus first heard of his death." Well might he feel concern. His cold neglect had doubtless contributed to madden the spirit of that youthful genius, and hurry him towards his untimely end ; nor have all the excuses and palliations of Walpole's friends and 30 admirers been ever able entirely to clear this stigma from his fame.
But what was there in the enthusiasm and credulity of honest Goldsmith in this matter, to subject him to the laugh of John- son or the raillery of Walpole? Granting the poems were not 35 ancient, were they not good? Granting they were not the pro- ductions of Rowley, were they the less admirable for being the productions of Chatterton ? Johnson himself testified to their merits and the genius of their composer, when, some years
192 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
afterwards, he visited the tower of Redcliffe Church, and was shown the coffer in which poor Chatterton had pretended to find them. " This," said he, " is the most extraordinary young man that has encountered my knowledge. It is wonderful liow 5 the wlielp lias written such things."
As to Goldsmith, he persisted in his credulity, and had sub- sequently a dispute with Dr. Percy on the subject, which inter- rupted and almost destroyed their friendship. After all, his enthusiasm was of a generous, poetic kind; the poems remain
10 beautiful monuments of genius, and it is even now difficult to persuade one's self that they could be entirely the productions of a youth of sixteen.
In the month of August was published anonymously the History of England, on which . Goldsmith had been for some
15 time employed. It was in four volumes, compiled chiefly, as he acknowledged in the preface, from Rapin, Carte, Smollett, and Hume, " each of whom," says he, " have their admirers, in pro- portion as the reader is studious of political antiquities, fond of minute anecdote, a warm partisan, or a deliberate reasoner."
20 It possessed the same kind of merit as his other historical com- pilations ; a clear, succinct narrative, a simple, easy, and grace- ful style, and an agreeable arrangement of facts ; but was not remarkable for either depth of observation or minute accuracy of research. Many passages were transferred, with little if any
25 alteration, from his Letters from a Nobleman to his Son on the same subject. The work, though written without party feeling, met with sharp animadversions from political scribblers. The writer was charged with being unfriendly to liberty, dis- posed to elevate monarchy above its proper sphere : a tool of
30 ministers ; oue who would betray his country for a pension. Tom Davies, the publisher, the pompous little bibliopole of Russell Street, alarmed lest the book should prove unsalable, undertook to protect it by his pen, and wrote a long article in its defence in The Public Advertiser. He was vain of his criti-
35 cal effusion, and sought by nods and winks and innuendoes to intimate his authorship. " Have you seen," said he, in a letter to a friend, '" An Impartial Account of Goldsanith^s History of England ' ? If you want to know who was the writer of it, you will find him in Russell Street ; — but mum ! "
CHAPTER XXXI 193
The History, on the whole, however, was well received ; some of the critics declared that English history had never before been so usefully, so elegantly, and agreeably epitomized, " and, like his other historical writings, it has kept its ground " in English literature. 5
Goldsmith had intended this summer, in company with Sir Joshua Reynolds, to pay a visit to Bennet Langton, at his seat in Lincolnshire, where he was settled in domestic life, having the year previously married the Countess Dowager of Rothes. The following letter, however, dated from his chambers in the 10 Temple, on the 7th of September, apologizes for putting off the visit, while it gives an amusing account of his summer occupa- tions and of the attacks of the critics on his History of England : —
" My DEAR Sir, — 15
" Since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, 1 have been al- most 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 wdll be acted, or whether it will be acted at all, are questions I cannot resolve. I am therefore so much employed upon that, 20 that I am under the necessity of putting off my intended visit to Lincolnshire for this season. Reynolds is just returned 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 25 to have the honor of waiting upon Lady Rothes and you, and staying double the time of our late intended visit. We often meet, and never without remembering you. I see Mr. Beauclerc very often both in town and country. He is now going directly forward to become a second Boyle : deep in chemistry and 30 physics. Johnson has been down on a visit to a country par- son, Doctor 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 35 months to do something to make people laugh. There have I been strolling about the hedges, studying jests with a most tragical countenance. The Natural Hisiory is about half fin- o
194 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
ished, and I will shortly finish the rest. God knows I am tired of this kind of finishing, which is but bungling work; arid that not so much my fault as the fault of my scurvy circumstances. They begin to talk in town of the Opposition's gaining ground ; 5 the cry of liberty is still as loud as ever. I have published, or Davies has published for irie, Sbn Abr id grnent of the History of England, for which I have been a good deal abused in the news- papers, for betraying the liberties of the people. God knows I had no thought for or against liberty in my head; my whole
10 aim being to make up a book of a decent size, that, as 'Squire Richard says, would do no harm to nobody. 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'll say that I am a sore Whig. God bless you, and with my most respectful com-
15 pliments to her Ladyship, I remain, dear Sir, your most affec- tionate humble servant,
" Oliver Goldsmith."
CHAPTER XXXII
Marriage of Little Comedy. — Goldsmith at Barton. — Practical Jokes at the Expense of his Toilet. — Amusements at Barton. — Aquatic Misadventure.
Though Goldsmith found it impossible to break from his literary occupations to visit Bennet Langton, in Lincolnshire,
20 he soon yielded to attractions from another quarter, in which somewhat of sentiment may have mingled. Miss Catherine Horneck, one of his beautiful fellow-travellers, otherwise called Little Comedy, had been married in August to Henry William Bunbury, Esq., a gentleman of fortune, who has become cele-
25 brated for the humorous productions of his pencil. Goldsmith was shortly afterwards invited to pay the newly married couple a visit at their seat, at Barton, in Suffolk. How could he resist such an invitation — especially as the Jessamy Bride would, of course, be among the guests? It is true, he was hampered
30 with work ; he was still more hampered with debt ; his accounts
CHAPTER XXXII 195
with Newbery were perplexed ; but all must give way. New advances are procured from Newbery, on the promise of a new tale in the style of the Vicar of Wakefield, of which he showed him a few roughly sketched chapters ; so, his purse replenished in the old way, "by hook or by crook," he posted off to visits the bride at Barton. He found there a joyous household, and one where he was welcomed with affection. Garrick was there, and played the part of master of the revels, for he was an intimate friend of the master of the house. Notwithstanding early misunderstandings, a social intercourse between the actor 10 and the poet had grown \rg of late, from meeting together con- tinually in the same circle. A few particulars have reached us concerning Goldsmith while on this happy visit. We believe the legend has come down from Miss Mary Horneck herself. " While at Barton," she says, " his manners were always play- 15 ftd and amusing, taking the lead in promoting any scheme of innocent mirth, and usually prefacing the invitation with ' Come, now, let us play the fool a little.' At cards, which was commonly a round game, and the stake small, he was always the most noisy, affected great eagerness to win, and 20 teased his opponents of the gentler sex with continual jest and banter on their want of spirit in not risking the hazards of the game. But one of his most favorite enjoyments was to romp with the children, when he threw off all reserve, and seemed one of the most joyous of the group. 25
" One of the means by which he amused us was his songs, chiefly of the comic kind, which were sung with some taste and humor ; several, I believe, were of his own composition, and I regret that I neither have copies, which might have been readily procured from him at the time, nor do I remember 30 their names."
, His perfect good-humor made him the object of tricks of all kinds ; often in retaliation of some prank which he himself had played off. Unluckily, these tricks were sometimes made at the expense of his toilet, which, with a view peradventure to 35 please the eye of a certain fair lady, he had again enriched to the impoverishment of his purse. " Being at all times gay in his dress," says this ladylike legend, "he made his appearance at the breakfast-table in a smart black silk coat with an expen-
196 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
sive pair of ruffles ; the coat some one contrived to soil, and it was sent to be cleansed ; but, either by accident, or probably by design, the day after it came home, the sleeves became daubed with paint, which was not discovered until the ruffles 5 also, to his great mortification, were irretrievably disfigured. " He always wore a wig, a peculiarity which those who judge ' of his appearance only from the fine poetical head of Reynolds would not suspect; and on one occasion some person contrived seriously to injure this important adjunct to dress. It was the
10 only one he had in the country, and the misfortune seemed
irreparable until the services of Mr. Bunbury's valet were called in,
who, however, performed his functions so indifferently, that j^oor
Goldsmith's appearance became the signal for a general smile."
This was wicked waggery, esi^ecially when it was directed to
15 mar all the attempts of the unfortunate poet to improve his personal appearance, about which he was at all times dubiously sensitive, and particularly when among the ladies.
We have in a former chapter recorded his unlucky tumble into a fountain at Versailles, when attempting a feat of agility
20 in the presence of the fair Hornecks. Water was destined to be equally baneful to him on the present occasion. " Some difference of opinion," says the fair narrator, " having arisen with Lord Harrington respecting the depth of a pond, the poet remarked that it was not so deep but that, if anything
25 valuable was to be found at the bottom, he would not hesitate to pick it up. His lordship, after some banter, threw in a guinea ; Goldsmith, not to be outdone in this kind of bravado, in attempting to fulfil his promise without getting wet, acci- dentally fell in, to the amusement of all present, but persevered,
30 brought out the money, and kept it, remarking that he had abundant objects on whom to bestow any farther proofs of his lordship's whim or bounty."
All this is recorded by the beautiful Mary Horneck, the Jessamy Bride herself ; but while she gives these amusing
35 pictures of poor Goldsmith's eccentricities, and of the mis- chievous pranks played off upon him, she bears unqualified testimony, which we have quoted elsewhere, to the qualities of his head and heart, which shone forth in his countenance, and gained him the love of all who knew him.
CHAPTER XXXIII 197
Among the circumstances, of this visit vaguely called to mind by this fair lady in after years, was that Goldsmith read to her and her sister the first part of a novel which he had in hand. It was doubtless the manuscript mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, on which he' had obtained an advance of money 5 from Newbery to stave off some pressing debts, and to provide funds for this very visit. It never was finished. The book- seller, when he came afterwards to examine the manuscript, objected to it as a mere narrative version of the Good-natured Man. Goldsmith, too easily put out of conceit of his w^ritings, 10 threw it aside, forgetting that this was the very Xewbery who kept his Vicar of Wakefield by him nearly two years, through doubts of its success. The loss of the manuscript is deeply to be regr^ted ; it doubtless would have been properly wrought up before given to the press, and might have given us new scenes 15 of life and traits of character, while it could not fail to bear traces of his dfelightful style. What a pity he had not been guided by the opinions of his fair listeners at Barton^ instead of that of the astute Mr. Newbery !
CHAPTER XXXIII
Dinner at General Oglethorpe's. — Anecdotes of the General. — Dispute about Duelling. — Ghost Stories.
We have mentioned old General Oglethorpe as one of Gold- 20 smith's aristocratical acquaintances. This veteran, born in 1698, had commenced life early, by serving, when a mere stripling, under Prince Eugene, against the Turks. He had continued in military life, and been promoted to the rank of major-general in 1745, and received a command during the 25 Scottish rebellion. Being of strong Jacobite tendencies, he was suspected and accused of favoring the rebels; and though aquitted by a court of inquiry, was never afterwards employed ; or, in technical language, was shelved. He had since been re- peatedly a member of Parliament, and had always distinguished 30
198 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
himself by learning, taste, active benevolence, and high Tory- principles. His name, however, has become historical, chiefly from his transactions in America, and the share he took in the settlement of the colony of Georgia. It lies embalmed in 5 honorable immortality in a single line of Pope's : —
" One, driven by strong benevolence of soul, Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole."
The veteran was now seventy-fonr years of age, but healthy and vigorous, and as much the preux chevalier as in his younger
10 days, when he served with Prince Eugene. His table was often the gathering-place of men of talent. Johnson was frequently there, and delighted in drawing from the General details of his various " experiences." He w^as anxious that he should give the world his life. " I know no man," said he,
15 " whose life would be more interesting." Still the vivacity of the General's mind and the variety of his knowledge made him skip from subject to subject too fast for the Lexicographer. " Oglethorpe," growled he, " never completes what he has to say."
20 Boswell gives us an interesting and characteristic account of a dinner-party at the General's (April 10th, 1772), at which Gold- smith and Johnson were present. After dinner, when the cloth was removed, Oglethorpe, at Johnson's request, gave an account of the siege of Belgrade, in the true veteran style. Pouring a
25 little wine upon the table, he drew his lines and parallels with a wet finger, describing the positions of the opposing forces. " Here were we — here were the Turks," to all which Johnson listened with the most earnest attention, pouring over the plans and diagrams with his usual purblind closeness.
30 In the course of conversation the General gave an an- ecdote of himself in early life, when serving under Prince Eugene. Sitting at table once in company with a prince of Wurtemberg, the latter gave a fillip to a glass of wine, so as to make some of it fly in Oglethorpe's face. The manner in which
35 it was done w^as somewhat equivocal. How was it to be taken by the stripling officer? If seriously, he must challenge the Prince ; but in so doing he might fix on himself the character of a drawcansir.° If passed over without notice, he might be
CHAPTER XXXIIl 199
charged with cowardice. His mind was made up in an instant. " Prince," said he, smiling, " that is an excellent joke ; but we do it much better in England." So saying he threw a whole glass of wine in the Prince's face. " II a bien fait, mon Prince," cried an old General present, " vous I'avez commence." (He 5 has done right, my Prince ; you commenced it.) The Prince had the good sense to acquiesce in the decision of the veteran, and Oglethorpe's retort in kind was taken in good part.
It was probably at the close of this story that the officious Boswell, ever anxious to promote conversation for the benefit 10 of his note-book, started the question whether duelling were consistent with moral duty. The old General fired up in an instant. " Undoubtedly," said he, with a lofty air ; " imdoubt- edly a man has a right to defend his honor." Goldsmith im- mediateiy carried the war into Boswell's own quarters, and 15 pinned him with the question, " what he would do if affronted ? " The pliant Boswell, who for the moment had the fear of the General rather than of Johnson before his eyes, replied, " he should think it necessary to fight." " Why, then, that solves the question," replied Goldsmith. " No, sir ! " thundered out 20 Johnson; "it does not follow that what a man would do, is therefore right." He, however, subsequently went into a dis- cussion to show that there were necessities in the case arising out of the artificial refinement of society, and its proscription of any one who should put up with an affront without fighting 25 a duel. ' " He then," concluded he, " who fights a duel does not fight from passion against his antagonist, but out of self-defence, to avert the stigma of the world, and to prevent himself from being driven out of society. I could wish there were not that superfluity of refinement ; but while such notions prevail, no 30 doubt a man may lawfully fight a duel."
Another question started was, whether people who disagreed on a capital point could live together in friendship. Johnson said they might. Goldsmith said they could not, as they had not the idem velle atque idem nolle — the same likings and 35 aversions. Johnson rejoined, that they must shun the subject on which they disagreed. " But, sir," said Goldsmith, " when people live together who have something as to which they dis- agree, and which they want to shun, they will be in the situation
200 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
mentioned in the story of Blue Beard: 'you may look into all the chambers but one ; ' but we should have the greatest in- clination to look into that chamber, to talk of that subject." " Sir," thundered Johnson, in a loud voice, " I am not saying 5 that you could live in friendship with a man from whom you differ as to some point; I am only saying that / could do it."
Who will not say that Goldsmith had the best of this petty contest? How just was his remark! how felicitous the illus- tration of the blue chamber ! how rude and overbearing was the
10 argumentum ad liominem of Johnson, when he felt that he had the worst of the argument !
The conversation turned upon ghosts. General Oglethorpe told the story of a Colonel Prendergast, an officer in the Duke of Marlborough's army, who predicted among his comrades that
15 he should die on a certain day. The battle of Malplaquet took place on that day. The Colonel was in the midst of it, but came out unhurt. The firing had ceased, and his brother officers jested with him about the fallacy of his prediction. " The day is not over," replied he, gravely ; " I shall die notwithstanding
20 what you see." His words proved true. The order for a cessa- tion of firing had not reached one of the French batteries, and a random shot from it killed the Colonel on the spot. Among his effects was found a pocket-book in which he had made a sol- emn entry, that Sir John Friend, who had been executed for
25 high treason, had appeared to him, either in a dream or vision, and predicted that he would meet him on a certain day (the very day of the battle). Colonel Cecil, who took possession of the effects of Colonel Prendergast, and read the entry in the pocket-book, told this story to Pope, the poet, in the presence
30 of General Oglethorpe.
This story, as related by the General, appears to have been well received, if not credited, by both Johnson and Goldsmith, each of whom had something to relate in kind. Goldsmith's brother, the clergyman in whom he had such implicit confi-
35 dence, had assured him of his having seen an apparition. John- son also had a friend, old Mr. Cave, the printer, at St. John's Gate, " an honest man, and a sensible man," who told him he had seen a ghost; he did not, however, like to talk of it, and seemed to be in great horror whenever it was mentioned. "And
CHAPTER XXXIV 201
pray, sir," asked Boswell, " what did he say was the appear- ance?" " Why, sir, something of a shadowy being."
The reader will not be surprised at this superstitious turn in the conversation of such intelligent men, when he recollects that, but a few years before this time, all London had been agi- 5 tated by the absurd story of the Cock-lane ghost ; a matter which Dr. Johnson had deemed worthy of his serious investigation, and about which Goldsmith had written a pamphlet.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Mr. Joseph Cradock. — An Author's Confidings. — An Amanuensis. — Life at Edgeware. — Goldsmith Conjuring. — George Colman. — The Fantoccini.
Among the agreeable acquaintances made by Goldsmith about this time M'^as a Mr. Joseph. Cradock, a young gentleman lo of Leicestershire, living at his ease, but disposed to " make himself uneasy," by meddling with literature and the theatre ; in fact, he had a passion for plays and players, and had come up to town with a modified translation of Voltaire's tragedy of Zobeide, in a view to get it acted. There was no great diffi- 15 culty in the case, as he was a man of fortune, had letters of introduction to persons of note, and was altogether in a differ- ent position from the indigent man of genius w^hom managers might harass with impunity. Goldsmith met him at the house of Yates, the actor, and finding that he was a friend of Lord 20 Clare, soon became sociable with him. JNIutual tastes quick- ened the intimacy, especially as they found means of serving each other. Goldsmith wrote an epilogue for the tragedy of Zobeide ; and Cradock, who was an amateur musician, arranged the music for the Threnodia Augustalis, a Lament on the death 25 of the Princess Dowager of Wales, the political mistress and patron of Lord Clare, which Goldsmith had thrown off hastily to please that nobleman. The tragedy was played with some success at Covent Garden ; the Lament was recited and sung
202 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
at Mrs. Cornelys' rooms — a very fashionable resort in Soho Square, got up by a woman of enterprise of that name. It was in whimsical parody of those gay and somewhat promiscuous assemblages that Goldsmith used to call the motley evening 5 parties at his lodgings " little Cornelys."
The Threnodia Augustalis was not publicly known to be by Goldsmith until several years after his death.
Cradock was one of the few polite intimates who felt more disposed to sympathize with the generous qualities of the poet
10 than to sport with his eccentricities. He sought his society whenever he came to town, and occasionally had him to his seat in the country. Goldsmith appreciated his sympathy, and unburdened himself to him without reserve. Seeing the lettered ease in which this amateur author was enabled to live, and the
15 time he could bestow on the elaboration of a manuscript, " Ah ! Mr. Cradock," cried he, " think of me, that must write a volume every month ! " He complained to him of the attempts made by inferior writers, and by others who could scarcely come under that denomination, not only to abuse and depre-
20ciate his writings, but to render him ridiculous as a man; per- verting every harmless sentiment and action into charges of absurdity, malice, or folly. " Sir," said he, in the fulness of his heart, " I am as a lion baited by curs ! "
Another acquaintance, which he made about this time, was a
25 young countryman of the name of M'Donnell, whom he met in a state of destitution, and, of course, befriended. The follow- ing grateful recollections of his kindness and his merits were furnished by that person in after years : —
" It was in the year 1772," writes he, '^ that the death of my
30 elder brother — when in London, on my way to Ireland — left me in a most forlorn situation ; I was then about eighteen ; I possessed neither friends nor money, nor the means of getting to Ireland, of which or of England I knew scarcely anything, from having so long resided in France. In this situation I had
35 strolled about for two or three days, considering what to do, but unable to come to any determination, when Providence directed me to the Temple Gardens. I threw myself on a seat, and, willing to forget my miseries for a moment, drew out a book ; that book was a volume of Boileau.° I had not been there long
CHAPTER XXXIV 203
when a gentleman, strolling about, passed near me, and observ- ing, perhaps, something Irish or foreign in my garb or counte- nance, addressed me : ' Sir, you seem studious; I hope you find this a favorable place to pursue it.' ' Not very studious, sir ; I fear it is the want of society that brings me hither ; I am soli- 5 tary and unknown in this metropolis;' and a passage from Cicero — Or alio pro Archia — occurring to me, I quoted it: ' Hsec studia° pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.' ' You are a scholar, too, sir, I perceive.' ' A piece of one, sir ; but I ought still to have been in the college where 1 had the 10 good fortune to pick up the little I know.' A good deal of con- versation ensued ; I told him part of my history, and he, in return, gave his address in the Temple, desiring me to call soon, from which, to my infinite surprise and gratification, I found that the person who thus seemed to take an interest in my fate was 15 my countryman and a distinguished ornament of letters.
" I did not fail to keep the appointment, and was received in the kindest manner. He told me, smilingly, that he was not rich ; that he could do little for me in direct pecuniary aid, but would endeavor to put me in the way of doing something for 20 myself ; observing, that he could at least furnish me with advice not wholly useless to a young man placed in the heart of a great metropolis. ' In London,' he continued, ' nothing is to be got for nothing; you must work; and no man who chooses to be industrious need be under obligations to another, for here 25 labor of every kind commands its reward. If you think proper to assist me occasionally as amanuensis, I shall be obliged, and you will be placed under no obligation, until something more permanent can be secured for you.' This employment, which I pursued for some time, was to translate passages from 30 Buffon, which were abridged or altered, according to circum- stances, for his Natural History. ''"'
Goldsmith's literary tasks were fast getting ahead of him, and he began now to "toil after them in vain."
Five volumes of the Natural History here spoken of had long 35 since been paid for by Mr. Griffin, yet most of them were still to be written. His young amanuensis bears testimony to his em- barrassments and perplexities, but to the degree of equanimity with which he bore them : —
204 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
"It has been said," observes he, "that he was irritable. Such may have been the case at times : nay, I believe it was so ; for what with the continual, pursuit of authors, printers, and booksellers, and occasional pecuniary embarrassments, few could 5 have avoided exhibiting similar marks of impatience. But it was never so towards me. I saw him only in his bland and kind moods vAth a flow, perhaps an overflow, of the milk of human kindness for all who were in any manner dependent upon him. Hooked upon him with awe and veneration, and he
10 upon me as a kind parent upon a child.
" His manner and address exhibited much frankness and cordiality, particularly to those with whom he possessed any degree of intimacy. His good-nature was equally apparent. You could not dislike the man, although several of his follies
15 and foibles you might be tempted to condemn. He was gener- ous and inconsiderate ; money with him had little value."
