No More Learning

There is good reason for believing that his masterpiece in prose,
'The Vicar of Wakefield,' had been written as early as 1762, although
it was not published until 1766. It made Goldsmith's mark as a story-
teller. One can readily imagine how, after the grim humor of Smol-
lett, the broad and risqué realism of Fielding, the loitering of Sterne,
and the moralizing of Richardson, the public would seize with a
sense of relief upon this unpretentious chronicle of a country clergy-
man's life: his peaceful home, its ruin, its restoration. Not because
the narrative was quieter and simpler, shorter and more direct than
other narratives, but because to its humor, realism, grace, and depth
it added the charity of First Corinthians Thirteenth. England soon
discovered that the borders of the humanities had been extended;
that the Vicar and his "durable" wife, Moses, Olivia with the pre-
natal tendency to romance, Sophia, the graceless Jenkinson,-the
habit and temper of the whole,- were a new province. The prose
idyl, with all its beauty and charity, does not entitle Goldsmith to
rank with the great novelists; but of its kind, in spite of faults of
inaccuracy, improbability, and impossibility, it is first and best. Goethe
read and re-read it with moral and æsthetic benefit; and the spirit
of Goldsmith is not far to seek in 'Hermann and Dorothea. ' The
Vicar is perhaps the most popular of English classics in foreign
lands.
In poetry, if Goldsmith did not write much, it was for lack of
opportunity. What he did write is good, nearly all of it.
The phi-
losophy of The Traveller' (1764) and the political economy of The
Deserted Village' (1770) may be dubious, but the poetry is true.
There is in both a heartiness which discards the formalized emotion,
prefers the touch of nature and the homely adjective. The char-
acteristic is almost feminine in the description of Auburn: "Dear
lovely bowers"; it is inevitable, artless, in 'The Traveller': "His
first, best country ever is at home. " But on the other hand, the
curiosa felicitas marks every line, the nice selection of just the word
or phrase richest in association, redolent of tradition, harmonious,


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
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classically proper, but still natural, true, and apt. "My heart un-
travell'd fondly turns to thee" - not a word but is hearty; and for
all that, the line is stamped with the academic authority of centuries:
"Cœlum, non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt. " Both poems
are characterized by the infrequency of epithet and figure, the infre-
quency that marks sincerity and that heightens pleasure,—and by a
cunning in the use of proper names, resonant, remote, suggestive:
"On Idra's cliffs or Arno's shelvy side," the cunning of a musical
poem. Both poems vibrate with personality, recall the experience
of the writer. It would be hard to choose between them; but The
Deserted Village' strikes the homelier chord, comes nearer, with its
natural pathos, its sidelong smile, and its perennial novelty, to the
heart of him who knows.
Goldsmith is less eloquent but more natural than Dryden, less
precise but more simple than Pope. In poetic sensibility he has the
advantage of both. Were the volume of his verse not so slight, were
his conceptions more sublime, and their embodiment more epic or
dramatic, he might rank with the greatest of his century. As it is,
in imaginative insight he has no superior in the eighteenth century;
in observation, pathos, representative power, no equal: Dryden, Pope,
Gray, Thomson, Young,-none but Collins approaches him. The
reflective or descriptive poem can of course not compete with the
drama, epic, or even lyric of corresponding merit in its respective
kind. But Goldsmith's poems are the best of their kind, better than
all but the best in other kinds. His conception of life is more gen-
erous and direct, hence truer and gentler, than that of the Augustan
age. Raising no revolt against classical principles, he rejects the
artifices of decadent classicism, returns to nature, and expresses it
simply. He is consequently in this respect the harbinger of Cowper,
Crabbe, Bloomfield, Clare, Wordsworth, and Coleridge. In technique
also he breaks away from Pope. His larger movement, his easier
modulation, his richer tone, his rarer epithet and epigram, his meta-
phor "glowing from the heart," mark the defection from the poetry
of cold conceit.
For lack of space we can only refer to the romantic quality of his
ballad 'Edwin and Angelina' (1765), the spontaneous humor of 'The
Haunch of Venison,' and the exquisite satire of 'Retaliation' (1774).
To appreciate the historical position of Goldsmith's comedies, one
must regard them as a reaction against the school that had held the
stage since the beginning of the century a "genteel" and "senti-
mental" school, fearing to expose vice or ridicule absurdity. But
Goldsmith felt that absurdity was the comic poet's game. Reverting
therefore to Farquhar and the Comedy of Manners, he revived that
species, at the same time infusing a strain of the "humors" of the
----


