No More Learning

The proper manner of going is to go there
as early as possible, to have time for meditation before the serv-
ice begins. " "Phoo, Charles! " interrupted she; "all that is very
true, but not what I would be at. I mean we should go there
genteelly. You know the church is two miles off, and I protest
I don't like to see my daughters trudging up to their pew all
1


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6512
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
blowzed and red with walking, and looking for all the world as
if they had been winners at a smock-race. Now, my dear, my
proposal is this: there are our two plow-horses, the colt that has
been in our family these nine years, and his companion Black-
berry that has scarcely done an earthly thing this month past.
They are both grown fat and lazy. Why should not they do
something as well as we? And let me tell you, when Moses has
trimmed them a little they will cut a very tolerable figure. ”
To this proposal I objected that walking would be twenty
times more genteel than such a paltry conveyance, as Blackberry
was wall-eyed and the colt wanted a tail; that they had never
been broke to the rein, but had a hundred vicious tricks; and
that we had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house. All
these objections however were overruled; so that I was obliged
to comply. The next morning I perceived them not a little busy
in collecting such materials as might be necessary for the expe-
dition, but as I found it would be a business of time, I walked
on to the church before, and they promised speedily to follow. I
waited near an hour in the reading-desk for their arrival, but not
finding them come as I expected, I was obliged to begin, and
went through the service, not without some uneasiness at finding
them absent. This was increased when all was finished, and no
appearance of the family. I therefore walked back by the horse-
way, which was five miles round, though the foot-way was but
two, and when I got about half-way home, perceived the proces-
sion marching slowly forward towards the church; my son, my
wife, and the two little ones exalted upon one horse, and my two
daughters upon the other. I demanded the cause of their delay;
but I soon found by their looks they had met with a thousand
misfortunes on the road. The horses had at first refused to move
from the door, till Mr. Burchell was kind enough to beat them
forward for about two hundred yards with his cudgel. Next, the
straps of my wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged to
stop to repair them before they could proceed. After that, one
of the horses took it into his head to stand still, and neither
blows nor entreaties could prevail with him to proceed. They
were just recovering from this dismal situation when I found
them; but perceiving everything safe, I own their present morti-
fication did not much displease me, as it would give me many
opportunities of future triumph, and teach my daughters more
humility.


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6513
MICHAELMAS EVE happening on the next day, we were invited
to burn nuts and play tricks at neighbor Flamborough's. Our
late mortifications had humbled us a little, or it is probable we
might have rejected such an invitation with contempt; however,
we suffered ourselves to be happy. Our honest neighbor's goose
and dumplings were fine, and the lamb's wool, even in the opin-
ion of my wife, who was a connoisseur, was excellent. It is true
his manner of telling stories was not quite so well; they were
very long and very dull, and all about himself, and we had
laughed at them ten times before; however, we were kind enough
to laugh at them once more.
were
Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, was always fond of seeing
some innocent amusement going forward, and set the boys and
girls to blindman's buff. My wife too was persuaded to join in
the diversion, and it gave me pleasure to think she was not yet
too old. In the mean time my neighbor and I looked on, laughed
at every feat, and praised our own dexterity when we
young. Hot cockles succeeded next, questions and commands
followed that, and last of all they sat down to hunt the slipper.
As every person may not be acquainted with this primeval pas-
time, it may be necessary to observe that the company at this
play planted themselves in a ring upon the ground, all except
one, who stands in the middle, whose business it is to catch a
shoe which the company shove about under their hams from one
to another, something like a weaver's shuttle. As it is impossi-
ble in this case for the lady who is up to face all the company
at once, the great beauty of the play lies in hitting her a thump
with the heel of the shoe on that side least capable of making a
defense. It was in this manner that my eldest daughter was
hemmed in and thumped about, all blowzed in spirits, and bawl-
ing for fair play with a voice that might deafen a ballad-singer,
when, confusion on confusion! who should enter the room but
our two great acquaintances from town, Lady Blarney and Miss
Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs! Description would but beg-
gar, therefore it is unnecessary to describe this new mortification.
Death! To be seen by ladies of such high breeding in such vul-
gar attitudes! Nothing better could ensue from such a vulgar
play of Mr. Flamborough's proposing. We seemed stuck to the
ground for some time, as if actually petrified with amazement.
The two ladies had been at our house to see us, and finding
us from home, came after us hither, as they were uneasy to
XI-408