To escape from many of the tormentors just alluded to, and to devote himself without interruption to his task. Goldsmith took lodgings for the summer at a farm-house near the six-mile
20 stone on the Edgeware road, and carried down his books in two return post-chaises. He used to say he believed the farm- er's family thought him an odd character, • similar to that in which the Spectator appeared to his landlady and her children; he was The Gentleman. Boswell tells us that he went to visit
25 him at the place in company with Mickle, translator of the Lusiad° Goldsmith was not at home. Having a curiosity to see his apartment, however, they went in, and found curious scraps of descriptions of anhnals scrawled upon the wall with a black lead pencil.
30 The farm-house in question is still in existence, though much altered. It stands upon a gentle eminence in Hyde Lane, commanding a pleasant prospect towards Hendon. The room is still pointed out in which She Stoops to Conquer was written ; a convenient and airy apartment, up one flight of stairs.
35 Some matter-of-fact traditions concerning the author were furnished, a few years since, by a son of the farmer, who was sixteen years of age at the time Goldsmith resided with his father. Though he had engaged to board with the family, his meals were generally sent to him in his room, in which he
CHAPTER XXXIV 205
passed the most of his time, negligently dressed, with his shirt- collar open, busily engaged in writing. Sometimes, probably when in moods of composition, he would wander into the kitchen, without noticing any one, stand musing with his back to the fire, and then hurry off again to his room, no doubt to commits to paper some thought which had struck him.
Sometimes he strolled about the fields, or was to be seen loitering and reading and musing under the hedges. He was subject to fits of wakefulness, and read much in bed ; if not disposed to read, he still kept the candle burning ; if he wished 10 to extinguish it, and it was out of his reach, he flung his slipper at it, which would be found in the morning near the overturned candlestick and daubed with grease. He was noted here, as everywhere else, for his charitable feelings. No beggar applied to him tn vain, and he evinced on all occasions great commis- 15 eration for the poor.
He had the use of the parlor to receive and entertain com- pany, and was visited by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Hugh Boyd, the reputed author of Junius, Sir William Chambers, and other dis- tinguished characters. He gave occasionally, though rarely, a 20 dinner-party; and on one occasion, when his guests were de- tained by a thunder-shower, he got up a dance, and carried the merriment late into the night.
As usual, he was the promoter of hilarity among the young, and at one time took the children of the house to see a company 25 of strolling players at Hendon. The greatest amusement to the party, however, was derived from his own jokes on the road and his comments on the performance, which produced infinite laughter among his youthful companions.
Near to his rural retreat at Edge ware, a Mr. Seguin, an Irish 30 merchant, of literary tastes, had country quarters for his family, where Goldsmith was always welcome.
In this family he would indulge in playful and even grotesque humor, and was ready for anything — conversation, music, or a game of romps. He prided himself upon his dancing, and would 35 walk a minuet with Mrs. Seguin, to the infinite amusement of herself and the children, whose shouts of laughter he bore with perfect good-humor. He would sing Irish songs, and the Scotch ballad of Johnny Armstrong. He took the lead in the children's
206 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
sports of blind-man's-buff, hunt the slipper, &c., or in their games at cards, and was the most noisy of the party, affecting to cheat and to be excessively eager to win ; while with children of smaller size he would turn the hind part of his wig before, 5 and play all kinds of tricks to amuse them.
One word as to his musical skill and his performance on the flute, which comes up so invariably in all his fireside revels. He really knew nothing of music scientifically ; he had a good ear, and may have played sweetly; but we are told he could not
10 read a note of music. Roubillac, the statuary, once played a trick upon him in this respect. He pretended to score down an air as the poet played it, but put down crotchets and semibreves at random. When he had finished. Goldsmith cast his eyes over it and pronounced it correct ! It is possible that his exe-
15 cution in music was like his style in writing ; in sweetness and
melody he may have snatched a grace beyond the reach of art !
He was at all times a capital companion for children, and
knew how to fall in with their humors. " I little thought,"
said Miss Hawkins, the woman grown, " what I should have to
20 boast when Goldsmith taught me to play Jack and Jill by two bits of paper on his fingers." He entertained Mrs. Garrick, we are told, with a whole budget of stories and songs ; delivered the Chimney Sweep with exquisite taste as a solo ; and per- formed a duet with Garrick of Old Rose and Burn the Bellows.
25 "I was only five years old," says the late George Colman, " when Goldsmith one evening, when drinking coffee with my father, took me on his knee and began to play with me, which amiable act I returned with a very smart slap in the face; it must have been a tingler, for I left the marks of my little spite-
30 f ul paw upon his cheek. This infantile outrage was followed by summary justice, and I was locked up by my father in an adjoining room, to undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I began to howl and scream most abominably. At length a friend appeared to extricate me from jeopardy; it was the
35 good-natured Doctor himself, with a lighted candle in his hand, and a smile upon his countenance, which was still partially red from the effects of my petulance. I sulked and sobbed, and he fondled and soothed until I began to brighten. He seized the propitious moment, placed three hats upon the carpet, and a
CHAPTER XXXIV 207
shilling under each ; the shillings, he told me, were England, France, and Spain. ' Hey, presto, cockolorum ! ' cried the Doc- tor, and, lo ! on uncovering the shillings, they were all found congregated under one. I was no politician at the time, and therefore might not have wondered at the sudden revolution 5 which brought England, France, and Spain all under one crown; but, as I was also no conjurer, it amazed me beyond measure. From that time, whenever the Doctor came to visit my father,
*' ' I pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile ; ' ^^
a game of romps constantly ensued, and we were always cordial friends and merry playfellows."
Although Goldsmith made the Edgeware farm-house his head- quarters for the summer, he would absent himself for weeks at a time on visits to Mr. Cradock, Lord Clare, and Mr. Langton, 15 at their country-seats. He would often visit town, also, to dine and partake of the public amusements. On one occasion he accompanied Edmund Burke to witness a performance of the Italian Fantoccini or Puppets, in Panton Street; an exhibition which had hit the caprice of the town, and was in a great vogue. 20 The puppets were set in motion by wires, so well concealed as to be with difficulty detected. Boswell, with his usual obtuse- ness with respect to Goldsmith, accuses him of being jealous of the puppets ! " When Burke," said he, " praised the dexterity with which one of them tossed a pike, ' Pshaw,' said Goldsmith 25 with some ivamith, ' I can do it better myself.' " " The same evening," adds Boswell, " when supping at Burke's lodgings, he broke his shin by attempting to exhibit to the company how much better he could jump over a stick than the puppets."
Goldsmith jealous of puppets ! This even passes in absurdity 30 Boswell's charge upon him of being jealous of the beauty of the two Miss Hornecks.
The Panton-Street puppets were destined to be a source of further amusement to the town, and of annoyance to the little autocrat of the stage. Foote, the Aristophanes of the English 35 drama, who was always on the alert to turn every subject of popular excitement to account, seeing the success of the
208 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Fantoccini, gave out that lie should produce a Primitive Puppet-Show at the Haymarket, to be entitled The Handsome Chambermaid, or Piety in Pattens; intended to burlesque the sentimental comedy which Garrick still maintained at Urury 5 Lane. The idea of a play to be performed in a regular theatre by puppets excited the curiosity and talk of the town. " Will your puppets be as large as life, Mr. Foote ? " demanded a lady of rank. " Oh, no, my lady," replied Foote, " not m,uch larger than Garrick"
CHAPTER XXXV
Broken Health. — Dissipation and Debts. — The Irish Widow. — Practi- cal Jokes. — Scrub. — A misquoted Pan. — Malagrida. — Goldsmith proved to be a Fool. — Distressed Ballad-Singers. — The Poet at Ranelagh.
10 Goldsmith returned to town in the autumn (1772), with his health much disordered. His close fits of sedentary application, during which he in a manner tied himself to the mast, had laid the seeds of a lurking malady in his system, and produced a severe illness in the course of the summer. Town-life was not
15 favorable to the health either of body or mind. He could not resist the siren voice of temptation, which, now that he had become a notoriety, assailed him on every side. Accordingly we find him launching away in a career of social dissipation ; dining and supping out ; at clubs, at routs, at theatres ; he is a
20 guest with Johnson at the Thrales', and an object of Mrs. Thrale's° lively sallies; he is a lion at Mrs. Vesey's and Mrs. Montagu's, where some of the high-bred blue-stockings pro- nounce him a " wild genius," and others, peradventure, a " wild Irishman." In the mean time his pecuniary difficulties are
25 increasing upon him, conflicting with his proneness to pleasure and expense, and contributing by the harassment of his mind to the wear and tear of his constitution. His Animated Nature, though not finished, has been entirely paid for, and the money spent. The money advanced by Garrick on Newbery's note,
30 still hangs over him as a debt. The tale on which Newbery
CHAPTER XXXV 209
had loaned from two to three hundred pounds previous to the .excursion to Barton, has proved a failure. The bookseller is urgent for the settlement of his complicated account ; the per- plexed author has nothing to offer him in liquidation but the copyright of the comedy which he has in his portfolio ; " Though, 5 to tell you the truth, Frank," said he, " there are great doubts of its success." The offer was accepted, and, like bargains wrung from Goldsmith in times of emergency, turned out a golden speculation to the bookseller.
In this way Goldsmith went on " overrunning the constable," 10 as he termed it ; spending everything in advance ; working with an overtasked head and weary heart to pay for past pleasures and past extravagance, and at the same time incur- ring new debts, to perpetuate his struggles and darken his future prospects. While the excitement of society and the 15 excitement of composition conspire to keep up a feverishness of the system, he has incurred an unfortunate habit of quack- ing himself with James's powders, a fashionable panacea of the day.
A farce, produced this year by Garrick, and entitled The Irish 20 Widoic, perpetuates the memory of practical jokes played off a year or two previously upon the alleged vanity of poor, simple- hearted Goldsmith. He was one evening at the house of his friend Burke, when he was beset by a tenth muse, an Irish widow and authoress, just arrived from Ireland, full of brogue 25 and blunders, and poetic fire and rantipole gentility. She was soliciting subscriptions for her poems, and assailed Goldsmith for his patronage ; the great Goldsmith — her countryman, and of course her friend. She overpowered him with eulogiums on his own poems, and then read some of her own, with vehemence 30 of tone and gesture, appealing continually to the great Gold- smith to know how he relished them.
Poor Goldsmith did all that a kind-hearted and gallant gentleman could do in such a case ; he praised her poems as far as the stomach of his sense would permit — perhaps a little 35 further ; he offered her his subscription ; and it was not until she had retired with many parting compliments to the great Goldsmith, that he pronounced the poetry which had been inflicted on him execrable. The whole scene had been a hoax
210 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
got up by Burke for the amusement of his company; and the Irish widow, so admirably performed, had been personated by a Mrs. Balfour, a lady of his connection, of great sprightliness and talent. 5 We see nothing in the story to establish the alleged vanity of Goldsmith, biit we think it tells rather to the disadvantage of Burke, — being unwarrantable under their relations of friend- ship, and a species of waggery quite beneath his genius.
Croker, in his notes to Boswell, gives another of these practi-
lOcal jokes perpetrated by Burke at the expense of Goldsmith's credulity. It was related to Croker by Colonel O' Moore, of Cloghan Castle, in Ireland, who was a party concerned. The Colonel and Burke, walking one day through Leicester Square on their way to' Sir Joshua Reynolds's, with whom they were to
15 dine, observed Goldsmith, who was likewise to be a guest, stand- ing and regarding a crowd which was staring and shouting at some foreign ladies in the widow of a hotel. " Observe Gold- smith," said Burke to O'Moore, " and mark what passes between us at Sir Joshua's." They passed on and reached there before
20 him. Burke received Goldsmith with affected reserve and cold- ness; being pressed to explain the reason, "Really," said he, " I am ashamed to keep company with a person who could act as you have just done iu the Square." Goldsmith protested he was ignorant of what was meant. " Why," said Burke, " did
25 you not exclaim, as you were looking up at those women, what stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with such admira- tion at those painted Jezebels, while a man of your talents passed by unnoticed?" "Surely, surely, my dear friend," cried Goldsmith, with alarm, " surely I did not say so ? "
30 "Nay," replied Burke, "if you had not said so, how should 1 have known it ? " " That's true," answered Goldsmith, " I am very sorry — it was very foolish : / do recollect that something of the kind passed through my mind, but L did not think I had uttered it."
35 It is proper to observe that these jokes were played off by Burke before he had attained the full eminence of his social position, and that he may have felt privileged to take liberties with Goldsmith as his countryman and college associate. It is evident, however, that the peculiarities of the latter, and his
CHAPTER XXXV 211
guileless simplicity, made him a butt for the broad waggery of some of his associates ; while others more polished though equally perfidious, were on the watch to give currency to his bulls and blunders.
The Stratford jubilee,° in honor of Shakespeare, where Bos- 5 well had made a fool of- himself, was still in every one's mind. It was sportively suggested that a fete should be held at Litch- field in honor of Johnson and Garrick, and that the Beaux Stratagem should be played by the members of the Literary Club. " Then," exclaimed Goldsmith, " I shall certainly play 10 Scrub. ° I should like of all things to try my hand at that character." The unwary speech, which any one else might have made without comment, has been thought worthy of record as whimsically characteristic. Beauclerc was extremely apt to circulate anecdotes at his expense, founded perhaps on 15 some trivial incident, but dressed up with the embellishments of his sarcastic brain. One relates to a venerable dish of peas, served up at Sir Joshua's table, which should have been green, but were any other color. A wag suggested to Goldsmith, in a whisper, that they should be sent to Hammersmith, as that was 20 the way to turn-em-green (Turnham Green). Goldsmith, de- lighted with the pun, endeavored to repeat it at Burke's table, but missed the point. " That is the way to make 'em green," said he. N'obody laughed. He perceived he was at fault. " I mean that is the road to turn 'em green." A dead pause and 25 a stare ; — " whereupon," adds Beauclerc, " he started up discon- certed and abruptly left the table." This is evidently one of Beauclerc's caricatures.
On another occasion the poet and Beauclerc were seated at the theatre next to Lord Shelburne, the minister, whom politi- 30 cal writers thought proper to nickname Malagrida.° " Do you know," said Goldsmith to his lordship, in the course of conver- sation, "that I never could conceive why they call you Mala- grida, /or Malagrida was a very good sort of man." This was too good a trip of the tongue for Beauclerc to let pass : he 35 serves it up in his next letter to Lord Charlemont, as a speci- men of a mode of turning a thought the wrong way, peculiar to the poet; he makes merry over it with his witty and sarcas- tic compeer, Horace Walpole, who pronounces it " a picture of
212 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
1
Goldsmith's whole life." Dr. Johnson alone, when he hears it bandied about as Goldsmith's last blunder, growls forth a friendly defence : " Sir," said he, " it was a mere blunder in emphasis. He meant to say, I wonder they should use Mala- 5 grida as a term of reproach." Poor Goldsmith ! On such points he was ever doomed to be misinterpreted. Rogers, the poet, meeting in times long subsequent with a survivor from those days, asked him what Goldsmith really was in conversa- tion. The old conventional character was too deeply stamped in
10 the memory of the veteran to be effaced. " Sir," replied the old wiseacre, " he tvas a fool. The right word never came to him. If you gave him back a bad shilling, he'd say. Why, it's as good a shilling as ever was born. You know he ought to have said coined. Coined, sir, never entered his head. He was a fool, sir."
15 We have so many anecdotes in which Goldsmith's simplicity is played upon, that it is quite a treat to meet with one in which he is represented playing upon the simplicity of others, especially when the victim of his joke is the " Great Cham " himself, whom all others are disposed to hold so much in awe.
20 Goldsmith and Johnson were supping cosily together at a tavern in Dean Street, Soho, kept by Jack Roberts, a singer at Drury Lane, and a protege of Garrick's. Johnson delighted in these gastronomical tele-a-tetes, and was expatiating in high good- humor on a dish of rumps and kidneys, the veins of his fore-
25 head swelling with the ardor of mastication. " " These," said he, " are pretty little things ; but a man must eat a great many of them before he is filled." " Aye ; but how many of them," asked Goldsmith, with affected simplicity, "would reach to the moon ? " " To the moon ! Ah, sir, that, I fear, exceeds
30 your calculation." "Not at all, sir; I think I could tell." " Pray, then, sir, let us hear." " Why, sir, one, if it were long enough ! " Johnson growled for a time at finding himself caught in such a trite schoolboy trap. " Well, sir," cried he at length, "I have deserved it. I should not have provoked so
35 foolish an answer by so foolish a question."
Among the many incidents related as illustrative of Gold- smith's vanity and envy is one which occurred one evening
• when he was in a drawing-room with a party of ladies, and a ballad-singer under the window struck up his favorite
CHAPTER XXXV 213
song of Sally Salishury. " How miserably this woman sings ! " exclaimed he. " Pra}'-, Doctor," said the lady of the house, " could you do it better ? " " Yes, madam, and the company shall be judges." The company, of course, prepared to be en- tertained by an absurdity ; but their smiles were well-nigh turned 5 to tears, for he acquitted himself with a skill and pathos that drew universal applause. He had, in fact, a delicate ear for nmsic, which had been jarred by the false notes of the ballad- singer ; and there were certain pathetic ballads, associated with recollections of his childhood, which were sure to touch the 10 springs of his heart. We have another story of him, connected with ballad-singing, which is still more characteristic. He was one evening at the house of Sir William Chambers, in Berners Street, seated at a whist-table with Sir William, Lady Chambers, and Baretti, when all at once he threw down his cards, hurried 15 out of tJie room and into the street. He returned in an instant, resumed his seat, and the game went on. Sir William, after a little hesitation, ventured to ask the cause of his retreat, fearing he had been overcome by the heat of the room. " Not at all," replied Goldsmith ; " but in truth I could not bear to hear that 20 unfortunate woman in the street, half singing, half sobbing, for such tones could only arise from the extremity of distress ; her voice grated painfully on my ear and jarred my frame, so that I could not rest until I had sent her away." It was in fact a poor ballad-singer whose cracked voice had been heard by others 25 of the party, but without having the same effect on their sensi- bilities. It was the reality of his fictitious scene in the story of the Man in Black ; wherein he describes a woman in rags, with one child in her arms and another on her back, attempting to sing ballads, but with such a mournful voice that it was difR- 30 cult to determine whether she was singing or crying. "A wretch," he adds, " who, in the deepest distress, still aimed at good-humor, was an object my friend was by no means capable of withstanding." The Man in Black gave the poor woman all that he had — a bundle of matches. Goldsmith, it is probable, 35 sent his ballad-singer away rejoicing, with all the money in his pocket.
Ranelagh was at that time greatly in vogue as a place of pub- lic entertainment. It was situated near Chelsea ; the principal
214 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
room was a Rotunda of great dimensions, with an orchestra in the centre, and tiers of boxes all round. It was a place to which Johnson resorted occasionally. "I am a great friend to pub- lic amusements," said he, " for they keep people from vice." ^ 5 Goldsmith was equally a friend to them, though perhaps not altogether on such moral grounds. He was particularly fond of masquerades, which were then exceedingly popular, and got up at Ranelagh with great expense and magnificence. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who had likewise a taste for such amusements, was
10 sometimes his companion ; at other times he went alone ; his peculiarities of person and manner would soon betray him, whatever might be his disguise, and he would be singled out by wags, acquainted with his foibles, and more successful than him- self in maintaining their incognito, as a capital subject to be
15 played upon. Some, pretending not to know him, would decry his writings, and praise those of his contemporaries ; others would laud his verses to the skies, but purposely misquote and burlesque them ; others would annoy him with parodies ; while one young lady, whom he was teasing, as he supposed,
20 with great success and infinite humor, silenced his rather boisterous laughter by quoting his own line about " the loud laugh that speaks the vacant mind." On one occasion he was absolutely driven out of the house by the persever- ing jokes of a wag, whose complete disguise gave him no
25 means of retaliation.
His name appearing in the newspapers among the distin- guished persons present at one of these amusements, his old enemy, Kenrick, immediately addressed to him a copy of anony- mous verses, to the following purport.
1 " Alas, sir ! " said Johnson, speaking, when in anothermood, of grand houses, fine gardens, and splendid places of public amusement; " alas, sir ! these are only struggles for happiness. When I first entered Rane- lagh it gave an expansion and gay sensation to my mind, such as I never experienced anywhere else. But, as Xerxes wept when he viewed his immense army, and considered that not one of that great multitude would be alive a hundred years afterwards, so it went to my heart to consider that there was not one in all that brilliant circle that was not afraid to go home and think."
CHAPTER XXXV 215
TO DR. GOLDSMITH;
ON SEEING HIS NAME IN THE LIST OF MUMMERS AT THE LATE
MASQUERADE.
" How widely different, Goldsmitli, are the ways Of Doctors now, and those of ancient days ! Theirs taught the truth in academic shades. Ours in lewd hops and midnight masquerades. So changed the times! say, philosophic sage, 5
Whose genius suits so well this tasteful age, Is the Pantheon, ° late a sink obscene, Become the fountain of chaste Hippocrene°? Or do thy moral numbei'S quaintly flow,
Inspired by th' Aganippe^ of Soho ? 10
Do wisdom's sons gorge cates and vermicelli, Like beastly Bickerstaffe or bothering Kelly ? Or art thou tired of th' undeserved applause, ^ Bestowed on bards affecting Virtue's cause ?
Is this the good that makes the humble vain, 15
The good philosophy should not disdain?
If so, let pride dissemble all it can,
A modern sage is still much less than man."
Goldsmith was keenly sensitive to attacks of the kind, and meeting Kenrick at the Chapter Coffee-House, called him to 20 sharp account for taking such liberty with his name, and calling his morals in question, merely on account of his being seen at a place of general resort and amusement. Kenrick shuffled and sneaked, protesting that he meant nothing derogatory to his private character. Goldsmith let him know, however, that he 25 v^as aware of his having more than once indulged in attacks of this dastard kind, and intimated that another such outrage would be followed by personal chastisement.
Kenrick, having played the craven in his presence, avenged himself as soon as he was gone by complaining of his having 30 made a wanton attack upon him, and by making coarse com- ments upon his writings, conversation, and person.
The scurrilous satire of Kenrick, however unmerited, may have checked Goldsmith's taste for masquerades. Sir Joshua Reynolds, calling on the poet one morning, found him walking 35 about his room in somewhat of a reverie, kicking a bundle of clothes before him like a football. It proved to be an expensive
216 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
masquerade dress, which he said he had been fool enough to purchase, and as there was no other way of getting the worth of his money, he was trying to take it out in exercise.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Invitation to Christmas. — The Spring- Velvet Coat. — The Haymaking Wig. — The Mischances of Loo. — The Fair Culprit. — A Dance with the Jessamy Bride.