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
tribe of Ben. Hence the approbation that welcomed his first comedy,
and the applause that greeted the second. For The Good-natured
Man' (1768) and She Stoops to Conquer (1773) did by example what
Hugh Kelly's 'Piety in Pattens' aimed to do by ridicule,- ousted
the hybrid comedy (tradesman's tragedy, Voltaire called it) of which
The Conscious Lovers' had been the most tolerable specimen, and
The School for Lovers' the most decorous and dull.
>>
But "Goldy had not only the gift of weighing the times, he had
the gift of the popular dramatist. His dramatis persona are on the
one hand nearly all legitimate descendants of the national comedy,
though none is a copy from dramatic predecessors; on the other
hand, they are in every instance "imitations" of real life, more than
once of some aspect of his own life; but none is so close an imitation
as to detract from the pleasure which fiction should afford. The for-
mer quality makes his characters look familiar; the latter, true. So
he accomplishes the feat most difficult for the dramatist: while ideal-
izing the individual in order to realize the type, he does not for a
moment lose the sympathy of his audience.
Even in his earlier comedy these two characteristics are manifest.
In the world of drama, young Honeywood is the legitimate descend-
ant of Massinger's Wellborn on the one side, and of Congreve's Val-
entine Legend on the other, with a more distant collateral resemblance
to Ben Jonson's Younger Knowell. But in the field of experience
this "Good-natured Man" is that aspect of "Goldy" himself which,
when he was poorest, made him not so poor but that Irishmen poorer
still could live on him; that aspect of the glorious "idiot in affairs »
which could make to the Earl of Northumberland, willing to be kind,
no other suggestion of his wants than that he had a brother in Ire-
land, "poor, a clergyman, and much in need of help. " Similarly might
those rare creations Croaker and Jack Lofty be traced to their pred-
ecessors in the field of drama, even though remote. That they had
their analogies in the life of Goldsmith, and have them in the lives
of others, it is unnecessary to prove. But graphic as these characters
are, they cannot make of 'The Good-natured Man' more than a pass-
able second to 'She Stoops to Conquer. ' For the premises of the
plot are absurd, if not impossible; the complication is not much more
natural than that of a Punch-and-Judy show, and the dénouement but
one shade less improbable than that of The Vicar of Wakefield. '
The value of the play is principally historical, not æsthetic.
Congreve's 'Love for Love,' Vanbrugh's 'Relapse,' Farquhar's
'Beaux' Stratagem,' Goldsmith's 'She Stoops to Conquer,' and Sheri-
dan's 'School for Scandal,' are the best comedies written since Jon-
son, Fletcher, and Massinger held the stage. In plot and diction 'She
Stoops to Conquer' is equaled by Congreve; in character-drawing by


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6507
Vanbrugh; in dramatic ease by Farquhar, in observation and wit by
Sheridan: but by none is it equaled in humor, and in naturalness of
dialogue it is facile princeps. Here again the characterization presents
the twofold charm of universality and reality. Young Marlow is the
traditional lover of the type of Young Bellair, Mirabell, and Aimwell,
suggesting each in turn but different from all; he is also, in his com-
bination of embarrassment and impudence, not altogether unlike the
lad Oliver who, years ago, on a journey back to school, had mistaken
Squire Featherstone's house in Ardagh for an inn.
A similar adjustment of dramatic type and historic individual con-
tributes to the durability of Tony Lumpkin. In his dramatis persona
he is a practical joker of the family of Diccon and Truewit, and first
cousin on the Blenkinsop side to that horse-flesh Sir Harry Beagle.
But Anthony is more than the practical joker or the squire booby:
he is a near relative of Captain O'Blunder and that whole country-
side of generous, touch-and-go Irishmen; while in reality, in pro-
pria persona, he is that aspect of Noll Goldsmith that "lived the
buckeen in Ballymahon. Of the other characters of the play, Hard-
castle, Mrs. Hardcastle, and Kate have a like prerogative of immor-
tality. They are royally descended and personally unique.
The comedy has been absurdly called farcical. There is much
less of the farcical than in many a so-called "legitimate" comedy.
None of the circumstances are purely fortuitous; none unnecessary.
Humor and caprice tend steadily to complicate the action, and by nat-
ural interaction prepare the way for the dénouement. The misunder-
standings are the more piquant because of their manifest irony and
their ephemeral character. Indeed, if any fault is to be found with
the play, it is that Goldsmith did not let it resolve itself without the
assistance of Sir Charles Marlow.
One peculiarity not yet mentioned is illustrative of Goldsmith's
method. A system of mutual borrowing characterizes his works. The
same thought, in the same or nearly the same language, occurs in
half a dozen. 'The Enquiry' lends a phrase to 'The Citizen,' who
passes it on to the Vicar,' who, thinking it too good to keep, hands
it over to the Good-natured Man,' whence it is borrowed by She
Stoops to Conquer,' and turned to look like new,- like a large family
of sisters with a small wardrobe in common. This habit does not
indicate poverty of invention in Goldsmith, but associative imagina-
tion and artistic conservatism.
Goldsmith was the only Irish story-writer and poet of his century.
Four Irishmen adorned the prose of the period: Goldsmith is as emi-
nent in the natural style as Swift in the satiric, or Steele in the pol-
ished, or Burke in the grand. In comedy the Irish led; but Steele,
Macklin, Murphy, Kelly, do not compare with Farquhar, Sheridan, and


