that he was not insensible to the fascinations of the younger sister. This may account for some of the phenomena which about this time appeared in his wardrobe and toilet. During the first year of his acquaintance with these lovely girls, the tell-tale book of his tailor, Mr. William Filby, displays entries of four or five full suits, besides separate articles of dress. Among the items, we find a green, half-trimmed frock and breeches, lined with silk; a queen's blue dress suit; a halfdress suit of ratteen, lined with satin; a pair of silk stocking breeches, and another pair of a bloom colour. Alas! poor Goldsmith! how much of this silken finery was dictated, not by vanity, but humble consciousness of thy defects; how much of it was to atone for the uncouthness of thy person, and to win favour in the eyes of the Jessamy Bride!

We have recorded the touching instance of the lady's affection for the Poet, in begging a lock of his hair, at page

294.

Washington Irving, at the close of his gracefully-written Life of Goldsmith, says, with exquisite feeling: "If we have dwelt with more significancy than others upon his intercourse with the beautiful Horneck family, it is because we fancied we could detect, amid his playful attentions to one of its members, a lurking sentiment of tenderness, kept down by conscious poverty, and a humiliating idea of personal defects. A hopeless feeling of this kind—the last a man would communicate to his friends-might account for much of that fitfulness of conduct, and that gathering melancholy, remarked, but not comprehended, by his associates, during the last year or two of his life; and may have been one of the troubles of the mind which aggravated his last illness, and only termi

nated with his death."

GOLDSMITH, WALPOLE, AND CHATTERTON.

On the establishment of the Royal Academy of Arts, Goldsmith was appointed Professor of History. On St.George's day, 1771, the first Annual Dinner was given, when Sir Joshua Reynolds, the President, took the chair. At this first Academy dinner, there occurred a conversation between Goldsmith and Horace Walpole, which some years subsequently became evidence as to the belief in the Chatterton invention. The incident is referred to by Mr. Forster, who evinces strong sympathy upon the subject, looking rather at the in

genuity than the integrity of the poet. "A fragment of the conversation has survived; and," says Mr. Forster, "takes us from it to the darkest contrast, the most deplorable picture of human misery and disadvantage, which even these pages have described. Goldsmith spoke of an extraordinary boy who had come up to London from Bristol, died very miserably, and left a wonderful treasure of ancient poetry behind him. Horace Walpole listened carelessly at first, it would seem; but soon perceived in the subject of the conversation special interest for himself. Some years afterwards, he described what had passed with an affectation of equanimity which even then he did not feel. Dining at the Royal Academy,' he said, 'Doctor Goldsmith drew the attention of the company with the account of a marvellous treasure of ancient poems lately discovered at Bristol, and expressed enthusiastic belief in them, for which he was laughed at by Dr. Johnson, who was present. I soon found that this was the trouvaille of my friend Chatterton; and I told Doctor Goldsmith that this novelty was known to me, who might, if I had pleased, have had the honour of ushering the great discovery to the learned world. You may imagine, sir, we did not at all agree in the measure of our faith. But though his incredulity diverted me, my mirth was soon daunted; for on asking about Chatterton, he told me he had been in London, and had destroyed himself. The persons of honour and veracity who were present will attest with what surprise and concern I thus first heard of his death!'

"Yes; for the concern was natural, even a Goldsmith credulity, for once, would have been Walpole's better friend. His mirth was dashed at the time, and his peace was for many years invaded by that image of Chatterton. From the time he resisted the imposition,' says Miss Hawkins, in her considerate way, he began to go down in public favour.' An imposition it undoubtedly was, even such an imposition as he had himself attempted with his Castle of Otranto; and he had a perfect right to resist it. It was no guilt he had committed, but it was a great occasion lost. The poor boy who invented Rowley, (the most wonderful invention of literature, all things considered,) had not only communicated his discovery to the learned Mr. Walpole,' but the learned Mr. Walpole had with profuse respect and deference believed in it, till Gray and Mason laughed at him; when turning coldly away from Chatterton's eager proposals, he planted in that

...

young ambitious heart its bitterest thorn. As for Goldsmith's upholding of the authenticity of Rowley, it may pass with a smile, if it really meant anything more than a belief in poor Chatterton himself; and it is a pity that Dr. Percy should have got up a quarrel with him about it, as he is said to have done."

CUMBERLAND AND GOLDSMITH.

That sour critic, Richard Cumberland, in whose ink there must have been unusually large proportions of gall and vinegar, has left some pungent passage upon the comparative value of Goldsmith's compilations and his original works.