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6514
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
know what accident could have kept us from church the day
before. Olivia undertook to be our prolocutor, and delivered the
whole in the summary way, only saying, "We were thrown from
our horses. " At which account the ladies were greatly concerned;
but being told the family received no hurt, they were extremely
glad; but being informed that we were almost killed by the
fright, they were vastly sorry; but hearing that we had a very
good night, they were extremely glad again. Nothing could
exceed their complaisance to my daughters; their professions the
last evening were warm, but now they were ardent. They pro-
tested a desire of having a more lasting acquaintance; Lady
Blarney was particularly attached to Olivia; Miss Carolina Wil-
helmina Amelia Skeggs (I love to give the whole name) took a
greater fancy to her sister. They supported the conversation
between themselves, while my daughters sat silent, admiring their
exalted breeding. But as every reader, however beggarly him-
self, is fond of high-lived dialogues, with anecdotes of lords,
ladies, and Knights of the Garter, I must beg leave to give him.
the concluding part of the present conversation.
"All that I know of the matter," cried Miss Skeggs, "is this:
that it may be true, or it may not be true; but this I can assure
your ladyship, that the whole route was in amaze; his lordship
turned all manner of colors, my lady fell into a swoon, but Sir
Tomkyn, drawing his sword, swore he was hers to the last drop
of his blood. "
"Well," replied our peeress, "this I can say: that the duchess
never told me a syllable of the matter; and I believe her Grace
would keep nothing a secret from me. This you may depend
upon as fact: that the next morning my lord duke cried out
three times to his valet-de-chambre, 'Jernigan, Jernigan, Jernigan,
bring me my garters! '
> >>
But previously I should have mentioned the very impolite be-
havior of Mr. Burchell, who during this discourse sat with his
face turned to the fire, and at the conclusion of every sentence
would cry out "Fudge! "-an expression which displeased us all,
and in some measure damped the rising spirit of the conversation.
"Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our peeress, "there is
nothing of this in the copy of verses that Doctor Burdock made
upon the occasion. " Fudge!
"I am surprised at that," cried Miss Skeggs; "for he seldom
leaves anything out, as he writes only for his own amusement.


## p. 6515 (#505) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6515
But can your Ladyship favor me with a sight of them? "
Fudge!
"My dear creature," replied our peeress, "do you think I
carry such things about me? Though they are very fine, to be
sure, and I think myself something of a judge; at least I know
what pleases myself. Indeed, I was ever an admirer of all Doc-
tor Burdock's little pieces; for except what he does, and our dear
countess at Hanover Square, there's nothing comes out but the
most lowest stuff in nature; not a bit of high life among them. "
Fudge!
"Your Ladyship should except," says t'other, "your own things
in the Lady's Magazine. I hope you'll say there's nothing low-
lived there? But I suppose we are to have no more from that
quarter? " Fudge!
"Why, my dear," says the lady, "you know my reader and
companion has left me to be married to Captain Roach, and as
my poor eyes won't suffer me to write myself, I have been for
some time looking out for another. A proper person is no easy
matter to find, and to be sure, thirty pounds a year is a small
stipend for a well-bred girl of character, that can read, write,
and behave in company; as for the chits about town, there is no
bearing them about one. " Fudge!
"That I know," cried Miss Skeggs, "by experience. For
of the three companions I had this last half-year, one of them
refused to do plain work an hour in the day, another thought
twenty-five guineas a year too small a salary, and I was obliged
to send away the third because I suspected an intrigue with the
chaplain. Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney, virtue is worth any
price; but where is that to be found? " Fudge!
My wife had been for a long time all attention to this dis-
course, but was particularly struck with the latter part of it.
Thirty pounds and twenty-five guineas a year made fifty-six
pounds five shillings, English money, all which was in a manner
going a-begging, and might easily be secured in the family. She
for a moment studied my looks for approbation; and to own a
truth, I was of opinion that two such places would fit our two
daughters exactly. Besides, if the Squire had any real affection
for my eldest daughter, this would be the way to make her every
way qualified for her fortune. My wife therefore was resolved
that we should not be deprived of such advantages for want of
assurance, and undertook to harangue for the family. "I hope,"


## p. 6516 (#506) ###########################################

6516
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
cried she, "your ladyships will pardon my present presumption.
It is true, we have no right to pretend to such favors; but yet
it is natural for me to wish putting my children forward in the
world. And I will be bold to say my two girls have had a
pretty good education and capacity; at least, the country can't
show better. They can read, write, and cast.
cast accounts; they
understand their needle, broad-stitch, cross-and-change, and all
manner of plain work; they can pink, point, and frill, and know
something of music; they can do up small-clothes, work upon
catgut; my eldest can cut paper, and my youngest has a very
pretty manner of telling fortunes upon the cards. " Fudge!
When she had delivered this pretty piece of eloquence, the
two ladies looked at each other a few moments in silence, with
an air of doubt and importance. At last Miss Carolina Wilhel-
mina Amelia Skeggs condescended to observe that the young
ladies, from the opinion she could form of them from so slight
an acquaintance, seemed very fit for such employments. "But a
thing of this kind, madam," cried she, addressing my spouse,
"requires a thorough examination into characters, and a more
perfect knowledge of each other. Not, madam," continued she,
"that I in the least suspect the young ladies' virtue, prudence,
and discretion; but there is a form in these things, madam, there
is a form. "
My wife approved her suspicions very much, observing that
she was very apt to be suspicious herself; but referred her to all
the neighbors for a character; but this our peeress declined as
unnecessary, alleging that her cousin Thornhill's recommendation
would be sufficient, and upon this we rested our petition.
WHEN We returned home, the night was dedicated to schemes
of future conquest. Deborah exerted much sagacity in conjectur-
ing which of the two girls was likely to have the best place, and
most opportunities of seeing good company. The only obstacle to
our preferment was in obtaining the Squire's recommendation;
but he had already shown us too many instances of his friendship
to doubt of it now. Even in bed my wife kept up the usual
theme: "Well, faith, my dear Charles, between ourselves, I
think we have made an excellent day's work of it. " "Pretty
well," cried I, not knowing what to say. "What, only pretty
well! " returned she; "I think it is very well. Suppose the girls
should come to make acquaintances of taste in town! This I am


