No More Learning

A clamor had been raised against Garrick
for exercising a despotism over the stage, and bringing forward nothing but
old plays to the exclusion of original productions. Walpole joined in this
charge. "Garrick," said he, "is treating the town as it deserves and likes
to be treated; with scenes, fireworks, and _his own writings_. A good
new play I never expect to see more; nor have seen since the Provoked
Husband, which came out when I was at school. " Goldsmith, who was extremely
fond of the theater, and felt the evils of this system, inveighed in his
treatise against the wrongs experienced by authors at the hands of
managers. "Our poet's performance," said he, "must undergo a process truly
chemical before it is presented to the public. It must be tried in the
manager's fire; strained through a licenser, suffer from repeated
corrections, till it may be a mere _caput mortuum_ when it arrives
before the public. " Again. "Getting a play on even in three or four years
is a privilege reserved only for the happy few who have the arts of
courting the manager as well as the muse; who have adulation to please his
vanity, powerful patrons to support their merit, or money to indemnify
disappointment. Our Saxon ancestors had but one name for a wit and a witch.
I will not dispute the propriety of uniting those characters then; but the
man who under present discouragements ventures to write for the stage,
whatever claim he may have to the appellation of a wit, at least has no
right to be called a conjurer. " But a passage which perhaps touched more
sensibly than all the rest on the sensibilities of Garrick was the
following.

"I have no particular spleen against the fellow who sweeps the stage with
the besom, or the hero who brushes it with his train. It were a matter of
indifference to me whether our heroines are in keeping, or our candle
snuffers burn their fingers, did not such make a great part of public care
and polite conversation. Our actors assume all that state off the stage
which they do on it; and, to use an expression borrowed from the green
room, every one is _up_ in his part. I am sorry to say it, they seem
to forget their real characters. "

These strictures were considered by Garrick as intended for himself, and
they were rankling in his mind when Goldsmith waited upon him and solicited
his vote for the vacant secretaryship of the Society of Arts, of which the
manager was a member. Garrick, puffed up by his dramatic renown and his
intimacy with the great, and knowing Goldsmith only by his budding
reputation, may not have considered him of sufficient importance to be
conciliated. In reply to his solicitations, he observed that he could
hardly expect his friendly exertions after the unprovoked attack he had
made upon his management. Goldsmith replied that he had indulged in no
personalities, and had only spoken what he believed to be the truth. He
made no further apology nor application; failed to get the appointment, and
considered Garrick his enemy. In the second edition of his treatise he
expunged or modified the passages which had given the manager offense; but
though the author and actor became intimate in after years, this false step
at the outset of their intercourse was never forgotten.

About this time Goldsmith engaged with Dr. Smollett, who was about to
launch the "British Magazine. " Smollett was a complete schemer and
speculator in literature, and intent upon enterprises that had money rather
than reputation in view. Goldsmith has a good-humored hit at this
propensity in one of his papers in the "Bee," in which he represents
Johnson, Hume, and others taking seats in the stagecoach bound for Fame,
while Smollett prefers that destined for Riches.

Another prominent employer of Goldsmith was Mr. John Newbery, who engaged
him to contribute occasional essays to a newspaper entitled the "Public
Ledger," which made its first appearance on the 12th of January, 1760. His
most valuable and characteristic contributions to this paper were his
Chinese Letters, subsequently modified into the Citizen of the World. These
lucubrations attracted general attention; they were reprinted in the
various periodical publications of the day, and met with great applause.
The name of the author, however, was as yet but little known.

Being now in easier circumstances, and in the receipt of frequent sums from
the booksellers, Goldsmith, about the middle of 1760, emerged from his
dismal abode in Green Arbor Court, and took respectable apartments in
Wine-Office Court, Fleet Street.

Still he continued to look back with considerate benevolence to the poor
hostess, whose necessities he had relieved by pawning his gala coat, for we
are told that "he often supplied her with food from his own table, and
visited her frequently with the sole purpose to be kind to her. "

He now became a member of a debating club, called the Robin Hood, which
used to meet near Temple Bar, and in which Burke, while yet a Temple
student, had first tried his powers. Goldsmith spoke here occasionally, and
is recorded in the Robin Hood archives as "a candid disputant, with a clear
head and an honest heart, though coming but seldom to the society. " His
relish was for clubs of a more social, jovial nature, and he was never fond
of argument. An amusing anecdote is told of his first introduction to the
club by Samuel Derrick, an Irish acquaintance of some humor. On entering,
Goldsmith was struck with the self-important appearance of the chairman
ensconced in a large gilt chair. "This," said he, "must be the Lord
Chancellor at least. " "No, no," replied Derrick, "he's only master of the
_rolls_. "--The chairman was a _baker_.




CHAPTER TWELVE

NEW LODGINGS--VISITS OF CEREMONY--HANGERS-ON--PILKINGTON AND THE WHITE
MOUSE--INTRODUCTION TO DR. JOHNSON--DAVIES AND HIS BOOKSHOP--PRETTY MRS.
DAVIES--FOOTE AND HIS PROJECTS--CRITICISM OF THE CUDGEL


In his new lodgings in Wine-Office Court, Goldsmith began to receive visits
of ceremony and to entertain his literary friends. Among the latter he now
numbered several names of note, such as Guthrie, Murphy, Christopher Smart,
and Bickerstaff. He had also a numerous class of hangers-on, the small-fry
of literature; who, knowing his almost utter incapacity to refuse a
pecuniary request, were apt, now that he was considered flush, to levy
continual taxes upon his purse.

Among others, one Pilkington, an old college acquaintance, but now a
shifting adventurer, duped him in the most ludicrous manner. He called on
him with a face full of perplexity. A lady of the first rank having an
extraordinary fancy for curious animals, for which she was willing to give
enormous sums, he had procured a couple of white mice to be forwarded to
her from India. They were actually on board of a ship in the river. Her
grace had been apprised of their arrival, and was all impatience to see
them. Unfortunately, he had no cage to put them in, nor clothes to appear
in before a lady of her rank. Two guineas would be sufficient for his
purpose, but where were two guineas to be procured!

