6 I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here, And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear, 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 allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil 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 winter!-a spring-velvet coat in the middle of winter!!! That would be a solecism indeed! and yet, to increase the inconsistence, 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, I 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. "The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you your self seem sensible of: you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous kind of laughter, naso contemnere adunco; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the manner 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 at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice? and from whom? You shall hear : First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure, Round and round go the stakes, while I inwardly damn 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, 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. Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on, I venture at all, while my avarice regards The whole pool as my own-- -"Come, give me five cards." I ask for advice from the lady that's next: 'Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice; you 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, Both are placed at the bar, with all proper decorum, With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em; Both cover their faces with mobs and all that, 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 what have they pilfer'd ?-A doctor, I hear.' What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near? '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 cringeing and leering, To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing. First Sir Charles advances, with phrases well-strung'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 handsome, when people are thieves" 'But where is your justice? their cases are hard.' What signifies justice? I want the reward.' "There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds; there's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds; there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog in-the-pound to St. 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! 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 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 notes of all his sayings and doings. We can only 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. CHAP. XXXVII. Theatrical delays-Negotiations with Colman-Letter to GarrickCroaking of the manager-Naming of the play-" She Stoops to Conquer"-Foote's primitive puppet-show, "Piety on Pattens"-First performance of the comedy-Agitation of the author-Success-Colman squibbed out of town. 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 increasing perplexities in money matters drove him to the dissipation of society as a relief from solitary care. The delays of the theatre added to those perplexities. He had long since finished 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 mismanagement 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 Goldsmith and Colman, the manager of Covent Garden, Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding: who retained the play in his hands until the middle For giving advice that is not worth a straw, May well be call'd picking of pockets in law; Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death withont Clergy. What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought! By the gods, I'll enjoy it, though 'tis but in thought! of January (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. "DEAR SIR,-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 endeavour to remove and not argue about them. To bring in any new judges 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 receive as harsh treatment from you as from him. I have, 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 must look 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 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 alterations, but with the intimation that the faith of the theatre should be kept, and the play acted notwithstanding. Goldsmith submitted the criticisms to some of his friends. who pronounced them trivial, unfair, and contemptible, and intimated that Colman, being a dramatic writer himself, might be actuated by jealousy. The play was then sent, with Colman's 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 undertook to go forthwith to Colman and have a talk with him on the subject. Goldsmith, therefore, penned the following note 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 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 1 confess yours in every respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in me to undergo an advantage which lies in my power, of 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, 66 was The negotiation of Johnson with the manager of Covent Garden was effective "Colman," he says, prevailed on at last, by much solicitation, nay a kind of force," to bring forward the comedy. Still the manager was ungenerous or, at least, indiscreet enough to express his opinion that it would not 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 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 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 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 success of his piece. The rehearsals were attended by Johnson, Cradock, Murphy, Reynolds and his sister, and the whole Horneck connexion, 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 continued to croak, and refused to risk any expense in new scenery or dresses on a play which he was sure would prove a failure. 66 The time was at hand for the first representation, We are and as yet the comedy was without a title. all in labour for a name for Goldy's play," said Johnson, who, as usual, took a kind of fatherly protecting interest in poor Goldsmith's affairs. "The Old House a New 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 afterwards adopted by Mrs. Cowley for one of her comedies. 