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Goldsmith. The worst work of these is good, and their best is the
best of the century.
Turning to Goldsmith the man, what the "draggle-tail Muses"
paid him we find him spending on dress and rooms and jovial mag-
nificence, on relatives or countrymen or the unknown poor, with such
freedom that he is never relieved of the necessity of drudgery. Still,
sensitive, good-natured, improvident, Irish, and a genius, — Gold-
smith lived as happy a life as his disposition would allow. He had
the companionship of congenial friends, the love of men like Johnson
and Reynolds, the final assurance that his art was appreciated by the
public. To be sure, he was never out of debt, but that was his own
fault; he was never out of credit either. "Was there ever poet so
trusted? " exclaimed Johnson, after this poet had got beyond reach
of his creditors. His difficulties however affected him as they affect
most Irishmen,-only by cataclysms. He was serene or wretched, but
generally the former: he packed noctes cænæque deûm by the dozen
into his life. "There is no man," said Reynolds, "whose company is
more liked. " But maybe that was because his naïveté, his brogue,
his absent-mindedness, and his blunders (real or apparent) made him
a ready butt for ridicule, not at the hands of Reynolds or Johnson,
but of Beauclerk and the rest. For though his humor was sly, and
his wit inimitable, Goldsmith's conversation was queer. It seemed to
go by contraries. If permitted, he would ramble along in his hesi-
tating, inconsequential fashion, on any subject under heaven — “too
eager," thought Johnson, "to get on without knowing how he should
get off. "
But if ignored, he would sit silent and apart,-sulking,
thought Boswell. In fact, both the Dictator and laird of Auchinleck
were of a mind that he tried too much to shine in conversation, for
which he had no temper. But «< Goldy's" bons-mots — such as the
"Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis" to Johnson, as they
passed under the heads on Temple Bar,-make it evident that Gar-
rick, with his
-
"Here lies Poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll,»
and most of the members of the Literary Club, did not understand
their Irishman. A timidity born of rough experience may have oc-
casionally oppressed, a sensitiveness to ridicule or indifference may
have confused him, a desire for approbation may frequently have led
him to speak when silence had been golden; but that his conversa-
tion was "foolish" is the judgment of Philistines who make conver-
sation an industry, not an amusement or an art.
Boswell himself recounts more witty sayings than incomprehen-
sible. And the "incomprehensible" are so only to Boswells and


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6509
Hawkinses, who can hardly be expected to appreciate a humor, the
vein of which is a mockery of their own solemn stupidity. Probably
Goldsmith did say unconsidered things; he liked to think aloud in
company, to "rattle on" for diversion. Keenly alive to the riches of
language, he was the more likely to feel the embarrassment of im-
promptu selection; and while he was too much of a genius to keep
count of every pearl, he was too considerate of his fellows to cast
pearls only. But most of his fellows (Reynolds excepted) appreciated
neither his drollery nor his unselfishness, had not been educated up
to the type of Irishman that with an artistic love of fun, is ever
ready to promote the gayety of nations by sacrificing itself in the
interest of laughter. For none but an artist can, without cracking a
smile, offer up his wit on the altar of his humor.
Prior describes Goldsmith as something under the middle size,
sturdy, active, apparently capable of endurance; pale, forehead and
upper lip rather projecting, face round, pitted with small-pox, and
marked with strong lines of thinking. But Reynolds's painting ideal-
izes and therefore best expresses the man, his twofold nature: on the
one hand, self-depreciatory, generous, and improvident; on the other,
aspiring, hungry for approval, laborious. Just such a man as would
gild poverty with a smile, decline patronage and force his last six-
pence on a street-singer, pile Pelion on Ossa for his publishers and
turn out cameos for art.
Charter Mille Gayley
THE VICAR'S FAMILY BECOME AMBITIOUS
From The Vicar of Wakefield'
NOW began to find that all my long and painful lectures upon
temperance, simplicity, and contentment were entirely disre-
garded. The distinctions lately paid us by our betters awak-
ened that pride which I had laid asleep, but not removed. Our
windows again, as formerly, were filled with washes for the neck
and face. The sun was dreaded as an enemy to the skin with-
out doors, and the fire as a spoiler of the complexion within.
My wife observed that rising too early would hurt her daughters'
eyes, that working after dinner would redden their noses, and