The simple heart of Goldsmith was touched; but, alas! he had but half a
guinea in his pocket. It was unfortunate, but after a pause his friend
suggested, with some hesitation, "that money might be raised upon his
watch; it would but be the loan of a few hours. " So said, so done; the
watch was delivered to the worthy Mr. Pilkington to be pledged at a
neighboring pawnbroker's, but nothing further was ever seen of him, the
watch, or the white mice. The next that Goldsmith heard of the poor
shifting scapegrace, he was on his deathbed, starving with want, upon
which, forgetting or forgiving the trick he had played upon him, he sent
him a guinea. Indeed, he used often to relate with great humor the
foregoing anecdote of his credulity, and was ultimately in some degree
indemnified by its suggesting to him the amusing little story of Prince
Bonbennin and the White House in the Citizen of the World.

In this year Goldsmith became personally acquainted with Dr. Johnson,
toward whom he was drawn by strong sympathies, though their natures were
widely different. Both had struggled from early life with poverty, but had
struggled in different ways. Goldsmith, buoyant, heedless, sanguine,
tolerant of evils and easily pleased, had shifted along by any temporary
expedient; cast down at every turn, but rising again with indomitable
good-humor, and still carried forward by his talent at hoping. Johnson,
melancholy, and hypochondriacal, and prone to apprehend the worst, yet
sternly resolute to battle with and conquer it, had made his way doggedly
and gloomily, but with a noble principle of self-reliance and a disregard
of foreign aid. Both had been irregular at college, Goldsmith, as we have
shown, from the levity of his nature and his social and convivial habits;
Johnson, from his acerbity and gloom. When, in after life, the latter heard
himself spoken of as gay and frolicsome at college, because he had joined
in some riotous excesses there, "Ah, sir! " replied he, "I was mad and
violent. It was bitterness which they mistook for frolic. _I was
miserably poor, and I thought to fight my way by my literature and my
wit_. So I disregarded all power and all authority. "

Goldsmith's poverty was never accompanied by bitterness; but neither was it
accompanied by the guardian pride which kept Johnson from falling into the
degrading shifts of poverty. Goldsmith had an unfortunate facility at
borrowing, and helping himself along by the contributions of his friends;
no doubt trusting, in his hopeful way, of one day making retribution.
Johnson never hoped, and therefore never borrowed. In his sternest trials
he proudly bore the ills he could not master. In his youth, when some
unknown friend, seeing his shoes completely worn out, left a new pair at
his chamber door, he disdained to accept the boon, and threw them away.

Though like Goldsmith an immethodical student, he had imbibed deeper
draughts of knowledge, and made himself a riper scholar. While Goldsmith's
happy constitution and genial humors carried him abroad into sunshine and
enjoyment, Johnson's physical infirmities and mental gloom drove him upon
himself; to the resources of reading and meditation; threw a deeper though
darker enthusiasm into his mind, and stored a retentive memory with all
kinds of knowledge.

After several years of youth passed in the country as usher, teacher, and
an occasional writer for the press, Johnson, when twenty-eight years of
age, came up to London with a half-written tragedy in his pocket; and David
Garrick, late his pupil, and several years his junior, as a companion, both
poor and penniless, both, like Goldsmith, seeking their fortune in the
metropolis. "We rode and tied," said Garrick sportively in after years of
prosperity, when he spoke of their humble wayfaring. "I came to London,"
said Johnson, "with twopence halfpenny in my pocket. " "Eh, what's that you
say? " cried Garrick, "with twopence halfpenny in your pocket? " "Why, yes; I
came with twopence halfpenny in _my_ pocket, and thou, Davy, with but
three halfpence in thine. " Nor was there much exaggeration in the picture;
for so poor were they in purse and credit that after their arrival they
had, with difficulty, raised five pounds, by giving their joint note to a
bookseller in the Strand.

Many, many years had Johnson gone on obscurely in London, "fighting his way
by his literature and his wit"; enduring all the hardships and miseries of
a Grub Street writer; so destitute at one time that he and Savage the poet
had walked all night about St. James's Square, both too poor to pay for a
night's lodging, yet both full of poetry and patriotism, and determined to
stand by their country; so shabby in dress at another time, that when he
dined at Cave's, his bookseller, when there was prosperous company, he
could not make his appearance at table, but had his dinner handed to him
behind a screen.

Yet through all the long and dreary struggle, often diseased in mind as
well as in body, he had been resolutely self-dependent, and proudly
self-respectful; he had fulfilled his college vow, he had "fought his way
by his literature and his wit. " His Rambler and Idler had made him the
great moralist of the age, and his Dictionary and History of the English
Language, that stupendous monument of individual labor, had excited the
admiration of the learned world. He was now at the head of intellectual
society; and had become as distinguished by his conversational as his
literary powers. He had become as much an autocrat in his sphere as his
fellow-wayfarer and adventurer Garrick had become of the stage, and had
been humorously dubbed by Smollett, "The Great Cham of Literature. "

Such was Dr. Johnson, when on the 31st of May, 1761, he was to make his
appearance as a guest at a literary supper given by Goldsmith, to a
numerous party at his new lodgings in Wine-Office Court. It was the opening
of their acquaintance. Johnson had felt and acknowledged the merit of
Goldsmith as an author, and been pleased by the honorable mention made of
himself in the "Bee" and the Chinese Letters. Dr. Percy called upon Johnson
to take him to Goldsmith's lodgings; he found Johnson arrayed with unusual
care in a new suit of clothes, a new hat, and a well-powdered wig; and
could not but notice his uncommon spruceness. "Why, sir," replied Johnson,
"I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard
of cleanliness and decency by quoting my practice, and I am desirous this
night to show him a better example. "

The acquaintance thus commenced ripened into intimacy in the course of
frequent meetings at the shop of Davies, the bookseller, in Russell Street,
Covent Garden. As this was one of the great literary gossiping places of
the day, especially to the circle over which Johnson presided, it is worthy
of some specification. Mr. Thomas Davies, noted in after times as the
biographer of Garrick, had originally been on the stage, and though a small
man had enacted tyrannical tragedy, with a pomp and magniloquence beyond
his size, if we may trust the description given of him by Churchill in the
Rosciad:

"Statesman all over--in plots famous grown,
_He mouths a sentence as ours mouth a bone_. "

This unlucky sentence is said to have crippled him in the midst of his
tragic career, and ultimately to have driven him from the stage. He carried
into the bookselling craft somewhat of the grandiose manner of the stage,
and was prone to be mouthy and magniloquent.