46 at length fixed upon, to which Goldsmith prefixed the The Mistakes of a Night" was the title words, "She Stoops to Conquer." The evil bodings of Colman still continued: they of the Duke of Gloucester, who was sent to engage a were even communicated in the box-office to the servant box. Never did the play of a popular writer struggle into existence through more difficulties. In the meantime Foote's Primitive Puppet-show," tens," had been brought out at the Haymarket on the entitled "The Handsome Housemaid, or Piety on Pat15th of February. All the world, fashionable and unfashionable, had crowded to the theatre. The street thronged with equipages-the doors were stormed by the mob. The burlesque was completely successful, 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 Goldsmith, 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 15th of March the new comedy was to be performed. Those who had stood up for its merits, and been irritated and 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 Cumberland in his Memoirs. "We were not over sanguine of success, but perfectly determined to struggle hard for our author. We accordingly assembled our strength at the Shakspeare Tavern, in a considerable body, for an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul of the corps: the poet took post silently by his side, with the Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord, and a phalanx of North British predetermined applauders, under the banner of Major Mills, all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in inimitable glee; and poor Goldsmith that day took all his raillery as patiently and complacently as my friend Boswell would have done any day or every day of his life. In the meantime we did not forget our duty, and though we had a better comedy going, in which Johnson was chief actor, we betook our selves in good time to our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful drawing up of the 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. "We had among us a very worthy and efficient member, long since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam Drummond, 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 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 the battery. He desired, therefore, to have a flapper at his elbow, and I had the honour 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 manœuvre was complete. All eyes were upon Johnson, who sat in a front row of a side box; and when he laughed, everybody thought themselves warranted to roar. In the meantime, 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 and performances, that the progress of the play seemed likely to become a secondary object, and I found it prudent to insinuate to him that he might halt his music without any prejudice to the author; but, alas! it was now too late to rein him in; he had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and now, unluckily, he fancied that he found a joke in almost everything that was said, so that nothing in nature could be more mal-apropos 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, not only over Colman's judgment, but our Goldsmith, in 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 preparatory dinner, he could hardly utter a word, and was so choked 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. With difficulty he was persuaded to go to the theatre, where his presence might be important should any alteration be necessary. 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 his mother, in persuading her she was forty miles off, on Crackskull 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 we've been sitting these two hours on a barrel of gunpowder!" 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 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 wrote to Goldsmith, entreating him "to take him off the rack of the newspapers;" in the meantime, 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. The following is one of the many squibs which assailed the ears of the manager :— 64 To George Colman, Esq. ON THE SUCCESS OF DR. GOLDSMITH'S NEW COMEDY. As this has 'scaped without a fall, Should these tricks fail, the lucky elf, 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, or to Ossian Macpherson, who was hostile to the whole Johnson clique, or to Goldsmith's rival, Kelly. The following is one of his epigrams which appeared : At Dr. Goldsmith's merry play, All the spectators laugh, they say, The assertion, sir, I must deny, For Cumberland and Kelly cry. Another, addressed to Goldsmith, alludes to Kelly's early apprenticeship to stay-making : If Kelly finds fault with the "shape" of your muse, To make it a new pair of Stays!" Cradock had returned to the country before the production of the play; the following letter, written just after the performance, 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 expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story, in short, is this. Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley, and which she approved; Mrs. Bulkley, hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part (Miss Hardcastle) unless, according to the custom of the theatre, she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment, I thought of making a quarrelling epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue; but then Miss Catley refused, after I had taken the trouble of drawing 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 Colman 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 will 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 terrible benefits, yet I shall, on the whole, be a loser, even in a pecuniary light: my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation. "I am, my dear Cradock, 64 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 promoting the interests of poor "Goldy," was triumphant at the success of the piece. "I know of no comedy for many years," said he," that has so much exhilarated an audience; that has answered so much the great end of comedy-in making an audience merry." Goldsmith was happy also in gaining applause from less authoritative sources. Northcote, the painter, then a youthful pupil of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Ralph, Sir Joshua's confidential man, had taken their stations in the gallery to lead the applause in that quarter. Goldsmith asked Northcote's opinion of the play. The youth modestly declared he could not presume to judge in such matters. "Did it make you laugh ?" Oh, exceedingly!" "That is all I require," replied Goldsmith; and rewarded him for his criticism by boxtickets for his first benefit night. The comedy was immediately put to press, and dedicated to Johnson in the following grateful and affec tionate terms: "In inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind, also, to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, with out impairing the most unaffected piety." per The copyright was transferred to Mr. Newbery, according to agreement, whose profits on the sale of the work far exceeded the debts for which the author in his plexities had pre-engaged it. The sum which accrued to Goldsmith from his benefit nights afforded but a slight palliation of his pecuniary difficulties. 