"In person he was short, about five feet five or six inches; strong, but not heavy in make; rather fair in complexion, with brown hair, such at least as could be distinguished from his wig. His features were plain, but not repulsive-certainly not so when lighted up by conversation. His manners were simple, natural, and perhaps on the whole we may say not polished, at least without that refinement and good breeding which the exquisite polish of his compositions would lead us to expect. He was always cheerful and animated, often indeed boisterous in his mirth; entered with spirit into convivial society; contributed largely to its enjoyments by solidity of information and the naïveté and originality of his character; talked often without premeditation, and laughed loudly without restraint.

Being then a young man, I felt myself much flattered by the notice of so celebrated a person. He took great delight in the conversation and society of Grattan, whose brilliancy in the morning of life furnished full earnest of the unrivalled splendour which awaited his meridian; and finding us dwelling together in Essex-court, near himself, where he frequently visited my immortal friend, his warm heart became naturally prepossessed towards the associate of one whom he much admired.

"Just arrived as I then was from College, full freighted with academic gleanings, our author did not disdain to receive from me some opinions and hints towards his Greek and Roman histories, light and superficial works, not composed for fame, but compiled for the more urgent purpose of recruiting his exhausted finances. So in truth was his Animated Nature. His purse replenished by labours of this kind, the season of relaxation and pleasure took its turn in attending the theatres, Ranelagh, Vauxhall, and other scenes of gaiety and amusement, which he continued to frequent as long as his supply held out. He was fond of exhibiting his muscular little person in the gayest apparel of the day, to which was added a bag wig and sword.

"This favourite costume involved him one morning in a short but comical dialogue in the Strand with two coxcombs, one of whom, pointing to Goldsmith, called to his companion in allusion to the Poet's sword 'to look at that fly with a long pin stuck through it.' Goldsmith instantly cautioned the passengers aloud against 'that brace of disguised pickpockets,' and having determined to teach those gentlemen that he wore a sword as well for defence from insolence as for ornament, he retired from the footpath into the coachway, which admitted of more space and freedom of action, and half-drawing his sword, beckoned to the witty gentleman, armed in like manner, to follow him; but he and his companion, thinking prudence the better part of valour, declined the invitation, and sneaked away amid the hootings of the spectators."

GOLDSMITH'S HEALTH DECLINES.

In the summer of 1773, Oliver's health became impaired and his spirits depressed. Sir Joshua Reynolds, perceiving the state of his mind, gave him much of his company. In the course of their interchange of thought, Goldsmith suggested to him the story of Ugolino as a subject for his pencil: the painting founded on it remains as a memento of their friendship.

On the 4th of August, they went together to Vauxhall Gardens, which Goldsmith had described in the Citizen of the World as a scene of Oriental splendour and delight. Everything now, however, was seen with different eyes; and he found it impossible any longer, by mingling in the gay and giddy throng, to escape from the carking care which was clinging to his heart.

His Leicestershire friend, the kind Mr. Cradock, came up to town, but found him much altered, and at times very low. They devised several literary plans, but Goldsmith's heart was failing him; his talent at hoping was almost at an end. He dined, with much pressing, with Cradock and his wife, but ate little. He grew more cheerful after dinner, and stayed till midnight, when his host saw him safe home, and cordially shook hands with him at the Temple gate. Cradock little thought that this was to be their final parting. He looked back to it with mournful recollections in after years, and lamented that he had not remained longer in town, at every inconvenience, to solace the poor broken-spirited poet.

Before Christmas, Goldsmith received an invitation to pass that season at Barton. He had no money, but Garrick lent him the required sum.

Goldsmith returned to town early in 1774, and toiled fitfully and hopelessly at a multiplicity of tasks in the Temple. He again made an effort to rally his spirits, and gave several entertainments in his chambers, the last of which was a dinner to Johnson, Reynolds, and others of his intimates, who partook with sorrow and reluctance of his imprudent hospitality. The first course vexed them by its needless profusion. When a second, equally extravagant, was served Johnson and Reynolds declined to partake of it; the rest of the company, understanding their motives, followed their example, and the dishes went from the table untasted. Goldsmith felt sensibly this silent and well-intended rebuke.

up,

Wearied by the distractions and harassed by the expenses of a town life, he now resolved to sell his right in the Temple chambers, and retire into the country.

GOLDSMITH AT HYDE FARM,

To pursue his literary labours undisturbed, Goldsmith withdrew to the quiet of a rural lodging—a single room in a farmer's house near the sixth milestone on the road to Edge

U

ware. Here, in the next summer, he returned to write his Natural History, "carrying down his books in two return postchaises." Boswell went to see the place, taking with him Mr. Mickle, translator of the Lusiad. Goldsmith was not at home; but they went in to see his apartment, and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled upon the wall with a blacklead pencil. In this room She Stoops to Conquer was written. A son of the farmer, who was sixteen years of age when Goldsmith lodged with his father, used to relate that the author usually had his meals sent to him in his own room; sometimes he would abstractedly wander into the kitchen, there stand musing with his back to the fire, and then hurry back to his apartment. Sometimes he strolled about the fields, and was to be seen reading under a hedge. He read much in bed by candlelight; and to extinguish the candle, if at a distance, he flung his slipper at it.