Churchill had intimated, that while on the stage he was more noted for his
pretty wife than his good acting:

"With him came mighty Davies; on my life,
That fellow has a very pretty wife. "

"Pretty Mrs. Davies," continued to be the loadstar of his fortunes. Her
tea-table became almost as much a literary lounge as her husband's shop.
She found favor in the eyes of the Ursa Major of literature by her winning
ways, as she poured out for him cups without stint of his favorite
beverage. Indeed it is suggested that she was one leading cause of his
habitual resort to this literary haunt. Others were drawn thither for the
sake of Johnson's conversation, and thus it became a resort of many of the
notorieties of the day. Here might occasionally be seen Bennet Langton,
George Stevens, Dr. Percy, celebrated for his ancient ballads, and
sometimes Warburton in prelatic state. Garrick resorted to it for a time,
but soon grew shy and suspicious, declaring that most of the authors who
frequented Mr. Davies' shop went merely to abuse him.

Foote, the Aristophanes of the day, was a frequent visitor; his broad face
beaming with fun and waggery, and his satirical eye ever on the lookout for
characters and incidents for his farces. He was struck with the odd habits
and appearance of Johnson and Goldsmith, now so often brought together in
Davies' shop. He was about to put on the stage a farce called The Orators,
intended as a hit at the Robin Hood debating club, and resolved to show up
the two doctors in it for the entertainment of the town.

"What is the common price of an oak stick, sir? " said Johnson to Davies.
"Sixpence," was the reply. "Why, then, sir, give me leave to send your
servant to purchase a shilling one. I'll have a double quantity; for I am
told Foote means to take me off, as he calls it, and I am determined the
fellow shall not do it with impunity. "

Foote had no disposition to undergo the criticism of the cudgel wielded by
such potent hands, so the farce of The Orators appeared without the
caricatures of the lexicographer and the essayist.




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ORIENTAL PROJECTS--LITERARY JOBS--THE CHEROKEE CHIEFS--MERRY ISLINGTON AND
THE WHITE CONDUIT HOUSE--LETTERS ON THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND--JAMES
BOSWELL--DINNER OF DAVIES--ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON AND GOLDSMITH


Notwithstanding his growing success, Goldsmith continued to consider
literature a mere makeshift, and his Vagrant imagination teemed with
schemes and plans of a grand but indefinite nature. One was for visiting
the East and exploring the interior of Asia. He had, as has been before
observed, a vague notion that valuable discoveries were to be made there,
and many useful inventions in the arts brought back to the stock of
European knowledge. "Thus, in Siberian Tartary," observes he in one of his
writings, "the natives extract a strong spirit from milk, which is a secret
probably unknown to the chemists of Europe. In the most savage parts of
India they are possessed of the secret of dying vegetable substances
scarlet, and that of refining lead into a metal which, for hardness and
color, is little inferior to silver. "

Goldsmith adds a description of the kind of person suited to such an
enterprise, in which he evidently had himself in view.

"He should be a man of philosophical turn, one apt to deduce consequences
of general utility from particular occurrences; neither swollen with pride,
nor hardened by prejudice; neither wedded to one particular system, nor
instructed only in one particular science; neither wholly a botanist, nor
quite an antiquarian; his mind should be tinctured with miscellaneous
knowledge, and his manners humanized by an intercourse with men. He should
be in some measure an enthusiast to the design; fond of traveling, from a
rapid imagination and an innate love of change; furnished with a body
capable of sustaining every fatigue, and a heart not easily terrified at
danger. "

In 1761, when Lord Bute became prime minister on the accession of George
the Third, Goldsmith drew up a memorial on the subject, suggesting the
advantages to be derived from a mission to those countries solely for
useful and scientific purposes; and, the better to insure success, he
preceded his application to the government by an ingenious essay to the
same effect in the "Public Ledger. "

His memorial and his essay were fruitless, his project most probably being
deemed the dream of a visionary. Still it continued to haunt his mind, and
he would often talk of making an expedition to Aleppo some time or other,
when his means were greater, to inquire into the arts peculiar to the East,
and to bring home such as might be valuable. Johnson, who knew how little
poor Goldsmith was fitted by scientific lore for this favorite scheme of
his fancy, scoffed at the project when it was mentioned to him. "Of all
men," said he, "Goldsmith is the most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry,
for he is utterly ignorant of such arts as we already possess, and,
consequently, could not know what would be accessions to our present stock
of mechanical knowledge. Sir, he would bring home a grinding barrow, which
you see in every street in London, and think that he had furnished a
wonderful improvement. "

His connection with Newbery the bookseller now led him into a variety of
temporary jobs, such as a pamphlet on the Cock-lane Ghost, a Life of Beau
Nash, the famous Master of Ceremonies at Bath, etc. ; one of the best things
for his fame, however, was the remodeling and republication of his Chinese
Letters under the title of The Citizen of the World, a work which has long
since taken its merited stand among the classics of the English language.
"Few works," it has been observed by one of his biographers, "exhibit a
nicer perception, or more delicate delineation of life and manners. Wit,
humor, and sentiment pervade every page; the vices and follies of the day
are touched with the most playful and diverting satire; and English
characteristics, in endless variety, are hit off with the pencil of a
master. "

In seeking materials for his varied views of life, he often mingled in
strange scenes and got involved in whimsical situations. In the summer of
1762 he was one of the thousands who went to see the Cherokee chiefs, whom
he mentions in one of his writings. The Indians made their appearance in
grand costume, hideously painted and besmeared. In the course of the visit
Goldsmith made one of the chiefs a present, who, in the ecstasy of his
gratitude, gave him an embrace that left his face well bedaubed with oil
and red ocher.