## p. 6517 (#507) ###########################################


OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6517
assured of, that London is the only place in the world for all
manner of husbands. Besides, my dear, stranger things happen
every day; and as ladies of quality are so taken with my daugh-
ters, what will not men of quality be! Entre nous, I protest I
like my Lady Blarney vastly; so very obliging. However, Miss
Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs has my warm heart. But
yet when they came to talk of places in town, you saw at once
how I nailed them. Tell me, my dear, don't you think I did for
my children there? » "Ay," returned I, not knowing well what
to think of the matter; "Heaven grant that they may be both
the better for it this day three months! " This was one of those
observations I usually made to impress my wife with an opinion
of my sagacity; for if the girls succeeded, then it was a pious
wish fulfilled; but if anything unfortunate ensued, then it might
be looked upon as a prophecy.
NEW MISFORTUNES: BUT OFFENSES ARE EASILY PARDONED
WHERE THERE IS LOVE AT BOTTOM
From The Vicar of Wakefield'
THE
HE next morning I took my daughter behind me, and set out
on my return home. As we traveled along, I strove by
every persuasion to calm her sorrows and fears, and to
arm her with resolution to bear the presence of her offended
mother. I took every opportunity, from the prospect of a fine
country through which we passed, to observe how much kinder
Heaven was to us than we were to each other, and that the
misfortunes of nature's making were very few. I assured her
that she should never perceive any change in my affections,
and that during my life, which yet might be long, she might
depend upon a guardian and an instructor. I armed her against
the censures of the world; showed her that books were sweet,
unreproaching companions to the miserable, and that if they
could not bring us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to
endure it.
The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that night at
an inn by the way, within about five miles from my house; and
as I was willing to prepare my family for my daughter's recep-
tion, I determined to leave her that night at the inn, and to
return for her accompanied by my daughter Sophia, early the


## p. 6518 (#508) ###########################################

6518
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
next morning. It was night before we reached our appointed
stage; however, after seeing her provided with a decent apart-
ment, and having ordered the hostess to prepare proper re-
freshments, I kissed her, and proceeded towards home. And
now my heart caught new sensations of pleasure, the nearer I
approached that peaceful mansion. As a bird that had been
frighted from its nest, my affections outwent my haste, and
hovered round my little fireside with all the rapture of expecta-
tion. I called up the many fond things I had to say, and antici-
pated the welcome I was to receive. I already felt my wife's
tender embrace, and smiled at the joy of my little ones. As I
walked but slowly, the night waned apace. The laborers of the
day were all retired to rest; the lights were out in every cottage;
no sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, and the deep-
mouthed watch-dog at the hollow distance. I approached my
little abode of pleasure, and before I was within a furlong of the
place our honest mastiff came running to welcome me.
It was now near midnight that I came to knock at my door;
all was still and silent; my heart dilated with unutterable happi-
ness; when to my amazement I saw the house bursting out in a
blaze of fire, and every aperture red with conflagration! I gave
a loud convulsive outcry, and fell upon the pavement insensible.
This alarmed my son, who had till this been asleep, and he per-
ceiving the flames instantly waked my wife and daughter, and all
running out naked and wild with apprehension, recalled me to
life with their anguish. But it was only to objects of new terror;
for the flames had by this time caught the roof of our dwelling,
part after part continuing to fall in, while the family stood with
silent agony looking on, as if they enjoyed the blaze. I gazed
upon them and upon it by turns, and then looked round me for
my two little ones: but they were not to be seen. Oh misery!
"Where," cried I, "where are my little ones? " "They are burnt
to death in the flames," said my wife calmly, "and I will die
with them. " That moment I heard the cry of the babes within,
who were just awaked by the fire; and nothing could have
stopped me. "Where, where are my children? " cried I, rushing
through the flames, and bursting the door of the chamber in
which they were confined; "where are my little ones? " "Here,
dear papa, here we are," cried they together, while the flames
were just catching the bed where they lay. I caught them
both in my arms, and snatched them through the fire as fast as