From the feverish dissipations of town. Goldsmith is sum- 5 moned away to partake of the genial dissipations of the coun- try. In the month of December, a letter froiii Mrs. Bunbury invites him down to Barton, to pass the Christmas holidays. The letter is written in the usual playful vein which marks his intercourse with this charming family. He is to come in his
10 " smart spring-velvet coat," to bring a new wig to dance with the haymakers in, and above all to follow the advice of herself and her sister, the Jessamy Bride, in playing loo. This letter whicli plays so archly, yet kindly, with some of poor Gold- smith's peculiarities, and bespeaks such real ladylike regard for
15 him, requires a word or two of annotation. This spring-velvet suit alluded to appears to have been a gallant adornment (somewhat in the style of the famous blooniKsolored coat), in which Goldsmith had figured in the preceding month of May — the season of blossoms; for, on the 21st of that month, we
20 find the f ollow'ing entry in the chronicle of Mr. William Filby, tailor : To your blue velvet suit, £21 10s. 9d. Also, about the same time, a suit of livery and a crimson collar for the serving- man. Again we hold the Jessamy Bride responsible for this gorgeous splendor of wardrobe.
25 The new wig no doubt is a bag-wig and solitaire, still highly the mode, and in which Goldsmith is represented as figuring when in full dress equipped with his sword.
As to the dancing with the haymakers, we presume it alludes to some gambol of the poet, in the course of his former visit
CHAPTER XXXVI 217
to Barton ; when he ranged the fields and lawns a chartered libertine, and tumbled into the fish-ponds.
As to the suggestions about loo, they are in sportive allusion to the Doctor's mode of playing that game in their merry even- ing parties ; affecting the desperate gambler and easy dupe ; 5 running counter to all rule; making extravagant ventures; re- proaching all others with cowardice; dashing at all hazards at the pool, and getting himself completely loo'd, to the great amusement of the company. The drift of the fair sisters' advice was most probably to tempt him on, and then leave him 10 in the lurch.
With these comments we subjoin Goldsmith's reply to Mrs. Bunbury, a fine piece of off-hand, humorous writing, which has but in late years been given to the public, and which throws a familiar light on the social circle at Barton. 15
" Mai)Ame, — I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candor could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I can- not help giving it a serious answer. — I am not so ignorant, madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, 20 and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that name ; — but this is learning you have no taste for!) — I say, madam, that there are many sarcasms 25 in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows : —
" * I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,
And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear, 30
To open our ball the first day of the year.'
" Pray, madam, where did you ever find the epithet ' good ' applied to the title of doctor? Had you called me 'learned doctor,' or 'grave doctor,' or 'noble doctor,' it might be allow- able, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil 35 at trifles, you talk of my 'spring-velvet coat,' and advise me to wear it the first day in the year, that is, in the middle of
218 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
winter ! — a spring-velvet coat in the middle of winter ! ! ! That would be a solecism indeed ! and yet to increase the inconsistency, in another part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, 5 1 can never think of wearing a spring-velvet in winter ; and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines : —
" ' And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay, To dance with the girls that are makers of hay.'
10 " The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of : you say your sister will laugh ; and so indeed she well may ! , The Latins have an expression for a contemptu- ous kind of laughter, ' naso contemnere adunco ' ; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the man-
15 ner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, — which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing ab loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose ; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I
20 take advice ! and from whom ? You shall hear.
" First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, The company set, and the word to be Loo : All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure, And ogling the stake which is fix'd in the centre.
25 Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn At never once finding a visit from Pam. I lay down my stake, apparently cool, While the harpies about me all pocket the pool. I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,
30 I wish all my friends may be bolder than I :
Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aim By losing their money to venture at fame. 'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold, 'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold :
35 All play their own way, and they think me an ass, . . . ' What does Mrs. Bunbury ?'...' I, sir ? I pass.' * Pray what does Miss Horneck? take courage, come do.' ' Who, I ? — let me see, sir, why I must pass too.' Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,
40 To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil.
CHAPTER XXXVl 219
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
Till, made by my losses as bold as a lion,
I venture at all, while my avarice regards
The whole pool as my own. . . . ' Come, give me five cards.'
' Well done ! ' cry the ladies ; ' ah, Doctor, that's good ! 5
The pool's very rich, . . .ah! the Doctor is loo'd ! '
Thus loil'd in my courage, on all sides perplext,
I ask for advice from the lady that's next :
' Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice ;
Don't you think the best way is to venture for't twice ? ' 10
' I advise,' cries the lady, ' to try it, I own. . . .
Ah! the Doctor is loo'd ! Come, Doctor, put down.'
Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you're skill'd in, 15
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding :
For giving advice that is not worth a straw.
May well be call'd picking of pockets in law ;
And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye.
Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 20
What justice, when both to the Old Baily brought!
By the gods, I'll enjoy it, tho' 'tis but in thought!
Both are plac'd at the bar, with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that, 25
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncover 'd, a buzz of inquiry runs round,
' Pray what are their crimes ? ' . . . 'They've been pilfering found.'
' But, pray, who have they pilfer'd ?'...' A doctor, I hear.'
* What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near? ' 30
' The same.' . . . 'What a pity! how does it surprise one,
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on ! '
Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering.
To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well-strung, 35
' Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.'
' The younger the worse,' I return him again,
' It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.'
' But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves.'
' What signifies handsotne, when people are thieves ? ' ^"
' But where is your justice ? their cases are hard.'
' What signifies 7 i^siice f I want the reward.'
" ' There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty ponnds ; there's the parish of St. Leonard Shoreditch offers forty pounds ; there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-poand to St. 45
220 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Giles's watch-house, offers forty pounds, — I shall have all that if I convict them ! ' —
<( <
But consider their case, ... it may yet be your own ! And see how they kneel ! Is your heart made of stone? ' o This moves : ... so at last I agree to relent,
For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.
" I challenge you all to answer this : I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep. But now for the rest of the letter : and next — but I want room — so I believe I shall battle the rest out at 10 Barton some day next week. — I don't value you all !
" O. G. "
We regret that we have no record of this Christmas visit to Barton ; that the poet had no Boswell to follow at his heels, and take 'note of all his sayings and doings. We can only 15 picture him in our minds, casting off all care; enacting the lord of misrule; presiding at the Christmas revels ; providing all kinds of merriment ; keeping the card-table in an uproar, and finally opening the ball on the first day of the year in his spring-velvet suit, with the Jessamy Bride for a partner.
CHAPTER XXXYII
Theatrical Delays. — Negotiations with Colman. — Letter to Gar rick. — Croaking of the Manager. — Naming of the Play. — She Stoops to Conquer. — Foote's Primitive Puppet-Show, Piety in Pattens. — First Performance of the Comedy. — Agitation of the Author, — Success. — Colman Squibbed out of Town.
20 The gay life depicted in the two last chapters, while it kept Goldsmith in a state of continual excitement, aggravated the malady which was impairing his constitution ; yet his increas- ing perplexities in money-matters drove him to the dissipation of society as a relief from solitary care. The delays of the
25 theatre added to those perplexities. He had long since finished
CHAPTER XXXVII 221
his new comedy, yet the year 1772 passed away without his being able to get it on the stage. No one, uninitiated in the interior of a theatre, that little world of traps and trickery, can have any idea of the obstacles and perplexities multiplied in the way of the most eminent and successful author by the mis- 5 management of managers, the jealousies and intrigues of rival authors, and the fantastic and impertinent caprices of actors. A long and baffling negotiation was carried on between Gold- smith and Colman, the manager of Covent Garden ; who re- tained the play in his hands until the middle of January, 10 (1773,) without coming to a decision. The theatrical season was rapidly passing away, and Goldsmith's pecuniary difficulties were augmenting and pressing on him. We may judge of his .anxiety by the following letter : —
" To George Colman, Esq. 15
" Dear'Sie, —
" I entreat you'll relieve me from that state of suspense in which I have been kept for a long time. Whatever objections you have made or shall make to my play, I will endeavor to re- move and not argue about them. To bring in any new judges 20 either of its merits or faults I can never submit to. Upon a former occasion, when my other play was before Mr. Garrick, he offered to bring me before Mr. Whitehead's tribunal, but I refused the proposal with indignation : I hope I shall not experience as harsh treatment from you as from him. I have, 25 as you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly ; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditor that way ; at any rate, I mast look about to some certainty to be prepared. For God's sake take the play, and let us make the best of it, and let me have the same measure, at least, which you have 30 given as bad plays as mine.
" I am your friend and servant,
"Oliver Goldsmith."
Colman returned the manuscript with the blank sides of the leaves scored with disparaging comments, and suggested altera- 35 tions, but with the intimation that the faith of the theatre should be kept, and the play acted notwithstanding. Gold-
222 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
smith submitted the criticisms to some of his friends, who pronounced them trivial, unfair, and contemptible, and inti- mated that Colman, being a dramatic writer himself, might be actuated by jealousy. The play was then sent, with Colman 's 5 comments written on it, to Garrick ; but he had scarce sent it when Johnson interfered, represented the evil that might result from an apparent rejection of it by Covent Garden, and under- took to go forthwith to Colman, and have a talk with him on the subject. Goldsmith, therefore, penned the following note 10 to Garrick : —
"Dear Sir, —
"I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yesterday. Upon more mature deliberation, and the advice of a sensible friend, I began to think it indelicate in me to throw upon you 15 the odium of confirming Mr. Colman 's sentence. I therefore request you will send my play back by my servant ; for having been assured of having it acted at the other house, though [ confess yours in every respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in me to forego an advantage which lies in my power of 20 appealing from Mr. Colman 's opinion to the judgment of the town. I entreat, if not too late, you will keep this affair a secret for some time.
" I am, dear Sir, your very humble servant,
" Oliver Goldsmith."
25 The negotiation of Johnson with the manager of Covent Garden was effective. " Colman," he says, " was prevailed on at last, by much solicitation, nay, a kind of force," to bring for- ward the comedy. Still the manager was ungenerous, or at least indiscreet enough to express his opinion that it would not
30 reach a second representation. The plot, he said, was bad, and the interest not sustained ; " it dwindled, and dwindled, and at last went out like the snuff of a candle." The effect of his croaking was soon apparent within the walls of the theatre. Two of the most popular actors. Woodward and Gentleman
35 Smith, to whom the parts of Tony Lumpkin and Young Marlow were assigned, refused to act them; one of them alleging, in excuse, the evil predictions of the manager. Goldsmith was
CHAPTER XXXVII 223
advised to postpone the performance of his play until he could get these important parts well supplied. "No," said he, "I would sooner that my play were damned by bad players than merely saved by good acting."
Quick was substituted for Woodward in Tony Lumpkin, and 5 Lee Lewis, the harlequin of the theatre, for Gentleman Smith in Young Marlow; and both did justice to their parts.
Great interest was taken by Goldsmith's friends in the suc- cess of his piece. The rehearsals were attended by Johnson, Cradock, Murphy, Reynolds and his sister, and the whole Hor- 10 neck connection, including, of course, the Jessamy Bride, whose presence may have contributed to flutter the anxious heart of the author. The rehearsals went off with great applause ; but that Colman attributed to the partiality of friends. He con- tinued to croak, and refused to risk any expense in new scenery 15 or dre^es on a play which he was sure would prove a failure.
The time was at hand for the first representation, and as yet the comedy was without a title. " We are all in labor for a name for Goldy's play," said Johnson, who, as usual, took a kind of fatherly protecting interest in poor Goldsmith's affairs. 20 The Old House a Neiu Inn was thought of for a time, but still did not please. Sir Joshua Reynolds proposed The Belle's Stratagem, an elegant title, but not considered applicable, the perplexities of the comedy being produced by the mistake of the hero, not the stratagem of the heroine. The name was 25 afterwards adopted by Mrs. Cowley for one of her comedies. The Mistakes of a Night was the title at length fixed upon, to which Goldsmith prefixed the words, She Stoops to Conquer.
The evil bodings of Colman still continued : they were even communicated in the box-office to the servant of the Duke of 30 Gloucester, who was sent to engage a box. Never did the play of a popular writer struggle into existence through more difficulties.
In the mean time Foote's " Primitive Puppet-Show," entitled the Handsome Housemaid, or Piety in Pattens, had been brought 35 out at the Haymarket on the 15th of February. All the world, fashionable and unfashionable, had crowded to the theatre. The street was thronged with equipages, — the doors were stormed by the mob. The burlesque was completely success-
224 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
f nl, and sentimental comedy received its quietus. Even Garrick, who had recently befriended it, now gave it a kick, as he saw it going down-hill, and sent Goldsmith a humorous prologue to help his comedy of the opposite school. Garrick and Gold- 5 smith, however, were now on very cordial terms, to which the social meetings in the circle of the Hornecks and Bunburys may have contributed.
On the 1.5th of March the new comedy was to be performed. Those who had stood up for its merits, and been irritated and
10 disgusted by the treatment it had received from the manager, determined to muster their forces, and aid in giving it a good launch upon the town. The particulars of this confederation, and of its triumphant success, are amusingly told by Cumber- land in his memoirs.
15 " We were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly de- termined to struggle hard for our author. We accordingly assembled our strength at the Shakespeare Tavern, in a con- siderable body, for an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul
20 of the corps ; the poet took post silentW by his side, with the Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord, and a phalanx of J^orth British, predetermined applauders, under the banner of Major Mills, — all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in inimitable glee ; and poor
25 Goldsmith that clay took all his raillery as patiently and com- placently as my friend Boswell would have done any day or every day of his life. In the mean time we did not forget our duty ; and though we had a better comedy going, in which Johnson was chief- actor, we betook ourselves in good time to
30 our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful drawing up of the curtain. 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.
35 "We had among us a very worthy and efficient member, long since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam Drum- mond, of amiable memory, who was gifted by nature with the most sonorous, and at the same time the most contagious laugh that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the
CHA P TER XXXVII 225
horse° of the son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it ; the whole thunder of the theatre could not drown it. This kind and ingenious 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, therefore, to have a flapper° at his elbow, 5 and I had the honor to be deputed to that office. I 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 manoeuvre was complete. All eyes were upon 10 Johnson, who sat in a front row of a side-box; and when he laughed, everybody thought themselves warranted to roar. In the mean time, my friend followed signals with a rattle so irresistibly comic, that, when he had repeated it several times, the attention of the spectators was so engrossed by his person 15 and performances, that the progress of the play seemed likely to become a secondary object, and 1 found it prudent to insinu- ate to him that he might halt his music without any jDrejudice to the author ; but alas ! it was now too late to rein him in ; he had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and now, 20 unluckily, he fancied that he found a joke in almost everything that was said ; so that nothing in nature could be more nial- a-propos than some of his bursts every now and then were. These were dangerous moments, for the pit began to take umbrage; but we carried our point through, and triumphed 25 not only over Col man's judgment, but our own."
Much of this statement has been condemned as exaggerated or discolored. Cumberland's memoirs have generally been characterized as partaking of romance, and, in the present instance he had particular motives for tampering with the truth. 30 He was a dramatic writer himself, jealous of the success of a rival, and anxious to have it attributed to the private manage- ment of friends. According to various accounts, public and private, such management w'as unnecessary, for the piece was "received throughout with the greatest acclamations." 35
Goldsmith, m the present instance, had not dared, as on a former occasion, to be present at the first performance. He had been so overcome by his apprehensions that, at the prepar- atory dinner, he could hardly utter a word, and was so choked Q
226 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
that he could not swallow a mouthful. When his friends trooped to the theatre, he stole away to St. James's Park : there he was found by a friend, between seven and eight o'clock, wandering up and down the Mall like a troubled spirit. 5 With difficulty he was persuaded to go to the theatre, where his presence might be important should any alteration be nec- essary. He arrived at the opening of the fifth act, and made his way behind the scenes. Just as he entered there was a slight hiss at the improbability of Tony Lumpkin's trick on
10 his mother, in persuading her she was forty miles off, on Crack- skull Common, though she had been trundled about on her own grounds. " What's that ? what's that ! " cried Goldsmith to the manager, in great agitation. " Pshaw ! Doctor," replied Colman, sarcastically, " don't be frightened at a squib, when
15 we've been sitting these two hours on a barrel of gun-powder ! " Though of a most forgiving nature. Goldsmith did not easily forget this ungracious and ill-timed sally.
If Colman was indeed actuated by the paltry motives ascribed to him in his treatment of this play, he was most
20 amply punished by its success, and by the taunts, epigrams, and censures levelled at him through the press, in which his false prophecies were jeered at, his critical judgment called in question, and he was openly taxed with literary jealousy. So galling and unremitting was the fire, that he at length
25 wrote to Goldsmith, entreating him " to take him off the rack of the newspapers " ; in the mean time, to escape the laugh that was raised about him in the theatrical world of London, he took refuge in Bath during the triumphant career of the comedy.
30 The following is one of the many squibs which assailed the ears of the manager : —
TO GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.,
ON THE SUCCESS OF DR. GOLDSMITH'S NEW COMEDY.
"Come, Coley, doff those mourning weeds, 35 Nor thus with jokes be flamm'd ;
Tho' Goldsmith's present play succeeds, His next may still be damn'd.
CHAPTER XXXVII 227
" As this has 'scaped without a fall, To sink his next prepare ; New actors hire from Wapping Wall, _ And dresses from Rag Fair.
" For scenes let tatter'd blankets fly, 6
The prologue Kelly write ; Then swear again the piece must die Before the author's night. *
*' Should these tricks fail, the lucky elf.
To bring to lasting shame, 10
E'en write the best you can yourself, And print it in his name."
The solitary hiss, which had startled Goldsmith, was ascribed by some of the newspaper scribblers to Cumberland himself, who was " manifestly miserable " at the delight of the audience, 15 or to Ossian Macpherson, who was hostile to the whole John- son clique, or to Goldsmith's dramatic rival, Kelly. The fol- lowing is one of the epigrams which appeared : —
" At Dr. Goldsmith's merry play, All the spectators laugh, they say : 20
The assertion, sir, I must deny, For Cumberland and Kelly cry.
Bide, si sapis." °
Another, addressed to Goldsmith, alludes to Kelly's early apprenticeship to stay-making : — 25
" If Kelly finds fault with the shape of your muse. And thinks that too loosely it plays, He surely, dear Doctor, will never refuse To make it a new Fair of Stays .' "
Cradock had returned to the country before the production 30 of the play ; the following letter, written just after the per- formance, gives an additional picture of the thorns which beset an author in the path of theatrical literature : —
" My dear Sir, —
" The play has met with a success much beyond your expec- 35 tations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your epilogue,
228 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this. Murphy sent me lather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley, and which she approved ; Mrs. , Biilkley, hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part " (Miss Hcmlcastle) " unless, at3cording to the custoni of the theatre, she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrass- ment 1 thought of making a quarrelling epilogue between Catley and her, debating ivho should speak the epilogue; but
10 then Miss Catley refused after I had taken the trouble of draw- ing it out. I was then at a loss indeed ; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colnian thought it too bad to be spoken ; I was obliged, therefore, to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll
15 shortly see. Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall, on the whole, be a loser, even in a pecuniary light ; my ease and comfort I certainly lost
20 while it was in agitation.
" I am, my dear Cradock, your obliged and obedient servant,
"Oliver Goldsmith.
"P. S. — Present my most humble respects to Mrs. Cradock."
Johnson, who had taken such a conspicuous part in promot- 25 ing the interest of poor " Goldy," was triumphant at the suc- cess of the piece. "I know of no comedy for many years," said h,e, "that has so much exhilarated an audience; that has answered so much the great end of comedy — making an audi- ence merry," 30 Goldsmith was happy, also, in gleaning applause from less authoritative sources. Northcote, the painter, then a youthful pupil of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Ralph, Sir Joshua's con- fidential man, had taken their stations in the gallery to lead the applause in that quarter. Goldsmith asked JSTorthcote's opinion 35 of the play. The youth modestly declared he could not pre- sume to judge in such matters. "Did it make you laugh?" "Oh, exceedingly!" "That is all I require," replied Gold-
CHAPTER XXXVIII 229:
smith; and rewarded him for his criticism by box-tickets for his first benefit-night.
The comedy was immediately put to press, and dedicated to Johnson in the following grateful and affectionate terms : —
" In inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean 5 so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honor 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." 10
The copyright was transferred to Mr. ISTewbery, according to agreement, whose profits on the sale of the work far exceeded the debts for which the author in his perplexities had pre- engaged it. The sum which accrued" to Goldsmith from his benefit-nights afforded but a slight palliation of his pecuniary 15 difficultjes. His friends, while they exulted in his success, little knew of his continually increasing embarrassments, and of the anxiety of mind which kept tasking his pen Avhile it impaired the ease and freedom of spirit necessary to felicitous composition.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
A Newspaper Attack. —The Evans Affray. — Johnson's Comment. .
The triumphant success of She Stoops to Conquer, brought 20 forth, of course, those carpings and cavillings of underling scribblers, which are the thorns and briers in the path of suc- cessful authors. Goldsmith, though easily nettled by attacks of the kind, was at present too well satisfied with the reception of his comedy to heed them ; but the following anonymous 25 letter, which appeared in a public paper, was not to be taken with equal equanimity : —
{For the London Packet.) "TO DR. GOLDSMITPI
" Vo7is vous noyez par vanite.° 30
" Sir, — The happj'^ knack which you have learned of puffing your own compositions provokes me to come forth. You have
230 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
not been the editor of newspapers and magazines not to dis- cover the trick of literary humbug ; but the gauze is so thin that the very foolish part of the world see through it, and dis- cover the doctor's monkey-face and cloven foot. Your poetic 5 vanity is as unpardonable as your personal. Would man be- lieve 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 enamored, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in
10 vain. But your vanity is 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 Traveller is a flimsy poem, built upon false principles — principles diametri- cally opposite to liberty. What is The Good-natured Man but
15 a poor, water-gruel dramatic dose ? What is The Deserted Vil- lage but a pretty poem of easy numbers, without fancy, dig- nity, genius, or fire ? And, pray, what may be the last speaking pantomime, so praised by the Doctor himself, but an incoherent piece of stuff, the figure of a w^oman with a fish's tail, without
20 plot, incident, or intrigue ? We are made to laugh at stale, dull jokes, wherein we mistake pleasantry for wit, and grimace for humor ; 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, &c.,
25 and take it for an inn. The one is intended as a lover for the daughter ; he talks with her for some hours ; and, when he sees her again in a different 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
30 we are told is to be a fool, proves to be the most sensible being of the piece; and he makes out a whole act by bidding his mother lie close behind a bush, persuading her that his father, her own husband, is a highwayman, and that he has come to cut their throats ; and, to give his cousin an opportunity to go
35 off, he drives his mother over hedges, ditches, and through ponds. There is not, sweet, sucking Johnson, a natural stroke in the whole play but the young fellow's giving the stolen jewels to the mother, supposing her to be the landlady. That Mr. Colman did no justice to this piece, I honestly allow ; that
CHAPTER XXXVIII 231
he told all his friends it would be damned, I 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 ap- proved it, any more than the absurd plot of Home's tragedy of 5 Alonzo. Mr. Goldsmith, correct your arrogance, reduce your vanity, and endeavor to believe, as a man, you are of the plain- est sort, — and as an author, but a mortal piece of mediocrity.