Toward the close of 1762 he removed to "merry Islington," then a country
village, though now swallowed up in omnivorous London. He went there for
the benefit of country air, his health being injured by literary
application and confinement, and to be near his chief employer, Mr.
Newbery, who resided in the Canonbury House. In this neighborhood he used
to take his solitary rambles, sometimes extending his walks to the gardens
of the White Conduit House, so famous among the essayists of the last
century. While strolling one day in these gardens, he met three females of
the family of a respectable tradesman to whom he was under some obligation.
With his prompt disposition to oblige, he conducted them about the garden,
treated them to tea, and ran up a bill in the most open-handed manner
imaginable; it was only when he came to pay that he found himself in one of
his old dilemmas--he had not the wherewithal in his pocket. A scene of
perplexity now took place between him and the waiter, in the midst of which
came up some of his acquaintances, in whose eyes he wished to stand
particularly well. This completed his mortification. There was no
concealing the awkwardness of his position. The sneers of the waiter
revealed it. His acquaintances amused themselves for some tune at his
expense, professing their inability to relieve him. When, however, they had
enjoyed their banter, the waiter was paid, and poor Goldsmith enabled to
convoy off the ladies with flying colors.

Among the various productions thrown off by him for the booksellers during
this growing period of his reputation was a small work in two volumes,
entitled The History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to
his Son. It was digested from Hume, Rapin, Carte, and Kennet. These authors
he would read in the morning; make a few notes; ramble with a friend into
the country about the skirts of "merry Islington"; return to a temperate
dinner and cheerful evening; and, before going to bed, write off what had
arranged itself in his head from the studies of the morning. In this way he
took a more general view of the subject, and wrote in a more free and
fluent style than if he had been mousing at the time among authorities. The
work, like many others written by him in the earlier part of his literary
career, was anonymous. Some attributed it to Lord Chesterfield, others to
Lord Orrery, and others to Lord Lyttelton. The latter seemed pleased to be
the putative father, and never disowned the bantling thus laid at his door;
and well might he have been proud to be considered capable of producing
what has been well pronounced "the most finished and elegant summary of
English history in the same compass that has been or is likely to be
written. "

The reputation of Goldsmith, it will be perceived, grew slowly; he was
known and estimated by a few; but he had not those brilliant though
fallacious qualities which flash upon the public and excite loud but
transient applause. His works were more read than cited; and the charm of
style, for which he was especially noted, was more apt to be felt than
talked about. He used often to repine, in a half-humorous, half-querulous
manner, at his tardiness in gaining the laurels which he felt to be his
due. "The public," he would exclaim, "will never do me justice; whenever I
write anything they make a point to know nothing about it. "

About the beginning of 1763 he became acquainted with Boswell, whose
literary gossipings were destined to have a deleterious effect upon his
reputation. Boswell was at that time a young man, light, buoyant, pushing,
and presumptuous. He had a morbid passion for mingling in the society of
men noted for wit and learning, and had just arrived from Scotland, bent
upon making his way into the literary circles of the metropolis. An
intimacy with Dr. Johnson, the great literary luminary of the day, was the
crowning object of his aspiring and somewhat ludicrous ambition. He
expected to meet him, at a dinner to which he was invited at Davies the
bookseller's, but was disappointed. Goldsmith was present, but he was not
as yet sufficiently renowned to excite the reverence of Boswell. "At this
time," says he in his notes, "I think he had published nothing with his
name, though it was pretty generally understood that one Dr. Goldsmith was
the author of An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in
Europe, and of The Citizen of the World, a series of letters supposed to be
written from London by a Chinese. "

A conversation took place at table between Goldsmith and Mr. Robert
Dodsley, compiler of the well-known collection of modern poetry, as to the
merits of the current poetry of the day. Goldsmith declared there was none
of superior merit. Dodsley cited his own collection in proof of the
contrary. "It is true," said he, "we can boast of no palaces nowadays, like
Dryden's Ode to St. Cecilia's Day, but we have villages composed of very
pretty houses. " Goldsmith, however, maintained that there was nothing above
mediocrity, an opinion in which Johnson, to whom it was repeated,
concurred, and with reason, for the era was one of the dead levels of
British poetry.

Boswell has made no note of this conversation; he was a Unitarian in his
literary devotion, and disposed to worship none but Johnson. Little Davies
endeavored to console him for his disappointment, and to stay the stomach
of his curiosity, by giving him imitations of the great lexicographer;
mouthing his words, rolling his head, and assuming as ponderous a manner as
his petty person would permit. Boswell was shortly afterward made happy by
an introduction to Johnson, of whom he became the obsequious satellite.
From him he likewise imbibed a more favorable opinion of Goldsmith's
merits, though he was fain to consider them derived in a great measure from
his Magnus Apollo. "He had sagacity enough," says he, "to cultivate
assiduously the acquaintance of Johnson, and his faculties were gradually
enlarged by the contemplation of such a model. To me and many others it
appeared that he studiously copied the manner of Johnson, though, indeed,
upon a smaller scale. " So on another occasion he calls him "one of the
brightest ornaments of the Johnsonian school. " "His respectful attachment
to Johnson," adds he, "was then at its height; for big own literary
reputation had not yet distinguished him so much as to excite a vain desire
of competition with his great master. "

What beautiful instances does the garrulous Boswell give of the goodness of
heart of Johnson, and the passing homage to it by Goldsmith. They were
speaking of a Mr. Levett, long an inmate of Johnson's house and a dependent
on his bounty; but who, Boswell thought, must be an irksome charge upon
him. "He is poor and honest," said Goldsmith, "which is recommendation
enough to Johnson. "