## p. 6519 (#509) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6519
possible, while just as I was got out, the roof sunk in. "Now,"
cried I, holding up my children, "now let the flames burn on,
and all my possessions perish. Here they are; I have saved my
treasure. Here, my dearest, here are our treasures, and we
shall yet be happy. " We kissed our little darlings a thousand
times, they clasped us round the neck and seemed to share our
transports, while their mother laughed and wept by turns.
I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and after some
time began to perceive that my arm to the shoulder was scorched
in a terrible manner. It was therefore out of my power to give
my son any assistance, either in attempting to save our goods, or
preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By this time the
neighbors were alarmed, and came running to our assistance; but
all they could do was to stand, like us, spectators of the calamity.
My goods, among which were the notes I had reserved for my
daughters' fortunes, were entirely consumed, except a box with
some papers that stood in the kitchen, and two or three things
more of little consequence which my son brought away in the
beginning. The neighbors contributed, however, what they could
to lighten our distress. They brought us clothes, and furnished
one of our out-houses with kitchen utensils; so that by daylight
we had another, though a wretched dwelling, to retire to. My
honest next neighbor and his children were not the least assid-
uous in providing us with everything necessary, and offering
whatever consolation untutored benevolence could suggest.
When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity to know
the cause of my long stay began to take place; having therefore
informed them of every particular, I proceeded to prepare them
for the reception of our lost one, and though we had nothing
but wretchedness now to impart, I was willing to procure her a
welcome to what we had. This task would have been more diffi-
cult but for our recent calamity, which had humbled my wife's
pride and blunted it by more poignant afflictions. Being unable
to go for my poor child myself, as my arm grew very painful, I
sent my son and daughter, who soon returned, supporting the
wretched delinquent, who had not the courage to look up at her
mother, whom no instructions of mine could persuade to a per-
fect reconciliation; for women have a much stronger sense of
female error than men. "Ah, madam," cried her mother, "this
is but a poor place you have come to after so much finery.
My daughter Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment to


## p. 6520 (#510) ###########################################

6520
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
persons who have kept company only with people of distinction.
Yes, Miss Livy, your poor father and I have suffered very much
of late; but I hope Heaven will forgive you. " During this
reception the unhappy victim stood pale and trembling, unable
to weep or to reply; but I could not continue a silent spectator
of her distress; wherefore, assuming a degree of severity in my
voice and manner which was ever followed with instant submis-
sion:-"I entreat, woman, that my words may be now marked
once for all: I have here brought you back a poor deluded wan-
derer; her return to duty demands the revival of our tenderness.
The real hardships of life are now coming fast upon us; let us
not therefore increase them by dissension among each other. If
we live harmoniously together, we may yet be contented, as there
are enough of us to shut out the censuring world and keep each
other in countenance. The kindness of Heaven is promised to
the penitent, and let ours be directed by the example. Heaven,
we are assured, is much more pleased to view a repentant sinner
than ninety-nine persons who have supported a course of unde-
viating rectitude. And this is right; for that single effort by
which we stop short in the down-hill path to perdition, is itself a
greater exertion of virtue than a hundred acts of justice. "
SOME assiduity was now required to make our present abode
as convenient as possible, and we were soon again qualified to
enjoy our former serenity. Being disabled myself from assisting
my son in our usual occupations, I read to my family from the
few books that were saved, and particularly from such as by
amusing the imagination contributed to ease the heart. Our
good neighbors, too, came every day with the kindest condo-
lence, and fixed a time in which they were all to assist at repair-
ing my former dwelling. Honest Farmer Williams was not last
among these visitors, but heartily offered his friendship. He
would even have renewed his addresses to my daughter; but she
rejected them in such a manner as totally repressed his future.
solicitations. Her grief seemed formed for continuing, and she
was the only person of our little society that a week did not
restore to cheerfulness. She had now lost that unblushing inno-
cence which once taught her to respect herself, and to seek pleas-
ure by pleasing. Anxiety now had taken strong possession of
her mind, her beauty began to be impaired with her constitution,
and neglect still more contributed to diminish it. Every tender


## p. 6521 (#511) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6521
epithet bestowed on her sister brought a pang to her heart and
a tear to her eye; and as one vice, though cured, ever plants
others where it has been, so her former guilt, though driven out
by repentance, left jealousy and envy behind. I strove in a
thousand ways to lessen her care, and even forgot my own pain
in a concern for hers, collecting such amusing passages of his-
tory as a strong memory and some reading could suggest.
« Our
happiness, my dear," I would say, "is in the power of One who
can bring it about a thousand unforeseen ways that mock our
foresight. "
In this manner I would attempt to amuse my daughter; but
she listened with divided attention, for her own misfortunes
engrossed all the pity she once had for those of another, and
nothing gave her ease. In company she dreaded contempt, and
in solitude she only found anxiety. Such was the color of her
wretchedness, when we received certain information that Mr.
Thornhill was going to be married to Miss Wilmot, for whom I
always suspected he had a real passion, though he took every
opportunity before me to express his contempt both of her per-
son and fortune. This news only served to increase poor Olivia's
affliction; such a flagrant breach of fidelity was more than her
courage could support. I was resolved however to get more
certain information, and to defeat if possible the completion of
his designs, by sending my son to old Mr. Wilmot's with instruc-
tions to know the truth of the report, and to deliver Miss Wil-
mot a letter intimating Mr. Thornhill's conduct in my family.
My son went in pursuance of my directions, and in three days.
returned, assuring us of the truth of the account; but that he
had found it impossible to deliver the letter, which he was there-
fore obliged to leave, as Mr. Thornhill and Miss Wilmot were
visiting round the country. They were to be married, he said,
in a few days, having appeared together at church the Sunday
before he was there, in great splendor; the bride attended by
six young ladies, and he by as many gentlemen. Their approach-
ing nuptials filled the whole country with rejoicing, and they
usually rode out together in the grandest equipage that had been
seen in the country for years. All the friends of both families,
he said, were there, particularly the Squire's uncle, Sir William
Thornhill, who bore so good a character. He added that nothing.
but mirth and feasting were going forward; that all the coun-
try praised the young bride's beauty and the bridegroom's fine
1


