party of French visitors at Strawberry in elaborate state, presenting himself at the gate in a cravat of Gibbons's carving' and a pair of James the First gloves embroidered up to the elbows: both thought themselves entitled to make the most of poor Goldsmith's 'bragging'; and Garrick, however good the humour he might be in, had always his laugh in equal readiness. Come, come,' he said, ́ talk no more of that. You are perhaps the worst. . . eh, eh!' Goldsmith eagerly attempted to interrupt him. 'Nay,' continued Garrick, laughing ironically, 'nay, you will always 'look like a gentleman; but I am talking of being well or 'ill drest.' 'Well,' answered Goldsmith, with an amusing simplicity which makes the anecdote very pleasant to us, 'let 'me tell you, when my tailor brought home my bloomcoloured coat he said, "Sir, I have a favour to beg of you. "When any body asks you who made your clothes, be

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pleased to mention John Filby, at the Harrow in Water "Lane." Why, sir,' remarked Johnson, that was because he knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how 'well he could make a coat, even of so absurd a colour.' Crowds have been attracted to gaze at it, and Mr. Filby's bloom-coloured coat defies the ravages of time!

How the party talked after dinner may be read in Boswell; in all whose reports, however, the confessed object is to give the talk of only one speaker, with such limited fragments of remark from others as may be necessary elucidation of the one. Thus there are but two sentences

preserved of Goldsmith's; both sensible enough, though both of them indications that he was not disposed to accept all Johnson's criticism for gospel. He put in a word for Pope's character of Addison, as 'showing a deep knowledge of the human heart,' while Johnson was declaring (quite justly) that in Dryden's poetry were passages drawn from a profundity which Pope could never reach; and he quietly interposed, when Johnson took to praising Lord Kaimes's Elements of Criticism, that it must have been easier to write that book 'than it was to read it.' Poor Boswell himself came off very ill at this dinner, as at several other meetings before he returned to Scotland; being compared to Pope's dunces, having his head called his peccant part, and receiving other as unequivocal compliments: so that he was fain to console himself with what he now heard Goldsmith (happily adapting an expression in one of Cibber's comedies) say of his hero's conversation. There ' is no arguing with Johnson; for when his pistol misses 'fire, he knocks you down with the butt-end of it.'

The nature of Goldsmith's employments at the close of 1769, are indicated in the advertising columns of the papers of the day. His English History occupied him chiefly, his Natural History occasionally; he had undertaken to write a life of his countryman, Parnell, for a new edition of his poems; and the speedy publication of the Deserted Village was twice announced in the Public Advertiser. But it was not published speedily. was paused over, altered, polished, and refined.

Still it

Bishop

Percy has mentioned the delightful facility with which his prose flowed forth unblotted with erasure, as a contrast to the labour and pains of his verse interlined with countless alterations; but in prose, as in poetry, he aimed at the like effects, and obtained them. He knew that no picture will stand, if the colours are bad, ill-chosen, or indiscreetly combined; and that not chaos, but order is creation. It is a pity that men, though of perhaps greater genius, who have lived since his time, should not more deeply have pondered such lessons as his writings bequeath to us. It is a pity that the disposition to rush into print should be so general; for few men have ever repented of publishing too late. Pope's method of sending forth a part of a poem one winter, and promising its completion for the winter following, would be laughed at now a days: yet extremely few are the thoughts 'conceived with rapture and with fire begot,' compared with those that may be carefully brought forth, becomingly and charmingly habited, and introduced by the Graces. Men of the more brilliant order of fancy and imagination should be always distrustful of their powers. Spar and stalactite are bad materials for the foundation of solid edifices.

The year 1770 opens with a glimpse into the old fireside at Kilmore. The Lauders do not seem to have communicated with him since his uncle Contarine's death; and a legacy of £15, left him by that generous friend, remained unappropriated in their hands. His brother Maurice, still without calling or employment, and apparently living on

such of his relatives as from time to time were willing to afford him a home, seems to have heard this mentioned while he made one of his self-supporting visits, and to have straightway written to Oliver. The money would help him to an outfit, if his famous brother could help him to an appointment; and to express his earnest hopes in this direction, the letter was written. His sister Johnson wrote soon after for her husband, in a precisely similar strain; and to these letters his reply has been kept. It shows little change since earlier days. His Irish friends and family are as they then were. They do not seem to have answered many recent communications sent them; he now learns for the first time that Charles is no longer in Ireland; his brother-in-law, Hodson, has been as silent as the rest; and he sends Cousin Jenny his portrait, in memory of an original 'almost forgot.' The letter is directed to Mr. Maurice 'Goldsmith, at James Lauder's, Esq., at Kilmore, near Car' rick-on-Shannon,' and bears the date of 'January 1770.'

"DEAR BROTHER, I 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 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-inlaw something like that which you desire; but I am determined never to ask for little things, nor exhaust any little interest I may have, until I can serve you, 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 Ancient History in a Royal Academy of Painting, which he has just established, but there is no salary annexed, and I took it rather as a compliment to the institution, than any benefit to myself. Honours to one in my situation, are something like ruffles to one that wants a shirt.. You tell me that there are thirteen or fourteen pounds left me in the hands of my cousin Lauder, 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 Kilmore, how to dispose of money, which is, properly speaking, more 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 Johnson 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 forgot me, yet if good things at last arrive, I hope one day to return and increase their good humour, by adding to my own.. I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I believe it is the most acceptable present I can 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 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 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 news of