Boswell mentioned another person of a very bad character, and wondered at
Johnson's kindness to him. "He is now become miserable," said Goldsmith,
"and that insures the protection of Johnson. " Encomiums like these speak
almost as much for the heart of him who praises as of him who is praised.
Subsequently, when Boswell had become more intense in his literary
idolatry, he affected to undervalue Goldsmith, and a lurking hostility to
him is discernible throughout his writings, which some have attributed to a
silly spirit of jealousy of the superior esteem evinced for the poet by Dr.
Johnson. We have a gleam of this in his account of the first evening he
spent in company with those two eminent authors at their famous resort, the
Mitre Tavern, in Fleet Street. This took place on the 1st of July, 1763.
The trio supped together, and passed some time in literary conversation. On
quitting the tavern, Johnson, who had now been sociably acquainted with
Goldsmith for two years, and knew his merits, took him with him to drink
tea with his blind pensioner, Miss Williams, a high privilege among his
intimates and admirers. To Boswell, a recent acquaintance whose intrusive
sycophancy had not yet made its way into his confidential intimacy, he gave
no invitation. Boswell felt it with all the jealousy of a little mind. "Dr.
Goldsmith," says he, in his memoirs, "being a privileged man, went with
him, strutting away, and calling to me with an air of superiority, like
that of an esoteric over an esoteric disciple of a sage of antiquity, 'I go
to Miss Williams. ' I confess I then envied him this mighty privilege, of
which he seemed to be so proud; but it was not long before I obtained the
same mark of distinction. "

Obtained! but how? not like Goldsmith, by the force of unpretending but
congenial merit, but by a course of the most pushing, contriving, and
spaniel-like subserviency. Really, the ambition of the man to illustrate
his mental insignificance, by continually placing himself in juxtaposition
with the great lexicographer, has something in it perfectly ludicrous.
Never, since the days of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, has there been
presented to the world a more whimsically contrasted pair of associates
than Johnson and Boswell.

"Who is this Scotch cur at Johnson's heels? " asked some one when Boswell
had worked his way into incessant companionship. "He is not a cur," replied
Goldsmith, "you are too severe; he is only a bur. Tom Davies flung him at
Johnson in sport, and he has the faculty of sticking. "




CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HOGARTH A VISITOR AT ISLINGTON--HIS CHARACTER--STREET STUDIES--SYMPATHIES
BETWEEN AUTHORS AND PAINTERS--SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS--HIS CHARACTER--HIS
DINNERS--THE LITERARY CLUB-ITS MEMBERS--JOHNSON'S REVELS WITH LANKEY AND
BEAU--GOLDSMITH AT THE CLUB


Among the intimates who used to visit the poet occasionally, in his retreat
at Islington, was Hogarth the painter. Goldsmith had spoken well of him in
his essays in the "Public Ledger," and this formed the first link in their
friendship. He was at this time upward of sixty years of age, and is
described as a stout, active, bustling little man, in a sky-blue coat,
satirical and dogmatic, yet full of real benevolence and the love of human
nature. He was the moralist and philosopher of the pencil; like Goldsmith
he had sounded the depths of vice and misery, without being polluted by
them; and though his picturings had not the pervading amenity of those of
the essayist, and dwelt more on the crimes and vices than the follies and
humors of mankind, yet they were all calculated, in like manner, to fill
the mind with instruction and precept, and to make the heart better.

Hogarth does not appear to have had much of the rural feeling with which
Goldsmith was so amply endowed, and may not have accompanied him in his
strolls about hedges and green lanes; but he was a fit companion with whom
to explore the mazes of London, in which he was continually on the lookout
for character and incident. One of Hogarth's admirers speaks of having come
upon him in Castle Street, engaged in one of his street studies, watching
two boys who were quarreling; patting one on the back who flinched, and
endeavoring to spirit him up to a fresh encounter. "At him again! D--- him,
if I would take it of him! at him again! "

A frail memorial of this intimacy between the painter and the poet exists
in a portrait in oil, called "Goldsmith's Hostess. " It is supposed to have
been painted by Hogarth in the course of his visits to Islington, and given
by him to the poet as a means of paying his landlady. There are no
friendships among men of talents more likely to be sincere than those
between painters and poets. Possessed of the same qualities of mind,
governed by the same principles of taste and natural laws of grace and
beauty, but applying them to different yet mutually illustrative arts, they
are constantly in sympathy and never in collision with each other.

A still more congenial intimacy of the kind was that contracted by
Goldsmith with Mr. afterward Sir Joshua Reynolds. The latter was now about
forty years of age, a few years older than the poet, whom he charmed by the
blandness and benignity of his manners, and the nobleness and generosity of
his disposition, as much as he did by the graces of his pencil and the
magic of his coloring. They were men of kindred genius, excelling in
corresponding qualities of their several arts, for style in writing is what
color is in painting; both are innate endowments, and equally magical hi
their effects. Certain graces and harmonies of both may be acquired by
diligent study and imitation, but only in a limited degree; whereas by
their natural possessors they are exercised spontaneously, almost
unconsciously, and with ever-varying fascination. Reynolds soon understood
and appreciated the merits of Goldsmith, and a sincere and lasting
friendship ensued between them.