## p. 6522 (#512) ###########################################

6522
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
person, and that they were immensely fond of each other; con-
cluding that he could not help thinking Mr. Thornhill one of
the most happy men in the world.
"Why, let him if he can," returned I; "but my son, observe
this bed of straw and unsheltering roof, those moldering walls
and humid floor, my wretched body thus disabled by fire, and
my children weeping round me for bread. You have come home,
my child, to all this; yet here, even here, you see a man that
would not for a thousand worlds exchange situations.
O my
children, if you could but learn to commune with your own
hearts, and know what noble company you can make them, you
would little regard the elegance and splendor of the worthless.
Almost all men have been taught to call life a passage, and
themselves the travelers.
The similitude still may be improved,
when we observe that the good are joyful and serene, like trav-
elers that are going towards home; the wicked but by intervals
happy, like travelers that are going into exile. "
My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by this
new disaster, interrupted what I had further to observe. I bade
her mother support her, and after a short time she recovered.
She appeared from that time more calm, and I imagined had
gained a new degree of resolution; but appearances deceived me,
for her tranquillity was the languor of overwrought resentment.
A supply of provisions charitably sent us by my kind parishion-
ers seemed to diffuse new cheerfulness among the rest of the
family; nor was I displeased at seeing them once more sprightly
and at ease. It would have been unjust to damp their satisfac-
tions merely to condole with resolute melancholy, or to burden
them with a sadness they did not feel. Thus once more the tale
went round, and the song was demanded, and cheerfulness con-
descended to hover round our little habitation.
THE next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth for
the season;
so that we agreed to breakfast together on the
honeysuckle bank; where, while we sat, my youngest daughter,
at my request, joined her voice to the concert on the trees about
us. It was in this place my poor Olivia first met her seducer,
and every object served to recall her sadness. But that melan-
choly which is excited by objects of pleasure, or inspired by
sounds of harmony, soothes the heart instead of corroding it.
Her mother, too, upon this occasion felt a pleasing distress, and


## p. 6523 (#513) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6523
wept, and loved her daughter as before. "Do, my pretty Olivia,"
cried she, "let us have that little melancholy air your papa was
so fond of; your sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do, child;
it will please your old father. " She complied in a manner so
exquisitely pathetic as moved me:
"When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
"The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is-to die. "
As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an interrup-
tion in her voice from sorrow gave peculiar softness, the appear-
ance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at a distance alarmed us all, but
particularly increased the uneasiness of my eldest daughter, who,
desirous of shunning her betrayer, returned to the house with
her sister. In a few minutes he was alighted from his chariot,
and making up to the place where I was still sitting, inquired after
my health with his usual air of familiarity. "Sir," replied I,
"your present assurance only serves to aggravate the baseness of
your character; and there was a time when I would have chas-
tised your insolence for presuming thus to appear before me.
But now you are safe; for age has cooled my passions, and my
calling restrains me. "
"I vow, my dear sir," returned he, "I am amazed at all this,
nor can I understand what it means. I hope you don't think
your daughter's late excursion with me had anything criminal
in it. "
"Go," cried I; "thou art a wretch, a poor pitiful wretch, and
every way a liar; but your meanness secures you from my anger.
Yet, sir, I am descended from a family that would not have
borne this! And so, thou vile thing! to gratify a momentary pas-
sion, thou hast made one poor creature wretched for life, and
polluted a family that had nothing but honor for their portion. "
"If she or you," returned he, "are resolved to be miserable,
I cannot help it. But you may still be happy; and whatever
opinion you may have formed of me, you shall ever find me
ready to contribute to it. We can marry her to another in a short