" Brise le miroir° infidele Qui vous cache la verite. 10
"Tom Tickle."
It would be difficult to devise a letter more calculated to wound the peculiar sensibilities of Goldsmith. The attacks upon him as an author, though annoying enough, he could have tolerated, but the» the allusion to his " grotesque " person, to his studious 15 attempts to adorn it ; and, above all, to his being an unsuccess- ful admirer of the lovely H — k (the Jessamy Bride), struck rudely upon the most sensitive part of his highly sensitive nature. The paragraph, it is said, was first pointed out to him by an officious friend, an Irishman, who told him he was bound 20 in honor to resent it ; but he needed no such prompting. He was in a high state of excitement and indignation, and, ac- companied by his friend, who is said to have been a Captain Higgins, of the marines, he repaired to Paternoster Row, to the shop of Evans, the publisher, whom he supposed to be the 25 editor of the paper. Evans was summoned by his shopman from an adjoining room. Goldsmith announced his name. "I have called," added he, "in consequence of a scurrilous attack made upon me, and an unwarrantable liberty taken with the name of a young lady. As for myself, I care little ; 30 but her name must not be sported with."
Evans professed utter ignorance of the matter, and said he â– ^ould speak to the editor. He stooped to examine a file of the paper, in search of the offensive article ; whereupon Gold- smith's friend gave him a signal, that now was a favorable 35 moment for the exercise of his cane. The hint was taken as quick as given, and the cane was vigorously applied to the back of the stooping publisher. The latter rallied in an in-
232 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
stant, and, being a stout, high-blooded Welshman, returned the blows with interest. A lamp hanging overhead was broken, and sent down a shower of oil upon the combatants ; but the battle raged with uuceasi-ng fury. The shopman
5 ran off for a constable; but Dr. Kenrick, who happened to be in the adjacent room, sallied forth, interfered between the combatants, and put an end to the affray. He conducted Gold- smith to a coach, in exceedingly battered and tattered plight, and accompanied him home, soothing him with much mock
10 commiseration, though he was generally suspected, and on good grounds, to be tlie author of the libel.
Evans immediately instituted a suit against Goldsmith for an assault, but was ultimately prevailed upon to compromise the matter, the ]3oet contributing fifty pounds to the Welsh
15 charity.
Newspapers made themselves, as may well be supposed, ex- ceedingly merry with the combat. Some censured him severely for invading the sanctity of a man's own house ; others accused him of having, in his former capacity of editor of a magazine,
20 been guilty of the very offences that he now resented in others. This drew from him the following vindication : —
" To the Public
"Lest it should be supposed that I have been willing to correct in others an abuse of which I have been guilty myself,
25 I beg leave to declare, that, in all my life, I never wrote or dictated a single paragraph, 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 which I signed my name, in the St. James Chronicle. If the liberty of
30 the press, therefore, has been abused, I have had no hand in it. " I have always considered the press as the protector of our freedom, as a watchful guardian, capable of uniting the weak against the encroachments of power. What concerns the pub- lic most properly admits of a public discussion. But, of late,
35 the press has turned from defending public interest to making inroads upon private life ; from combating the strong to over- whelming the feeble. No condition is now too obscure for its
GHAPTER XXXVIIl 233
abuse, and the protector has become the tyrant of the people. Ill this manner the freedom of the press is beginning to sow the seeds of 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 5 security from insults.
" How to put a stop to this licentiousness, by which all are indiscriminately abused, and by which vice consequently es- capes in the general censure, I am unable to tell ; all I could wish is, that, as the law gives us no protection against the 10 injury^ so it should give calumniators no shelter after having provoked correction. The insults which we receive before the public, by being more open, are the more distressing ; by treat- ing them with silent contempt we do not pay a sufficient defer- ence to the opinion of the world. By recurring to legal redress 15 we too often expose the weakness of the law, which only serves to increase our mortification by failing to relieve us. In short, every man should singly consider himself as the guardian of the liberty of the press, and, as far as his influence can extend, should endeavor to prevent its licentiousness becoming at last 20 the grave of its freedom.
" Oliver Goldsmith."
Boswell, who had just arrived in town, met with this article in a newspaper which he found at Dr. Johnson's. The Doctor was from home at the time, and Bozzy and Mrs. Williams, in a 25 critical conference over the letter, determined from the style that it .must have been written by the lexicograx^her himself. The latter on his return soon undeceived them. " Sir," said he to Boswell, "Goldsmith would no more have asked me to have wrote such a thing as that for him than he would have 30 asked me to feed him with a spoon, or do anything else that denoted his imbecility. Sir, had he shown it to any one friend, he would not have been allowed to publish it. He has, indeed, done it very well; but it is a foolish thing well done. I sup- pose he has been so much elated with the success of his new 35 comedy, that he has thought everything that concerned him must be of importance to the public."
234 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER XXXIX
Boswell in Holy-Week. — Dinner at Oglethorpe's. — Dinner at Paoli's. — The Policy of Truth. — Goldsmith affects Independence of Royalty. — ^ Paoli's Compliment. — Johnson's Eulogium on the Fiddle. — Ques- tion about Suicide. — Boswell's Subserviency.
The return of Boswell to town to his task of noting down the conversations of Johnson, enables us to glean from his journal some scanty notices of Goldsmith. It was now Holy- Week, a time during whicli Johnson was particularly solemn 5 in his manner and strict in his devotions. Boswell, who was the imitator of the great moralist in everything, assumed, of course, an extra devoutness on the present occasion. " He had an odd mock solemnity of tone and manner," said Miss Burney,° (afterwards Madame D'Arblay,) " which he had acquired from
10 constantly thinking, and imitating Dr. Johnson." It would seem that he undertook to deal out some second-hand homilies, a la Johnson, for the edification of Goldsmith during Holy- Week. The poet, whatever might be his religious feeling, had no disposition to be schooled by so shallow an apostle.
15 " Sir," said he in reply, " as I take my shoes from the shoe- maker, and my coat from the tailor, so I take my religion from, the priest."
Boswell treasured up the reply in his memory or his memo- randum-book. A few days afterwards, the 9th of April, he
20 kept Good Friday with Dr. Johnson, in orthodox style ; break- fasted with him on tea and cross-buns ; went to church with him morning and evening; fasted in the interval, and read with him in the Greek Testament : then, in the piety of his heart, complained of the sore rebuff he had met with in the course of
25 his religious exhortations to the poet, and lamented that the latter should indulge in "this loose. way of talking." "Sir," replied Johnson, " Goldsmith knows nothing — he has made up his mind about nothing."
This reply seems to have gratified the lurking jealousy of
30 Boswell, and he has recorded it in his journal. Johnson, how-
CHAPTER XXXIX 235
ever, with respect to Goldsmith, and indeed with respect to everybody else, blew hot as well as cold, according to the hu- mor he was in. Boswe'll, who was astonished and piqued at the continually increasing celebrity of the poet, observed some time after to Johnson, in a tone of surprise, that Goldsmith had 5 acquired more fame than all the officers of the last war who were not generals. " Why, sir," answered Johnson, his old feel- ing of good-will working uppermost, " you will find ten thousand fit to do what they did, before you find one to do what Gold- smith has done. You nmst consider that a thing is valued ac- 10 cording to its rarity. A pebble that paves the street is in itself more useful than the diamond upon a lady's finger."
On tljje 13th of April we find Goldsmith and Johnson at the table of old General Oglethorpe, discussing the question of the degeneracy of the human race. Goldsmith asserts the fact, and 15 attributes it to the influence of luxury. Johnson denies the fact, and observes, that, even admitting it, luxury could not be the cause. It reached but a small proportion of the human race. â– Soldiers, on sixpence a day, could not indulge in luxuries ; the poor and laboring classes, forming the great mass of mankind, 20 were out of its sphere. Wherever it could reach them, it strength- ened them and rendered them prolific. The conversation was not of particular force or point as reported by Bo swell; the dinner-party was a very small one, in which there was no provocation to intellectual display. 25
After dinner they took tea with the ladies, where we find poor Goldsmith happy and at home, singing Tony Lumpkin's song of the Three Jolly Pigeons, and another, called the Humors of Ballamaguery , to a very pretty Irish tune. It was to have been introduced in She Stoops to Conquer, but was left out, as 30 the actress who played the heroine could not sing.
It was in these genial moments that the sunshine of Gold- smith's nature would break out, and he would say and do a thousand whimsical and agreeable things that made him the life of the strictly social circle. Johnson, with whom conversa- 35 tion was everything, used to judge Goldsmith too nmch by his own colloquial standard, and undervalue him for being less pro- vided than himself with acquired facts, the ammunition of the tongue and often the mere lumber of the memory ; others, how-
236 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
ever, valued him for the native felicity of his thoughts, however carelessly expressed, and for certain good-fellow qualities, less calculated to dazzle than to endear. " It is amazing," said Johnson one day, after he himself had been talking like an 5 oracle ; " it is amazing how little Goldsmith knows ; he seldom comes where he is not more ignorant than any one else." " Yet," replied Sir Joshua Reynolds, with affectionate prompt- ness, " there is no man whose company is more liked"
Two or three days after the dinner at General Oglethorpe's,
10 Goldsmith met Johnson again at the table of General Paoli,° the hero of Corsica. Martinelli, of Florence, author of an Italian History of England, was among the guests ; as was Bos- well, to whom we are indebted for minutes of the conversation which took place. The question was debated whether Martinelli
15 should continue his history down to that day. " To be sure he should," said Goldsmith. " ^o, sir," cried Johnson, " it would give great offence. He would have to tell of almost all the liv- ing great what they did not wish told." Goldsmith. — " It may, perhaps, be necessary for a native to be more cautious ;
20 but a foreigner, who comes among us without prejudice, may be considered as holding the place of a judge, and may speak his mind freely." Johnson. — " Sir, a foreigner, when he sends a work from the press, ought to be on his guard against catching the error and mistaken enthusiasm of the people among whom
25 he happens to be." Goldsmith. — " Sir, he wants only to sell his history, and to tell truth ; one an honest, the other a laudable motive." Johnson. — " Sir, they are both laudable motives. It is laudable in a man to wish to live by his labors ; but he should write so as he may live by them, not so as he may be knocked
30 on the head. I would advise him to be at Calais before he pub- lishes his history of the present age. A foreigner who attaches himself to a political party in this country is in the worst state that can be imagined; he is looked upon as a mere intermed- dler. A native may do it from interest." Boswell. — "Or
35 principle." Goldsmith. — " There are people who tell a hun- dred political lies every day, and are not hurt by it. Surely, then, one may tell truth with perfect safety." Johnson. — "Why, sir, in the first place, he who tells a hundred lies has disarmed the force of his lies. But, besides, a man had rather
CHAPTER XXXIX 237
have a hundred lies told of him than one truth which he does not wish to be told." Goldsmith. — " For my part, I'd tell the truth, and shame the devil." Johnson. — " Yes, sir, but the devil will be angry. I wish to shame the devil as much as you do, but I should choose to be out of the reach of his claws." 5 Goldsmith. — "His claws can do you no hurt where you have the shield of truth."
This last reply was one of Goldsmith's lucky hits, and closed the argument in his favor.
" We talked," writes Boswell, "of the King's coming to see 10 Goldsmith's new play." " I wish he wo*uld," said Goldsmith, adding, however, with an affected indifference, " not that it would do me the least good." " Well, then," cried Johnson, laughing, " let us say it would do liim good, l^o, sir, this affec- tation will not pass, — it is mighty idle. In such a state as 15 ours, who would not wish to please the chief magistrate ?"
"I do wish to please him," rejoined Goldsmith. " I remem- ber a line in Dryden : —
" ' And every poet is the monarch's friend ; '
it ought to be reversed." "Nay," said Johnson, "there are 20 finer lines in Dryden on this subject : —
" 'For colleges on bounteous kings depend, And never rebel was to arts a friend.' "
General Paoli observed that " successful rebels might be." " Happy rebellions," interjected Martinelli. " W^e have no 25 such phrase," cried Goldsmith. " But have you not the thing?" asked Paoli. "Yes," replied Goldsmith, "all our happy revolutions. They have hurt our constitution, and will hurt it, till we mend it by another happy revolution." This was a sturdy sally of Jacobitism, that quite surprised Boswell, 30 but must have been relished by Johnson.
General Paoli mentioned a passage in the play, which had been construed into a compliment to a lady of distinction, whose marriage with the Duke of Cumberland had excited the strong disapprobation of the King as a mesalliance. Boswell, 35 to draw Goldsmith out, pretended to think the compliment un- intentional. The poet smiled and hesitated. The General
238 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
came to his relief. " Monsieur Goldsmith," said lie, 'â– 'â– est comme la mer, qui jette des perles et beaucoup d'autres belles choses, sans s'en appercevoir." (Mr. Goldsmith is like the sea, which casts forth pearls and many other beautiful things without per- 5 ceiving it.)
" Tres bien dit, et tres-elegamment/' (very well said, and very elegantly,) exclaimed Goldsmith, delighted with so beauti- ful a compliment from such a quarter.
Johnson spoke disparagingly of the learning of Mr. Harris,
10 of Salisbury, and doubted his being a good Grecian. " He is what is much better," cried Goldsmith, with prompt good-nature, — "he is a worthy, humane man." "Nay, sir," rejoined the logical Johnson, " that is not to the purpose of our argument ; that will prove that he can play upon the fiddle as well as
15 Giardini, as that he is an eminent Grecian." Goldsmith found he had got into a scrape, and seized upon Giardini to help him out of it. " The greatest musical performers," said he, dexter- ously turning the conversation, "have but small emoluments; Giardini, I am told, does not get above seven hundred a year."
20 " That is indeed but little for a man to get," observed Johnson, " who does best that which so many endeavor to do. There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the fiddle. In all other things we can do some- thing at first. Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you give
25 him a hammer ; not so well as a smith, but tolerably. A man will saw a piece of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one ; but give him a fiddle and fiddlestick, and he can do nothing."
This, upon the whole, though reported by the one-sided Bos-
30 well, is a tolerable specimen of the conversations of Goldsmith and Johnson ; the former heedless, often illogical, always on the kind-hearted side of the question, and prone to redeem himself by lucky hits ; the latter closely argumentative, studiously sen- tentious, often profound, and sometimes laboriously prosaic.
35 They had an argument a few days later at Mr. Thrale's table, on the subject of suicide. " Do you think, sir," said Boswell, " that all who commit suicide are mad ? " " Sir," replied John- son, " they are not often universally disordered in their intel- lects, but one passion presses so upon them that they yield to
CHAPTER XXXIX 239
it, and commit suicide, as a passionate man will stab another. I have often thought," added he, " that after a man has taken the resolution to kill himself, it is not courage in him to do anything, however desperate, because he has nothing to fear." " 1 don't see that," observed Goldsmith. " Nay, but, my dear 5 sir," rejoined Johnson, "why should you not see what every one else does ? " " It is," replied Goldsmith, " for fear of some- thing that he has resolved to kill himself ; and will not that timid disposition restrain him ? " " It does not signify," pur- sued Johnson, " that the fear of something made him resolve ; 10 it is upon the state of his mind, after the resolution is taken, that I argue. Suppose a man, either from fear, or pride, or conscience, or whatever motive, has resolved to kill himself; when once the resolution is taken he has nothing to fear. He may then go and take the King of Prussia by the nose at the 15 head of his army. He cannot fear the rack who is determined to kill himself." Boswell reports no more of the discussion, though Goldsmith might have continued it with advantage : for the very timid disposition, which through fear of something was impelling the man to commit suicide, might restrain him 20 from an act involving the punishment of the rack, more terrible to him than death itself.
It is to be regretted in all these reports by Boswell, we have scarcely anything but the remarks of Johnson ; it is only by accident that he now and then gives us the observations of 25 others, when they are necessary to explain or set off those of his hero. " When in that presence," says Miss Burney, " he was unobservant, if not contemptuous of every one else. In truth, when he met with Dr. Johnson, he commonly forbore even answering anything that was said, or attending to anything that 30 went forward, lest he should miss the smallest sound from that voice, to which he paid such exclusive, though merited homage. But the moment that voice burst forth, the attention which it excited on Mr. Boswell amounted almost to pain. His eyes gog- gled with eagerness ; he leant his ear almost on the shoulder of 35 the Doctor ; and his mouth dropped open to catch every syllable that might be uttered; nay, he seemed not only to dread losing a word, but to be anxious not to miss a breathing, as if hoping from it latently, or mystically, some information."
240 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
On one occasion the Doctor detected Bos well, or Bozz}-, as he called him, eaves dropping behind his chair, as he was convers- ing with Miss Burney at Mr. Thrale's table. " What are you doing there, sir ? " cried he, turning round angrily, and clapping
5 his hand upon his knee. " Go to the table, sir."
Boswell obeyed with an air of affright and submission, which raised a smile on every face. Scarce had he taken his seat, however, at a distance, than, impatient to get again at the side of Johnson, he rose and was running off in quest of something
10 to show him, when the Doctor roared after him authoritatively, "What are you. thinking of, sir? Why do you get up before the cloth is removed ? Come back to your place, sir ; " — and the obsequious spaniel did as he was commanded. — "Run- ning about in the middle of meals!" muttered the Doctor,
15 pursing his mouth at the same time to restrain his rising risibility.
Boswell got another rebuff from Johnson, which w^ould have demolished any other man. He had been teasing him with many direct questions, such as, " What did you do, sir? — What
20 did you say, sir?" until the great philologist became perfectly enraged. "I will not be put to the question!'' roared he. " Don't you consider, sir, that these are not the manners of a gentleman? I will not be baited with lohat and why; — What is this? What is that ? Why is a cow's tail long? Why is a
25 fox's tail bushy? " " Why, sir," replied pilgarlick, " you are so good that I venture to trouble you." " Sir," replied Johnson, " my being so good is no reason why you should be so ilL" "You have but two topics, sir," exclaimed he on another occasion, "yourself and me, and I am sick of both."
30 Boswell's" inveterate disposition to toad, was a sore cause of mortification to his father, the old laird of Auchinleck, (or Affleck). He had been annoyed by his extravagant devotion to Paoli, but then he was something of a military hero; but this tagging at the heels of Dr. Johnson, whom he considered a
35 kind of pedagogue, set his Scotch blood in a ferment. " There's nae hope for Jamie, mon," said he to a friend; — "Jamie is gaen clean gyte. What do you think, mon? He's done wi' Paoli; he's off wd' the land-louping scoundrel of aCorsican; and whose tail do you think he has pinn'd himself to now,
CHAPTER XL 241
mon ? A dominie, mon ; an auld dominie ; he keeped a schiile, and cau'd it an acaadamy."
We shall show in the next chapter that Jamie's devotion to the dominie did not go unrewarded.
CHAPTER XL
Changes in the Literary Club. — Johnson's Objection to Garrick. — Election of Boswell.
THE*Literary Club (as we have termed the club in Gerard 5 Street, though it took that name some time later) had now been in existence several years. Johnson was exceedingly chary at first of its exclusiveness, and opposed to its being augmented in number. N"ot long after its institution, Sir Joshua Reynolds was speaking of it to Garrick. " I like it 10 much," said little David, briskly; "I think I shall be of you." " When Sir Joshua mentioned this to Dr. Johnson," says Bos- well, "he was much displeased with the actor's conceit. ' He'll he of us f ' growled he. ' How does he know we will permit him V The first duke in England has no right to hold such language.' " 15
When Sir John Hawkins spoke favorably of Garrick's pre- tensions, " Sir," replied Johnson, " he will disturb us by his buffoonery." In the same spirit he declared to Mr. Thrale, that, if Garrick should apply for admission, he would black- ball him. "Who, sir?" exclaimed Thrale, with surprise; "Mr. 20 Garrick — your friend, your companion — black-ball him!" " Why, sir," replied Johnson, " I love my little David dearly — better than all or any of his fiatterers do ; but surely one ought to sit in a society like ours,
" ' Unelbowed by a gamester, pimp, or player.' " 25
The exclusion from the club was a sore mortification to Garrick, though he bore it without complaining. He could not help continually to ask questions about it — what was going on there — whether he was ever the subject of conversation. By degrees the rigor of the club relaxed : some of the members 30
R
242 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
grew negligent. Beauclerc lost his right of membership by neglecting to attend. On his marriage, however, with Lady Diana Spencer, daughter of the Duke of Marlborough, and recently divorced from Viscount Bolingbroke, he had claimed 5 and regained his seat in the club. The number of members had likewise been augmented. The proposition to increase it originated with Goldsmith. " It would give," he thought, " an agreeable variety to their meetings ; for there can be nothing new amongst us," said he,; "we have travelled over each other's
10 minds." Johnson was piqued at the suggestion. " Sir," said he, " you have not travelled over my mind, 1 promise you." Sir Joshua, less confident in the exhaustless fecundity of his mind, felt and acknowledged the force of Goldsmith's sugges- tion. Several new members, therefore, had been added ; the
15 first, to his great joy, was David Garrick. Goldsmith, who was now on cordial terms with him, had zealously promoted his election, and Johnson had given it his warm approbation. Another new member was Beauclerc's friend, Lord Charlemont ; and a still more important one was Mr. (afterwards Sir Will-
2G iam) Jones, the famous Orientalist, at that time a young lawyer of the Temple and a distinguished scholar.
To the great astonishment of the club, Johnson now pro- posed his devoted follower, Boswell, as a member. He did it in a note addressed to Goldsmith, who presided on the evening
25 of the 23d of April. The nomination was seconded by Beau- clerc. According to the rules of the club, the ballot would take place at the next meeting (on the 30th) ; there was an intervening week, therefore, in which to discuss the preten- sions of the candidate. We may easily imagine the discussions
30 that took place. Boswell had made himself absurd in such a variety of ways that the very idea of his admission was ex- ceedingly irksome to some of the members. " The honor of being elected into the Turk's Head Club," said th6 Bishop of St. Asaph, " is not inferior to that of being representative of
35 Westminster and Surrey ; " what had Boswell done to merit such an honor? What chance had he of gaining it? The answer was simple : he had been the persevering worshipper, if not sycophant of Johnson. The great lexicographer had a heart to be won by apparent affection; he stood forth authori-
CHAPTER XL 243
tatively in support of his vassal. If asked to state tlie merits of the candidate, he summed them up in an indefinite but comprehensive word of his own coining : — he was cluhable. He moreover gave significant hints that if Boswell were kept out he should oppose the admission of any other candidate. 5 No further opposition was made ; in fact none of the members had been so fastidious and exclusive in regard to the club as Johnson himself ; and if he were pleased, they were easily satisfied : besides, they knew that, with all his faults, Boswell was a cheerful companion, and possessed lively social qualities. 10
On Friday, when the ballot was to take place, Beauclerc gave a dinner, at his house in the Adelphi, where Boswell met severat"of the members who were favorable to his election. After dinner the latter adjourned to the club, leaving Boswell in company with Lady Di Beauclerc until the fate of his elec- 15 tion should be known. He sat, he says, in a state of anxiety which even the charming conversation of Lady Di could not entirely dissipate. It was not long before tidings w^ere brought of, his election, and he w^as conducted to the place of meeting, where, beside the company he had met at dinner, Burke, Dr. 20 Nugent, Garrick, Goldsmith, and Mr. William Jones were waiting to receive him. The club, notwithstanding all its learned dignity in the eyes of the world, could at times " un- bend and play the fool " as well as less important bodies. Some of its jocose conversations have at times leaked out, and 25 a society in which Goldsmith could venture to sing his song of " an old w^oman tossed in a blanket," could not be so very staid in its gravity. We may suppose, therefore, the jokes that had been passing among the members while awaiting the arrival of Boswell. Beauclerc himself could not have repressed his 30 disposition for a sarcastic pleasantry. At least we have a right to presume all this from the conduct of Doctor Johnson himself.