Here Oliver lived frugally: his board and lodging cost 121. per quarter; his extra expenses were trivial; and the landlady allowed him occasionally to invite a poor brother author to dinner, without any charge. When wine was produced, Goldsmith was charged 1s. 6d. per bottle. This was rare, and no one evening was burdened with two bottles. Goldsmith's usual beverage in this retreat was sassafras tea," then a reputed purifier of the blood; and his supper was uniformly a dish of boiled milk. Such was his day's simple fare, except when he went to dine in town on Fridays with the Club.

He had the use of the parlour, and here he received Sir Joshua Reynolds, Hugh Boyd, (the reputed Junius,) Sir William Chambers, and other distinguished visitors. He gave occasionally a dinner-party; and once, when his guests were detained by a thunder-shower, he got up a dance.

Near to his rural retreat at Edgeware, a Mr. Seguin, an Irish merchant, of literary tastes, had country quarters for his family, where Goldsmith was always welcome. In this circle he would indulge in playful and even grotesque humour, and was ready for anything-conversation, music, or a game of romps. He would sing Irish songs, and the Scotch ballad of "Johnny Armstrong. He took the lead in the children's sports of blind-man's-buff, hunt-the-slipper, &c., turning the hind part of his wig before, and all kinds of tricks to amuse the little ones.

He was at all times a capital companion for children, and knew how to fall in with their humours. "I little thought,"

said Miss Hawkins, the woman grown, "what I should have to boast when Goldsmith taught me to play Jack and Jill by two bits of paper on his fingers."

"RETALIATION."

At a dispirited juncture when inspiration seemed to be at an end, and the poetic fire extinguished, a spark fell on Goldsmith's combustible imagination, and set it in a blaze.

He belonged to a temporary association of men of talent, some of them members of the Club, who dined together occasionally at the St. James's Coffee-house. At these dinners he was generally one of the last to arrive. On one occasion when he was more dilatory than usual, a whim seized the company to write epitaphs on him as "The late Dr. Goldsmith," and several were thrown off in a playful vein, hitting off his peculiarities. The only one extant was written by Garrick, and has been preserved, very probably, by its pungency :

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

Goldsmith did not relish the sarcasm, especially as coming from such a quarter; and by way of retaliation, he produced the celebrated poem of that name, of which Cumberland has left the following interesting account:

"I conclude my account of Goldsmith,' says Mr. Cumberland, "with gratitude, for the epitaph he bestowed on me in his poem called Retaliation. It was upon a proposal started by Edmund Burke, that a party of friends, who had dined together at Sir Joshua Reynolds's and my house, should meet at the St. James's Coffee-house, which accordingly took place, and was occasionally repeated with much festivity and good fellowship. Dr. Bernard, Dean of Derry, a very amiable and old friend of mine, Dr. Douglas, since Bishop of Salisbury, Johnson, David Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Oliver Goldsmith, Edmund and Richard Burke, Hickey, with two or three others, constituted our party. At one of these meetings an idea was suggested of extemporary epitaphs upon the parties present; pen and ink were called for, and Garrick offhand wrote an epitaph with a good deal of humour upon poor Goldsmith, who was the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we committed to the grave. The dean also gave him an epitaph, and Sir Joshua illuminated the dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in pen and ink, inimitably caricatured. Neither Johnson nor Burke wrote anything, and when I perceived that Oliver was rather sore, and seemed to watch me with that kind of attention which indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of burlesque with theirs, I thought it time to press the joke no further, and wrote a few couplets at a side-table, which, when I had finished, and was called upon by the company to

exhibit, Goldsmith, with much agitation, besought me to spare him; and I was about to tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of my hand, and in a loud voice read them at the table. I have now lost all recollection of them, and, in fact, they were little worth remembering; but, as they were serious and complimentary, the effect upon Goldsmith was the more pleasing, for being so entirely unexpected. The concluding line, which is the only one I can call to mind, was—

'All mourn the poet, I lament the man.'

This I recollect, because he repeated it several times, and seemed much gratified by it. At our next meeting he produced his epitaphs, as they stand in the little posthumous poem above mentioned, and this was the last time he ever enjoyed the company of his friends."Memoirs, vol. i.

Goldsmith has not spared the characters and failings of his associates, but has drawn them with satire, at once pungent and good-humoured. Garrick is smartly chastised; Burke, the Dinner-bell of the House of Commons, is not spared; and of all the more distinguished names of the Club, Johnson, Cumberland, and Reynolds alone escape the lash of the satirist. The former is not mentioned, and the two latter are even dismissed with unqualified and affectionate applause.

We have said that Reynolds is omitted: we shall presently see with what a grave event his escape is associated.

DEATH OF GOLDSMITH.

Retaliation, as we have already observed, was thrown off in parts, at intervals, and was never completed. Some characters, originally intended to be introduced, remained unattempted; others were but partially sketched-such was the one of Reynolds, the friend of the poet's heart:

"Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind.

His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand:
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,

When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing:
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.

Here the friendly portrait stood unfinished on the easel; the hand of the artist had failed! The return of a local complaint, under which he had suffered for some time past, added to general prostration of health, brought Goldsmith back to