LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

CONCLUSION.

GOLDSMITH'S dissipated manner of life for the next few years entailed upon him enormous expenses, which his resources were not calculated to meet. He looked to that as a cure which was really the disease, and rushed thoughtlessly into all the pleasures of society, that he might drown reflection. He wrote for the stage, and had long finished a comedy; but 1772 passed away without its making its appearance. A long and wearisome negociation took place between himself and Colman, who kept the MS. in his hands until the middle of 1773, without coming to any decision upon it. At length Johnson interfered, and Colman consented, though he expressed his fears that the play would not be successful; and that in such sort, that some of the principal actors refused to take part in its representation. The name fixed upon, after much cogitation, was "The Mistakes of a Night; or, She Stoops to Conquer."

As so much opposition had been manifested by Colman, Goldsmith's friends determined to muster in full force, and do their best to give it a successful start. But their assistance was not much needed. "It gained so much upon the public, that Colman was glad to run to Bath, in order to escape the twittings which he got because of his bad judgment or worse feeling, and the caustic epigrams which appeared in the papers in connection with this affair. The comedy was put to press, and the sale repaid Newberry the sums he had advanced for him; whilst his benefit nights only alleviated, in a slight degree, the poor author's pecuniary difficulties.

Boswell returned to town to stay with Johnson during Holyweek. It is well known that the great man was wont to pass this solemn season with such thought and observances as it especially calls for. Boswell imitated him in a measure and degree in his religious, as in his other, habits. "He had," says Madame d'Arblay, "an odd, mock solemnity of tone and manner, which he had acquired from constantly thinking, and imitating Dr. Johnson." During this time he took upon himself to deal out to Goldsmith some second-hand homilies, calculated to benefit his hearer. Goldsmith was much annoyed at being lectured by one whom he knew as being so shallow, and said, 'Sir, as I take my shoes from the shoemaker, and my coat from the tailor, so I take my religion from the Priest.'

The Literary Club had now been in existence several years. Johnson was most anxious at first to keep it exclusive, and opposed to its numbers being increased. Not long after its commencement, Sir Joshua Reynolds was speaking of it to Garrick. “I like it

much," said little David; "I think I shall be of you." "When Sir Joshua mentioned this to Dr. Johnson," says Boswell, "he was much displeased with the actor's conceit. He'll be of us!' growled he; how does he know we will permit him? The first duke in England has no right to hold such language.' This club was now enlarged, and Boswell with others admitted.

The several works which Goldsmith now had in hand had been paid for beforehand, and he was compelled to exercise his ingenuity in order to devise some means for the payment of the past, and security for the future. He therefore projected a dictionary of Arts and Sciences on a large scale, which was to occupy a number of volumes. For this he received promises of no ordinary assistance; Johnson was to write on ethics, Burke on the sublime and beautiful, Sir Joshua Reynolds on painting, Garrick on acting, and Dr. Burney on music. The whole was to be edited by Goldsmith. He drew up a prospectus, which Bishop Percy says was written with uncommon ability.

Goldsmith built much upon this, and hoped it would prove a successful undertaking. He was, however, speedily disappointed. "The booksellers," says Davies, "notwithstanding they had a very good opinion of his abilities, yet were startled at the bulk, importance, 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."

For this distrust there was every reason. Books paid for were put aside, and others written to meet the emergencies as they arose. On one occasion, whilst engaged upon his Natural History, he wrote to Dr. Percy and Mr. Cradock, and begged them to go to his room, and finish certain papers which were wanted for press, as he was detained at Windsor. The two friends accordingly met at Goldsmith's rooms, which they found in great disorder, large and costly books lying in all directions upon the floor. The particular subject which he was then engaged upon was birds. "Do you know anything about birds?" asked Dr. Percy, smiling. "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 upon their labour of friendship, which was so much altered by Goldsmith in his revision, that neither of them knew his own work.

Another anecdote which was in circulation may be exaggerated, yet, with others of a similar character, it impaired the confidence of the booksellers, who could not regard Goldsmith as an accurate writer. Whilst engaged upon his History of Greece, and "pushing on doggedly" through the second volume, Gibbon, the historian, came in. "You are the man of all others I wish to see," cried the poet, glad to be saved the trouble of reference to his

books. "What was the name of that Indian king who gave Alexander the Great so much trouble?" "Montezuma," replied Gibbon. Goldsmith was so about to write it, when Gibbon, pretending to recollect himself, gave him the proper name-Porus.