With all his gravity he possessed a deep fund of quiet humor, and felt a kind of w^himsical responsibility to protect 35 the club from the absurd propensities of the very questionable associate he had thus inflicted on them. Rising, therefore, as Boswell "Altered, he advanced with a very doctorial air, placed himself behind a chair, on which he leaned as on a desk or
244 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
pulpit, and then delivered, ex cathedra, a mock solemn charge, pointing out the conduct expected from him as a good member of the club ; what he was to do, and especially what he was to avoid ; including in the latter, no doubt, all those petty, pry- 5 ing, questioning, gossiping, babbling habits which had so often grieved the spirit of the lexicographer. It is to be regretted that Bos well has never thought proper to note down the par-
â– ticulars of this charge, which, from the well-known characters and positions of the parties, might have furnished a parallel to
10 the noted charge of Launcelot Gobbo ° to his dog.
CHAPTER XLI
Dinner at Dilly's. — Conversations on Natural History. — Intermed- dling of Boswell. — Dispute about Toleration. — Johnson's Eebuff to Goldsmith ; His Apology. — Man- Worship. — Doctors Major and Minor. — A Farewell Visit.
A FEW days after the serio-comic scene of the elevation of Boswell into the Literary Club, we find that indefatigable biographer giving particulars of a dinner at the Dillys', book- sellers, in the Poultry, at which he ]net Goldsmith and John-
15 son, with several other literary characters. His anecdotes of the conversation, of course, go to glorify Dr. Johnson ; for, as he observes in his biography, " his conversation alone, or what led to it, or was interwoven with it, is the business of this work." Still on the present, as on other occasions, he gives
20 unintentional and perhaps unavoidable gleams of Goldsmith's good sense, which show that the latter only wanted a less prejudiced and more impartial reporter, to put down the charge of colloquial incapacity so unjustly fixed upon him. The conversation turned upon the natural history of birds, a beau-
25 tif ul subject, on which the poet, from his recent studies, his habits of observation, and his natural tastes, must have talked with instruction and feeling; yet, though we have much of what Johnson said, we have only a casual remark or two of Goldsmith. One was on the migration of swallows, which he
CHAPTER XLI 245
pronounced partial ; " the stronger ones," said he, " migrate, the others do not."
Johnson denied to the brute creation the faculty of reason. " Birds," said he, " build by instinct ; they never improve ; they build their first nest as well as any one they ever build." " Yet 5 we see," observed Goldsmith, *' if you take away a bird's-nest with the eggs in it, she will make a slighter nest and lay again." " Sir," replied Johnson, " that is because at first she has full time, and makes her nest deliberately. In the case you men- tion, she is pressed to lay, and must, therefore, make her nest 10 quickly, and consequently it will be slight." " The nidification of birds," rejoined Goldsmith, " is what is least known in natural history ,''though one of the most curious things in it." While conversation was going on in this placid, agreeable, and instruc- tive manner, the eternal meddler and busybody, Boswell, must 15 intrude to put in a brawl. The Dillys were dissenters ; two of their guests were dissenting clergymen ; another, Mr. Toplady, was a clergyman of the established church. Johnson himself was a zealous, uncompromising churchman. None but a mar- plot like Boswell would have thought, on such an occasion and 20 in such company, to broach the subject of religious toleration ; but, as has been well observed, "it was his perverse inclination to introduce subjects that he hoped would produce difference and debate." In the present instance he gained his point. An animated dispute immediately arose, in which, according to Bos- 25 well's report, Johnson monopolized the greater part of the con- versation; not always treating the dissenting clergymen with the greatest courtesy, and even once wounding the feelings of the mild and amiable Bennet Langton by his harshness.
. Goldsmith mingled a little in the dispute and with some ad- 30 vantage, but was cut short by flat contradictions when most in the right. He sat for a time silent but im23atient under such overbearing dogmatism, though Boswell, with his usual misin- terpretation, attributes his " restless agitation " to a wish to get in and shine. " Finding himself excluded," continues Boswell, 35 '^ he had taken his hat to go away, but remained for a time with it in his hand, like a gamester who at the end of a long night lingers for a little while to see if lie can have a favorable oppor- tunity to finish with success." Once he was beginning to speak,
246 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
\
when he was overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the table, and did not perceive his attempt ; whereupon he threw down, as it were, his hat and his argument, and, darting an angry glance at Johnson, exclaimed 5 in a bitter tone, '•'■Take it."
Just then one of the disputants was beginning to speak, when Johnson uttering some sound, as if about to interrupt him. Gold- smith, according to Boswell, seized the opportunity to vent his own e)ivy and spleen under pretext of supporting another person.
10 " Sir," said he to Johnson, '' the gentleman has heard you pa- tiently for an hour ; pray allow us now to hear him." It was a reproof in the lexicographer's own style, and he may have felt that he merited it; but he was not accustomed to be re- proved. '' Sir," said he, sternly, " I was not interrupting the
15 gentleman ; I was only giving him a signal of my attention. Sir, you are impertinent.'" Groldsmith made no reply, but after some time went away, having another engagement.
That evening, as Boswell was on the way with Johnson and Langton to the club, he seized the occasion to make some dis-
20paraging remarks on Goldsmith, which he thought would just then be acceptable to the great lexicographer. " It was a pity," he said, " that Goldsmith would on every occasion endeavor to shine, by which he so often exposed himself." Langton con- trasted him with Addison, who, content with the fame of his
25 writings, acknowledged himself unfit for conversation ; and on being taxed by a lady with silence in company, replied, "Madam, I have but ninepence in ready money, but I can draw for a thou- sand pounds." To this Boswell rejoined that Goldsmith had a great deal of gold in his cabinet, but was always taking out his
30 purse. " Yes, sir," chuckled Johnson, " and that so often an empty purse."
By the time Johnson arrived, at the club, however, his angry feelings had subsided, and his native generosity and sense of justice had got the uppermost. He found Goldsmith in com-
35 pany with Burke, Garrick, and other members, but sitting silent and apart, " brooding," as Boswell says, " over the reprimand he had received." Johnson's good heart yearned towards him ; and knowing his placable nature, " I'll make Goldsmith forgive me," whispered he ; then, with a loud voice, " Dr. Goldsmith," said
CHAPTER XLI 247
he, " something passed to-day where you and I dined, — I ask your pardon." The ire of the poet was extinguished in an in- stant, and his grateful affection for the magnanimous though sometimes overbearing moralist rushed to his heart. " It must be much from you, sir," said he, " that I take ill ! " " And so," 5 adds Boswell, " the difference was over, and they were on as easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual." We do not think these stories tell to the poet's disadvantage, even though related by Boswell.
Goldsmith, with all his modesty, could not be ignorant of his 10 proper merit ; and must have felt annoyed at times at being- undervalued and elbowed aside by light-minded or dull men, in their 4)lind and exclusive homage to the literary autocrat. It was a fine reproof he gave to Boswell on one occasion, for talking of Johnson as entitled to the honor of exclusive superi- 15 ority. " Sir, you are for making a monarchy what should be a republic." On another occasion, when he was conversing in com- pany with great vivacity, and apparently to the satisfaction of those around him, an honest Swiss who sat near, one George Michael Moser, keeper of the Royal Academy, perceiving Dr. 20 Johnson rolling himself as if about to speak, exclaimed, " Stay, stay! Toctor Shonson is going to say something." " And are you sure, sir," replied Goldsmith, sharply, " that you can com- prehend what he says ? "
This clever rebuke, which gives the main zest to the anec- 25 dote, is omitted by Boswell, who probably did not perceive the point of it.
He relates another anecdote of the kind on the authority of Johnson himself. The latter and Goldsmith were one evening in company with the Rev. George Graham, a master of Eton, 30 M^ho, notwithstanding the sobriety of his cloth, had got intoxi- cated " to about the pitch of looking at one man and talking to another." "Doctor," cried he, in an ecsta.sy of devotion and good-will, but goggling by mistake upon Goldsmith, "I should be glad to see you at Eton." " I shall be glad to wait upon you," 35 replied Goldsmith. " No, no ! " cried the other, eagerly ; " 'tis not you I mean, Doctor ilfmor, 'tis Doctor Mq/or there." "You may easily conceive," said Johnson, in relating the anecdote, " what effect this had upon Goldsmith, who was irascible as a
248 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
hornet." The only comment, however, which he is said to have made, partakes more of quaint and dry humor than bitterness. " That Graham," said he, " is enough to make one commit sui- cide." Wiiat more could be said to express the intolerable nui- 5 sance of a consummate hore f
We have now given the last scenes between Goldsmith and Johnson which stand recorded by Boswell. The latter called on the poet, a few days after the dinner at-Dilly's, to take leave of him prior to departing for Scotland ; yet, even in this last
10 interview, he contrives to get up a charge of " jealousy and envy." Goldsmith, he would fain persuade us, is very angry that Johnson is going to travel with him in Scotland, and en- deavors to persuade him that he will be a dead weight "to lug along through the Highlands and Hebrides." Any one else,
15 knowing the character and habits of Johnson, would have thought the same ; and no one but Boswell would have sup- posed his office of bear-leader to the ursa major a thing to be envied.i
1 One of Peter Pindar's (Dr. Wolcot) most amusing jewa; of esprit is 20 his congratulatory epistle to Boswell on this tour of which we subjoin a few lines.
" O Boswell, Bozzy, Bruce, whate'er thy name, Thou mighty shark for anecdote and fame ; Tliou jackal, leading lion Johnson forth, 25 To eat M'Pherson 'midst his native north ;
To frighten grave professors with his roar, And shake the Hebrides from shore to shore.
Bless'd be thy labors, most adventurous Bozzy,
Bold rival of Sir John and Dame Piozzi ; 30 Heavens ! with what laurels shall thy head be crown'd
A grove, a forest, shall thy ears surround !
Yes ! whilst the Rambler shall a comet blaze,
And gild a world of darkness with his rays,
Thee, too, that world with wonderment shall hail, 35 A lively, bouncing cracker at his tail ! "
CHAPTER XLII 249
CHAPTER XLII
Project of a Dictionary of Arts and Sciences. — Disappointment. — Negligent Authorship. — Application for a Pension. — Beattie's Essay on Truth. — Public Adulation. — A High-minded Rebuke.
The works which Goldsmith had still in hand being already- paid for, and the money gone, some new scheme must be devised to provide for the past and the future, — for imiDending debts Mdiich threatened to crush him, and expenses which were con- tinually^^increasing. He now projected a work of greater com- 5 pass than any he had yet undertaken : a Dictionary of Arts and Sciences on a comprehensive scale, wh-ich. was to occupy a num- ber of volumes. For this he received promise of assistance from several powerful hands. Johnson was to contribute an article on ethics ; Burke, an abstract of his Essay on the Sublime 10 and Beautiful, an essay on the Berkeleyan system of philosophy, and others on political science ; Sir Joshua Reynolds, an essay on painting; and Garrick, while he undertook on his own part to furnish an essay on acting, engaged Dr. Burney to contribute an article on music. Here was a great array of talent positively 15 engaged, while other writers of eminence were to be sought for the various departments of science. Goldsmith was to edit the whole. An undertaking of this kind, while it did not inces- santly task and exhaust his inventive powers by original com- position, would give agreeable and profitable exercise to his 20 taste and judgment in selecting, compiling, and arranging, and he calculated to diffuse over the whole the acknowledged graces of his style.
He drew up a prospectus of the plan, which is said by Bishop Percy, who saw it, to have been written with uncommon ability, 25 and to have had that perspicuity and elegance for which his writings are remarkable. This paper, unfortunately, is no longer in existence.
Goldsmith's expectations, always sanguine respecting any new plan, were raised to an extraordinary height by the pres-30 ent project; and well they might be, when we consider the
250 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
powerful coadjutors already pledged. They were doomed, how- ever, to complete disappointment. Davies, the bibliopole of Russell Street, lets us into the secret of this failure. "The booksellers," said he, "notwithstanding they had a very good 5 opinion of his abilities, yet were startled at the bulk, impor- tance, and expense of so great an undertaking, the fate of which was to depend upon the industry of a man with whose indolence of temper and method of procrastination they had long been acquainted."
10 Goldsmith certainly gave reason for some such distrust by the heedlessness with which he conducted his literary under- takings. Those unfinished, but paid for, would be suspended to make way for some job that was to provide for present necessities. Those thus hastily taken up would be as hastily
15 executed, and the whole, however pressing, would be shoved aside and left " at loose ends," on some sudden call to social enjoyment or recreation.
Cradock tells us that on one occasion, when Goldsmith was hard at work on his Natural History^ he sent to Dr. Percy and
20 himself, entreating them to finish some pages of his work which lay upon his table, and for which the press was urgent, he being detained by other engagements at Windsor. They met by appointment at his chambers in the Temple, where they found everything in disorder, and costly books lying scattered
25 about on the tables and on the floor; many of the books on natural history which he had recently consulted lay open among uncorrected proof-sheets. The subject in hand, and from which he had suddenly broken off, related to birds. " Do you know anything about birds?" asked Dr. Percy, smiling.
30 " Not an atom," replied Cradock ; " do you ? " " Not I ! I scarcely know a goose from a swan ; however, let us try what we can do." They set to work and completed their friendly task. Goldsmith, however, when he came to revise it, made such alterations that they could neither of them recognize their
35 own share. The engagement at Windsor, which had thus caused Goldsmith to break off suddenly from his multifarious engagements, was a party of pleasure with some literary ladies. Another anecdote was current, illustrative of the carelessness with which he executed works requiring accuracy and research.
CHAPTER XLII 251
On the 22d of June he had received payment in advance for a Grecian History in two volumes though only one was finished. As he was pushing on doggedly at the second volume, Gibbon, the historian, called in. " You are the man of all others I wish to see," cried the poet, glad to be saved the trouble of 5 reference to his books. "What was the name of that Indian king who gave Alexander the Great so much trouble ? " " Mon- tezuma,° " replied Gibbon, sportively. The heedless author was about committing the name to paper without reflection, when Gibbon pretended to recollect himself, and gave the true name, 10 Porus.
This story, very probably, was a sportive exaggeration ; but it was a» multiplicity of anecdotes like this and the preceding one, some true and some false, which had impaired the con- fidence of booksellers in Goldsmith as a man to be relied on for 15 a task requiring wide and accurate research, and close and long- continued application. The project of the tlniversal Dictionary, therefore, met with no encouragement, and fell through.
The failure of this scheme, on which he had built such spa- cious hopes, sank deep into Goldsmith's heart. He w^as still fur- 20 ther grieved and mortified by the failure of an effort made by some of his friends to obtain for him a pension from government. There had been a talk of the disposition of the ministry to ex- tend the bounty of the crown to distinguished literary men in pecuniary difficulty, without regard to their political creed : 25 when the merits and claims of Goldsmith, however, were laid before them, they met no favor. The sin of sturdy indepen- dence lay at his door. He had refused to become a ministerial hack when offered a carte blanche by Parson Scott, the cabinet emissary. The wondering parson had left him in poverty and 30 "Azs garret" and there the ministry were disposed to suffer him to remain.
In the mean time Dr. Beattie comes out with his Essay on Truth, and all the orthodox world are thrown into a paroxysm of contagious ecstasy. He is cried up as the great champion 35 of Christianity against the attacks of modern philosophers and infidels ; he is feted and flattered in every way. He receives at Oxford the honorary degree of Doctor of Civil Law, at the same time with Sir Joshua Reynolds. The King sends for him,
252 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
praises his Essay, and gives him a pension of two hundred pounds.
Goldsmith feels more acutely the denial of a pension to hii self when one has thus been given unsolicited to a man he 5 might without vanity consider so much his inferior. He was not one to conceal his feelings. " Here's such a stir," said he one day at Thrale's table, " about a fellow that has written one book, and I have written so many ! "
"Ah, Doctor!" exclaimed Johnson, in one of his caustic
10 moods, " there go two-and-f orty sixpences, you know, to one guinea." This is one of the cuts at poor Goldsmith in which Johnson went contrary to head and heart in his love for saying what is called a " good thing." ^o one knew better than him- self the comparative superiority of the writings of Goldsmith ;
15 but the jingle of the sixpences and the guinea was not to be resisted.
" Everybody," exclaimed Mrs. Thrale, " loves Dr. Beattie, but Goldsmith, who says he cannot bear the sight of so much applause as they all bestow upon him. Did he not tell us
20 so himself, no one would believe he was so exceedingly ill-natured."
He told them so himself because he was too open and unre- served to disguise his feelings, and because he really considered the praise lavished on Beattie extravagant, as in fact it was.
25 It was all, of course, set down to sheer envy and uncharitable- ness. To add to his annoyance, he found his friend. Sir Joshua Reynolds, joining in the universal adulation. He had painted a full-length portrait of Beattie decked in the doctor's robes in which he had figured at Oxford, with the Essay on Truth under
30 his arm and the angel of truth at his side, while Voltaire fig- ured as one of the demons of infidelity, sophistry, and false- hood, driven into utter darkness.
Goldsmith had known Voltaire in early life ; he had been his admirer and his biographer ; he grieved to find him receiv-
35 ing such an insult from the classic pencil of his friend. " It is unworthy of you," said he to Sir Joshua, " to debase so high a genius as Voltaire before so mean a writer as Beattie. Beattie and his book will be forgotten in ten years, while Voltaire's fame will last forever. Take care it does not perpetuate this
CHAPTER XLIII 253
picture to the shame of such a man as you." This noble and high-minded rebuke is the only instance on record of any re- proachful words between the poet and the painter ; and we are happy to find that it did not destroy the harmony of their intercourse. 5
CHAPTER XLIII
Toil witljput Hope. — The Poet in the Green-Room; In the Flower- Garden ; At Vauxhall; Dissipation without Gayety. — Cradock in Town; Friendly Sympathy; A Parting-Scene; An Invitation to Pleasure.
Thwarted in the plans and disappointed in the hopes which had recently cheered and animated him, Goldsmith found the labor at his half-finished tasks doubly irksome from the consciousness that the completion of them could not relieve him from his pecuniary embarrassments. His impaired health, lO also, rendered him less capable than formerly of sedentary application, and continual perplexities disturbed the flow of thought necessary for original composition. He lost his usual gayety and good-humor, and became, at times, peevish and irritable. Too proud of spirit to seek sympathy or relief from 15 his friends, for the pecuniary difficulties he had brought upon himself by his eri'ors and extravagance, and unwilling, perhaps, to make known their amount, he buried his cares and anxieties in his own bosom, and endeavored in company to keep up his usual air of gayety and unconcern. This gave his conduct an 20 appearance of fitfulness and caprice, varying suddenly from moodiness to mirth, and from silent gravity to shallow laughter; causing surprise and ridicule in those who were not aware of the sickness of heart which lay beneath.
His poetical reputation, too, was sometimes a disadvantage 25 to him ; it drew upon him a notoriety which he was not always in the mood or the vein to act up to. " Good heavens, Mr. Foote," exclaimed an actress at the Haymarket Theatre, " what a humdrum kind of man Dr. Goldsmith appears in our green-
254 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
room compared with the figure he makes in his poetry ! " " The reason of that, madam," replied Foote, " is because the Muses are better company than the players."
Beauclerc's letters to his friend. Lord Charlemont, who was 5 absent in Ireland, give us now and then an indication of the whereabout of the poet during the present year. " I have been but once to the club since you left England," writes he ; " we were entertained, as usual, with Goldsmith's absurdity." With Beauclerc everything was absurd that was not polished and
10 pointed. In another letter he threatens, unless Lord Charle- mont returns to England, to bring over the whole club, and let them loose upon him to drive him home by their peculiar habits of annoyance ; — -Johnson shall spoil his books ; Goldsmith shall pull his flowers ; and last, and most intolerable of all, Boswell
15 shall — talk to him. It would appear that the poet, who had a passion for flowers, was apt to pass much of his time in the garden when on a visit to a coantry-seat, much to the detri- ment of the flower-beds and the despair of the gardener.
The summer wore heavily away with Goldsmith. He had
20 not his usual solace of a country retreat, his health was im- paired and his spirits depressed. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who perceived the state of his mind, kindly gave him much of his company. In the course of their interchange of thought. Gold- smith suggested to liim the story of Ugolino,° as a subject for
25 his pencil. The painting founded on it remains a memento of their friendship.
On the 4th of August we find them together at Vauxhall, at that time a place in high vogue, and which had once been to Goldsmith a scene of Oriental splendor and delight. We
30 have, in fact, in the Citizen of the World a picture of it as it had struck him in former years and in his happier moods. " Upon entering the gardens," says the Chinese philosopher, " I found every sense occupied with more than expected pleas- ure : the lights everywhere glimmering through the scarcely
35 moving trees ; the full-bodied concert bursting on the stillness of the night; the natural concert of the birds in the more retired part of the grove, vying with that which was formed by art; the company gayly dressed, looking satisfaction, and the tables spread with various delicacies, — all consj)ired to fill my
CHAPTER XLIII 255
imagination with the visionary happiness of the Arabian law- giver, and lifted me into an ecstasy of admiration." ^
Everything now, however, is seen with diiferent eyes ; with him it is dissipation without pleasure ; and he finds it im- possible any longer, by mingling in the gay and giddy throng 5 of apparently prosperous and happy beings, to escape from the carting care which is clinging to his heart.
His kind friend, Cradock, came up to town towards autumn, when all the fashionable world was in the country, to give his wife the benefit of a skilful dentist. He took lodgings in Nor- 10 folk Sfreet, to be in Goldsmith's neighborhood, and passed most of his mornings with him. "I found him," he says, '' much altered and at times very low. He wished vde to look over and revise some of his works ; but, with a select friend or two, I was more pressing that he should publish by subscrip-15 tion his two celebrated poems of the Traveller and the De- serted Village, with notes." The idea of Cradock was, that the subscription would enable w^ealthy persons, favorable to Goldsmith, to contribute to his pecuniary relief without wound- ing his pride. " Goldsmith," said he, " readily gave up to me 20 his private copies, and said, ' Pray do what you please with them.' But whilst he sat near me, he rather submitted to than encouraged my zealous proceedings.