At Reynolds' house Goldsmith mingled in a higher range of company than he
had been accustomed to. The fame of this celebrated artist, and his amenity
of manners, were gathering round him men of talents of all kinds, and the
increasing affluence of his circumstances enabled him to give full
indulgence to his hospitable disposition. Poor Goldsmith had not yet, like
Dr. Johnson, acquired reputation enough to atone for his external defects
and his want of the air of good society. Miss Reynolds used to inveigh
against his personal appearance, which gave her the idea, she said, of a
low mechanic, a journeyman tailor. One evening at a large supper party,
being called upon to give as a toast the ugliest man she knew, she gave Dr.
Goldsmith, upon which a lady who sat opposite, and whom she had never met
before, shook hands with her across the table, and "hoped to become better
acquainted. "

We have a graphic and amusing picture of Reynolds' hospitable but motley
establishment, in an account given by a Mr. Courtenay to Sir James
Mackintosh; though it speaks of a time after Reynolds had received the
honor of knighthood. "There was something singular," said he, "in the style
and economy of Sir Joshua's table that contributed to pleasantry and good
humor, a coarse, inelegant plenty, without any regard to order and
arrangement. At five o'clock precisely, dinner was served, whether all the
invited guests were arrived or not. Sir Joshua was never so fashionably
ill-bred as to wait an hour perhaps for two or three persons of rank or
title, and put the rest of the company out of humor by this invidious
distinction. His invitations, however, did not regulate the number of his
guests. Many dropped in uninvited. A table prepared for seven or eight was
of ten compelled to contain fifteen or sixteen. There was a consequent
deficiency of knives, forks, plates, and glasses. The attendance was in the
same style, and those who were knowing in the ways of the house took care
on sitting down to call instantly for beer, bread, or wine, that they might
secure a supply before the first course was over. He was once prevailed on
to furnish the table with decanters and glasses at dinner, to save time and
prevent confusion. These gradually were demolished in the course of
service, and were never replaced. These trifling embarrassments, however,
only served to enhance the hilarity and singular pleasure of the
entertainment. The wine, cookery and dishes were but little attended to;
nor was the fish or venison ever talked of or recommended. Amid this
convivial animated bustle among his guests, our host sat perfectly
composed; always attentive to what was said, never minding what was ate or
drank, but left every one at perfect liberty to scramble for himself. "

Out of the casual but frequent meeting of men of talent at this hospitable
board rose that association of wits, authors, scholars, and statesmen,
renowned as the Literary Club. Reynolds was the first to propose a regular
association of the kind, and was eagerly seconded by Johnson, who proposed
as a model a club which he had formed many years previously in Ivy Lane,
but which was now extinct. Like that club the number of members was limited
to nine. They were to meet and sup together once a week, on Monday night,
at the Turk's Head on Gerard Street, Soho, and two members were to
constitute a meeting. It took a regular form hi the year 1764, but did not
receive its literary appellation until several years afterward.

The original members were Reynolds, Johnson, Burke, Dr. Nugent, Bennet
Langton, Topham Beauclerc, Chamier, Hawkins, and Goldsmith; and here a few
words concerning some of the members may be acceptable. Burke was at that
time about thirty-three years of age; he had mingled a little in politics,
and been Under Secretary to Hamilton at Dublin, but was again a writer for
the booksellers, and as yet but in the dawning of his fame. Dr. Nugent was
his father-in-law, a Roman Catholic, and a physician of talent and
instruction. Mr. afterward Sir John Hawkins was admitted into this
association from having been a member of Johnson's Ivy Lane club.
Originally an attorney, he had retired from the practice of the law, in
consequence of a large fortune which fell to him in right of his wife, and
was now a Middlesex magistrate. He was, moreover, a dabbler in literature
and music, and was actually engaged on a history of music, which he
subsequently published in five ponderous volumes. To him we are also
indebted for a biography of Johnson, which appeared after the death of that
eminent man. Hawkins was as mean and parsimonious as he was pompous and
conceited. He forbore to partake of the suppers at the club, and begged
therefore to be excused from paying his share of the reckoning. "And was he
excused? " asked Dr. Burney of Johnson. "Oh, yes, for no man is angry at
another for being inferior to himself. We all scorned him and admitted his
plea. Yet I really believe him to be an honest man at bottom, though to be
sure he is penurious, and he is mean, and it must be owned he has a
tendency to savageness. " He did not remain above two or three years in the
club; being in a manner elbowed out in consequence of his rudeness to
Burke.

Mr. Anthony Chamier was secretary in the War Office, and a friend of
Beauclerc, by whom he was proposed. We have left our mention of Bennet
Langton and Topham Beauclerc until the last, because we have most to say
about them. They were doubtless induced to join the club through their
devotion to Johnson, and the intimacy of these two very young and
aristocratic young men with the stern and somewhat melancholy moralist is
among the curiosities of literature.

Bennet Langton was of an ancient family, who held their ancestral estate of
Langton in Lincolnshire, a great title to respect with Johnson. "Langton,
sir," he would say, "has a grant of free warrant from Henry the Second; and
Cardinal Stephen Langton, in King John's reign, was of this family. "

Langton was of a mild, contemplative, enthusiastic nature. When but
eighteen years of age he was so delighted with reading Johnson's Rambler
that he came to London chiefly with a view to obtain an introduction to the
author. Boswell gives us an account of his first interview, which took
place in the morning. It is not often that the personal appearance of an
author agrees with the preconceived ideas of his admirer. Langton, from
perusing the writings of Johnson, expected to find him a decent, well
dressed, in short a remarkably decorous philosopher. Instead of which, down
from his bed chamber about noon, came, as newly risen, a large uncouth
figure, with a little dark wig which scarcely covered his head, and his
clothes hanging loose about him. But his conversation was so rich, so
animated, and so forcible, and his religious and political notions so
congenial with those in which Langton had been educated, that he conceived
for him that veneration and attachment which he ever preserved.

