66

to stand till it has deposited a sedi- | and in the dark, he told everybody that ment; and such a river is a type of the he was envious. Do not, pray, do not mind of Goldsmith. His first thoughts talk of Johnson in such terms," he said on every subject were confused even to to Boswell; "you harrow up my very absurdity; but they required only a soul." George Steevens and Cumberlittle time to work themselves clear. land were men far too cunning to say When he wrote they had that time; such a thing. They would have echoed and therefore his readers pronounced the praises of the man whom they enhim a man of genius: but when he vied, and then have sent to the newstalked he talked nonsense, and made papers anonymous libels upon him. himself the laughing - stock of his Both what was good and what was bad hearers. He was painfully sensible in Goldsmith's character was to his asof his inferiority in conversation; he sociates a perfect security that he would felt every failure keenly; yet he had never commit such villany. He was not sufficient judgment and self-com- neither ill-natured enough, nor longmand to hold his tongue. His animal headed enough, to be guilty of any spirits and vanity were always impel- malicious act which required contriv-. ling him to try to do the one thing ance and disguise. which he could not do. After every attempt he felt that he had exposed himself, and writhed with shame and vexation; yet the next moment he began again.

His associates seem to have regarded him with kindness, which, in spite of their admiration of his writings, was not unmixed with contempt. In truth, there was in his character much to love, but very little to respect. His heart was soft even to weakness: he was so generous that he quite forgot to be just; he forgave injuries so readily that he might be said to invite them; and was so liberal to beggars that he had nothing left for his tailor and his butcher. He was vain, sensual, frivolous, profuse, improvident. One vice of a darker shade was imputed to him, envy. But there is not the least reason to believe that this bad passion, though it sometimes made him wince and utter fretful exclamations, ever impelled him to injure by wicked arts the reputation of any of his rivals. The truth probably is, that he was not more envious, but merely less prudent, than his neighbours. His heart was on his lips. All those small jealousies, which are but too common among men of letters, but which a man of letters who is also a man of the world does his best to conceal, Goldsmith avowed with the simplicity of a child. When he was envious, instead of affecting indifference, instead of damning with faint praise, instead of doing injuries slily

Goldsmith has sometimes been represented as a man of genius, cruelly treated by the world, and doomed to struggle with difficulties which at last broke his heart. But no representation can be more remote from the truth. He did, indeed, go through much sharp misery before he had done anything considerable in literature. But, after his name had appeared on the titlepage of the "Traveller," he had none but himself to blame for his distresses. His average income, during the last seven years of his life, certainly exceeded 400l. a year; and 4007. a year ranked, among the incomes of that day, at least as high as 8007. a year would rank at present. A single man living in the Temple with 4007. a year might then be called opulent. Not one in ten of the young gentlemen of good families who were studying the law there had so much. But all the wealth which Lord Clive had brought from Bengal, and Sir Lawrence Dundas from Germany, joined together, would not have sufficed for Goldsmith. He spent twice as much as he had. He wore fine clothes, gave dinners of several courses, paid court to venal beauties. He had also, it should be remembered, to the honour of his heart, though not of his head, a guinea, or five, or ten, according to the state of his purse, ready for any tale of distress, true or false. But it was not in dress or feasting, in promiscuous amours or promiscuous charities, that his chief expense lay. He

66

weapon he proved himself a match for all his assailants together. Within a small compass he drew with a singularly easy and vigorous pencil the characters of nine or ten of his intimate associates. Though this little work did not receive his last touches, it must always be regarded as a masterpiece. It is impossible, however, not to wish that four or five likenesses which have

that noble gallery, and that their places were supplied by sketches of Johnson and Gibbon, as happy and vivid as the sketches of Burke and Garrick.