However, the scheme fell through, and Goldsmith was much discomfited, not only by this, but by the failure of his friends to obtain him a pension from government. Sick at heart, as seeing little hope of relief from embarrassments, he lost his gaiety and good humour, and became peevish and fretful. His health, too, became impaired, and he was no longer capable of following his sedentary occupations. Sir Joshua Reynolds behaved with great kindness to the depressed author during this summer, spending with him as much time as possible. Sir Joshua took him to Vauxhall, which had once been a source of great pleasure to him, and of which he wrote in the "Citizen of the World:"-" Upon entering the gardens, I found every sense occupied with more than expected pleasure; the lights everywhere glimmering through the scarcely-moving trees; the full-bodied concert bursting on the stillness of the night; the natural concert of the birds in the more retired parts of the grove, vying with that which was formed by art; the company gaily dressed, looking satisfaction; and the tables spread with various delicacies, all conspired to fill my imagination with the visionary happiness of the Arabian law-giver, and lifted me into an ecstasy of admiration." Far different were the feelings with which he now looked upon the charmed scene; the syren voice could no longer allure: his heart was heavy, his spirits broken, and his health bad.

Cradock came up to town in the autumn of this year, and generally spent his mornings with Goldsmith. The following is the description which he gives of his unhappy friend. "I found him much altered, and at times very low. He wished me 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 subscription, his two celebrated poems, The Traveller,' and The Deserted Village' with notes." This and other plans came to nothing; and the farewell scene between Cradock and himself is thus touchingly related by the former:

·

"The day before I set out for Leicestershire, I insisted upon his dining with us. He replied, I will, but upon 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, you would 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 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 awhile, as I had matters to settle prior to my next day's journey. On my return, coffee was ready, and the doctor appeared more cheerful, (for Mrs. Cradock was always rather a favourite with him,) and in the evening he endeavoured to talk and remark as usual; but all was force. He stayed till midnight, and I insisted on seeing him safe home; and we most cordially shook hands at the Temple gate."

This was the last time these two friends met. At the end of the year Goldsmith went down to spend Christmas with his friends at Barton, having borrowed the necessary funds from Garrick.

It was a gleam of hope that thus came upon him at this festive season. There he saw the Jessamy bride. But all soon passed away; and the early part of 1774 found him in his lonely home, toiling at his varied tasks. His Animated Nature' was announced; a third edition of Roman History, condensed into one volume for use in schools, was being prepared; he was revising his "Inquiry into Polite Literature," and translating the comic romance of "Scarron." Such were some of the labours which now devolved upon him, and made him faint and weary. Again he rushed into society, again endeavoured to take his fill of forced gaiety; but this could not soothe his wounded heart. It was in vain that he sought for healing. He resolved, therefore, to go down into the country, and to seek for restoration of health in quiet. Accordingly he went to Hyde, and now it was that once again his poetic skill was tried. A trifling incident awoke the sleeping lyre.

He belonged to a literary coterie, who dined together occasionally at S. James's Coffee-house. Goldsmith was generally late. The members therefore sportively wrote a series of epitaphs upon the late Dr. Goldsmith. Garrick's only is extant; it was as follows:

"Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll."

This produced the poem of "Retaliation," in which the portraits of his associates are admirably hit off, and in which his powers of writing were plainly manifested.

Poor Goldsmith had been ailing for some time, and on the 25th of March in this year was so ill, as to be compelled to keep his bed. It was an illness unto death; and he departed on the 4th of April, at five in the morning.

This event cast a sad gloom over the literary world; for, with all his faults, he was a great favourite. 'Burke, on hearing the news, burst into tears; Sir Joshua Reynolds threw by his pencil

66

for the day, and grieved more than he had done in times of great family distress; Johnson, too, felt the blow heavily." "But," says his biographer, "there was one mourner whose enthusiasm for his memory, could it have been foreseen, might have soothed the bitterness of death. After the coffin had been screwed down, a lock of his hair was requested by 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 his hair cut off, which she treasured till her dying day." He was buried in the Temple, and a monument, with an inscription by Johnson, placed in Westminster Abbey. It is needless to add the moral of his life; it is patent to all. He, being. dead, yet speaketh; and from his grave the voice of warning may still be heard.

SELFISHNESS; OR, SEED-TIME AND HARVEST.

CHAPTER X.

A FRIEND had called, and was requested by Mrs. Sydenham's maid to come into her room, to see a piece of needlework in progress, at the time that her two children, a little boy and girl, were left in the drawing-room. Maude was seated there, in a large, dark velvet chair. She held her drawing-board in one arm; her pencil hovered lightly over it. The children skipped about the room; and as they chattered to her, they were busy inspecting every article of taste or convenience displayed on the tables and slabs. Little Annette had extracted a promise of a future drawing, when Cecil and Elvers entered.

"Drawing!" exclaimed Cecil, "that is right. "You know what Mr. Markland said; you have only to persevere, madame, and with moderate perseverance, madame, you will make-"

"Silence, foolish boy !" said Maude, smiling. "Mr. Markland is a sensible man, and encourages young beginners."

66

Young beginners! every word he said was true; you ought not to be unbelieving. I always like to think people mean what they say."

"How very amusing, and how very interesting!" said Elvers. "Well, young beginner, what have we here?. Why you have begun nothing! Draw from your own fancy; I always like your own best. You are in a composing mood, I see, by your face."

"There is composure in the brow, undeniably," said Elvers. "Beware how you disturb it," said Maude, playfully holding up her pencil.