Langton went to pursue his studies at Trinity College, Oxford, where
Johnson saw much of him during a visit which he paid to the university. He
found him in close intimacy with Topham Beauclerc, a youth two years older
than himself, very gay and dissipated, and wondered what sympathies could
draw two young men together of such opposite characters. On becoming
acquainted with Beauclerc he found that, rake though he was, he possessed
an ardent love of literature, an acute understanding, polished wit, innate
gentility and high aristocratic breeding. He was, moreover, the only son of
Lord Sidney Beauclerc and grandson of the Duke of St. Albans, and was
thought in some particulars to have a resemblance to Charles the Second.
These were high recommendations with Johnson, and when the youth testified
a profound respect for him and an ardent admiration of his talents the
conquest was complete, so that in a "short time," says Boswell, "the moral
pious Johnson and the gay dissipated Beauclerc were companions. "

The intimacy begun in college chambers was continued when the youth came to
town during the vacations. The uncouth, unwieldy moralist was flattered at
finding himself an object of idolatry to two high-born, high-bred,
aristocratic young men, and throwing gravity aside, was ready to join in
their vagaries and play the part of a "young man upon town. " Such at least
is the picture given of him by Boswell on one occasion when Beauclerc and
Langton having supped together at a tavern determined to give Johnson a
rouse at three o'clock in the morning. They accordingly rapped violently at
the door of his chambers in the Temple. The indignant sage sallied forth in
his shirt, poker in hand, and a little black wig on the top of his head,
instead of helmet; prepared to wreak vengeance on the assailants of his
castle; but when his two young friends, Lankey and Beau, as he used to call
them, presented themselves, summoning him forth to a morning ramble, his
whole manner changed. "What, is it you, ye dogs? " cried he. "Faith, I'll
have a frisk with you! "

So said so done. They sallied forth together into Covent Garden; figured
among the green grocers and fruit women, just come in from the country with
their hampers; repaired to a neighboring tavern, where Johnson brewed a
bowl of _bishop_, a favorite beverage with him, grew merry over his
cups, and anathematized sleep in two lines from Lord Lansdowne's drinking
song:

"Short, very short, be then thy reign,
For I'm in haste to laugh and drink again. "

They then took boat again, rowed to Billingsgate, and Johnson and Beauclerc
determined, like "mad wags," to "keep it up" for the rest of the day.
Langton, however, the most sober-minded of the three, pleaded an engagement
to breakfast with some young ladies; whereupon the great moralist
reproached him with "leaving his social friends to go and sit with a set of
wretched _unideal_ girls. "

This madcap freak of the great lexicographer made a sensation, as may well
be supposed, among his intimates. "I heard of your frolic t'other night,"
said Garrick to him; "you'll be in the 'Chronicle. '" He uttered worse
forebodings to others. "I shall have my old friend to bail out of the
round-house," said he. Johnson, however, valued himself upon having thus
enacted a chapter in the Rake's Progress, and crowed over Garrick on the
occasion. "_He_ durst not do such a thing! " chuckled he, "his
_wife_ would not _let_ him! "

When these two young men entered the club, Langton was about twenty-two,
and Beauclerc about twenty-four years of age, and both were launched on
London life. Langton, however, was still the mild, enthusiastic scholar,
steeped to the lips in Greek, with fine conversational powers and an
invaluable talent for listening. He was upward of six feet high, and very
spare. "Oh! that we could sketch him," exclaims Miss Hawkins, in her
Memoirs, "with his mild countenance, his elegant features, and his sweet
smile, sitting with one leg twisted round the other, as if fearing to
occupy more space than was equitable; his person inclining forward, as if
wanting strength to support his weight, and his arms crossed over his
bosom, or his hands locked together on his knee. " Beauclerc, on such
occasions, sportively compared him to a stork in Raphael's Cartoons,
standing on one leg. Beauclerc was more "a man upon town," a lounger in St.
James's Street, an associate with George Selwyn, with Walpole, and other
aristocratic wits; a man of fashion at court; a casual frequenter of the
gaming-table; yet, with all this, he alternated in the easiest and happiest
manner the scholar and the man of letters; lounged into the club with the
most perfect self-possession, bringing with him the careless grace and
polished wit of high-bred society, but making himself cordially at home
among his learned fellow members.

The gay yet lettered rake maintained his sway over Johnson, who was
fascinated by that air of the world, that ineffable tone of good society in
which he felt himself deficient, especially as the possessor of it always
paid homage to his superior talent. "Beauclerc," he would say, using a
quotation from Pope, "has a love of folly, but a scorn of fools; everything
he does shows the one, and everything he says the other. " Beauclerc
delighted in rallying the stern moralist of whom others stood in awe, and
no one, according to Boswell, could take equal liberty with him with
impunity. Johnson, it is well known, was often shabby and negligent in his
dress, and not overcleanly in his person. On receiving a pension from the
crown, his friends vied with each other in respectful congratulations.
Beauclerc simply scanned his person with a whimsical glance, and hoped
that, like Falstaff, "he'd in future purge and live cleanly like a
gentleman. " Johnson took the hint with unexpected good humor, and profited
by it.

Still Beauclerc's satirical vein, which darted shafts on every side, was
not always tolerated by Johnson. '"Sir," said he on one occasion, "you
never open your mouth but with intention to give pain; and you have often
given me pain, not from the power of what you have said, but from seeing
your intention. "

When it was at first proposed to enroll Goldsmith among the members of this
association, there seems to have been some demur; at least so says the
pompous Hawkins. "As he wrote for the booksellers, we of the club looked on
him as a mere literary drudge, equal to the task of compiling and
translating, but little capable of original and still less of poetical
composition. "

Even for some time after his admission, he continued to be regarded in a
dubious light by some of the members. Johnson and Reynolds, of course, were
well aware of his merits, nor was Burke a stranger to them; but to the
others he was as yet a sealed book, and the outside was not prepossessing.
His ungainly person and awkward manners were against him with men
accustomed to the graces of society, and he was not sufficiently at home to
give play to his humor and to that bonhomie which won the hearts of all who
knew him. He felt strange and out of place in this new sphere; he felt at
times the cool satirical eye of the courtly Beauclerc scanning him, and the
more he attempted to appear at his ease the more awkward he became.




CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JOHNSON A MONITOR TO GOLDSMITH--FINDS HIM IN DISTRESS WITH HIS
LANDLADY--RELIEVED BY THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD--THE ORATORIO--POEM OF THE
TRAVELER--THE POET AND HIS DOG--SUCCESS OF THE POEM--ASTONISHMENT OF THE
CLUB--OBSERVATIONS ON THE POEM


Johnson had now become one of Goldsmith's best friends and advisers. He
knew all the weak points of his character, but he knew also his merits; and
while he would rebuke him like a child, and rail at his errors and follies,
he would suffer no one else to undervalue him. Goldsmith knew the soundness
of his judgment and his practical benevolence, and often sought his counsel
and aid amid the difficulties into which his heedlessness was continually
plunging him.

