coming to the point. Yet he said several things that I understood, though they were unintelligible to all others; and he was more kind, more good-humored, more flattering to me than ever. He repeatedly charged me not to fret. Indeed, he was all good-humor and kindness, and seemed quite bent on giving me comfort as well as flattery.-Madame D'Arblay. His generous humanity to the miserable was almost beyond example. The following instance is well attested: Coming home late one night, he found a poor woman lying in the street so much exhausted that she could not walk. He took her upon his back and carried her to his house, where he discovered that she was one of those wretched females who had fallen into the lowest state of vice, poverty, and disease. Instead of harshly upbraiding her, he had her taken care of with all tenderness for a long time, at a considerable expense, till she was restored to health, and endeavored to put her into a virtuous way of living. -Boswell. When Goldsmith's comedy, the "Good-natured Man," was produced at Covent Garden, Johnson did everything in his power to insure its success; he wrote a prologue for it, attended its rehearsal, and went to the theatre, with other members of the Club, upon the night of its production. The comedy was received with small favor; sentimental comedies were just then the fashion, and the audience pronounced Goldsmith's humor coarse and low. Indeed, nothing saved this admirable play but the acting of Shuter, the original "Croaker;" as it was, the escape was so narrow that the author could hardly be congratulated upon a success. What followed has been so happily told by John Forster, in his Life of Goldsmith, that I shall adopt his narrative: "Poor Goldsmith had, meanwhile, been suffering exquisite distress; had lost all faith in his comedy and in himself; and when the curtain fell, could only think of his debt of gratitude to Shuter. He hurried round to the green-room,' says Cooke, ‘thanked him in his honest, sincere manner, before all the performers;' and told him he had exceeded his own idea of the character, and that the fine comic richness of his coloring made it almost appear as new to him as to any other person in the house!' Then, with little heart for doubtful congratulations, he turned off to meet his friends in Gerrard Street.* By the time he arrived there, his spirits had to all appearance returned. He had forgotten the hisses. The members might have seen that he eat no supper, but he chatted gayly as if nothing had happened amiss. Nay, to impress his friends still more forcibly with an idea of his magnanimity, he even sung his favorite song, which he never consented to sing but on special occasions, about an 'An Old Woman tossed in a Blanket seventeen times as high as the Moon;' and was altogether very noisy and loud. But some time afterward, when he and Johnson were dining with Percy at the chaplain's table at St. James's, he confessed what his feelings this night had really been, and told how the night had ended. 'All the while,' he said, 'I was suffering horrid tortures, and verily believe that if I had put a bit into my mouth it would have strangled me on the spot, I was so excessively ill; but I made more noise than usual to cover all that, and so they never perceived my not eating, nor, I believe, at all imaged to themselves the anguish of my heart. But when all were gone except Johnson here, I burst out a-crying, and even swore by - that I would never write again.' Johnson sat in amazement while Goldsmith made the confession, and then confirmed it. All which, Doctor,' he said, 'I thought had been a secret between you and me; and I am sure I would not have said anything about it for the *Where the Club met. world.' That is very certain. No man so unlikely as Johnson, when he had a friend's tears to wipe away, critically to ask himself, or afterward discuss, whether or not they ought to have been shed; but none so likely, if they came to be discussed by others, to tell you how much he despised them. What he says must thus be taken with what he does-in all his various opinions of Goldsmith more especially. When Mrs. Thrale asked him of this matter, he spoke of it with contempt, and said that 'no man should be expected to sympathize with the sorrows of vanity.' But he had sympathized with them, at least to the extent of consoling them. Goldsmith never flung himself in vain on that great, rough, tender heart. The weakness he did his best to hide from even the kindly Langton, the humane and generous Reynolds, was sobbed out freely there; nor is it difficult to guess how Johnson comforted him. 'Sir,' he said to Boswell, when that ingenious young gentleman, now a practising Scotch advocate, joined him a month or two later at Oxford, and talked slightingly of the 'Good-natured Man,' 'it is the best comedy that has appeared since the "Provok'd Husband." There has not been of late any such character exhibited on the stage as that of Croaker. Sir, "False Delicacy" is totally devoid of character.' Who can doubt that Goldsmith had words of reassurance at least as kindly as these to listen to, as he walked home that night from Gerrard Street with Samuel Johnson ?" TENDERNESS. SUCH was his sensibility, and so much was he affected by pathetic poetry, that, when he was reading Dr. Beattie's "Hermit," in my presence, it brought tears into his eyes.Boswell. His affection for Topham Beauclerk was so great, that when Beauclerk was laboring under that severe illness which at last occasioned his death, Johnson said (with a voice faltering with emotion), "Sir, I would walk to the extent of the diameter of the earth to save Beauclerk."Bennet Langton. When I came to Lichfield, I found my old friend Harry Jackson dead. It was a loss, and a loss not to be repaired, as he was one of the companions of my childhood. I hope we may long continue to gain friends; but the friends which merit or usefulness can procure us are not able to supply the place of old acquaintance, with whom the days of youth may be retraced, and those images revived which gave the earliest delight. If you and I live to be much older, we shall take great delight in talking over the Hebridean Journey.-Johnson (from a letter to Boswell). Fanny Burney: "Well, this I know, whoever I may hear complain of Dr. Johnson's severity, I shall always vouch for his kindness, as far as regards myself, and his indulgence." Mrs. Thrale: "Ay, but I hope he will trim you yet, too." Dr. Johnson: "I hope not; I should be very sorry to say anything that should vex my dear little Burney.” — Madame D'Arblay. In the evening the company divided pretty much into parties, and almost everybody walked upon the gravel-walk before the windows. I was going to have joined some of them, when Dr. Johnson stopped me, and asked how I did. "I was afraid, sir," said I, "you did not intend to know me again; for you have not spoken to me before since your return from town." "My dear," cried he, taking both my hands, "I was not sure of you, I am so near-sighted, and I apprehended making some mistake." Then drawing me very unexpectedly toward him, he actually kissed me!Madame D'Arblay. Garrick was followed to the Abbey by a long extended train of friends, illustrious for their rank and genius. I saw old Samuel Johnson standing beside his grave, at the foot of Shakspeare's monument, and bathed in tears. - Richard Cumberland. There are always a great many candidates ready when any vacancy happens in the Club, and it requires no small interest and reputation to get elected; but upon Garrick's death, when numberless applications were made to succeed him, Johnson was deaf to them all: he said, "No, there never could be found any successor worthy of such a man ;" and he insisted upon it there should be a year's widowhood in the Club before they thought of a new election.-Hannah More. After supper Dr. Johnson turned the conversation upon silent folks-whether by way of reflection and reproof, or by accident, I know not; but I do know he is provoked with me for not talking more; and I was afraid he was seriously provoked. But a little while ago I went into the musicroom, where he was tête-à-tête with Mrs. Thrale, and calling me to him, he took my hand and made me sit next him, in a manner that seemed truly affectionate. "Sir," cried I, "I was much afraid I was going out of your favor!" "Why so? what should make you think so?" "Why, I don't know my silence, I believe. I began to fear you would give me up." "No, my darling! my dear little Burney, no. When I give you up-" "What then, sir ?" said Mrs. Thrale. "Why, I don't know; for whoever would give her up would deserve worse than I can say; I know not what would be bad enough."-Madame D'Arblay. -- Edwards: "I have been twice married, Doctor. You, I suppose, have never known what it was to have a wife.” Johnson: "Sir, I have known what it was to have a wife, and (in a solemn, tender, faltering tone) I have known what |