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 was 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." of Northumberland. He procured several other of Goldsmith's writings, the perusal of which tended to elevato the author in his good opinion, and to gain for him his good will. The earl held the office of Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and understanding Goldsmith 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 acquainted with the poet, and expressed a wish the latter should wait upon him. Here, then, was another opportunity for Goldsmith to better his fortune, had he been know Boswell, who was absent from England at the time ing and worldly enough to profit by it. Unluckily, the of the publication of "The Traveller," was astonished, path to fortune lay through the aristocratical mazes on his return, to find Goldsmith, whom he had so much of Northumberland House, and the poet blundered at undervalued, suddenly elevated almost to a par with his the outset. The following is the account he used to idol. He accounted for it by concluding, that much give of his visit:-"I dressed myself in the best manner both of the sentiments and expression of the poem had I could, and, after studying some compliments I thought been derived from conversations with Johnson. He necessary on such an occasion, proceeded to Northum imitates you, sir," said this incarnation of toadyism. berland House, and acquainted the servants that I "Why, no, sir," replied Johnson, "Jack Hawkesworth had particular business with the duke. They showed is one of my imitators, but not Goldsmith. Goldy, sir, me into an antechamber, where, after waiting some time, has great merit." "But, sir, he is much indebted to a gentleman, very elegantly dressed, made his appearyou for his getting so high in the public estimation." ance: taking him for the duke, I delivered all the fine Why, sir, he has, perhaps, got sooner to it by his in- things that I had composed in order to compliment him timacy with me." on the honour he had done me; wheu, to my great astonishment, he told me I had mistaken him for his master, who would see him immediately. At that instant the duke came into the apartment, and I was so confused 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 at the blunder I had committed." 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. Newbery, but all the remuneration on record doled out by his niggard hand to the author was twenty guineas! Goldsmith, now that he was rising in the world, and becoming a notoriety, felt himself called upon to improve his style of living. Accordingly he 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 with Jeffs, the butler of the society. Still he was in the Temple, that classic region rendered famous by the Spectator and other essayists as the abode of gay wits and thought ful men of letters; and which, with its retired courts and embowered gardens, in the very heart of a noisy metropolis, is, to the quiet 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 examining 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 the chord of proper pride. "Nay, sir," said he. never mind that. Nil te quæsiveris extra." implying that his reputation rendered him independent of outward show. Happy would it have been for poor Goldsmith could he have kept this consolatory compliment perpetually in mind, and spared his expenses accordingly. Among the persons of rank who were struck with the merits of "The Traveller" was the Earl (afterwards Duke) Sir John Hawkius, in his "Life of Dr. Johnson," gives some further particulars of this visit, of which he was, in part, a witness. "Having one day," says he, "a call to make on the late duke, then Earl, of Northumberland, I found Goldsmith waiting 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, mentioned that Dr. Goldsmith was waiting without. The earl asked me if I was acquainted with him. I told him that I 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, meaning The Traveller, and was much delighted with it; that he was going to be Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and that, hear ing I was a native of that country, he should be glad to do me any kindness.' 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 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," coutinues Sir John, “did this idiot in the affairs of the world trifle with his fortune, and put back the hand that was held out to assist him." We cannot join with Sir John in his worldly sneer at the conduct of Goldsmith on this occasion. While we admire that honest independence of spirit which prevented him for asking favours 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 biographers 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 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 Northumberland. "She was a lady," says Boswell, "not only of high dignity of spirit, such as became her noble blood, but of excellent 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," originally published under the name of "Edwin and Angelina." It was suggested by an old English ballad beginning "Gentle Herdsman," shown him by Dr Percy, who was at that time making his famous collection, entitled "Relics of Ancient English Poetry," which he submitted to the inspection of Goldsmith prior to publication. A few copies only of "The Hermit" were printed at first, with the following title-page:-" Edwin and Angelina: 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 Goldsmith's name and poetry the high stamp of fashion so potent in England. The circle at Northumberland House, however, was of too steady 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 Gosford, the noble seat of his countryman, Viscount Clare, who appreciated his merits even more heartily than the Duke 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 of bettering his fortunes: he had an Irishman'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 coarse wit. With all his occasional coarseness he was capable of high 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-humoured audacity of expression always gained him a hearing, though his tall person and awkward manner gave him the nickname of Squire Gawky among the political scribblers of the day. 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 miscellaneous and anonymous tales and essays from the various newspapers and transient publications in which they lay dormant. These he published in 1765 in a collected form, under the title of Essays, by Mr. Goldsmith." "The following Essays," observes he in his preface, "have already appeared at 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 strenuously employed with their own follies to be assiduous in estimating 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, I can by no means complain of their circulation. The magazines 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 multiplied editions, I have seen some of my labours 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, 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 was but little, in fact; for all the pecuniary emolument he received from the volume was twenty guineas. It had a good circulation, however, was translated into French, and has maintained its stand among the British classics. Notwithstanding that the reputation of Goldsmith had greatly risen, his finances were often at a very low ebb, owing 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 embarassments. It had enlarged his circle of needy acquaintances-authors poorer in pocket than himself, who came in search of literary counsel; which generally meant a guinea and a breakfast. And then his Irish hangerson! 