## p. 6524 (#514) ###########################################

6524
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
time, and what is more, she may keep her lover beside; for I
protest I shall ever continue to have a true regard for her. "
I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrading pro-
posal; for although the mind may often be calm under great
injuries, little villainy can at any time get within the soul and
sting it into rage. "Avoid my sight, thou reptile," cried I, "nor
continue to insult me with thy presence. Were my brave son at
home he would not suffer this; but I am old and disabled, and
every way undone. "
"I find," cried he, "you are bent upon obliging me to talk in
a harsher manner than I intended. But as I have shown you
what may be hoped from my friendship, it may not be improper
to represent what may be the consequences of my resentment.
My attorney, to whom your late bond has been transferred,
threatens hard; nor do I know how to prevent the course of
justice except by paying the money myself, which, as I have
been at some expenses lately previous to my intended marriage,
is not so easy to be done. And then my steward talks of driv-
ing for the rent: it is certain he knows his duty, for I never
trouble myself with affairs of that nature. Yet still I could
wish to serve you, and even to have you and your daughter
present at my marriage, which is shortly to be solemnized with
Miss Wilmot; it is even the request of my charming Arabella
herself, whom I hope you will not refuse. "
"Mr. Thornhill," replied I, "hear me once for all: as to your
marriage with any but my daughter, that I never will consent to;
and though your friendship could raise me to a throne, or your
resentment sink me to the grave, yet would I despise both.
Thou hast once woefully, irreparably deceived me. I reposed my
heart upon thine honor, and have found its baseness. Never
more, therefore, expect friendship from me. Go, and possess
what fortune has given thee-beauty, riches, health, and pleas-
ure. Go and leave me to want, infamy, disease, and sorrow.
Yet humbled as I am, shall my heart still vindicate its dignity,
and though thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have my
contempt. "
"If so," returned he, "depend upon it you shall feel the
effects of this insolence; and we shall shortly see which is the
fittest object of scorn, you or me. " Upon which he departed
abruptly.


## p. 6525 (#515) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6525
PICTURES FROM THE DESERTED VILLAGE ›
WEET Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs,- and God has given my share,—
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
I still had hopes - for pride attends us still
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill;
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;
And as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return and die at home at last.
Oh, blest retirement! friend to life's decline,
Retreat from care, that never must be mine,
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labor with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from the gate:
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way:
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.


## p. 6526 (#516) ###########################################

6526
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below:
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail;
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale;
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
All but yon widowed, solitary thing
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron,- forced in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn,-
She only left of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the pensive plain.
―
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place:
Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,-
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain;
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away,
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.


## p. 6527 (#517) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6527
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side:
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all.
And as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace.
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools who came to scoff remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;
Even children followed, with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest;
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven:
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew:


## p. 6528 (#518) ###########################################

6528
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes,- for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declared how much he knew:
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill,
For even though vanquished he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thundering sound,
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around,
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired,
Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil retired,
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlor splendors of that festive place:
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chilled the day,
With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel gay,
While broken teacups, wisely kept for show,
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row.
Vain, transitory splendors! could not all
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall?
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart.


## p. 6529 (#519) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6529
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear;
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain
These simple blessings of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Spontaneous joys where nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed,—
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain;
And even while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy.
CONTRASTED NATIONAL TYPES
From The Traveller'
MⓇ
Y SOUL, turn from them; turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display;
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread,
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread.
No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword;
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter lingering chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm.
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small
He sees his little lot the lot of all;
XI-409


## p. 6530 (#520) ###########################################

6530
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head
To shame the meanness of his humble shed;
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal
To make him loathe his vegetable meal;
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wish contracting fits him to the soil.
Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose,
Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his venturous plowshare to the steep;
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the struggling savage into day.
At night returning, every labor sped,
He sits him down, the monarch of a shed;
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board;
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.
Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart;
And even those ills that round his mansion rise,
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
Such are the charms to barren states assigned;
Their wants but few, their wishes all confined.
Yet let them only share the praises due,-
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few;
For every want that stimulates the breast
Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest.
Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies
That first excites desire, and then supplies;
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy;
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame,
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.


## p. 6531 (#521) ###########################################

OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6531
Their level life is but a smoldering fire,
Unquenched by want, unfanned by strong desire;
Unfit for raptures, or if raptures cheer
On some high festival of once a year,
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.
But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow:
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low;
For as refinement stops, from sire to son
Unaltered, unimproved, the manners run;
And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart
Falls blunted from each indurated heart.
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast
May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest;
But all the gentler morals, such as play
Through life's more cultured walks, and charm the way,
These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly,
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.
To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,
I turn; and France displays her bright domain.
Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease,
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please,
How often have I led thy sportive choir,
With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire!
Where shading elms along the margin grew,
And freshened from the wave the zephyr flew;
And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still,
But mocked all tune, and marred the dancer's skill,
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power,
And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour.
Alike all ages: dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful maze;
And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,
Has frisked beneath the burthen of threescore.
So blest a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idly busy rolls their world away:
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear,
For honor forms the social temper here.
Honor, that praise which real merit gains,
Or even imaginary worth obtains,
Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,
It shifts splendid traffic round the land;


## p. 6532 (#522) ###########################################

6532
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise:
They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem,
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.
But while this softer art their bliss supplies,
It gives their follies also room to rise:
For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;
And the weak soul, within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.
Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart;
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace;
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boast one splendid banquet once a year:
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause.


