It is wonderful to think of the pains and misery which the man suffered; the pressure of want, illness, remorse, which he endured; and that the writer was neither malignant nor melancholy, his view of truth never warped, and his generous human kindness never surrendered." Goldsmith, again, is reviewed in the same spirit—"the most beloved of English writers"—"whose sweet and friendly nature bloomed kindly always in the midst of a life's storm, and rain, and bitter weather"—"never so friendless but he could befriend some one, never so pinched and wretched but he could give of his crust, and speak his word of compassion"—enlivening the children of a dreary London court with his flute, giving away his blankets in college to the poor widow, pawning his coat to save his landlord from gaol, and spending his earnings as an usher in treats for the boys. "Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain, if you like—but merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. … Think of the poor pensioners peeping at his grave; think of the noble spirits that admired and deplored him; think of the righteous pen that wrote his epitaph, and of the wonderful and unanimous response of affection with which the world has paid back the love he gave it." Yet is Mr. Thackeray cautious not to dismiss the Steeles, and Fieldings, and Goldsmiths, and kindred literary prodigals, without a renewal of his much-discussed protest against the license churned for them as such. For reckless habits and careless lives, the wit, he insists, must suffer, and justly, like the dullest prodigal that ever ran in debt, and moreover, must expect to be shunned in society, and learn that reformation most begin at home.
Prior, Gay, and Pope are classed together in one lecture—a highly piquant and entertaining one, too. The ease and modem air of Mat Prior's lyrics are happily asserted, and Mat himself pronounced a world—philosopher of no small genius, good nature, and acumen. John Gay is a favourite, as in life, and enjoy a good place. Such a natural good creature, so kind, so gentle, so jocular, so delightfully brisk at times, so dismally woe-begone at others—lazy, slovenly, for ever eating and saying good things; a little, round, French abbé of a man, sleek, soft-handed and soft-hearted. Honest John's pastorals are said to be to poetry "what charming little Dresden china figures are to sculpture—graceful, minnikin, fantastic, with a certain beauty always accompanying them. The pretty little personages of the pastoral, with gold clocks to their stockings, and fresh satin ribands to their crooks, and waistcoats, and boddices, dance their loves to a minuet-tune played on a bird-organ, approach the charmer, or rush from the false one daintily on their red-heeled tiptoes, and die of despair or rapture, with the most pathetic little grins and ogles; or repose, simpering at each other, under an arbour of pea-green crockery; or piping to pretty flocks that have just been washed with the best Naples in a stream of Bergamot."
To Pope is freely conceded the greatest name on the lecturer's list—the highest among the poets, and among the English wits and humorists here assembled—the greatest literary artist that England has seen—the decrepit Papist, whom the great St. John held to be one of the best and greatest of men. Of coarse (and there is a warm compliment in this of course) Mr. Thackeray dwells admiringly on Pope's filial