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
she convinced me that the hands never looked so white as when
they did nothing. Instead therefore of finishing George's shirts,
we now had them new-modeling their old gauzes, or flourishing
upon catgut. The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their former gay
companions, were cast off as mean acquaintance, and the whole
conversation ran upon high life and high-lived company, with
pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.
But we could have borne all this, had not a fortune-telling
gypsy come to raise us into perfect sublimity. The tawny sibyl
no sooner appeared than my girls came running to me for a
shilling apiece, to cross her hand with silver. To say the truth,
I was tired of being always wise, and could not help gratifying
their request, because I loved to see them happy. I gave each
of them a shilling, though for the honor of the family it must be
observed that they never went without money themselves, as my
wife always generously let them have a guinea each to keep in
their pockets, but with strict injunctions never to change it.
After they had been closeted up with the fortune-teller for some
time, I knew by their looks, upon their returning, that they had
been promised something great. "Well, my girls, how have you
sped? Tell me, Livy, has the fortune-teller given thee a penny-
worth? " "I protest, papa," says the girl, "I believe she deals
with somebody that is not right, for she positively declared that
I am to be married to a squire in less than a twelvemonth!
"Well now, Sophy, my child," said I, "and what sort of a hus-
band are you to have? " "Sir," replied she, "I am to have a
lord soon after my sister has married the squire. " "How," cried
I, "is that all you are to have for your two shillings? Only
a lord and a squire for two shillings! You fools, I could have
promised you a prince and a nabob for half the money! "
>>
This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended with very seri-
ous effects: we now began to think ourselves designed by the
stars to something exalted, and already anticipated our future.
grandeur.
IT HAS been a thousand times observed, and I must observe it
once more, that the hours we pass with happy prospects in view
are more pleasing than those crowned with fruition. In the first
case we cook the dish to our own appetite; in the latter, nature
cooks it for us. It is impossible to repeat the train of agreeable
reveries we called up for our entertainment. We looked upon our


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OLIVER GOLDSMITH
6511
fortunes as once more rising; and as the whole parish asserted
that the Squire was in love with my daughter, she was actually
so with him, for they persuaded her into the passion. In this
agreeable interval my wife had the most lucky dreams in the
world, which she took care to tell us every morning with great
solemnity and exactness. It was one night a coffin and cross-
bones, the sign of an approaching wedding; at another time she
imagined her daughter's pockets filled with farthings, a certain
sign of their being shortly stuffed with gold. The girls them-
selves had their omens. They felt strange kisses on their lips;
they saw rings in the candle; purses bounced from the fire, and
true-love knots lurked in the bottom of every teacup.
Towards the end of the week we received a card from the
town ladies, in which, with their compliments, they hoped to
see all our family at church the Sunday following. All Saturday
morning I could perceive, in consequence of this, my wife and
daughters in close conference together, and now and then glan-
cing at me with looks that betrayed a latent plot. To be sincere,
I had strong suspicions that some absurd proposal was preparing
for appearing with splendor the next day. In the evening they
began their operations in a very regular manner, and my wife
undertook to conduct the siege. After tea, when I seemed in
spirits, she began thus: "I fancy, Charles my dear, we shall
have a great deal of good company at our church to-morrow. "
"Perhaps we may, my dear," returned I; "though you need be
under no uneasiness about that; you shall have a sermon whether
there be or not. " << That is what I expect," returned she; “but
I think, my dear, we ought to appear there as decently as pos-
sible, for who knows what may happen? » "Your precautions,"
replied I, are highly commendable. A decent behavior and
appearance in church is what charms me. We should be devout
and humble, cheerful and serene. " "Yes," cried she, "I know
that; but I mean we should go there in as proper a manner as
possible; not altogether like the scrubs about us. "
"You are
quite right, my dear," returned I; “and I was going to make the
very same proposal. 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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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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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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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.


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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.