"I one morning called upon him, however, and found hira infinitely better than I had expected ; and, in a kind of exult- 25 ing style, he exclaimed, 'â– Here are some of the best of my prose writings ; / have been hard at work since midnight, and I desire you to examine them.' ' These,' said I, ' are excellent indeed.' ' They are,' replied he, 'â– intended as an introduction to a body of arts and sciences.' " 30
Poor Goldsmith was, in fact, gathering together the frag- ments of his shipwreck ; the notes and essays, and memoranda collected for his dictionary and proposed to found on them a work in two volumes, to be entitled A Survey of Experimental Philosophy. 35
The plan of the subscription came to nothing, and the pro- jected survey never was executed. The head might yet devise, but the heart was failing him ; his talent at hoping, which gave 1 Citizen of the World, letter Ixxi.
256 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
hini buoyancy to carry out his enterprises, was almost at an end.
Cradock's farewell-scene with him is told in a simple but touching manner. 5 " The day before I was to set out for Leicestershire, I in- sisted upon his dining with us. He replied, ' I will, but on one condition, that you will not ask me to eat anything.' 'Nay,' said I, 'this answer is absolutely unkind, for I had hoped, as we are supplied from the Crown and Anchor, that you would
10 have named something you might have relished.' ' Well,' was the reply, 'if you will but explain it to Mrs. Cradock, I will certainly wait upon you.'
"The' Doctor found, as usual, at my apartments, newspapers and pamphlets, and with a pen and ink he amused himself as
15 well as he could. I had ordered from the tavern some fish, a roasted joint of lamb, and a tart ; and the Doctor either sat down or walked about just as he pleased. After dinner he took some wine with biscuits ; but I was obliged soon to leave him for a while, as I had matters to settle prior to my next
20 day's journey. On my return, coffee was ready, and the Doctor appeared more cheerful (for Mrs. Cradock was always rather a favorite with him), and in the evening he endeavored to talk and remark as usual, but all was force. He stayed till mid- night, and I insisted on seeing him safe home, and we most
25 cordially shook hands at the Temple-gate." Cradock little thought that this was to be their final parting. He looked back to it with mournful recollections in after-years, and la- mented that he had not remained longer in town at every
• inconvenience, to solace the poor broken-spirited poet.
30 The latter continued in town all the autumn. - At the open- ing of the Opera- House, on the 20th of November, Mrs. Yates, an actress whom he held in great esteem, delivered a poetical exordium of his composition. Beauclerc, in a letter to Lord Charlemont, pronounced it very good, and predicted that it
35 would soon be in all the papers. It does not appear, however, to have been ever published. In his fitful state of mind Gold- smith may have taken no care about it, and thus it has been lost to the world, although it was received with great applause by a crowded and brilliant audience.
CHAPTER XLIII 257
A gleam of sunshine breaks through the gloom that was gathering over the poet. Towards the end of the year he receives another Christmas invitation to Barton. A country Christmas! — with all the cordiality of the fireside circle, and the joyous revelry of the oaken hall, — what a contrast to the 5 loneliness of a bachelor's chambers in the Temple ! It is not to be resisted. But how is poor Goldsmith to raise the ways and means V His purse is empty ; his booksellers are already in advance to him. As a last resource, he applies to Garrick. Their mutual intimacy at Barton may have suggested him as 10 an alternative. The old loan of forty pounds has never been paid; and Newbery's note pledged as a security, has never been taken up. An additional loan of sixty pounds is now asked for, thus increasing the loan to one hundred; to insure the payment, he now offers, besides iN'ewbery's note, the trans- 15 fer of the comedy of the Good-natured Man to Drury Lane, with such alterations as Garrick may suggest. Garrick, in reply, evades the offer of the altered comedy, alludes signifi- cantly to a new one which Goldsmith had talked of writing for him, and offers to furnish the money required on his own 20 acceptance.
The reply of Goldsmith bespeaks a heart brimful of grati- tude and overflowing with fond anticipations of Barton and the smiles of its fair residents. "My dear friend," writes he, "I thank you. 1 wish I could do something to serve you. 1 25 shall have a comedy for you in a season, or two at farthest, that I believe will be worth your acceptance, for I fancy I will make it a fine thing. You shall have the refusal. ... I will draw upon you one month after date for sixty pounds, and your acceptance will be ready money, part of which I want to go 30 down to Barton with. May God preserve my honest little man, for he has my heart. Ever,
"Oliver Goldsmith."
And having thus scrambled together a little pocket-money, by hard contrivance, poor Goldsmith turns his back upon care 35 and trouble, and Temple quarters, to forget for a time his desolate bachelorhood in the family circle and a Christmas fireside at Barton.
258 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER XLIV
A Return to Drudgery; Forced Gayety; Retreat to the Country; The Poem of Retaliation. — Portrait of Garrick ; Of Goldsmith ; Of Rey- nolds.— Illness of the Poet; His Death; Grief of his Friends. — A Last Word respecting the Jessamy Bride.
The Barton festivities are over ; Christmas, with all its home-felt revelry of the heart, has passed like a dream; the Jessamy Bride has beamed her last smile upon the poor poet, and the early part of 1774 finds him in his now dreary bachelor 5 abode in the Temple, toiling fitfully and hopelessly at a multi- plicity of tasks. His Animated Nature^ so long delayed, so often interrupted, is at length announced for publication, though it has yet to receive a few finishing touches. He is preparing a third History of England, to be compressed and
10 condensed in one volume, for the use of schools. He is revis- ing his Inquiry into Polite Learning, for which he receives the pittance of five guineas, much needed in his present scantiness of purse; he is arranging his Survey of Experimental Philosophy, and he is translating the Comic Romance of Scarron.° Such is a
15 part of the various labors of a drudging, depressing kind, by which his head is made weary and his heart faint. " If there is a mental drudgery," says Sir Walter Scott, "which lowers the spirits and lacerates the nerves, like the toil of a slave, it is that which is exacted by literary composition, when the heart
20 is not in unison with the work upon which the head is em- ployed." Add to the unhappy author's task sickness, sorrow, or the pressure of unfavorable circumstances, and the labor of the bondsman becomes light in comparison. Goldsmith again makes an effort to rally his spirits by going into gay society.
25 "Our Club," writes Beauclerc to Charlemont, on the 12th of February, " has dwindled away to nothing. Sir Joshua and Goldsmith have got into such a round of pleasures that they have no time." This shows how little Beauclerc was the com- panion of the poet's mind, or could judge of him below the sur-
30 face. Reynolds, the kind participator in joyless dissipation,
CHAPTER XLIV 259
could have told a different story of his companion's heart-sick gayety.
In this forced mood Goldsmith gave entertainments in his chambers in the Temple ; the last of which was a dinner to Johnson, Reynolds, and others of his intimates, who partook 5 with sorrow and reluctance of his imprudent hospitality. The first course vexed them by its needless profusion. When a sec- ond, equally extravagant, was served up, Johnson and Reynolds declined to partake of it ; the rest of the company, understand- ing their motives, followed their example, and the dishes went 10 from tlae table untasted. Goldsmith felt sensibly this silent and well-intended rebuke.
The gayeties of society, however, cannot medicine for any length of time a mind diseased. Wearied by the distractions and harassed by the expenses of a town life, which he had not 15 the discretion to regulate, Goldsmith took the resolution, too tardily adopted, of retiring to the serene quiet, and cheap and healthful pleasures of the country, and of passing only two months of the year in London. He accordingly made arrange- ments to sell his right in the Temple chambers, and in the 20 month of March retired to his country quarters at Hyde, there to devote himself to toil. At this dispirited juncture, when in- spiration seemed to be at an end, and the poetic fire extin- guished, a spark fell on his combustible imagination and set it in a blaze. ' 25
He belonged to a temporary association of men of talent, some of them members of the Literary Club, who dined to- gether occasionally at the St. James's Coffee-House. At these dinners, as usual, he was one of the last to arrive. On one occa- sion, when he was more dilatory than usual, a whim seized the 30 company to write epitaphs on him, as " The late Dr. Gold- smith," and several were thrown off in a playful vein, hitting off his peculiarities. The only one extant was written by Gar- rick, and has been preserved, very probably by its pungency : —
" Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 35
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor poll."
Goldsmith did not relish the sarcasm, especially as coming from such a quarter. He was not very ready at repartee ; but
260 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
he took his time, and in the interval of his various tasks con- cocted a series of epigrammatic sketches, under the title of Retaliation, in which the characters of his distinguished in- timates were admirably hit off, with a mixture of generous 5 praise and good-humored raillery. In fact the poem, for its graphic truth, its nice discrimination, its terse good sense, and its shrewd knowledge of the world, must have electrified the club almost as much as the first appearance of The Traveller, and let them still deeper into the character and talents of the
to man they had been accustomed to consider as their butt. Re- taliation, in a word, closed his accounts with the club, and balanced all his previous deficiencies.
The portrait of David Garrick is one of the most elaborate in t?ie poem. When the poet came to touch it off, he had some
15 lurking piques to gratify, which the recent attack had revived. He may have forgotten David's cavalier treatment of him, in the early days of his comparative obscurity ; he may have for- given his refusal of his plays ; but Garrick had been capricious in his conduct in the times of their recent intercourse : some-
20 times treating him with gross familiarity, at other times affect- ing dignity and reserve, and assuming airs of superiority ; frequently he had been facetious and witty in company at his expense, and lastly he had been guilty of the couplet just quoted. Goldsmith, therefore, touched off the lights and shadows of his
25 character with a free hand, and at the same time gave a side- hit at his old rival, Kelly, and his critical persecutor, Kenrick, in making them sycophantic satellites of the actor. Goldsmith, however, was void of gall even in his revenge, and his very satire was more humorous than caustic : —
30 " Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ; As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine ; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line : Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
35 The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread, And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
40 With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
CHAPTER XLIV 261
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day :
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
If they were not his own by finessing and trick :
He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew, when he pleased, he could whistle them back. 5
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame ;
Till his relish, grown callous almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, 10
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls° so grave,
"VHiat a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave !
How did Grub Street reecho the shouts that you raised
While he was be-Rosciused and you were be-praised ! 15
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies.
To act as an angel and mix with the skies :
Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill.
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will ;
Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love, 20
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above."
This portion of Retaliation soon brought a retort from Gar- rick, which we insert, as giving something of a likeness of Goldsmith, though in broad caricature : —
" Here, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, 25
Go fetch me some clay — I will make an odd fellow : Right and wrong shall be jumbled, much gold and some dross. Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross ; Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions, A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions ; 30
Now mix these ingredients, which, warm'd in the baking, Turn'd to learning and gaming, religion and raking. With the love of a wench let his writings be chaste ; Tip his tongue with strange matter, his lips with fine taste ; That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail, 35
Set fire to the head and set fire to the tail ; For the joy of each sex on the world I'll bestow it. This scholar, rake. Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet. Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame, And among brother mortals be Goldsmith his name ; 40
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear, You, Hermes, shall fetch him, to make us sport here."
The charge of raking, so repeatedly advanced in the fore- going lines, must be considered a sportive one, founded, per-
262 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
haps, on an incident or two within Garrick's knowledge, but not borne out by the course of Goldsmith's life. He seems to have had a tender sentiment for the sex, but perfectly free from libertinism. Neither was he an habitual gamester. The
5 strictest scrutiny has detected no settled vice of the kind. He was fond of a game of cards, but an unskilful and careless player. Cards in those days were universally introduced into society. High play was, in fact, a fashionable amusement, as at one time was deep drinking; and a man might occasionally
10 lose large sums, and be beguiled into deep potations, without incurring the character of a gamester or a drunkard. Poor Goldsmith, on his advent into high society, assumed fine no- tions with fine clothes; he was thrown occasionally among high players, men of fortune who could sport their cool hundred as
15 carelessly as his early comrades at Ballymahon could their half-crowns. Being at all times magnificent in money-matters, he may have played with them in their own way, without con- sidering that what was sport to them to him was ruin. Indeed, part of his financial embarrassments may have arisen from
20 losses of the kind, incurred inadvertently, not in the indal- gence of a habit. " I do not believe Goldsmith to have deserved the name of gamester," said one of his contemporaries ; he liked cards very well, as other people do, and lost and won occasionally, but as far as I saw or heard, and I had many
25 opportunities of hearing, never any considerable sum. If he gamed with any one, it was probably with Beauclerc, but I do not know that such was the case."
Retaliation, as we have already observed, was thrown off in parts, at intervals, and was never completed. Some characters,
30 originally intended to be introduced, remained unattempted ; others were but partially sketched — such as the one of Rey- nolds, the friend of his heart, and which he commenced with a felicity which makes us regret that it should remain unfinished.
" Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, 35 He has not left a wiser or better behind.
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.
CHAPTER XLIV 263
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing :
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet ° and only took snuff.
By flattery unspoiled ' ' 5
The friendly portrait stood unfinished on the easel ; the hand of the artist had failed ! An access of a local complaint, under which he had suffered for some time past, added to a general prostration of health, brought Goldsmith back to town before he had well settled himself in the country. The local 10 complaint subsided, but was followed by a low nervous fever. He was not aware of his critical situation, and intended to be at the club on the 25th of March, on which occasion Charles Fox, Sir Charles Bunbury (one of the Horneck connection), and two other new members were to be present. In the after- 15 noon, however, he felt so unwell as to take to his bed, and his symptoms soon acquired sufficient force to keep him there. His malady fluctuated for several days, and hopes were enter- tained of his recovery, but they proved fallacious. He had skilful medical aid and faithful nursing, but he would not fol- 20 low the advice of his physicians, and persisted in the use of James's powders, which he had once found beneficial, but which were now injurious to him. His appetite was gone, his strength failed him, but his mind remained clear, and was per- haps too active for his frame. Anxieties and disappointments 25 which had previously sapped his constitution, doubtless aggra- vated his present complaint and rendered him sleepless. In reply to an inquiry of his physician, he acknowledged that his mind was ill at ease. This was his last reply, he was too weak to talk, and in general took no notice of what was said 30 to him. He sank at last into a deep sleep, and it was hoped a favorable crisis had arrived. He awoke, however, in strong convulsions, which continued without intermission until he expired, on the fourth of April, at five o'clock in the morning ; being in the forty-sixth year of his age. 35
His death was a shock to the literary world, and a deep affliction to a wide circle of intimates and friends; f or, wdth all his foibles and peculiarities, he was fully as much beloved as he was admired. Burke, on hearing the news, burst into
264 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
tears. Sir Joshua Reynolds threw by his pencil for the day, , and grieved more than he had done in times of great family' distress. " I was abroad at the time of his death," writes Dr. M'Donnell, the youth whom when in distress he had employed 5 as an amanuensis, " and I wept bitterly when the intelligence first reached me. A blank came over my heart as if 1 had lost one of my nearest relatives, and was followed for some days by a feeling of despondency." Johnson felt the blow deeply and gloomily. In writing some time afterwards to Boswell, he
10 observed : " Of poor Dr. Goldsmith 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-
15 sand pounds. Was ever poet so trusted before ? "
Among his debts were seventy-nine pounds due to his tailor, Mr. William Filby, from whom he had received a new suit but a few days before his death. " My father," said the younger Filby, " though a loser to that amount, attributed no blame to
20 Goldsmith ; he had been a good customer, and, had he lived, would have paid every farthing." Others of his tradespeople evinced the same confidence in his integrity, notwithstanding his heedlessness. Two sister milliners in Temple Lane, who had been accustomed to deal with him, were concerned when
25 told, some time before his death, of his pecuniary embarrass- ments. " Oh, sir," said they to Mr. Cradock, "sooner persuade him to let us work for him gratis than apply to any other ; we are sure he will pay us when he can."
On the stairs of his apartment there was the lamentation of
30 the old and infirm, and the sobbing of women ; poor objects of his charity, to whom he had never turned a deaf ear, even when struggling himself with poverty.
But there was one mourner whose enthusiasm for his memory, could it have been foreseen, might have soothed the bitterness
35 of death. After the coffin had been screwed down, a lock of his hair was requested for a lady, a particular friend, who wished to preserve it as a remembrance. It was the beautiful Mary Horneck — the Jessamy Bride. The coffin was opened again, and a lock of hair cut off ; which she treasured to her
CHAPTER XLIV 265
dying day. Poor Goldsmith ! could he have foreseen that such a memorial of him was to be thus cherished !
One word more concerning this lady, to whom we have so often ventured to advert. She survived almost to the present day. Hazlitt met her at Northcote's painting-room, about 5 twenty years since, as Mrs. Gwyn, the widow of a General Gwyn of the army. She was at that time upwards of seventy years of age. Still, he said, she was beautiful, beautiful even in years. After she was gone, Hazlitt remarked how handsome she still was. "I do not know," said Northcote, "why she is 10 So kind AS to come to see me, except that I am the last link in the chain that connects her with all those she most esteemed when young — Johnson, Keynolds, Goldsmith — and remind her of the most delightful period of her life." " JSTot only so," observed Hazlitt, " but you remember what she was at twenty ; 15 and you thus bring back to her the triumphs of her youth — that pride of beauty, which must be the more fondly cherished as it has no external vouchers, and lives chiefly in the bosom of its once lovely possessor. In her, however, the Graces had triumphed over time ; she was one of Ninon de I'Enclos's ° 20 people, of the last of the immortals. I could almost fancy the shade of Goldsmith in the room, looking round with complacency."
The Jessamy Bride survived her sister upwards of forty years, and died in 1840, within a few days of completing her 25 eighty-eighth year. " She had gone through all the stages of life," says Northcote, " and had lent a grace to each." How- ever gayly she may have sported with the half-concealed admiration of the poor awkward poet in the heyday of her youth and beauty, and however much it may have been made 30 a subject of teasing by her youthful companions, she evidently prided herself in after -years upon having been an object of his affectionate regard'; it certainly rendered her interesting throughout life in the eyes of his admirers, and has hung a poetical wreath above her grave. 35
266 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
CHAPTER XLV
The Funeral. — The Monument. — The Epitaph. — Concludmg Remarks.
In the wai-m feeling of the moment, while the remains of the poet were scarce cold, it was determined by his friends to honor them by a public funeral and a tomb in Westminster Abbey. His very pall-bearers were designated : Lord Shel- 5 burne. Lord Lowth, Sir Joshua Reynolds ; the Hon. Mr. Beau- clerc, Mr. Burke, and David Garrick. This feeling cooled down, however, when it was discovered that he died in debt, and had not left wherewithal to pay for such expensive obse- quies. Five days after his death, therefore, at five o'clock of
10 Saturday evening, the 9th of April, he was privately interred in the burying-ground of the Temple Church; a few persons attending as mourners, among whom we do not find specified any of his peculiar and distinguished friends. The chief mourner was Sir Joshua Reynolds's nephew. Palmer, after-
15 wards Dean of Cashel. One person, however, from whom it was but little to be expected, attended the funeral and CAdnced real sorrow on the occasion. This was Hugh Kelly, once the. dramatic rival of the deceased, and often, it is said, his anony- mous assailant in the newspapers. If he had really been guilty
20 of this basest of literary offences, he was punished by the stings of remorse, for we are told that he shed bitter tears over the grave of the man he had injured. His tardy atonement only provoked the lash of some unknown satirist, as the following lines will show : —
25 " Hence Kelly, who years, without honor or shame,
Had been sticking his bodkin in Oliver's fame, Who thought, like the Tartar, by this to inherit His genius, his learning, simplicity, spirit; Now sets every feature to weep o'er his fate,
30 And acts as a mourner to blubber in state."
One base wretch deserves to be mentioned, the reptile Ken- rick, who, after having repeatedly slandered Goldsmith, while living, had the audacity to insult his memory when dead. The
CHAPTER XLV 267
following distich is sufficient to show his malignancy, and to hold him up to execration : —
" By his own art, who justly died, A blund'ring, artless suicide :
Share, earthworms, share, since now he's dead, g
HisTnegrim, maggot-bitten head."
This scurrilous epitaph produced a burst of public indigna- tion, that awed for a time even the infamous Kenrick into silence. On the other hand, the press teemed with tributes in verse and prose to* the memory of the deceased ; all evincing the mingled 10 feeling of admiration for the author and affection for the man.
Not long after his death the Literary Club set on foot a sub- scription, and raised a fund to erect a monument to his memory, in Westminster Abbey. It was executed by NoUekens, and con- sisted simply of a bust of the poet in profile, in high relief, in a 15 medallion, and was placed in the area of a pointed arch, over the south door in Poet's Corner, between the monuments of Gay and the Duke of Argyle. Johnson furnished a Latin epitaph, which was read at the table of Sir Joshua Reynolds, where sev- eral members of the club and other friends of the deceased were 20 present. Though considered by them a masterly composition, they thought the literary character of the poet not defined with sufficient exactness, and they preferred that the epitaph should be in English rather than Latin, as " the memory of so eminent an English writer ought to be perpetuated in the language to 25 which his works were likely to be so lasting an ornament."
These objections were reduced to writing, to be respectfully submitted to Johnson, but such was the awe entertained of his frown, that every one shrank from putting his name first to the instrument; whereupon their names were written about it in a 30 circle, making what mutinous sailors call a Round Robin. John- son received it half graciously, half grimly. " He was willing," he said, " to modify the sense of the epitaph in any manner the gentlemen pleased ; l)ut he never icould consent to disgrace the walls of Westminster Abbey with an English inscription.'" Seeing the 35 names of Dr. Warton and Edmund Burke among the signers " he wondered," he said, " that Joe Warton, a scholar by profes- sion, should be such a fool ; and should have thought thatMund
268 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Burke would have had more sense." The following is the epi- taph as it stands inscribed on a white marble table beneath the bust : —
" OLIVARII GOLDSMITH, i
3 Poetse, Physici, Historic!,
Qui nullum fer^ scribendi genus
Non tetigit. Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit : Sive risus essent movendi, 10 Sive lacrymae,
Affectuum potens at lenis dominator: Ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis, Oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus : Hoc monument© memoriam coluit 15 Sodalium amor,
Amicorum fides, Lectorum veneratio. Natus in Hiberniti Fornise Longfordiensis, In loco cui nomen Pallas, 20 Nov. XXIX. MDCCXXXi. ;
Eblanas Uteris institutus ;
Obiit Londini,
April IV. MDCCLxxiv."
We shall not pretend to follow these anecdotes of the life of 25 Goldsmith with any critical dissertation on his writings; their merits have long since been fully discussed, and their station in the scale of literary merit permanently established. They have outlasted generations of works of higher power and wider scope, and will continue to outlast succeeding generations, for they
1 The following translation is from Croker's edition of Boswell's "Johnson": —
"OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH —
A Poet, Naturalist, and Historian, Who left scarcely any style of writing Untouched, And touched nothing that he did not adorn; Of all the passions, ' "Whether smiles were to be moved
Or tears, A powerful yet gentle master ;
CHAPTER XLV 269
have that magic charm of style by which works are embalmed to perpetuity. J^either shall we attempt a regular analysis of the character of the poet, but will indulge in a few desultory remarks in addition to those scattered throughout the preceding- chapters. 5
Never was the trite, because sage apothegm, that "The child is father to the man," more fully verified than in the case of Goldsmith. He is shy, awkward, and blundering in child- hood, yet full of sensibility ; he is a butt for the jeers and jokes of his companions, but apt to surprise and confound them by 10 sudden and witty repartees ; he is dull and stupid at his tasks, yet an eager and intelligent devourer of the travelling tales and campaigning stories of his half military pedagogue ; he may be a dunce, but he is already a rhymer ; and his early scintillations of poetry awaken the expectations of his friends. He seems 15 from infancy to have been compounded of two natures, one bright, the other blundering; or to have had fairy gifts laid in his cradle by the " good people " who haunted his birthplace, the old goblin mansion on the banks of the Inny.