## p. 6533 (#523) ###########################################

6533
IVÁN ALEKSANDROVITCH GONCHARÓF
(1812-)
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
MONG the Russian novelists of the first rank stands Iván the
son of Alexander Goncharóf. His life has been almost syn-
chronous with the century. He was born in 1812 in the
city of Simbirsk, on the Volga below Nízhni Novgorod. His father,
a wealthy merchant of that flourishing town, died when the boy was
only three years old, leaving him in the care of his mother, a con-
scientious and lovely woman, who, without a remarkable education,
nevertheless determined that her son should have the best that could
be provided. In this she was cordially as-
sisted by Iván's godfather, a retired naval
officer who lived in one of her houses and
was a cultivated, lively, and lovable man,
the centre of the best society of the pro-
vincial city. His tales of travel and adven-
ture early implanted in the boy a great
passion for reading and study about for-
eign lands, and the desire to see the world.
I. V. GONCHARÓF
He was at first taught at home; then
he was sent to a private school which had
been established by a local priest for the
benefit of neighboring land-owners and
gentry. This priest had been educated at
the Theological School at Kazán, and was
distinguished for his courtly manners and general cultivation. His
wife-for it must be remembered that the Russian priesthood is not
celibate was a fascinating French woman, and she taught her native
tongue in her husband's school. This remarkable little institution
had a small but select library, and here young Goncharóf indulged
his taste in reading by devouring the Voyages of Captain Cook, Mungo
Park, and others, the histories of Karamzin and Rollin, the poetical
works of Tasso and Fénelon, as well as the romantic fiction of that
day; he was especially fascinated by The Heir of Redclyffe. ' His
reading, however, was ill regulated and not well adapted for his men-
tal discipline. At twelve he was taken by his mother to Moscow,
where he had the opportunity to study English and German as well
as to continue his reading in French, in which he had already been
well grounded.



## p. 6534 (#524) ###########################################

6534
IVÁN ALEKSANDROVITCH GONCHARÓF
In 1831 he entered Moscow University, electing the Philological
Faculty. There were at that time in the University a coterie of young
men who afterwards became famous as writers, and the lectures
delivered by a number of enthusiastic young professors were admi-
rably calculated to develop the best in those who heard them. He
finished the complete course, and after a brief visit at his native place
went to St. Petersburg, where he entered the Ministry of Finance.
Gogol, and Goncharóf himself, have painted the depressing influence
of the officialdom then existing. The chinovnik as painted by those
early realists was a distinct type. But on the other hand, there was
a delightful society at St. Petersburg, and the literary impulses of tal-
ented young men were fostered by its leaders. Some of these men
founded a new journal of which Salonitsuin was the leading spirit,
and in this appeared Goncharóf's first articles. They were of a
humoristic tendency. His first serious work was entitled 'Obuikna-
vénnaya Istóriya' (An Ordinary Story), a rather melancholy tale,
showing how youthful enthusiasm and the dreams of progress and per-
fection can be killed by formalism: Aleksandr Adúyef the romantic
dreamer is contrasted with his practical uncle Peter Ivánovitch. The
second part was not completed when the first part was placed in the
hands of the critic Byelínsky, the sovereign arbiter on things literary.
Byelínsky gave it his "imprimatur," and it was published in the Sov-
reménnik (Contemporary) in 1847. The conception of his second and
by all odds his best romance, Oblómof,' was already in his mind;
and the first draft was published in the Illustrated Album, under
the title Son Oblómova' (Oblómof's Dream), the following year.
In 1852 Goncharóf received from the Marine Ministry a proposition
to sail around the world as private secretary to Admiral Putyátin.
On his return he contributed to various magazines sketches of his
experiences, and finally published a handsome volume of his travels
entitled 'Phregat Pállada' (The Frigate Pallas). In 1857 he went to
Carlsbad and completed 'Oblómof,' on which he had been working
so many years. It appeared in Otetchestvenniya Zapíski (Annals of
the Fatherland) in 1858 and 1859, and made a profound sensation.
The hero was recognized as a perfectly elaborated portrait of a not
uncommon type of Russian character: a good-natured, warm-hearted,
healthy young man, so enervated by the atmosphere of indolence into
which he has allowed himself to sink, that nothing serves to rouse
him. Love is the only impulse which could galvanize him into life.
Across his path comes the beautiful Olga, whom the Russians claim
as a poetic and at the same time a genuine representative of the
best Russian womanhood. Vigorous, alert, with mind and heart
equally well developed, she stirs the latent manhood of Oblómof; but
when he comes to face the responsibilities, the cares, and the duties
of matrimony, he has not the courage to enter upon them. Olga