Of the latter Goldsmith left this specimen exercised upon the Critic himself:

Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care

To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And Comedy wonders at being so fine;

Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather, like tragedy giving a rout.

His fools have their follies, so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud,
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits are pleased with their own:
Say, where has our poet this malady caught,
Or, wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that mainly directing his view

To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?

GOLDSMITH'S INDEPENDENCE.

Dr. Scott was commissioned by Lord North to propose to Goldsmith a carte blanche if he would write for the ministry. The Doctor waited upon Oliver in his chambers in the Temple, but with what success let his noble answer tell: "I can earn as much as will supply my wants without writing for any party; the assistance, therefore, you offer is unnecessary."

SHERIDAN DRAMATIZES THE "VICAR OF
WAKEFIELD."

Sheridan left among his papers a dramatic sketch, founded on the Vicar of Wakefield, which, from a date on the

manuscript (1768), appears to have been produced when he was only in his seventeenth year. Here is a part of the second scene, sufficient to show how very soon Sheridan's talent for lively dialogue displayed itself:

THORNHILL AND ARNOLD.

Thornhill.-Nay, prithee, Jack, no more of that, if you love me. What, shall I stop short with the game in full view? Faith, I believe the fellow's turned Puritan. What think you of turning Methodist, Jack? You have a tolerable good canting countenance, and, if escaped being taken up for a Jesuit, you might make a fortune in Moorfields. Arnold. I was serious, Tom.

Thorn.-Splenetic, you mean. Come, fill your glass, and a truce to your preaching. Here's a pretty fellow has let his conscience sleep for these five years, and has now plucked morality from the leaves of his grandmother's Bible, beginning to declaim against what he has practised half his lifetime. Why, I tell you once more, my schemes are all come to perfection. I am now convinced Olivia loves me-at our last conversation, she said she would rely wholly upon my honour.

Arn. And therefore you would deceive her.

Thorn. Why no-deceive her?-why indeed-as to that-but-for God's sake, let me hear no more on this subject, for, faith, you make me sad, Jack. If you continue your admonitions, I shall begin to think you have an eye yourself on the girl. You promised me your assistance, and when you came down into the country, were as hot on the scheme as myself but since you have been two or three times with me at Primrose's, you have fallen off strangely. No encroachments, Jack, on my little rosebud-if you have a mind to beat up game in that quarter, there's her sister-but no poaching.

Then there is the character of Lady Patchet: "it seems that last year her ladyship's reputation began to suffer a little; so that she thought it prudent to retire for awhile, till people learned better manners, or got worse memories."

The design which Sheridan thus early chalked out, but never completed, has been executed by other hands. The Vicar of Wakefield has since been several times dramatized, and we believe, in each instance, with success. Thomas Dibdin produced a very popular version at the Surrey Theatre.

THE COLMANS.

THE COLMAN FAMILY.

THE founder of this noted family of wits, was Francis Colman, who was appointed resident minister at the Court of Vienna in 1721; and who was brother-in-law to the celebrated William Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath. Mrs. Pulteney, afterwards Countess of Bath, and Mrs. Francis Colman, being daughters of Mrs. Gumley, through this family connexion, Mr. Colman enjoyed the friendship of Mr. (afterwards Sir Charles Hanbury) Williams, of whom Horace Walpole said, "he was in flower for an ode or two.' Another of Colman's distinguished correspondents was George Bubb Dodington, afterwards Lord Melcombe. But a more interesting friend was the poet Gay, whom we find writing to Colman from Bath, August 23, 1721, as follows:

I live almost altogether with Lord Burlington, and pass my time very agreeably. I left Chiswick about three weeks ago, and have been ever since at the Bath, for the colical humour in my stomach that you have heard me often complain of. Here is very little company that I know. I expect a summons very suddenly to go with Lord Burlington into Yorkshire. You must think that I cannot be now and then without some thoughts that give me uneasiness, who have not the least prospect of ever being independent: my friends do a great deal for me, but I think I could do more for them.

You will hear before my letter can reach you of poor Lord Warwick's death it has given me many a melancholy reflection; I loved him, and cannot help feeling concern whenever I think of him. Dear Colman, be

as cheerful as you can, never sink under a disappointment; I give you the advice which I have always endeavoured to follow, though I hope you will have no occasion to practise it, for I heartily wish you may be always cheerful, and that you may always have very good reasons to be so.

My service to Mrs. Colman. Direct to me at White's, if you will give me the pleasure of hearing from you.

I am, dear Colman, yours most sincerely,

J. GAY.