had been from boyhood a gambler, and I mentioned that he sometimes felt at once the most sanguine and the most keenly the sarcasm which his wild unskilful of gamblers. For a time he blundering talk brought upon him. He put off the day of inevitable ruin by was, not long before his last illness, temporary expedients. He obtained provoked into retaliating. He wisely advances from booksellers, by promis-betook himself to his pen; and at that ing to execute works which he never began. But at length this source of supply failed. He owed more than 2000l.; and he saw no hope of extrication from his embarrassments. His spirits and health gave way. He was attacked by a nervous fever, which he thought himself competent to treat. It would have been happy for him if his medical skill had been appreciated as justly by himself as by others. Not-no interest for posterity were wanting to withstanding the degree which he pretended to have received at Padua, he could procure no patients. "I do not practise," he once said; "I make it a rule to prescribe only for my friends." Pray, dear Doctor," said Beauclerk, "alter your rule; and prescribe only for your enemies." Goldsmith now, in spite of this excellent advice, prescribed for himself. The remedy aggravated the malady. The sick man was induced to call in real physicians; and they at one time imagined that they had cured the disease. Still his weakness and restlessness continued. He could get no sleep. He could take no food. "You are worse," said one of his medical attendants, "than you should be from the degree of fever which you have. Is your mind at ease?" "No, it is not," were the last recorded words of Oliver Goldsmith. He died on the third of April 1774, in his forty-sixth year. He was laid in the churchyard of the Temple; but the spot was not marked by any inscription, and is now forgotten. The coffin was followed by Burke and Reynolds. Both these great men were sincere mourners. Burke, when he heard of Goldsmith's death, had burst into a flood of tears. Reynolds had been so much moved by the news that he had flung aside his brush and palette for the day.

A short time after Goldsmith's death, a little poem appeared, which will, as long as our language lasts, associate the names of his two illustrious friends with his own. It has already been

Some of Goldsmith's friends and admirers honoured him with a cenotaph in Westminster Abbey. Nollekens was the sculptor; and Johnson wrote the inscription. It is much to be lamented that Johnson did not leave to posterity a more durable and a more valuable memorial of his friend. A life of Goldsmith would have been an inestimable addition to the Lives of the Poets. No man appreciated Goldsmith's writings more justly than Johnson: no man was better acquainted with Goldsmith's character and habits; and no man was more competent to delineate with truth and spirit the peculiarities of a mind in which great powers were found in company with great weaknesses. But the list of poets to whose works Johnson was requested by the booksellers to furnish prefaces ended with Lyttleton, who died in 1773. The line seems to have been drawn expressly for the purpose of excluding the person whose portrait would have most fitly closed the series. Goldsmith, however, has been fortunate in his biographers. Within a few years his life has been written by Mr. Prior, by Mr. Washington Irving, and by Mr. Forster. The diligence of Mr. Prior deserves great praise; the style of Mr. Washington Irving is always pleasing; but the highest place must, in justice, be assigned to the eminently interesting work of Mr. Forster.

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

(DECEMBER 1856.)

and he saw but very imperfectly with the other. But the force of his, mind overcame every impediment. Indolent as he was, he acquired knowledge with such ease and rapidity that at every school to which he was sent he was soon the best scholar. From sixteen to eighteen he resided at home, and was left to his own devices. He learned much at this time, though his studies were without guidance and without plan. He ransacked his father's shelves, dipped into a multitude of books, read what was interesting, and passed over what was dull. An ordinary lad would have acquired little or no useful knowledge in such a way: but much that was dull to ordinary lads was interesting to Samuel. He read little Greek; for his proficiency in that language was not such that he could take much pleasure in the masters of Attic poetry and elo

