silk small-clothes, a handsome scarlet roquelaure buttoned close under the chin, a full-dress professional wig, a sword, and a gold-headed cane." Alas! the attempt was a dead failure, productive only of annoyance to himself and amusement to his friends, who, much as they loved him, never spared him a banter. Indignantly he declared he would leave off prescribing for his friends. "Do so, my dear doctor," replied Beauclerc; "whenever you undertake to kill, let it only be your enemies." We pass over a year of literary labour upon works now little read, and come to the greatest of all his works, "The Vicar of Wakefield." On the 27th March, 1766, it was published. Strange to say, its very simplicity and quiet truthfulness seemed at first to conceal its merits. It stole almost silently upon the world, without the eulogy of critics or the appreciation of wits. But the reading public, true to their instincts, soon showed their sympathy. "Admiration gathered slowly and steadily around it." Ere six months had passed, it had gone through three editions; and the author lived to see that amount doubled. "No book upon record," says Mr. Forster, "has obtained a wider popularity than the 'Vicar of Wakefield,' and none is more likely to endure." Every reader in every civilized country of the world will bear testimony to the truth of this observation. It speaks to the heart as a picture of Wilkie's, full of beautiful domesticity; simplicity the most unaffected blended with philosophy the most practical; pathos the most touching set off by humour the most exquisite. True to nature, like truth and nature, it is imperishable—the delight of every age, the consolation of many a heart. "We return to it again and again," says Scott, "and bless the memory of an author who contrives so well to reconcile us to human nature." To multiply eulogies would be idle: it is one of those few works upon which no difference of opinion exists. With all this fame growing around his name. Goldsmith is still a poor, yet not an unhappy man; often without a guinea, yet never having one that he would not give to a poorer friend; still a hack writer and a compiler. In his thirty-eighth year he placed in the hands of Garrick the manuscript of his first drama, "The Good-natured Man." Whether influenced by unworthy feelings towards Goldsmith, or undervaluing its merits, he received it coldly, let it lie over, and suggested alterations which the author rejected. The manuscript was withdrawn from Garrick and sent to his rival, Colman, by whom it was brought out at Covent Garden in January, 1768, the prologue being written by Johnson. The merits of this comedy did not secure it the success it deserved on the stage; and though it had a run of ten nights, it has never retained that hold which makes a "stock piece." Still the author's profits were over £400; and its success with the reading public counterbalanced its failure with the playgoers, as it went through four editions in quick succession. In June of this year his brother Henry died; and while the poet's loving heart was in its freshest grief, he drew that exquisite picture of a village pastor, whose moral features are alike those of his father and brother. In addition to his rooms in the Temple, Goldsmith had now a retreat in a cottage on the Edgeware Road, whence he could wander away into pleasant lanes meditating, no doubt, the scenes of his "Deserted Village," and enjoying the society of the Hornbecks. At the same time he was engaged on a "History of Rome;" an abridgment of which was published in 1769. Like his "History of England," published in 1771, it continued to enjoy almost an exclusive popularity as a school-book. They are written with a captivating simplicity and clearness, avoiding minute details, and presenting the great features of history so vividly that they sink into the memory while they delight the fancy. Amongst other works he was now actively engaged on the "History of the Earth and Animated Nature;" relieving his labours with the best and most attractive society of the day, and being a constant attendant at the club; making money now pretty easily, and spending it with not very pardonable extravagance. In May, 1770, was published "The Deserted Village." It was at once successful, and in less than three mouths had gone through five editions. Learned and unlearned, at home and abroad, all praised and read it. "Within the circle of its claims and pretensions," justly observes Mr. Forster, "a more entirely satisfactory and delightful poem was probably never written." Campbell well remarked, that the "ideal beauty of nature has seldom been united with so much sober fidelity as in the groups and scenery of 'The Deserted Village.'" We must not omit a circumstance strongly illustrative of the character of Goldsmith, as it is highly honourable to him. Having received a note for £100, the price agreed for before the publication, a friend remarked it was a great price (five shillings a couplet) for so short a poem. "I think so too," replied Goldsmith; "it is much more than the honest man can afford, or the piece is worth. I have not been easy since I received it." And so he returned the money; desiring the publisher to pay him when it should be ascertained what the poem was worth. Goldsmith's reputation was now at the highest; his picture had been painted by Reynolds and engraved by Marchi, so that the profile of the poet was to be seen in every printshop; and after a visit to France he was appointed professor of ancient history to the Royal Academy. In the meantime he was preparing another piece for the stage, the plot and the incidents in which were in no small measure supplied by his own youthful experiences. At length, after many delays, mortifications, and misgivings on the part of Colman, "She Stoops to Conquer" was put upon the stage on the 15th of March, 1773. His friends were full of fears for its success, but they were all the more active to prevent a failure; mustering at dinner in strong force, and thence, when animated by the good cheer, they proceeded to Covent Garden to support the piece. But their fears were vain, and their efforts not called for. "It was received," says an eye-witness, "throughout with the greatest acclamation." Who that reads this piece can doubt its effect on the audience? What telling humour, what lively dialogue, what sprightly malice, what pictures of social life! No wonder that it was well received, or that it still delights the reader and the audience. We must proceed with a more rapid pace through the brief space that remains of the life of Goldsmith. To the last he was poor, because he was improvident; and a drudge, because he was poor. We shall not note the many works he prepared nor the compilations which he made. His "Animated Nature," though finished and paid for, did not appear till 1774. The value of the work in a scientific point of view is small, and has long been superseded; and though full of inaccuracies that betray the careless, and absurdities that show the credulous writer, it abounds with descriptions so charming and reflections so fine, that it must ever entertain, even where it fails to instruct. And now as we approach the end we find Goldsmith shining out in all his social qualities: courted, loved, laughed at, and returning the laughter; yet, in the solitude of his chamber, often depressed, despairing, and struggling with illness. The last scene in the literary drama is not the least brilliant. The moodiness of his manners at the club had become so remarkable that it was a constant source of amusement; and in his absence a series of epitaphs were composed upon him, exposing, with a severity that friends somehow think themselves licensed to use, all his faults and his foibles. These were read to him at the club: that they pained him is, we think, evident; but they roused his spirit too. He was called upon to retaliate, and he did so with a vengeance. The piece did not appear in its completeness till the hand that penned it was cold in the grave. But if a vindication of his genius, wit, depth of observation, and fine perception of the character of others were needed to protect his own from the depreciation of fools who would call him "idiot," he has furnished, in the poem of "Retaliation," a vindication the most complete. Upon his associates the effect was at once to surprise and confound. They feared and deprecated the keen satire of him whom they so recklessly provoked; and, as Scott observes, it "had the effect of placing him on a more equal footing with his society than he had ever assumed before." Mr. Forster says justly, "The lines on Garrick are quite perfect writing. Without anger, the satire is finished, keen, and uncompromising; the wit is adorned by most discriminating praise; and the truth is all the more merciless for exquisite good manners and good taste." The last year which was to open for him, 1774, found Goldsmith declining in health and spirits, "working, wanting, asking, hoping, planning out fresh labour;" and, alas! indulging in extravagance, folly, and, we fear, worse. He left town for a season; but a painful complaint, from which he had long been suffering, compelled his return in March. Temporary relief was obtained, but a low fever remained. He resisted the treatment prescribed by his medical attendants till it was too late. To disease was added distress of mind. "Is your mind at ease?" asked his physician. "No, it is not," were his last words. Then came one calm sleep, to be broken by convulsive struggles that ended in the repose of death on the 4th of April.
Of Oliver Goldsmith as a man of letters, we have incidentally
