The plays written by Dr. Goldsmith are chiefly remarkable for humour, rather broad-always racy and animating. It was thought by sentimental shallow critics, that Tony Lumpkin would have ruined the play, but it ensured the success of "She Stoops to Conquer," and convulsed the audience with laughter. Who could behold and hear a good Tony Lumpkin, and not enjoy his fun; the humour was natural, and so, like the Poetry and Essays, moved the hearts of the people. "The Good-natured Man," is less racy of the soil than Tony Lumpkin; its success was for a time doubtful on the stage, finally it withstood the censure of critics. I think it very likely the amusing scene in which the bailiffs are dressed up and figure as gentlemen till their vulgar nature breaks forth, was the representation of what Goldsmith had witnessed in his strange adventures.

Goldsmith had now reaped a harvest of fame. The King had commanded his plays; the booksellers had replenished his purse; his ideas expanded, and his expenses increased. He changed his abode, descended into other and more costly chambers in the Temple, and settled over Blackstone then composing his Commentaries; and who had not unfrequently to complain of the musical parties, and boisterous mirth of the Poet. Very probably, while Blackstone was deep in the mysteries of the feudal system, his investigations were interrupted by the merry companions of Goldy, singing lustily, The Three Jolly Pigeons'. Judge Day, Henry Grattan, Mr. Cooke, Mr. Bolt, lawyers all, and accomplished men, enjoyed the hospitality, and have admired the generosity and genial nature of the author of She Stoops to Conquer.' Mr. Bolt was the useful neighbour, when bailiffs threatened or debts became pressing. Goldsmith soon exhausted the profits of his Plays in the purchase of fine furniture, rich carpets, and grand clothes; gave costly entertainments, paid

a high rent for his new abode, never balanced expenditure against income, incurred fresh debt, and rushed into fresh difficulties.

Meanwhile he hears of his brother's death; the good man died on "forty pounds a year." His death deeply affected Goldsmith. He determined to publish The Deserted Village, certain verses in which poem bear the marks of being inspired by recent grief for departed worth.

No doubt the subject of this beautiful poem had been long his contemplation and study, no doubt the design had been carefully chosen, the parts skilfully laid out, the scenes well considered, the language weighed with care, and polished with assiduity. No pains or labour that the most fastidious taste could employ were spared to improve the composition; and no great intellectual work was ever effected without great labour. The success of The Deserted Village, was almost unparalleled. It flew through several editions, and has retained its popularity in the public mind down to the present hour. Why? Because the Poet was describing what he had seen, what he deeply felt, what was domestic, peaceful, sweet, sympathizing, and delightful. The village public-house, the busy mill, the schoolmaster, the innocent joys of country life,-were they ever so touchingly described before? If Eloquence consists in the subject, so must Poetry, and the success of The Deserted Village, only affords another proof, that simplicity and sublimity are akin. The feeling, the pathos, the tenderness, which have thrown a bewitching charm over the Poem prove, that subjects apparently common may be elevated and dignified by the master touch of genius. The harmonious versification is confessed by all; the verses read aloud fall on the ear with the cadence of music.

Byron was enthusiastic in his praises of every line. The soul of Goldsmith must have been melted with sensibility

when he composed some of his immortal stanzas. But the moral is objected to as unsound, the theory is discovered to be an absurdity or a falsehood; i. e., no Auburn in England was ever so deserted, no happy villagers ever so expelled.

This in truth is an objection to poetry altogether, because the poet may imagine and construct his theory, which of course should not be opposed to reason or to nature; but if his idea be correct, then he is not open to criticism because he adheres to that idea throughout. Accordingly, Goldsmith paints the joys, the innocence, the happiness of rural life, the wretchedness of The Deserted Village, the miseries of the expelled villagers with perfect propriety. He is true to himself, and to the poetic conception, from first to last. He prefers agriculture and its innocence, to commerce and its luxuries the glories of art fade in his eyes before nature and virtue. In the mad pursuit of money he insists in verses which will live for ever, that piety and poetry may be alike forgotten or extinguished. He argues in poetry that the wealth must not be confounded with the happiness of a nation. Goldsmith ever maintained that he had in his experience met examples of what he so deeply felt, and so pathetically described. Were there no improvements made at the expense of population, no ruined hearths in England and Scotland, as in Ireland? A writer on the "Poor Laws" has been referred to by a modern critic in justification of Goldsmith's theory. Mr. Potter is the writer who relates this anecdote when the Earl of Leicester was complimented upon the completion of his great design at Holkham; he replied, "It is a melancholy thing to stand alone in one's country. I look round, not a house is to be seen but mine, I am the giant of a giant castle, and have eat up all my neighbours."

This only shows how fact may be found to sustain theory;

but the question is, not whether Goldsmith's views on Political Economy of which he was not a Professor, were accurate, but whether his poetical conception was in itself natural and beautiful, and whether it was sustained consistently throughout. I have been induced to enter into an investigation of the structure of this affecting Poem, in consequence of the severe condemnation pronounced upon it by Lord Macaulay. The noble critic says

"In mere diction and versification this celebrated poem is fully equal, perhaps superior, to the Traveller;' and it is generally preferred by that large class of readers, who think with Bayes in the 'Rehearsal,' that the only use of a plan is, to bring in fine things. More discerning judges, however, while they admire the beauty of the details, are shocked by one unpardonable fault, which pervades the whole. The fault we mean is not that theory about wealth and luxury, which has so often been censured by political economists. The theory is indeed false, but the poem, considered merely as a poem, is not necessarily the worse on that account. A poet may easily be pardoned for reasoning ill, but he cannot be pardoned for describing ill-for observing the world in which he lives so carelessly, that his portraits bear no resemblance to the originals-for exhibiting, as copies from real life, monstrous combinations of things which never were, and never could be, found together. What would be thought of a painter who should mix August and January in one landscape, who should introduce a frozen river into a harvest scene? Would it be a sufficient defence of such a picture to say, that every part was exquisitely colored-that the green hedges, the apple trees loaded with fruit, the waggons reeling under the yellow sheaves, and the sunburnt reapers wiping their foreheads were very fine, and that the ice and the boys sliding were also very fine? To such a picture the 'Deserted

E

Village' bears a great resemblance. It is made up of incongruous parts. The village in its happy days is a true English village. The village in its decay is an Irish village. The felicity and the misery, which Goldsmith has brought close together, belong to two different countries, and to two different stages in the progress of society. He had assuredly never seen in his native island such a rural paradise, such a seat of plenty, content, and tranquillity as his "Auburn." He had assuredly never seen in England all the inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of their homes in one day, and forced to emigrate in a body to America. The hamlet, he had probably seen in Kent—the ejectment, he had probably seen in Munster: but, by joining the two, 'he has produced something which never was, and never will be seen, in any part of the world.'”

I believe that criticism to be erroneous. First, who are the discerning judges, who are shocked by the unpardonable fault which pervades the Poem? When did they shine? What "monstrous combinations of things has Goldsmith described, which never were or could be, found together?" What is it he has produced, which never was, and never will be seen, in any part of the world? Nothing so unsound in criticism have I ever read. Must the poet fix time, and place, and locality for his poem? Is he merely confined to one spot for the execution of his plan? Is not the whole kingdom open to him? Where does the poet say, I am about to jumble English prosperity with Irish misery? One single idea is presented by the poet, which is wrought out in the poem to perfection. Was Goldsmith investigating trade returns, tables of statistics, or of population? Was he arguing for or against emigration? Was he bound to contend in favor of commercial wealth, or against rustic felicity? Why,