SAMUEL JOHNSON, one of the most eminent English writers of the eighteenth century, was the son of Michael Johnson, who was, at the beginning of that century, a magistrate of Lichfield, and a bookseller of great note in the midland counties. Michael's abilities and attainments seem to have been considerable. He was so well acquainted with the contents of the volumes which he exposed to sale, that the country rectors of Staffordshire and Worcestershire thought him an oracle on points of learning. Between him and the clergy, indeed, there was a strong religious and political sympathy. He was a zealous churchman, and, though he had qualified himself for municipal office by taking the oaths to the sove-quence. But he had left school a good reigns in possession, was to the last a Latinist; and he soon acquired, in the Jacobite in heart. At his house, a large and miscellaneous library of which house which is still pointed out to every he now had the command, an extensive traveller who visits Lichfield, Samuel knowledge of Latin literature. That was born on the 18th of September 1709. Augustan delicacy of taste which is the In the child, the physical, intellectual, boast of the great public schools of and moral peculiarities which after-England he never possessed. But he wards distinguished the man were was early familiar with some classical plainly discernible; great muscular writers who were quite unknown to the strength accompanied by much awk-best scholars in the sixth form at Eton. wardness and many infirmities; great He was peculiarly attracted by the quickness of parts, with a morbid pro- works of the great restorers of learning. pensity to sloth and procrastination; a Once, while searching for some apples, kind and generous heart, with a gloomy he found a huge folio volume of Peand irritable temper. He had inhe-trarch's works. The name excited his rited from his ancestors a scrofulous curiosity; and he eagerly devoured taint, which it was beyond the power of medicine to remove. His parents were weak enough to believe that the royal touch was a specific for this malady. In his third year he was taken up to London, inspected by the court surgeon, prayed over by the court chap- While he was thus irregularly edulains, and stroked and presented with cating himself, his family was sinking a piece of gold by Queen Anne. One into hopeless poverty. Old Michael of his earliest recollections was that of Johnson was much better qualified to a stately lady in a diamond stomacher pore upon books, and to talk about and a long black hood. Her hand was them, than to trade in them. His applied in vain. The boy's features, business declined; his debts increased; which were originally noble and not it was with difficulty that the daily irregular, were distorted by his malady. expenses of his household were deHis cheeks were deeply scarred. He frayed. It was out of his power to lost for a time the sight of one eye; support his son at either university;

hundreds of pages. Indeed, the diction and versification of his own Latin compositions show that he had paid at least as much attention to modern copies from the antique as to the original models.

66

had been from boyhood a gambler, and I mentioned that he sometimes felt at once the most sanguine and the most keenly the sarcasm which his wild unskilful of gamblers. For a time he blundering talk brought upon him. He put off the day of inevitable ruin by was, not long before his last illness, temporary expedients. He obtained provoked into retaliating. He wisely advances from booksellers, by promis- betook himself to his pen; and at that ing to execute works which he never weapon he proved himself a match for began. But at length this source of all his assailants together. Within a supply failed. He owed more than small compass he drew with a singu20007.; and he saw no hope of extrica- larly easy and vigorous pencil the chation from his embarrassments. His racters of nine or ten of his intimate spirits and health gave way. He was associates. Though this little work attacked by a nervous fever, which he did not receive his last touches, it must thought himself competent to treat. It always be regarded as a masterpiece. would have been happy for him if his It is impossible, however, not to wish medical skill had been appreciated as that four or five likenesses which have justly by himself as by others. Not- no interest for posterity were wanting to withstanding the degree which he pre- that noble gallery, and that their places tended to have received at Padua, he were supplied by sketches of Johncould procure no patients. "I do not son and Gibbon, as happy and vivid practise," he once said; "I make it a as the sketches of Burke and Garrick. rule to prescribe only for my friends." Pray, dear Doctor," said Beauclerk, "alter your rule; and prescribe only for your enemies." Goldsmith now, in spite of this excellent advice, prescribed for himself. The remedy aggravated the malady. The sick man was induced to call in real physicians; and they at one time imagined that they had cured the disease. Still his weakness and restlessness continued. He could get no sleep. He could take no food. "You are worse," said one of his medical attendants, "than you should be from the degree of fever which you have. Is your mind at ease?" No, it is not," were the last recorded words of Oliver Goldsmith. He died on the third of April 1774, in his forty-sixth year. He was laid in the churchyard of the Temple; but the spot was not marked by any inscription, and is now forgotten. The coffin was followed by Burke and Reynolds. Both these great men were sincere mourners. Burke, when he heard of Goldsmith's death, had burst into a flood of tears. Reynolds had been so much moved by the news that he had flung aside his brush and palette for the day.