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 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 a kind of running account with Mr. Newbery, who was his banker on all occasions, sometimes for pounds, sometimes for shillings; but who was a rigid accountant, and took care amply to be 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 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. Newbery the famous nursery story of "Goody TwoShoes," which appeared in 1765, at a moment when Goldsmith was scribbling for Newbery, 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 humour: "We are desired to give notice, that there is in the press, and speedily will be published, either by subscrip tion or otherwise, as the public shall please to determine, the History of Little Goody Two-Shoes, otherwise Mrs. Margery Two-Shoes; with the means by which she acquired learning and wisdom, and in consequence thereof, her estate; set forth at large for the benefit of those Who, from a state of rags and care, The world is probably not aware of the ingenuity, humour, good sense, and sly satire contained in many of the old English nursery-tales. They have evidently been the sportive productions of able writers, who would not trust their names to productions that might be considered beneath their diguity. 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 Tom Thumb," flourish in wide-spreading and never-ceasing popularity. 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 f 66 " man-servant; replenished his wardrobe at considerable expense, and appeared in a professional wig and cane, purple silk small-clothes, and a scarlet roquelaure, buttoned to the 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 un usual magnificence of purple and fine linen, and his roquelaure flaunting from his shoulders, he used to strut into the apartments of his patients, swaying his threecornered hat in one hand, and his medical sceptre, the cane, in the other, and assuming an air of gravity and importance suited to the solemnity of his 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. 64 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 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 quantity 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 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 undertake to kill, let it be only your enemies." This was the end of Goldsmith's medical career. CHAP. XVII. Publication of the "Vicar of Wakefield "---Opinions concerning it Of Dr. Johnson---Of Rogers the 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 popularity which it had conferred on its author, now roused the attention of the bookseller in whose hands the novel of "The Vicar of Wakefield" had been slumber ing 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 merits, and suffer it to remain unpublished while putting forth various inferior writings by the same author. This, however, is a mistake; it was his nephew, Francis Newbery, who had become the fortunate purchaser. Still the delay is equally unaccountable. Some have imagined that the uncle and nephew had business arrangements together, in which this work was included, and that the elder Newbery, dubious of its success, retarded the publication until the full harvest of "The Traveller" should be reaped. Booksellers are prone to make egregious mistakes as to the merits of works in manuscript; and to undervalue, if not reject, those of classic and enduring excellence, 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 had much success. It was written and sold to a bookseller before The Traveller,' but published after, so little expectation had the bookseller from it. Had it been sold after The Traveller,' he might have had twice as much money; though sixty guineas was no mean price." 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 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, 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 popu larity that has never flagged. Rogers, the Nestor of British literature, whose refined purity of taste and exquisite mental organization rendered him eminently calculated to 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 an interval of many more generations, he should as surely look to find it undiminished. Nor has its celebrity been confined to Great Britain. Though so exclusively a picture of British scenes and manners, it has been translated into almost every language, and everywhere its charın 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 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 language, until it is now known throughout the whole reading world, and is become a household book in every hand. The secret of its universal and enduring popularity is undoubtedly the truth to nature, but to nature of the most amiable kind—to nature such as Goldsmith saw it. The author, as we have occasionally shown in the course of this memoir, took his scenes and 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 colourings of his own good head and heart. Yet how contradictory it seems that this, one of the most delightful pictures of home and homefelt happiness, should be drawn by a homeless man! that the most amiable pictures of domes tic 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 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 passage illustrative of what we have said, and which, within a wonderfully small compass, comprises a world of beauty of imagery, tenderness of feeling, delicacy and refinement of thought, and matchless purity of style. The two stanzas which conclude it, in which is told a whole history of woman's wrongs and sufferings, are, 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 endeavouring to rally them back to happiness. "The next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth for 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 tree about us. It was in this place my poor Olivia first met her seducer, and every object served to recal her sadness. But that melanchoy 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, me pretty Olivia,' cried she, let us have that melancholy air your father was so fond of; your sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do, child, it will please your old father. She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me. When lonely woman stoops to folly, To hide her shame from every eye, And 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 attacked in the newspapers. In one of the chapters he has introduced 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 66 66 : To the Printer of the St. James's Chronicle. SIR,-In the Reliques of Ancient Poetry,' published about two years ago, is a very beautiful little ballad, called A Friar 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 them, he has formed the above-mentioned ballad; the subject of which is, a lady comes to a convent to inquire for her lover, 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. He never will come again. The lady weeps and laments her cruelty; the friar endeavours 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 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 Ancient Reliques,' Dr. Goldsmith has been hardy enough to publish a poem called The Hermit,' where the circumstance 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 is as short of the merits of Mr. Percy's ballad as the insipidity of negus is to the genuine flavour of champagne. "I am, sir, yours, &c. DETECTOR." This attack, supposed to be by Goldsmith's constant persecutor, the malignant Kenrick, drew from him the following note to the editor: "SIR, AS there is nothing I dislike so much as news paper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concise as possible in informing a correspondent of yours that I recommended Blainville's Travels' be cause 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 mis informed, and my reading was not extensive enough to set me right. Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad I published some time ago from one by the ingenuous Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad was taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy some years ago; and he, as we both considered these things as trifles at best, told me, with his usual good humour, 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 petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing; 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 learning for communications of a much more important nature. "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 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 dishonoured. He continued, therefore, his usual job-work for the booksellers, writing introductions, prefaces, and head and tail pieces for new works! revising, touching up, and modifying travels and voyages; making compilations of prose and poetry, and building books," as he sportively termed it. These tasks required little labour or talent, but that taste and touch which are the magic of gifted minds. His terms began to be proportioned to his celebrity. If his price was at any time 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 reputation are fixed or estimated; and then he is, as in other professions, only paid for his previous labours." He was, however, prepared to try his fortune in a different walk of literature from any he had yet attempted. We have repeatedly adverted to his fondness for the drama; he was a frequent attendant at the theatre; though, as we have shown, he considered them under gross management. He thought, too, that a vicious taste prevailed among those who wrote for the stage. "A new species of dramatic composition," says he, 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 exceedingly generous; they are lavish enough of their tin money on the stage; and though they want humour 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 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 an entertainment on the stage; for while the comic poet is invading the province of the tragic muse, he leaves her lively sister quite neglected. Of this, however, he is no ways solicitous, as he measures his fame by his profits. 64 * * * Humour, at present, seems to be departing from the stage; and it will soon happen that our comic players will have nothing 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 fastidious, we have banished humour 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 production of Colman and Garrick, and suggested by Hogarth's inimitable pictures of "Marriage-ala-Mode," had taken the town by storm, crowded the theatre with fashionable audiences, and formed one of the leading literary topics of the year. Goldsmith's emulation was roused by its success. The comedy was in what he considered the legitimate line, totally different from the sentimental school; it presented pictures of real life-delineations of character and touches of humour, in which he felt himself calculated to excel. The consequence was, that in the course of the year (1766) he commenced a comedy of the same class, to be entitled the "Good-natured man," at which he diligently wrote whenever the hurried occupation of book-building" allowed him leisure. CHAP. XVIII. 66 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 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 prepared to move in them with confidence and success. Ballymahon had not been a good school of manners at the ontset 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 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 vagabondising. It had enriched his mind, deepened and widened the benevolence of his heart, and filled his memory with enchanting pictures; but it had contributed little to disciplining him for the polite inter course of the world. His life in London had hitherto been a struggle with sordid cares and sad humiliations. "You can scarcely 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 trod the lowly walks of life. He had been a tutor, an apothecary's drudge, a petty physician 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 gentleness and kindness through all these trials; how his mind rose above the "meannesses of poverty," to which, as he says, he was compelled to submit; but it would be still more wonderful had his manners acquired a tone corresponding to the iunate 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 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 passed; and of the cheap indulgences he has sought relief and help from. There is nothing plastic in his nature now. His manners and habits are completely formed; and in them any further success can make little favourable 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 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 had shown himself capable, fell into a conventional mode of judging 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 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 childhood; his melancholy temperament, which unfitted him for the pleasures of youth, had made him so. For many years past the vast variety of works he had been obliged to consult in preparing his Dictionary had stored an uncommonly retentive memory with facts on all kinds of subjects, making it a perfect colloquial armoury. He had all his life," says Boswell, 6. habituated himself to consider conversation as a trial of intellectual vigour and skill. He had disciplined himself as a talker as well as a writer, making it a rule to impart whatever he knew in the most forcible language he could put it in, so that by constant practice, and never suffering any careless expression to escape him, he had attained an extraordinary accuracy and command of language. His common conversation in all companies, according to Sir Joshua Reynolds, was such as to secure him universal attention, something above the usual colloquial style being always expected from him. "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 colouring." A stronger and more graphic eulogium is given by Dr. Percy:- "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 comparison; can we wonder that he should appear to disadvantage? Conversation grave, discursive, and disputations, such as Johnson 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 Johnson, a vast fund of acquired facts to draw upon, nor a retentive 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 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 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 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 |