## p. 6535 (#525) ###########################################

IVÁN ALEKSANDROVITCH GONCHARÓF
6535
marries Oblómof's friend Stoltz, whom Goncharóf intended to be a no
less typical specimen of Russian manhood, and whom most critics
consider overdrawn and not true to life. The novel is a series of
wonderful genre pictures: his portraits are marvels of finish and deli-
cacy; and there are a number of dramatic scenes, although the story
as a whole lacks movement. The first chapter, which is here repro-
duced, is chosen not as perhaps the finest in the book, but as thor-
oughly characteristic. It is also a fine specimen of Russian humor.
Goncharóf finished in 1868 his third novel, entitled 'Abruíf' (The
Precipice). It was published first in the Viéstnik Yevrópui (European
Messenger), and in book form in 1870. In this he tries to portray the
type of the Russian Nihilist; but Volokhóf is regarded rather as a
caricature than as a faithful portrait. In contrast with him stands
the beautiful Viera; but just as Volokhóf falls below Oblómof, so
Viera yields to Olga in perfect realism. One of the best characters
in the story is the dilettante Raïsky, the type of the man who has an
artistic nature but no energy. One of the most important characters
of the book is Viera's grandmother: the German translation of The
Precipice is entitled 'The Grandmother's Fault. '
Goncharóf has written a few literary essays, and during the past
few years has contributed to one of the Russian reviews a series of
literary recollections. But his fame with posterity will depend princi-
pally on his 'Oblómof,' the name of which has given to the language
a new word,-oblómovshchina,* Oblómovism,- the typically Russian
indolence which was induced by the peculiar social conditions exist-
ing in Russia before the emancipation of the serfs in 1861: indiffer-
ence to all social questions; the expectation that others will do your
work; or as expressed in the Russian proverb, "the trusting in others
as in God, but in yourself as in the Devil. "
Not. Dola
*Oblómof is the genitive plural of the word oblóm or oblám, a term ex-
pressive of anything broken or almost useless, or even bad; a rude, awkward,
unfinished man.


## p. 6536 (#526) ###########################################

6536
IVÁN ALEKSANDROVITCH GONCHARÓF
OBLÓMOF
N GARÓKHAVAYA STREET, in one of those immense houses the
population of which would suffice for a whole provincial city,
there lay one morning in bed in his apartment Ílya Ílyitch
Oblómof. He was a pleasant-appearing man of two or three and
twenty, of medium stature, with dark gray eyes; but his face
lacked any fixed idea or concentration of purpose. A thought
would wander like a free bird over his features, flutter in his
eyes, light on his parted lips, hide itself in the wrinkles of his
brow, then entirely vanish away; and over his whole countenance
would spread the shadeless light of unconcern.
From his face this indifference extended to the attitudes of
his whole body, even to the folds of his dressing-gown. Occas-
ionally his eyes were darkened by an expression of weariness or
disgust, but neither weariness nor disgust could for an instant
dispel from his face the indolence which was the dominant and
habitual expression not only of his body, but also of his very
soul. And his soul was frankly and clearly betrayed in his
eyes, in his smile, in every movement of his head, of his hands.
A cool superficial observer, glancing at Oblómof as he passed
him by, would have said, "He must be a good-natured, simple-
hearted fellow. " Any one looking deeper, more sympathetically,
would after a few moments' scrutiny turn away with a smile, with
a feeling of agreeable uncertainty.
Oblómof's complexion was not florid, not tawny, and not posi-
tively pallid, but was indeterminate, or seemed to be so, per-
haps because it was flabby; not by reason of age, but by lack of
exercise or of fresh air or of both. His body, to judge by the
dull, transparent color of his neck, by his little plump hands,
his drooping shoulders, seemed too effeminate for a man. His
movements, even if by chance he were aroused, were kept under
restraint likewise by a languor and by a laziness that was not
devoid of its own peculiar grace.
If a shadow of an anxious thought arose from his spirit and
passed across his face, his eyes would grow troubled, the wrin-
kles in his brow would deepen, a struggle of doubt or pain would
seem to begin: but rarely indeed would this troubled thought
crystallize into the form of a definite idea; still more rarely
would it be transformed into a project.


## p. 6537 (#527) ###########################################

IVÁN ALEKSANDROVITCH GONCHARÓF
6537
All anxiety would be dissipated in a sigh and settle down into
apathy or languid dreaming.
How admirably Oblómof's house costume suited his unruffled
features and his effeminate body! He wore a dressing-gown of
Persian material—a regular Oriental khalát, without the slightest
suggestion of anything European about it, having no tassels, no
velvet, no special shape. It was ample in size, so that he might
have wrapped it twice around him. The sleeves, in the invariable
Asiatic style, grew wider and wider from the wrist to the shoul-
der. Although this garment had lost its first freshness, and in
places had exchanged its former natural gloss for another that
was acquired, it still preserved the brilliancy of its Oriental color-
ing and its firmness of texture.
The khalát had in Oblómof's eyes a multitude of precious
properties: it was soft and supple; the body was not sensible of
its weight; like an obedient slave, it accommodated itself to every
slightest motion.
Oblómof while at home always went without cravat and
without waistcoat, for the simple reason that he liked simplicity
and comfort. The slippers which he wore were long, soft, and
wide; when without looking he put down one foot from the bed
to the floor it naturally fell into one of them.
Oblómof's remaining in bed was not obligatory upon him, as
in the case of a sick man or of one who was anxious to sleep;
nor was it accidental, as in the case of one who was weary; nor
was it for mere pleasure, as a sluggard would have chosen: it
was the normal condition of things with him. When he was at
home and he was almost always at home-he invariably lay
in bed and invariably in the room where we have just found
him: a room which served him for sleeping-room, library, and
parlor.