He carries with him the wayward elfin spirit, if we may so 20 term it, throughout his career. His fairy gifts are of no avail at school, academy, or college : they unfit him for close study and practical science, and render him heedless of everything that does not address itself to his poetical imagination and genial and festive feelings ; they dispose him to break away 25
111 genius, sublime, vivid, versatile, In style, elevated, clear, elegant — The love of companions. The fidelity of friends, And the veneration of readers, Have by this monument honored the memory. He was born in Ireland, At a place called Pallas, [In the parish] of Fornev, [and county] of Longford, On the 2Mh Nov., 1731, Educated at [the University of] Dublin, And died in London, 4th April, 1774."*
* Not correct. The true date of birth was 10th Nov., 1728, as given on page 6.
270 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
from restraint, to stroll about hedges, green lanes, and haunted streams, to revel with jovial companions, or to rove the country like a gypsy in quest of odd adventures.
As if confiding in these delusive gifts, he takes no heed of 5 the present nor care for the future, lays no regular and solid foundation of knowledge, follows out no plan, adopts and dis- cards those recommended by his friends, at one time prepares for the ministry, next turns to the law, and then fixes upon medicine. He repairs to Edinburgh, the great emporium of
10 ra.edical science, but the fairy gifts accompany him ; he idles and frolics away his time there, imbibing only such knowledge as is agreeable to him ; makes an excursion to the poetical regions of the highlands ; and having walked the hospitals for the cus- tomary time, sets off to ramble over the Continent, in quest of
15 novelty rather than knowledge. His whole tour is a poetical one. He fancies he is playing the philosopher while he is really playing the poet ; and though professedly he attends lectures and visits foreign universities, so deficient is he on his return, in the studies for which he set out, that he fails in an exami-
20 nation as a surgeon's mate ; and while figuring as a doctor of medicine, is outvied on a point of practice by his apothecary. Baffled in every regular pursuit, after trying in vain some of the humbler callings of commonplace life, he is driven almost by chance to the exercise of his pen, and here the fairy gifts
25 come to his assistance. For a long time, however, he seems unaware of the magic properties of that pen : he uses it only as a makeshift until he can find a legitimate means of support. He is not a learned man, and can write but meagrely and at second- hand on learned subjects ; but he has a quick convertible talent
30 that seizes lightly on the points of knowledge necessary to the illustration of a theme : his writings for a time are desultory, the fruits of what he has seen and felt, or what he has recently and hastily read ; but his gifted pen transmutes everything into gold, and his own genial nature reflects its sunshine through his pages.
35 Still unaware of his powers he throws off his writings anony- mously, to go with the writings of less favored men ; and it is a long time, and after a bitter struggle with poverty and humili- ation, before he acquires confidence in his literary talent as a means of support, and begins to dream of reputation.
I
CHAPTER XLV 271
From this time his pen is a wand of power in his hand, and he has only to use it discreetly, to make it competent to all his wants. But discretion is not a part of Goldsmith's nature ; and it seems the property of these fairy gifts to be accompanied by moods and temperaments to render their effect precarions. The 6 heedlessness of his early days ; his disposition for social enjoy- ment ; his habit of throwing the present on the neck of the future, still continue. His- expenses forerun his means ; he in- curs debts on the faith of what his magic pen is to produce, and then, under the pressure of his debts, sacrifices its produc- 10 tions fdl* prices far below their value. It is a redeeming cir- cumstance in his prodigality that it is lavished oftener upon others than upon himself ; he gives without thought or stint, and is the continual dupe of his benevolence and his trustfnlness in human nature. We may say of him as he says of one of his 15 heroes, " He could not stifle the natural impulse which he had to do good, but frequently borrowed money to relieve the dis- tressed ; and when he knew not conveniently where to borrow, he has been observed to shed tears as he passed through the wretched suppliants who attended his gate." ... 20
"â– His simplicity in trusting persons whom he had no previous reasons to place confidence in, seems to be one of those lights of his character which, while they impeach his understanding, do honor to his benevolence. The low and the timid are ever sus- picious ; but a heart impressed with honorable sentiments, 25 expects from others sympathetic sincerity." ^
His heedlessness in pecuniary matters, which had rendered his life a struggle with poverty even in the days of his obscurity, rendered the struggle still more intense when his fairy gifts had elevated him into the society of the wealthy and luxurious, and 30 imposed on his simple and generous spirit fancied obligations to a more ample and bounteous display.
" How comes it," says a recent and ingenious critic, "that in all the miry paths of life which he had trod, no speck ever sul- lied the robe of his modest and graceful Muse ? How amidst all 35 that love of inferior company, which never to the last forsook him, did he keep his genius so free from every touch of vulgarity ? "
1 Goldsmith's Life of Ifash.
272 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
We answer that it was owing to the innate purity and good- ness of his nature ; there was nothing in it that assimilated to vice and vulgarity. Though his circumstances often compelled him to associate with the poor, they never could betray him into 5 companionship with the depraved. His relish for humor and for the study of character, as we have before observed, brought him often into convivial company of a vulgar kind ; but he dis- criminated between their vulgarity and their amusing qualities, or rather wrought from the whole those familiar pictures of life
10 which form the staple of his most popular writings.
Much, too, of this intact purity of heart may be ascribed to the lessons of his infancy under the paternal roof ; to the gen- tle, benevolent, elevated, unworldly maxims of his father, who " passing rich with forty pounds a year " infused a spirit into
15 his child which riches could not deprave nor poverty degrade. Much of his boyhood, too, had been passed in the household of his uncle, the amiable and generous Contarine ; where he talked of literature with the good pastor, and practised music with his daughter, and delighted them both by his juvenile at-
20 tempts at poetry. These early associations breathed a grace and refinement into his mind and tuned it up, after the rough sports on the greenj or the frolics at the tavern. These led him to turn from the roaring glees of the club, to listen to the harp of his cousin Jane ; and from the rustic triumph of " throwing
25 sledge," to a stroll with his flute along the pastoral banks of the Inny.
The gentle spirit of his father walked with him through life, a pure and virtuous monitor, and in all the vicissitudes of his career we find him ever more chastened in mind by the
30 sweet and holy recollections of the home of his infancy.
It has been questioned whether he really had any religious feeling. Those who raise the question have never considered well his writings ; his Vicar of Wakefield, and his pictures of the Village Pastor, present religion under its most endearing
35 forms, and with a feeling that could only flow from the deep
convictions of the heart. When his fair travelling companions
at Paris urged him to read the Church Service on a Sunday,
- he replied that " he was not worthy to do it." He had seen in
early life the sacred offices performed by his father and his
CHAPTER XLV 27 S
brother with a solemnity which had sanctified them in his memory ; how could he presume to undertake such functions ? His religion has been called in question by Johnson and by Boswell : he certainly had not the gloomy hypochondriacal piety of the one, nor the babbling mouth -piety of the other ; 5 but the spirit of Christian charity, breathed forth in his writ- ings and illustrated in his conduct, give us reason to believe he had the indwelling religion of the soul.
We have made sufficient comments in the preceding chapters on his conduct in elevated circles of literature and fashion. The 10 fairy gtfts which took him there were not accompanied by the gifts and graces necessary to sustain him in that artificial sphere. He can neither play the learned sage with Johnson, nor the fine gentleman with JBeauclerc ; though he has a mind replete with wisdom and natural shrewdness, and a spirit free 15 from vulgarity. The blunders of a fertile but hurried intellect, and the awkward display of the student assuming the man of fashion, fix on him a character for absurdity and vanity which, like the charge of lunacy, it is hard to disprove, however weak the grounds of the charge and strong the facts in opposition to 20 it.
In truth, he is never truly in his place in these learned and fashionable circles, which talk and live for display. It is not the kind of society he craves. His heart yearns for domestic life ; it craves familiar, confiding intercourse, family firesides, 25 the guileless and happy company of children; these bring out the heartiest and sweetest sympathies of his nature.
"Had it been his fate," says the critic we have already quoted, "to meet a woman who could have loved him, despite his faults, and respected him despite his foibles, we cannot but 30 think that his life and his genius would have been much more harmonious; his desultory affections would have been concen- trated, his craving self-love appeased, his pursuits more set- tled, his character more solid. A nature like Goldsmith's, so affectionate, so confiding — so susceptible to simple, innocent 35 enjoyments — so dependent on others for the sunshine of exist- ence, does not flower if deprived of the atmosphere of home."
The cravings of his heart in this respect are evident, we think, throughout his career ; and if we have dwelt with more
T
274 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
significancy than others upon his intercourse with the beautiful Horneck family, it is because we fancied we could detect, amid his playful attentions to one of its members, a lurking senti- ment of tenderness, kept down by conscious poverty and a 5 humiliating idea of personal defects. A hopeless feeling of this kind — the last a man would communicate to his friends — might account for much of that fitfulness of conduct, and that gathering melancholy, remarked, but not comprehended by his associates, during the last year or two of his life ; and may have
10 been one of the troubles of the mind which aggravated his last illness, and only terminated with his death.
We shall conclude these desultory remarks with a few which have been used by us on a former occasion. From the general tone of Goldsmith's biography, it is evident that his faults, at
15 the worst, were but negative, while his merits were great and decided. He was no one's enemy but his own ; his errors, in the main, inflicted evil on none but himself, and were so blended with humorous and even affecting circumstances, as to disarm anger and conciliate kindness. Where eminent talent
20 is united to spotless virtue, we are awed and dazzled into admiration, but our admiration is apt to be cold and reveren- tial; while there is something in the harmless infirmities of a good and great, but erring individual, that pleads touchingly to our nature ; and we turn more kindly towards the object of our
25 idolatry, when we find that, like ourselves, he is mortal and is frail. The epithet so often heard, and in such kindly tones, of " poor Goldsmith," speaks volumes. Few, who consider the real compound of admirable and whimsical qualities which form his character, would wish to prune away its eccentricities,
30 trim its grotesque luxuriance, and clip it down to the decent formalities of rigid virtue. " Let not his frailties be remem- bered," said Johnson; "he was a very great man." But, for our part, we rather say, " Let them be remembered," since their tendency is to endear ; and we question whether he himself
35 would not feel gratified in hearing his reader, after dwelling with admiration on the proofs of his greatness, close the volume with the kind-hearted phrase, so fondly and familiarly ejaca- lated, of " Poor Goldsmith."
THE DESERTED VILLAGE
Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of tlie plain, Whfere health and plenty cheered the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. For talking age and whispering lovers made ! How often have I blessed the coming day, 15
When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free. Led up their s]3orts beneath the spreading tree. While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed ; / 20
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. And sleights of art and feats of strength went round ; And still, as each repeated pleasure tired. Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; The dancing pair that simply sought renown 25
By holding out to tire each other down ; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. While secret laughter tittered round the place ; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love. The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. 30
275
276 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
These were thy charms, sweet village 1 sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please ; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ; These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled>
5 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain,
10 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day. But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ;
15 Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies.
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
20 Far, far away thy children leave the land.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade — A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 25 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be sujjplied.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began. When every rood of ground maintained its man ; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, 30 Just gave what life required, but gave no more : His best companions, innocence and health, And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
But times are altered ; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain : 35 Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose,
THE DESERTED VILLAGE 211
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose,
And every want to luxury allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom.
Those calm desires that asked but little room, 5
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene,
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ;
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore.
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
^weet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 10
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds. And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 15
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wandrings round this world of care. In all my griefs — and God has given my share I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 20
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, 25
Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue. Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 30
Here to return — and die at home at last.
O blest retirement, friend to life's decline. Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease ; 35
Who quits a world where strong temptations try.
278 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep No surly porter stands, in guilty state, 5 To spurn imploring famine from the gate ;
But on he moves to meet his latter end. Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay. While resignation gently slopes the way ; 10 And, all his prospects brightening to the last. His heaven commences ere the world be past !
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow,
15 The mingling notes came softened from below ;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung. The sober herd that lowed to meet their young ; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school;
20 The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; — These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail,
25 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread. For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widowed, solitary thing. That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ;
30 She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread.
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn, She only left of all the harmless train,
35 The sad historian of the pensive plain !
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled. And still where many a garden flower grows wild ;
THE DESERTED VILLAGE 279
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The viUage preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 5
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ;
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize.
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 10
HisHliouse was known to all the vagrant train.
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ;
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 15
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away.
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done.
Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. 20
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow.
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 25
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call. He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 30
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, AUured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed. The reverend champion stood. At his control 35
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ;
280 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; 5 Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; E'en children followed with endearing wile,
10 And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed. Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
15 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way
20 With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule. The village master taught his little school ; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew :
25 Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper circling round,
30 Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned :
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught. The love he bore to learning was in fault. The village all declared how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too ;
35 Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran that he could gauge. In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill.
THE DESERTED VILLAGE 281
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ;
While words of learned length and thund'ring sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew. 5
But past is all his fame. The very spot,
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, lo Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired. Where village statesmen talked with looks profound. And news much older than their ale went round. Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place : 15
The white-washed wall, the nicely-sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; The pictures placed for ornament and use, 20
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; The hearth, except when winter chilled the day. With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show. Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 25
Vain transitory splendours ! could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; Thither no more the jDeasant shall repair " 30
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength and lean to hear; 35
The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ;
282 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
I^or the coy maid, half-willing to be pressed, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train, 5 To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
10 Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed. In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ;
15 And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy. The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's power increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand
20 Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around.
25 Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
30 Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds:
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth ; His seat where solitary spots are seen. Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ;
35 Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies ;
THE DESERTED VILLAGE 283
While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.
As some fair female, unadorned and plain. Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 5
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail. She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In fill the glaring impotence of dress. 10
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed : In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed. But verging to decline, its splendours rise. Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;
While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land 15
The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; And while he sinks, without one arm to save. The country blooms — a garden and a grave.
Where then, ah ! where shall poverty reside. To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 20
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And e'en the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 25
To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know. Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 30
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade. There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display. There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, 35
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train ;
284 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! Sure these denote one universal joy! 5 Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah! turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed, Has wept at tales of innocence distressed ; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
10 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ;
Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
15 When idly first, ambitious of the town.
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 20 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread.
Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
25 Far different there from all that charmed before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore ; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day ; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing ;
30 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ;
35 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men more murderous still than they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
THE DESERTED VILLAGE 285
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green.
The breezy covert of the warbling grove.
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 5
Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day. That called them from their native walks away ; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hmig round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, Arffl took a long farewell, and wished in vain 10
For seats like' these beyond the western main. And shuddering still to face the distant deep. Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. The good old sire the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 15
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 20
And left a lover's for a father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose, And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear, 25
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief.
O luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's decree, How ill-exchanged are things like these for thee ! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 30
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdoms, by thee to sickly greatness grown. Boast of a florid vigour not their own. At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 35
Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.
286 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Even now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done ; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. 5 Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care,
10 And kind connubial tenderness are there ; And piety with wishes placed above. And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid. Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ;
15 Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame.
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame : Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
20 Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel. Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! Farewell ; and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried, On- Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
25 Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of the inclement clinne ; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ;
30 Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ;
Teach him, that states of native strength possessed, Though very poor, may still be very blest ; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away;
35 While self-dependent power can time defy.
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.
NOTES
PEEFACE
p. 4, 1. 15. Tu se' lo mio maestro, etc. "Thou art my master and my author ; thou alone art he from whom I took the fair style that hath done me honor." — Dante, Inferno^ Canto I. Norton's translation.
CHAPTER I
p. 6, 1. 26. Curacy. In the Church of England a curate is an assistant to the rector. Rev. Charles Goldsmith was assistant to his wife's uncle, who lived at Kilkenny West.
p. 7, 1. 15. He succeeded to the rectory. Most of the country parishes of the Church of England, and many city parishes as well, have rented lands or other interest- bearing property. The income goes to the rector for his support and for the care of the church. In such a case the rector is said to hold a living in the church. Some of these livings formerly, and perhaps a few even yet, might be handed down by a law of inheritance.
p. 7, 1, 16. Lissoy. Village near Kilkenny West.
p. 7, 1. 33. Man in Black. A character in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World.
p. 9, 1. 17. Hornbook. A primer or first reading book, so called because it was bound with horn covers.
p. 9, 1. 28. Wars of Queen Anne's time. The great war of Queen Anne's time was the War of the Spanish Succession, in which England, Germany, and the protestant countries of Europe were allied against France and Spain.
287
288 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 11-25
p. 11, 1. 4. Sibylline leaves. The Sibylline books were docu- ments in the time of ancient Rome written in verse and supposed to have been given by one of the Sibyls or prophetesses to the king of Rome and to contain a prophecy of the Roman Empire.
p. 12, 1. 9. Bishop Berkeley. An Irish philosopher of consid- erable reputation, born 1685, died 1753.
p. 13, 1. 16. Shakspeare and his deer-stealing colleagues. A doubtful tradition relates that Shakespeare was prosecuted for stealing deer from the game preserve of Sir Thomas Lucy.
CHAPTER II
p. 16, 1. 7. June, 1745. Austin Dobson in his Life of Gold- smith shows that this date is an error. Oliver entered Trinity, June 11, 1744, when he was less than sixteen years old.
1. 9. Pensioner. There were several classes of students at Trinity. The pensioner was in the class above the sizer and paid for his board and other expenses.
p. 16, 1. 14. Window-frame. Dobson says that the window- pane with Goldsmith's name scratched upon it has been removed to the manuscript room of the college, where it may still be seen.
p. 18, 1. 3. A lad. Quoted from Inquiry into the State of Folite Learning in Europe^ Chap. IX.
p. 18, 1. 37. Edmund Burke. An Irishman, 1729-1797, who became a member of the English Parliament and a powerful advocate for America in the struggle that preceded the American Revolution.
p. 19, 1. 15. Catch-pole (catch-poll). A bailiff' s assistant.
p. 21, 1. 28. 0. S. stands for old style. In 1751 the calendar was changed in England by act of Parliament so that eleven days were dropped ; i.e. the 3d of September, 1752, was declared by Parliament to be the 14th.
p. 25, 1. 4. Tony Lumpkin and his associates. These are char- acters in Goldsmith's play She Stoops to Conquer.
Pages 25-43] NOTES 289
p. 25, 1. 8. Three Jolly Pigeons. The sign of an alehouse in She Stoops to Conquer.
CHAPTER III
p. 27, 1. 10. The hero of La Mancha. Don Quixote, p. 27, 1. 29. Quoted from Citizen of the World, Letter XXVII. p. 28, 1. 32. Cerberus. The three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to the lower world. See Classical Dictionary.
CHAPTER IV
p. 32, 1. 5. The Temple. The Middle Temple and the Inner Temple belong to an organization of lawyers called The Templfe, from the Knights Templars, from whom the site of the buildings has descended. They are occupied mainly by lawyers and students of law.
p. 34, 1. 13. Cawdy. Obsolete form of caddie (from old French cadet) , a lad who attends for small services, as at golf links, etc.
p. 36, 1. 16. Turn-spit-dog. When meat was roasted on a turn- spit before an open fire a dog was sometimes put into a wheel or treadmill to keep the meat turning.
p. 37, 1. 23. Ceres. The goddess of agriculture, in whose honor were held many religious ceremonies.
p. 38, 1. 34. Bincly. The name of this acquaintance of Gold- smith is printed Binely in Prior's Life ; Binley in Irving's Life ; Einecly in Forster's Life, I, 448 ; Bincly in Forster's Life, I, 51, and in his Index.
p. 40, 1. 18. Albinus. A famous German physician, who died in 1770.
CHAPTER V
p. 42, 1. 29. A whimsical picture. Compare Irving's satire of the Dutch in his Knickerbocker History of New York.
p. 43, 1. 8. Strephon. A shepherd lover in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia.
u
290 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 45-52
p. 45, 1. 36. Mademoiselle Clairon. A celebrated French actress, 1723-1803, of whom Goldsmith wrote with much sympathy in The Bee.
p. 46, 1. 14. Events have testified. The French Revolution began in 1789.
p. 46, 1. 18. Voltaire. The noted French writer and free thinker, 1694-1778. There seems to be some error in the account which follows, for Voltaire was banished from Paris at this time. Perhaps Goldsmith saw him at some other place.
p. 48, 1. 10. Piedmont. A district in northern Italy at the foot of the Alps, as its name signifies.
p. 48, 1. 28. He is said to have taken. There is still some doubt that Goldsmith ever took his degree. Dr. C. M. Campbell in the Athenoeum for July 21, 1894 (p. 101), writes that in reply to a re- quest from him one of the officials at Padua University has written that he is unable to find Oliver Goldsmith's name among the records.
CHAPTER VI
p. 49, 1. 35. The death of his uncle Contarine. This must be an error, for he is referred to in Chapter IX as yet alive.
p. 50, 1. 26. Philosophic Vagabond. See Vicar of Wakefield, Chapter XX.
p. 51, 1. 20. Quoted from Citizen of the World, Letter CXVII.
p. 51, 1. 25. Sir Joshua Reynolds. Perhaps the most famous portrait painter England has ever had, 1723-1792. He was a mem- ber of the Literary Club and a warm friend of Goldsmith. See Chapter XIV.
p. 52, 1. 4. Anodyne necklace. Anodyne means relieving pain ; hence it is here used humorously for a hangman's halter.
p. 52, 1. 19. Quoted from The Bee, No. VL
p. 52, 1. 33. Southwark. A district in London.
Pages 53-58] NOTES 291
p. 63, 1. 14. Mr. Samuel Richardson. Our first great novelist, 1699-1761.
p. 53, 1. 26. -ffiJsculapius. Son of Apollo and the most famous physician in Greek mythology.
p. 54, 1. 23. Written Mountains. These were inscriptions in Aramaic, accompanied by rude drawings, engraved upon the rocky sides of the hills near Mt. Sinai. Accounts of them may be read in Burckhardt's 8yria, 606-613 (ed. 1822). "These inscrip- tions," says Forster, "cover the rocks, some of them twelve or fifteen feet higii, along a range of nearly three leagues, written from right to left." In Goldsmith's time they were supposed to be of great antiquity. "When interpreted, however, they were found to be no earlier than the first or second century a.d. , and to contain noth- ing more important than the names of Arabs who in passing had scratched them upon the rocks.