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 peu, while it impaired the ease and freedom of spirit necessary to felicitous composition. CHAP. XXXVIII. A newspaper attack-The Evans affray-Johnson's comment. What is the Good-natured Man' but a poor water-gruel for the daughter; he talks with her for some hours, and, Brise le miroir infidcle 66 "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 then the allusion to his "grotesque" person, to his studious attempts to The triumphant success of "She Stoops to Conquer" adorn it; and, above all, to his being an unsuccessful brought forth, of course, those carpings and cavillings admirer of the lovely H-k (the Jessamy Bride), struck of underling scribblers which are the thorns and briers rudely upon the most sensitive part of his highly sensiin the path of successful authors. Goldsmith, though out to him by an officious friend, an Irishman, who told tive nature. The paragraph, it is said, was first pointed easily nettled by attacks of the kind, was at present too well satisfied with the reception of his comedy to heed him he was bound in honour to resent it; but he needed them; but the following anonymous letter, which apment and indignation, and, accompanied by his friend, no such prompting. He was in a high state of excitepeared in a public paper, was not to be taken with equal who is said to have been a Captain Higgins of the maequanimity : "For the London Packet.-To Dr. Goldsmith. Vous vous noyez par vanite. "SIR,-The happy knack which you have learned of puffing your own compositions provokes me to come forth. You have not been the editor of newspapers and magazines not to discover the trick of literary humbug; but the gauze is so thin that the very foolish part of the world see through it, and discover the doctor's monkey face and cloven foot. Your poetic vanity is as unpardonable as your personal. Would man believe it, and will woman bear it, to be told that for hours the great Goldsmith will stand surveying his grotesque ouran-outang figure in a pier glass? Was but the lovely H-k as much enamoured, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in vain. But your vanity 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 diametrically opposite to liberty. rines, he repaired to Paternoster row, to the shop of Evans, the publisher, whom he supposed to be the 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; but her name must not be sported with." Evans professed utter ignorance of the matter, and said he would speak to the editor. He stooped to examine a file of the paper, in search of the offensive article; whereupon Goldsmith's friend gave him a signal, that now was a favourable 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 instant, 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 combat k ants; but the battle raged with unceasing fury. The shopman 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 Goldsmith to a coach, in exceedingly battered and tattered plight, and accompa nied him home, soothing him with much mock commiseration, though he was generally suspected, and on good grounds, to be the author of the libel. Evans immediately instituted a suit against Goldsmith for an assault, but was ultimately prevailed upon to compromise the matter, the poet contributing fifty pounds to the Welsh charity. Newspapers made themselves, as may well be supposed, exceedingly 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, 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, 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's Chronicle." If the liberty of 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 unit ing the weak against the encroachments of power. What concerns the public most properly admits of a public discussion. But, of late, the press has turned from defending public interest to making inroads upon private life-from combating the strong to overwhelming the feeble. No condition is now obscure for its abuse, and the protector has become the tyrant of the people. In 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 security from insults. How to put a step to this licentiousness, by which all are indiscriminately abused, and by which vice consequently escapes in the general censure, I am unable to tell; all I could wish is, that, as the law gives us no protection against the injury, so it should give calumniators no shelter after having provoked correction. The insults which we receive before the public, by being more open, are the more distressing; by treating them with silent contempt, we do not pay a sufficient deference to the opinion of the world. By recurring to legal redress, 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 endeavour to prevent its licentiousness becoming at last the grave of its freedom. 64 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 critical conference over the letter, determined from the style that it must have been written by the lexicographer 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 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 suppose he has been so much elated with the success of his new comedy, that he has thought everything that concerned him must be of importance to the public." CHAP. 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-Question about suicide-Boswell's subserviency. The return of Boswell to town to his task of uoting 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 which Johnson was particularly solemn 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 constantly thinking of 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. Sir," said he in reply, " as I take my shoes from the shoemaker, and my coat from the tailor, so I take my religion from the priest." Boswell treasured up the reply in his memory or his memorandum-book. A few days afterwards, the 9th of April, he kept Good Friday with Dr. Johnson in orthodox style; breakfasted with him on tea and crossbuns; 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 his religi ous 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 Boswell, and he has recorded it in his journal. Johnson, however, with respect to Goldsmith, and indeed with respect to everybody else, blew hot as well as cold, according to the humour he was in. Boswell, 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 acquired more fame than all the officers of the war who were not generals. Why, sir," answered Johnson, his old feeling good-will working uppermost, "you will find ten thousand fit to do what they did, before you find one to do what Goldsmith has done. You must consider that a thing is valued according to its rarity. A pebble that paves the street is in itself more useful than the diamond upon a lady's finger." On the 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 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. Soldiers on sixpence a day could not indulge in luxuries; the poor and labouring classes, forming the great mass of mankind, were out of its sphere. Wherever it could reach them, it strengthened them and rendered them prolific. The conversation was not of particular force or point, as reported by Boswell: the dinner party was a very small one, in which there was no provocation to intellectual display. |