"I received one morning," says Johnson, "a message from poor Goldsmith that
he was in great distress, and, as it was not in his power to come to me,
begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea,
and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was
dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at
which he was in a violent passion: I perceived that he had already changed
my guinea, and had a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the
cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of
the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me he had a novel
ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it and saw its
merit; told the landlady I should soon return; and, having gone to a
bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he
discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for
having used him go ill. "

The novel in question was the Vicar of Wakefield; the bookseller to whom
Johnson sold it was Francis Newbery, nephew to John. Strange as it may
seem, this captivating work, which has obtained and preserved an almost
unrivaled popularity in various languages, was so little appreciated by the
bookseller that he kept it by him for nearly two years unpublished!

Goldsmith had, as yet, produced nothing of moment in poetry. Among his
literary jobs, it is true, was an oratorio entitled The Captivity, founded
on the bondage of the Israelites in Babylon. It was one of those unhappy
offsprings of the muse ushered into existence amid the distortions of
music. Most of the oratorio has passed into oblivion; but the following
song from it will never die:

"The wretch condemned from life to part,
Still, still on hope relies,
And every pang that rends the heart
Bids expectation rise.

"Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Illumes and cheers our way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray. "

Goldsmith distrusted his qualifications to succeed in poetry, and doubted
the disposition of the public mind in regard to it. "I fear," said he, "I
have come too late into the world; Pope and other poets have taken up the
places in the temple of Fame; and as few at any period can possess poetical
reputation, a man of genius can now hardly acquire it. " Again, on another
occasion, he observes: "Of all kinds of ambition, as things are now
circumstanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest.
What from the increased refinement of the tunes, from the diversity of
judgment produced by opposing systems of criticism, and from the more
prevalent divisions of opinion influenced by party, the strongest and
happiest efforts can expect to please but in a very narrow circle. "

At this very time he had by him his poem of The Traveler. The plan of it,
as has already been observed, was conceived many years before, during his
travels in Switzerland, and a sketch of it sent from that country to his
brother Henry in Ireland. The original outline is said to have embraced a
wider scope; but it was probably contracted through diffidence, in the
process of finishing the parts. It had laid by him for several years in a
crude state, and it was with extreme hesitation and after much revision
that he at length submitted it to Dr. Johnson. The frank and warm
approbation of the latter encouraged him to finish it for the press; and
Dr. Johnson himself contributed a few lines toward the conclusion.

We hear much about "poetic inspiration," and the "poet's eye in a fine
frenzy rolling"; but Sir Joshua Reynolds gives an anecdote of Goldsmith
while engaged upon his poem, calculated to cure our notions about the ardor
of composition. Calling upon the poet one day, he opened the door without
ceremony, and found him in the double occupation of turning a couplet and
teaching a pet dog to sit upon his haunches. At one time he would glance
his eye at his desk, and at another shake his finger at the dog to make him
retain his position. The last lines on the page were still wet; they form a
part of the description of Italy:

"By sports like these are all their cares beguiled,
The sports of children satisfy the child. "

Goldsmith, with his usual good-humor, joined in the laugh caused by his
whimsical employment, and acknowledged that his boyish sport with the dog
suggested the stanza The poem was published on the 19th of December, 1764,
in a quarto form, by Newbery, and was the first of his works to which
Goldsmith prefixed his name. As a testimony of cherished and well-merited
affection, he dedicated it to his brother Henry. There is an amusing
affectation of indifference as to its fate expressed in the dedication.
"What reception a poem may find," says he, "which has neither abuse, party,
nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know. "
The truth is, no one was more emulous and anxious for poetic fame; and
never was he more anxious than in the present instance, for it was his
grand stake. Dr. Johnson aided the launching of the poem by a favorable
notice in the "Critical Review"; other periodical works came out in its
favor. Some of the author's friends complained that it did not command
instant and wide popularity; that it was a poem to win, not to strike; it
went on rapidly increasing in favor; in three months a second edition was
issued; shortly afterward a third; then a fourth; and, before the year was
out, the author was pronounced the best poet of his time.

The appearance of The Traveler at once altered Goldsmith's intellectual
standing in the estimation of society; but its effect upon the club, if we
may judge from the account given by Hawkins, was most ludicrous. They were
lost in astonishment that a "newspaper essayist" and "bookseller's, drudge"
should have written such a poem. On the evening of its announcement to them
Goldsmith had gone away early, after "rattling away as usual," and they
knew not how to reconcile his heedless garrulity with the serene beauty,
the easy grace, the sound good sense, and the occasional elevation of his
poetry. They could scarcely believe that such magic numbers had flowed from
a man to whom in general, says Johnson, "it was with difficulty they could
give a hearing. " "Well", exclaimed Chamier, "I do believe he wrote this
poem himself, and, let me tell you, that is believing a great deal. "

At the next meeting of the club Chamier sounded the author a little about
his poem. "Mr. Goldsmith," said he, "what do you mean by the last word in
the first line of your Traveler, 'remote, unfriended, solitary, slow? ' do
you mean tardiness of locomotion? " "Yes," replied Goldsmith
inconsiderately, being probably flurried at the moment. "No, sir,"
interposed his protecting friend Johnson, "you did not mean tardiness
of locomotion; you meant that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a
man in solitude. " "Ah," exclaimed Goldsmith, "that was what I meant. "
Chamier immediately believed that Johnson himself had written the line,
and a rumor became prevalent that he was the author of many of the
finest passages. This was ultimately set at rest by Johnson himself,
who marked with a pencil all the verses he had contributed, nine in
number, inserted toward the conclusion, and by no means the best in the
poem. He moreover, with generous warmth, pronounced it the finest poem
that had appeared since the days of Pope.