CHAPTER VII
p. 56, 1. 15. Whig principles. The two great parties in Eng- land were the Whig and the Tory, the former representing demo- cratic and the latter aristocratic ideals. Their successors are the Lib'eral and the Conservative.
p. 57, 1. 9. Grub Street is famous in the history of English literature as the home of needy and inferior writers. It is now called Milton Street,
p. 57, 1. 10. Dryden. John Dryden, 1631-1700, was the leading English poet in the last quarter of the seventeenth century, and a clear, strong writer of prose.
p. 57, 1.^10. Otway. Dramatic poet and contemporary of Dryden, 1651-1685.
p. 58, 1. 18. Johnson. Samuel Johnson was the great critic, poet, and prose writer of the eighteenth century. See Chapter XII and the following chapters for his relations with Goldsmith.
292 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 59-65
CHAPTER VIII
p. 59, 1. 2. This person was no other. See Vicar of Wakefield^ Chapter XVIII.
p. 69, 1. 20. Temple Exchange Coffee-House. The coffee- houses of the eighteenth century combined the restaurant and the modern club. There were large numbers of them in London, and they were centres for politicians, literary men, dramatists, business men, etc. A man might claim residence at a coffee-house as he would now at a club.
p. 59, 1. 21. Temple Bar was a famous gateway before the Temple in London, and marked one of the entrances to the city proper. It was removed to Waltham in 1878 and replaced by a monument called Temple Bar Memorial.
p. 60, 1. 5. Unpatronized by the great. It was the custom, until Johnson ended it by his famous letter to Lord Chesterfield, for an author to dedicate his book to some great man who would in return bestow sums of money on the author to enable him to pursue his literary tastes.
p. 62, 1. 2. The Campaign. Addison's poem, occasioned by the great victory of Blenheim, August 13, 1704.
p. 62, 1. 35. Maladie du pais. Homesickness.
p. 63, 1. 1. Unco'. Very.
p. 63, 1. 12. Usher. James Usher, 1580-1656, was a noted British theologian and scholar, best known by his scheme of Bibli- cal chronology, which was, until recently, universally accepted.
CHAPTER IX
p. 65, 1. 2. Like Raleigh. Sir Walter Raleigh is said to have burned up the manuscript of the second part of his History of the World because of some complaint from his publisher.
p. 65, 1. 18. An East-India Director. The East India Company was one of the most powerful institutions in England. It was
Pages 66-86] JS'OTES 293
organized for purposes of trade between India and England, but became all powerful in the government of India.
p. Q6, 1. 4. College intimate. Edward Mills (printed as Wells in the earlier editions of Irving's Life) was a fellow-student with Goldsmith at Dublin. The letter here referred to is printed in full in Eorster's Life and Times of Goldsinith, Vol. I, pp. 136-137.
p. 70, 1. 18. Butler. Samuel Butler is known as the author of the Hudihras^ a poem satirizing the Puritans. Like many another author J^e struggled with poverty.
CHAPTER X
p. 71, 1. 20. Coromandel. A district on the eastern coast of India.
p. 76, 1. 16. Old Bailey. A famous old prison in London.
p. 82, 1. 7. Dear of the postage. The postage was not pre- paid, as it was not in this country until within fifty or sixty years.
p. 82, 1. 22. And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew. Charles I is said to have framed the following : " Urge no healths ; Profane no divine ordinance ; Touch no state matters ; Reveal no secrets ; Pick no quarrels ; Make no comparisons ; Maintain no ill opinions ; Keep no bad company ; Encourage no vice ; Make no long meals ; Repeat no grievances ; Lay no wagers."
p. 83, 1. 11. The Henriade. An epic poem by Voltaire.
CHAPTER XI
p. 86, 1. 3. Ishmaelites of the press. For the story of Ishmael see Genesis xvi and xxi. It was proj)hesied of Ishmael that his hand should be against every man, and every man's hand against him.
p. 86, 1. 8. Dreaming of genius. This bit of satire is taken from The Bace^ by Cuthbert Shaw : —
294 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 86-94
" Mr. Cuthbert Shaw, alike distinguished by his genius, mis- fortunes, and misconduct, published this year [1766] a poem called The Bace, by Mercurius Spur, Esq., in which he whimsically made the living poets of England contend for preeminence of fame by running : —
" ' Prove by their heels the prowess of the head.' "
— BoswelVs Life of Johnson^ Chapter XV.
p. 86, 1. 23. Periodical publications. What similar publication did Irving publish ?
p. 87, 1. 9. Walpole. Horace Walpole was a distinguished man of letters, 1717-1797, and son of the famous statesman, Sir Eobert Walpole.
p. 88, 1. 7. The Society of Arts grew into the present Koyal Academy.
CHAPTER XII
p. 89, 1. 29. Guthrie. A political and historical writer of small reputation.
p. 89, 1. 29. Murphy. A dramatic writer and an actor.
p. 89, i. 29, Christopher Smart. An unfortunate hack writer who never attained eminence.
p. 90, 1. 1. Bickerstaff. Isaac Bickerstaff was an Irish dramatist, born about 1735, who for a time enjoyed the society of Goldsmith, Johnson, and others. Later he fell into vice, fled the country, and after forty years in exile was said to be poor and despised of all orders of people.
p. 92, 1. 14. Savage. Richard Savage, 1698-1743, was an obscure poet remembered for his association with Johnson.
p. 93, 1. 19. Rosciad. Churchill's Bosciad was a satire on London actors and was very famous in its day.
p. 94, 1. 9. The Aristophanes of the day. Aristophanes, the great comic dramatist of Greece, lived in the fourth century before Christ.
Pages 95-105] NOTES 295
CHAPTER XIII
p. 95, 1. 11. Citizen of the World. Letter CVIII.
p. 96, 1. 10. Cock-Lane Ghost. In 1762 a man by the name of Pearsons and his little daughter perpetrated an imposture that became widely known. The place was Cock Lane, Smithfield, London. Knockings and strange noises were heard, and a "luminous" lady was seen. Dr. Johnson was one of those who visited the place, and his visit helped to make it notorious.
p. 96,J. 38. The White Conduit House was a suburban pleasure resort for a rather motley class of people. See Chapter XXI, where Goldsmith calls it " a Cockney Elysium,"
p. 97, 1. 31. Lord Chesterfield, 1694-1773, was the author of a widely read book, Lord Chesterfield'' s Letters to His Son, and the recipient of Johnson's famous letter declining his patronage. See note, p. 292.
Lord Orrery and Lord Lyttelton were cultured literary men of the eighteenth century.
p. 100, 1. 9. His blind pensioner. Miss Williams was one of the poor unfortunates whom Johnson, out of the goodness of his heart, provided with a home.
CHAPTER XIV
p. 101, 1. 2. Hogarth the painter was a most interesting man and a great genius. In some kinds of painting he was not suc- cessful, but he won great renown for his series of pictures to express a story as Marriage a la Mode and TJie Rake''s Progress. See McClure''s Magazine, April, 1903, for an interesting and instructive article on Hogarth by Mr. John La Farge.
p. 103, 1. 2. Sir James Mackintosh, 1765-1832, was a prominent English statesman.
p. 105, 1. 6. A grant of free-warren. A royal franchise to kill animals within a certain area was called a warren.
296 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 106-118
p. 106, 1.. 26. Lord Lansdowne. George Granville, 1667-1735, author and politician.
p. 107, 1. 5. The Rake's Progress. See note above on Hogarth.
p. 108, 1. 6. Falstaff, the huge, gluttonous, coarse, jolly friend of Prince Henry in Shakespeare's Henry IV. See Henry IV, Part I, Act V, the end of scene 4.
CHAPTER XV
p. 109, 1. 25. Novel in question. This story, taken by Irving from Boswell's Life of Johnson (see Napier's ed., Vol. I, p. 329; Vol. ni, p. 223), has been questioned, but appears to be substan- tially true. The amount received for the book was sixty guineas instead of sixty pounds, as shown by Boswell's second reference to the sale, and also by the entry of the transaction preserved in the bookseller's accounts. The sale seems to have taken place Oct. 28, 1762. The book was taken in equal shares by three book- sellers. It was not published until four years later. In the mean- time the Traveller had appeared, and Goldsmith's fame had become established.
The first four editions, however, of the Vicar of Wakefield, were published at a loss to the publishers. After the fourth edition — which paid a profit of about thirty-two guineas to each partner — was turned out, Newbery sold his third interest for five guineas, so little faith had he in the future of the book. (See Welsh, Charles, A Bookseller of the Last Century. London, 1885, pp. 54-62.)
CHAPTER XVI
p. 114, 1. 21. Nil te quaesiveris extra. You should seek noth- ing further.
p. 1 16, 1. 22. The Hermit. See Vicar of Wakefield, Chapter VIII.
p. 118, 1. 4, Philautos, etc. Pseudonyms chosen probably for their classic sound rather than for any significance of meaning.
Pages 121-135] NOTES 297
Translated they mean lover of one's self, lover of truth, lover of freedom, and lover of man.
CHAPTER XVII
p. 121, 1. 33. Rogers. Samuel Rogers was an English poet, 1763-1855, much resi)ected by his associates when Irving wrote this book, on account of his age, experience, and judgment.
p. 125, 1. 1. Blainville's " Travels " was an account of the travels of Monsieur de Blainville through several countries of Europe. It had recently (1757) been translated into English from the author's manuscript, and the publishers were making use of Goldsmith's fame as author of the Traveller to advertise the book. The following is the letter of Goldsmith which they used as an advertisement : —
"I have read the Travels of Monsieur de Blainville with the highest pleasure. As far as I am capable of judging they are at once accurate, copious, and entertaining. I am told they are now first translated from the Author's Manuscript in the French Lan- guage, which has never been published : and if so, they are a valu- able acquisition to ours. The Translation as I am informed has been made by Men of Eminence, and is not unworthy of the Original. All I have to add is, that, to the best of my opinion, Blainville's Travels is the most valuable Work of this kind hitherto published : Containing the most judicious Instruction to those who read for Amusement, and being the surest Guide to those who intend to undertake the same Journey.
" Oliver Goldsmith.
"Temple, March 2, 1767."
CHAPTER XIX
p. 135, 1. 27. Every Man in his Humor was one of "rare Ben Jonson's " most famous plays.
298 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 139-159 1
CHAPTER XX
p. 139, 1. 31. Whitehead. Though poet laureate, Whitehead was considered weak and dull. Goldsmith seems to have had a very strong feeling against him, as did Johnson, for Forster says in regard to Garricl^'s proposal, that of all the slights that the manager offered to the poet, this was forgotten last.
CHAPTER XXI
p. 141, 1. 18. The sometime Roscius. Davies was at one time an actor, and hence called Roscius from the great Roman comic actor Quintus Roscius.
p. 143, 1. 2. Junius and Wilkes. Junius was the pseudonym used by an unknown writer of some very caustic political letters. These became famous, and consequently aroused the curiosity of people to discover the author. John Wilkes, 1727-1797, was another critic of the government, a political agitator, and a bold, often unwise champion of the rights of the people.
CHAPTER XXII p. 147, 1. 15. Talleyrand. A French statesman, 1754-1838.
CHAPTER XXIII
p. 149, 1. 26. Blackstone's Commentaries has been for many years one of the great authorities in the study of law.
p. 152, 1. 7. General Oglethorpe, 1696-1785, was a British gen- eral and founder of the colony of Georgia. See beginning of Chapter XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXV
p. 159, 1. 10. The Jessamy Bride. This name has been taken as the title of a very interesting novel by F. Frankfort Moore,
Pages 15&-176] NOTES 299
which treats of the time of Goldsmith, and introduces several characters mentioned in this and the following chapters.
p. 159, 1, 28. Angelica Kauffman. A celebrated Swiss painter and friend of Reynolds.
CHAPTER XXVI
p. 163, 1. 21. Lucius Florus. A Roman historian of the second century a.d.
p. 163, 1. 21 . Eutropius. A Roman of the fourth century.
p. 163, 1. 22. Vertot. A French authority on Roman history, 1655-1735.
p. 163, 1. 37. Pliny. Pliny the Elder, 23-79 a.d. His only extant work is his Natural History in thirty -seven books, really an encyclopaedia of natural science.
p. 163, 1. 38. Buffon was a celebrated French naturalist of Gold- smith's time.
CHAPTER XXVII
p. 171, 1. 10. Likeness by Reynolds. See frontispiece to this volume.
p. 172, 1. 6. Forsitan et. Perchance sometime our name will be inscribed with these.
p. 172, 1. 9. Jacobite rebels. A considerable number of Eng- lishmen through the greater part of the eighteenth century were true to the heirs of the Stuart kings and were called Jacobites from Jacobus, the Latin for James.
CHAPTER XXVIII
p. 176, 1. 33. Gay's. John Gay was a poet and dramatist of some note at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Some years after his death a chair, said to have been his favorite chair, was sold among the effects of one of his relatives. Later, about ninety years after the poet's death, a cabinet-maker, in the course of some
300 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 187-191
repairs, found a secret drawer containing, among other papers, some poems in manuscript. They were published in a volume called Gay''s Chair.
CHAPTEK XXX
p. 187, 1. 21. Lord Bolingbroke. Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke, 1678-1751, was one of the most brilliant statesmen and literary men of the early part of the eighteenth century.
p. 187, 1. 32. Should prove a Capua. During the Second Punic War, in 216 e.g., Hannibal took up winter quarters in the luxurious city of Capua, where it is said his brave warriors became effeminate and lost their love of war.
CHAPTER XXXI
p. 190, 1. 11. Chatterton. The story of Thomas Chatterton has a pathetic interest for us. Although he died in his eighteenth year, he has left a record as an English poet of great genius. Possessed of great pride and independence, he came to London without friends and without means, and attempted to support himself with his pen. The Rowley poems here referred to have given him a reputation, but it came too late. Discouraged and starving, he took his own life Aug. 24, 1770.
p. 190, 1. 26. Ossian. James Macpherson published in 1762 some poems which he offered as translations of the epic poems of Ossian, a mythical Celtic poet. As in the case of Chatterton, there have been discussions over the genuineness of the original. The general opinion to-day seems to be that th-e work was Macpherson's, but founded on a considerable fund of tradition.
p. 191, 1. 9. Gray and Mason were poets of this time. Gray was a distinguished scholar, and therefore his opinion on such a subject would have great weight.
Pages 198-215] NOTES 301
CHAPTER XXXIII
p. 198, 1. 38. Drawcansir. A braggart, from a boastful charac- ter ill The Rehearsal^ a seventeenth-century play.
CHAPTER XXXIV
p. 202, 1. 39. Boileau. A distinguished French critic and satir- ist, 1636-1711.
p. 203, 1. 8. Haec studia, etc. These studies spend the night with us ; they travel with us ; they go with us to the country.
p. 204, 1. 26. Lusiad. A Portuguese poem of the sixteenth century.
CHAPTER XXXV
p. 208, 1. 21. Mrs. Thrale, afterward Mrs. Piozzi, was an inti- mate friend of Johnson and other literary men, and wrote in 1786 Anecdotes of Johnson.
p. 211, 1. 5. The Stratford Jubilee. In 1768 Boswell published a book on Corsica, which met with considerable success and did much for General Paoli (see note, p. 301). Intoxicated with his suc- cess, he made a fool of himself on various occasions. One of these was the Stratford Jubilee, September, 1769, where he appeared in the dress of a Corsican and with Viva la Liberia written on his hat. Later he was senseless enough to write a full description of himself on this occasion for the London Magazine.
p. 211, 1. ll. Scrub is an amusing valet in Farquhar's Beaux' Stratagem.
p. 211, 1. 31. Malagrida was an Italian priest who was burned at the stake for heresy.
p. 215, 1. 7. Pantheon here refers to a London concert hall.
p. 215, 11. 8-10. Hippocrene and Aganippe were fountains sacred to the muses, hence sources of poe|ry.
302 OLIVER GOLDSMITH [Pages 225-336
CHAPTER XXXVII
p. 225, 1. 1. The neighing of the horse. The son of Hystaspes was Darius, king of Persia. " Seven princes of Persia agreed tliat he sliould be king whose horse neighed first ; as the liorse of Darius was the first to neigh, Darius was proclaimed king. ' ' — Brewer.
p. 225, 1. 5. To have a flapper. "Those persons [in Laputa] wlio are able to afford it always keep a flapper in their family. The business of this officer is gently to stroke the mouth of him who is to speak, and the right ear of him who is to listen." — Gulliver'' s Travels^ Part III, Chapter II.
p. 227, 1. 23. Ride, si sapis. Laugh if you are wise.
p. 229, 1. 14. The sum which accrued. "It is consolatory to think that in spite of every obstacle, She Stoops to Conquer was acted for many nights, and besides being twice commanded by royalty itself brought its author, at his benefits, the more substan- tial gratification of some four or five hundred pounds, to which must be added a further amount from the publication of the play in book form." — Austin Dobson, Goldsmith, Great Writers Series, p. 172.
p. 229, 1. 30. Vous vous noyez par vanite. You harm yourself by your vanity.
p. 231, 1. 9. Brise le miroir, etc. Break your faithless mirror which conceals the truth.
CHAPTER XXXIX
p. 234, 1. 8. Miss Burney. English novelist, 1752-1840, author of Evelina.
p. 236, 1. 10. General Paoli was a native of Corsica and a brave soldier in her wars ; but when Corsica was transferred to France, in 1769, he sought refuge in England. He afterward went to France for a short time, but remained in England most of the time till his death in 1807.
Pages 240-265] , NOTES 303
p. 240, 1. 30. Bos well. The student who wishes to compare Irving' s impression of Boswell with that of others may refer to Macaulay's two Essays on Johnson and to Carlyle's Essay on Johnson.
CHAPTER XL
p. 244, 1. 10. Launcelot Gobbo. Irving has evidently confused Launcelot Gobbo in the Merchant of Venice with Launce in Tvjo Gentlemen of Verona ; it is in the latter play, Act IV, scene 4, that we find the charge referred to.
CHAPTER XLII
p. 251, 1. 8. Montezuma, last Aztec emperor of Mexico, lived about 1500, some 1800 years after Alexander.
CHAPTER XLIII
p. 254, 1. 24. The story of Ugolino. Ugolino, an Italian of the thirteenth century, was thrown with his two sons into a tower and left to die of hunger. See Dante's Inferno^ Canto XXXIII.
p. 258, 1. 14. Scarron. A French writer of the seventeenth century.
p. 261, 1. 12. Woodfall was a dramatic critic who had offended Garrick and others by his criticism. Hence he is here associated with Kenrick and Kelly.
CHAPTER XLIV
p. 263, 1. 4. He shifted his trumpet. Sir Joshua was so deaf that he used an ear trumpet.
p. 265, 1. 20. Ninon de I'Enclos. Annie I'Enclos was a noted French woman of pleasure, who received in her salon the highest society of her time.
MACMILLAN»S
POCKET SERIES OF AMERICAN AND ENGLISH CLASSICS
UNIFORM IN PRICE AND BINDING Cloth ------ 25 Cents Each
Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. Edited by Zelma Gray, East Side
Higii School, Saginaw, Mich. Brownftig's Shorter Poems. Edited by Franklin T. Baker, Teachers'
College, New York. Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected). By Miss Hersey, Boston, Mass. Burke's Speech on Conciliation. Edited by S. C. Newsom, Manual
Training High School, Indianapolis, Ind. Byron's Childe Harold. Edited by A. J. George, High School, Newton,
Mass, Carlyle's Essay on Burns, with Selections. Edited by Willard C,
Gore, Armour Institute, Chicago, 111. Chaucer's Prologue to the Book of the Tales of Canterbury, the Knight's
Tale, and the Nun's Priest's Tale. Edited by Andrew Ingraham,
Late Headmaster of the Swain Free School, New Bedford, Mass. Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner. Edited by T. F. Huntington, Leland
Stanford University. Cooper's Last of the Mohicans, Edited by W. K. Wickes, Principal of
High School, Syracuse, N. Y. Cooper's The Deerslayer. De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium Eater. Edited by
Arthur Beatty, University of Wisconsin. Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. Edited by Percival Chubb, Vice Prin- cipal Ethical Culture Schools, New York. 5arly American Orations, 1760-1824. Edited by Louie R. Heller, In- structor in English in the De Witt Clinton High School, New York City. Franklin's Autobiography. George Eliot's Silas Marner. Edited by E. L. Gulick, Lawrenceville
School, Lawrenceville, N. J. Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. Edited by H. W. Boynton, Phillips
Academy, Andover, Mass. Hawthorne's Twice Told Tales. By C. R. Gaston, Richmond Hill High
School, Borough of Queens, New York City. Irving's Alhambra. Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock, Hartford Public
High School, Conn. Irving's Sketch Book. Longfellow's Evangeline. Edited by Lewis B. Semple, Commercial
High School, Brooklyn,
toertcatt anti (JHnglisfj Classics
Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal. Edited by Herbert E. Bates, Manual Training High School, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Macaulay's Essay on Addison. Edited by C. W. French, Principal of lyde Parle High School, Chicago, 111.
M vaulay's Essay on Clive. Edited by J. W, Pearce, Assistant Pro- fessor of English in Tulane University,
Macaulay's Essay on Milton. Edited by C. W. French.
Macaulay's Essay on Warren Hastings. Edited by Mrs. M. J. Frick, Los Angeles, Cal.
Milton's Comus, Lycidas, and Other Poems. Edited by Andrew J. George, Newton, Mass.
Milton's Paradise Lost. Books I and II. Edited by W. I. Crane, Steele High School, Dayton, O.
Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from).
Pope's Homer's Iliad. Edited by Albert Smyth, Head Professor of English Language and Literature, Central High School, Philadelphia, Pa.
Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies, and King of the Golden River. Edited by Herbert E. Bates, Manual Training High School, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Scott's Ivanhoe. Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock, Hartford Public High School, Conn.
Scott's Lady of the Lake. Edited by Elizabeth A. Packard, Oak- land, Cal.
Scott's Marmion. Edited by George B. Aiton, State Inspector of High Schools for Minnesota.
Shakespeare's As You Like It. Edited by Charles Robert Gaston, Teacher of English, Richmond Hill High School, Queens Borough, New'York City.
Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Edited by George W. Hufford and Lois G. Hufford, High School, Indianapolis, Ind.
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Edited by Charlotte W. Under- wood, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 111.
Shakespeare's Macbeth. Edited by C. W. French, Hyde Park High School.
Shakespeare's Hamlet. Edited by L. A. Sherman, Professor of Enghsh in the University of Nebraska.
Shelley and Keats (Selections from). Edited by S. C. Newsom, Manual Training High School, Indianapolis, Ind.
Southern Poems. Edited by W. L, Weber, Professor of English Litera- ture in Emory College, Oxford, Ga.
Tennyson's The Princess. Edited by Wilson Farrand, Newark Academy, Newark, N. J.
Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Edited by W. T. Vlymen, Principal of Eastern District High School, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Stevenson's Treasure Island. Edited by Hiram Albert Vance, Ph. D. (Jena), Professor of EngUsh in the University of Nashville.
Mrs. Browning's Poems. Selections. Edited by Heloise E. Hersey,
John Woolman's Journal.
Byron's Shorter Poems.
Spenser's Faerie Queene. Book I.
SEP ~-v 1903
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
0 014 151 667 A