The clothes were immediately to be returned when the purpose was served, or the debt was to be discharged. Poor Goldsmith, having failed in his object, and probably distressed by urgent want, pawned the clothes. The publisher threatened, and the poet replied: 'I know of no misery but a jail, to which my own imprudences and your letter seem to point. I have seen it inevitable these three or four weeks, and, by heavens! request it as a favour-as a favour that may prevent somewhat more fatal. I have been some years struggling with a wretched being-with all that contempt and indigence brings with it-with all those strong passions which make contempt insupportable. What, then, has a jail that is formidable?' Such was the almost hopeless condition, the deep despair, of this imprudent but amiable author, who has added to the delight of millions, and to the glory of English literature. proceeded to Edinburgh, where he continued a year suitably dressed, Goldsmith obtained a new suit and a half studying medicine. He then drew upon of clothes, for which Griffiths became security. his uncle for £20, and embarked for Bordeaux. The vessel was driven into Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and whilst there, Goldsmith and his fellow-passengers were arrested and put into prison, where the poet was kept a fortnight. It appeared that his companions were Scotsmen, in the French service, and had been in Scotland enlisting soldiers for the French army. Before he was released the ship sailed, and was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, the whole of the crew having perished. He embarked in a vessel bound for Rotterdam, and arriving there in nine days, travelled by land to Leyden. These particulars (which have a very apocryphal air) rest upon the authority of a letter written from Leyden by Goldsmith to his uncle, Contarine. At Leyden he appears to have remained, without making an effort for a degree, about a twelvemonth; and in February 1755, he set off on a continental pedestrian tour, provided, it is said, with a guinea in his pocket, one shirt to his back, and a flute in his hand. He stopped some time at Louvain in Flanders, at Antwerp, and at Brussels. In France, he is said, like George Primrose, in his Vicar of Wakefield, to have occasionally earned a night's lodging and food by playing on his flute. Scenes of this kind formed an appropriate school for the poet. He brooded with delight over these pictures of humble primitive happiness, and his imagination loved to invest them with the charms of poetry. Goldsmith afterwards visited Germany and the Rhine. From Switzerland he sent the first sketch of the Traveller to his brother. The loftier charms of nature in these Alpine scenes seem to have had no permanent effect on the character or direction of his genius. He visited Florence, Verona, Venice, and stopped at Padua some months, where he is supposed to have taken his medical degree. In 1756 the poet reached England, after one year of wandering, lonely, and in poverty, yet buoyed up by dreams of hope and fame. Many a hard struggle | he had yet to encounter! He was some time assistant to a chemist in a shop at the corner of Monument Yard on Fish Street Hill. A collegefriend, Dr Sleigh, enabled him to commence practice as a humble physician in Bankside, Southwark: but this failed; and after serving for a short time as a reader and corrector of the press to Richardson the novelist, he was engaged as usher in a school at Peckham, kept by Dr Milner. At Milner's table he met Griffiths the bookseller, proprietor of the Monthly Review; and in April 1757, Goldsmith agreed to leave Dr Milner's, to board and lodge with Griffiths, to have a small salary, and devote himself to the Review. Whatever he wrote is said to have been tampered with by Griffiths and his wife! In five months the engagement abruptly closed. For a short time he was again at Dr Milner's as usher. In 1758 he presented himself at Surgeons' Hall for examination as a hospital mate, with the view of entering the army or navy; but he had the mortification of being rejected as unqualified. That he might appear before the examining surgeon Henceforward the life of Goldsmith was that of a man of letters. He lived solely by his pen. Besides numerous contributions to the Monthly and Critical Reviews, the Lady's Magazine, the British Magazine, &c., he published an Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe (1759), his admirable Chinese Letters, afterwards published with the title of The Citizen of the World, a Life of Beau Nash, and the History of England in a series of letters from a nobleman to his son. The latter was highly successful, and was popularly attributed to Lord Lyttelton. In December 1764 appeared his poem of The Traveller, the chief corner-stone of his fame, 'without one bad line,' as has been said; 'without one of Dryden's careless verses.' Charles Fox pronounced it one of the finest poems in the English language; and Dr Johnson-then numbered among Goldsmith's friends-said that the merit of The Traveller was so well established, that Mr Fox's. praise could not augment it, nor his censure diminish it. The periodical critics were unanimous in its praise. In 1766 he published his exquisite novel, The Vicar of Wakefield, which had been written two years before, and sold to Newberry, the bookseller, to discharge a pressing debt. His comedy of The Good-natured Man was produced in 1767, his Roman History next year, and The Deserted Village in 1770. The latter was as popular as The Traveller, and speedily ran through a number of editions. In 1773, Goldsmith's comedy, She Stoops to Conquer, was brought out at Covent Garden Theatre with immense applause. He was now at the summit of his fame and popularity. The march had been long and toilsome, and he was often nearly fainting by the way; but his success was at length complete. His name stood among the foremost of his contemporaries: the booksellers courted him, and his works brought him in large sums. Difficulty and distress, however, still clung to him: poetry had found him poor at first, and she kept him so. From heedless profusion and extravagance, chiefly in dress, and from a benevolence which knew no limit while his funds lasted, Goldsmith was scarcely ever free from debt. The gaming-table also presented irresistible attractions. He hung loosely on society, without wife or domestic tie; and his early habits and experience were ill calculated to teach him strict conscientiousness or regularity. He continued to write task-work for the booksellers, and produced a History of England in four volumes. This was succeeded by a History of Greece in two volumes, for which he was paid £250. He had contracted to write a History of Animated Nature in eight volumes, at the rate of a hundred guineas for each volume; but this work he did not live to complete, though the greater part was finished in his own attractive and easy manner. In March 1774, he was attacked by a painful complaint (strangury) caused