A short time after Goldsmith's death, a little poem appeared, which will, as long as our language lasts, associate the names of his two illustrious friends with his own. It has already been

Some of Goldsmith's friends and admirers honoured him with a cenotaph in Westminster Abbey. Nollekens was the sculptor; and Johnson wrote the inscription. It is much to be lamented that Johnson did not leave to posterity a more durable and a more valuable memorial of his friend. A life of Goldsmith would have been an inestimable addition to the Lives of the Poets. No man appreciated Goldsmith's writings more justly than Johnson: no man was better acquainted with Goldsmith's character and habits; and no man was more competent to delineate with truth and spirit the peculiarities of a mind in which great powers were found in company with great weaknesses. But the list of poets to whose works Johnson was requested by the booksellers to furnish prefaces ended with Lyttleton, who died in 1773. The line seems to have been drawn expressly for the purpose of excluding the person whose por trait would have most fitly closed the series. Goldsmith, however, has been fortunate in his biographers. Within a few years his life has been written by Mr. Prior, by Mr. Washington Irving, and by Mr. Forster. The diligence of Mr. Prior deserves great praise; the style of Mr. Washington Irving is always pleasing; but the highest place must, in justice, be assigned to the eminently interesting work of Mr. Forster.

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

(DECEMBER 1856.)

and he saw but very imperfectly with the other. But the force of his. mind overcame every impediment. Indolent as he was, he acquired knowledge with SAMUEL JOHNSON, one of the most emi-such ease and rapidity that at every nent English writers of the eighteenth school to which he was sent he was century, was the son of Michael John- soon the best scholar. From sixteen son, who was, at the beginning of that to eighteen he resided at home, and century, a magistrate of Lichfield, and was left to his own devices. He learned a bookseller of great note in the mid- much at this time, though his studies land counties. Michael's abilities and were without guidance and without attainments seem to have been con- plan. He ransacked his father's shelves, siderable. He was so well acquainted dipped into a multitude of books, read with the contents of the volumes which what was interesting, and passed over he exposed to sale, that the country what was dull. An ordinary lad would rectors of Staffordshire and Worcester- have acquired little or no useful knowshire thought him an oracle on points ledge in such a way: but much that was of learning. Between him and the dull to ordinary lads was interesting to clergy, indeed, there was a strong reli- Samuel. He read little Greek; for his gious and political sympathy. He was proficiency in that language was not a zealous churchman, and, though he such that he could take much pleasure had qualified himself for municipal in the masters of Attic poetry and elooffice by taking the oaths to the sove-quence. But he had left school a good reigns in possession, was to the last a Latinist; and he soon acquired, in the Jacobite in heart. At his house, a large and miscellaneous library of which house which is still pointed out to every he now had the command, an extensive traveller who visits Lichfield, Samuel knowledge of Latin literature. That was born on the 18th of September 1709. Augustan delicacy of taste which is the In the child, the physical, intellectual, boast of the great public schools of and moral peculiarities which after- England he never possessed. But he wards distinguished the man were was early familiar with some classical plainly discernible; great muscular writers who were quite unknown to the strength accompanied by much awk-best scholars in the sixth form at Eton. wardness and many infirmities; great He was peculiarly attracted by the quickness of parts, with a morbid pro-works of the great restorers of learning. pensity to sloth and procrastination; a Once, while searching for some apples, kind and generous heart, with a gloomy he found a huge folio volume of Peand irritable temper. He had inhe-trarch's works. The name excited his rited from his ancestors a scrofulous curiosity; and he eagerly devoured taint, which it was beyond the power of medicine to remove. His parents were weak enough to believe that the royal touch was a specific for this malady. In his third year he was taken up to London, inspected by the court surgeon, prayed over by the court chaplains, and stroked and presented with a piece of gold by Queen Anne. One of his earliest recollections was that of a stately lady in a diamond stomacher and a long black hood. Her hand was applied in vain. The boy's features, which were originally noble and not irregular, were distorted by his malady. His cheeks were deeply scarred. He lost for a time the sight of one eye;

hundreds of pages. Indeed, the diction and versification of his own Latin compositions show that he had paid at least as much attention to modern copies from the antique as to the original models.

His

While he was thus irregularly educating himself, his family was sinking into hopeless poverty. Old Michael Johnson was much better qualified to pore upon books, and to talk about them, than to trade in them. business declined; his debts increased; it was with difficulty that the daily expenses of his household were defrayed. It was out of his power to support his son at either university;