by close study, which was succeeded by a nervous fever. Contrary to the advice of his apothecary, he persisted in the use of James's powders, a medicine to which he had often had recourse; and gradually getting worse, he expired in strong convulsions on the 4th of April. The death of so popular an author, at the age of forty-six, was a shock equally to his friends and the public. The former knew his sterling worth, and loved him with all his foibles-his undisguised vanity, his national proneness to blundering, his thoughtless extravagance, his credulity, and his frequent absurdities. Under these ran a current of generous benevolence, of enlightened zeal for the happiness and improvement of mankind, and of manly independent feeling. He died £2000 in debt: 'Was ever poet so trusted before!' exclaimed Johnson. His remains were interred in the Temple burying-ground, and a monument erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, next the grave of Gay, whom he somewhat resembled in character, and far surpassed in genius. The fame of Goldsmith has been constantly on the increase, and two copious lives of him have lately been produced-one by Prior, in 1837, and another, The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, by John Forster, in two volumes, 1854. The latter is a valuable and interesting work. The plan of The Traveller is simple, yet comprehensive and philosophical. The poet represents himself as sitting among Alpine solitudes, looking down on a hundred realms Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. He views the whole with delight, yet sighs to think that the hoard of human bliss is so small, and he wishes to find some spot consigned to real happiness, where his worn soul' Might gather bliss to see his fellows blessed. But where is such a spot to be found? The natives of each country think their own the best-the patriot boasts His first, best country, ever is at home. If nations are compared, the amount of happiness in each is found to be about the same; and to illustrate this position, the poet describes the state of manners and government in Italy, Switzerland, France, Holland, and England. In general correctness and beauty of expression, these sketches have never been surpassed. The politician may think that the poet ascribes too little importance to the influence of government on the happiness of mankind, seeing that in a despotic state the whole must depend on the individual character of the governor; yet in the cases cited by Goldsmith, it is difficult to resist his conclusions; while his short sententious reasoning is relieved and elevated by bursts of true poetry. His character of the men of England used to draw tears from Dr Johnson: Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, I see the lords of humankind pass by; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's hand. Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, Goldsmith was a master of the art of contrast in heightening the effect of his pictures. In the following quotation, the rich scenery of Italy, and the effeminate character of its population, are placed in striking juxtaposition with the rugged mountains of Switzerland and their hardy natives. [Italians and Swiss Contrasted.] Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied A mistress or a saint in every grove. My soul turn from them, turn we to survey Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread, Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed; Thus every good his native wilds impart, [France Contrasted with Holland.] So blest a life these thoughtless realms display, Thus idly busy rolls their world away : Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honour forms the social temper here. Honour, that praise which real merit gains, Or even imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current; paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid traffic round the land. From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise; They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem, Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. But while this softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies also room to rise: For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robe of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year; The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Hence all the good from opulence that springs, Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, The Deserted Village is limited in design, and, according to Macaulay, is incongruous in its parts. The village in its happiest days is a true English village, while in its decay it is an Irish village. "The felicity and the misery which he has brought close together belong to two different countries and to two different stages in the progress of society.' But there is no poem in the English language more universally popular than the Deserted Village. Its best passages are learned in youth, and never quit the memory. Its delineations of rustic life accord with those ideas of romantic purity, seclusion, and happiness, which the young mind associates with the country and all its charms, before modern manners and oppression had driven them away To pamper luxury, and thin mankind. Political economists may dispute the axiom, that luxury is hurtful to nations; and curious speculators, like Mandeville, may even argue that private vices are public benefits; but Goldsmith has a surer advocate in the feelings of the heart, which yield a spontaneous assent to the principles he inculcates, when teaching by examples, with all the efficacy of apparent truth, and all the effect of poetical beauty and excellence. [Description of Auburn-The Village Preacher, the The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill; When toil remitting lent its turn to play; 5 And all the village train, from labour free, Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, A man he was to all the country dear, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile; His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high, The parlour splendours of that festive place; Vain transitory splendour! could not all Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name, Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth; As some fair female, unadorned and plain, But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, In all the glaring impotence of dress: While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, Edwin and Angelina. 'Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. 'For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go.' 'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'Here, to the houseless child of want, My door is open still: And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good-will. "Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, 'No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn ; Taught by that power that pities me, I learn to pity them. |