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him why he forsook poetry, in which he was sure of charming his readers, to compile histories and write novels? Goldsmith replied: My lord, by courting the muses I shall starve; but, by my other labours, I eat, drink, have good clothes, and enjoy the luxuries of life." During the last rehearsal of his comedy, entitled 'She Stoops to Conquer' which Mr Colman thought would not succeed-on Goldsmith's objecting to the repetition of one of Tony Lumpkin's speeches, being apprehensive it might injure the play, the manager, with great keenness, replied: "Psha, my dear doctor, do not be fearful of squibs, when we have been sitting almost these two hours on a barrel of gunpowder!" The piece, however, contrary to Colman's expectation, was received with uncommon applause by the audience; and Goldsmith's pride was so hurt by the severity of the observation, that it entirely put an end to his acquaintance with the party who made it.

Notwithstanding the great success of his pieces-by some of which, it is asserted, upon good authority, that he cleared £1800 in one year -his circumstances were by no means in a prosperous situation, which might be partly owing to the liberality of his disposition, and partly to an unfortunate habit which he had contracted of gaming, with the arts of which he was very little acquainted, and consequently easily became the prey of those who were unprincipled enough to take advantage of his ignorance. Just before his death he had formed the design of executing a universal dictionary of arts and sciences, the prospectus of which he actually printed and distributed among his acquaintance. In this work several of his literary friends-particularly Sir Joshua Reynolds, Johnson, and Garrick—had promised to assist, and to furnish him with articles upon different subjects. He entertained the most sanguine expectations from the success of it. The undertaking, however, did not meet with that encouragement from the booksellers which he had imagined it would undoubtedly receive; and he used to lament this circumstance almost to the last hour of his existence. He had been for some years afflicted, at different times, with a violent strangury, which contributed not a little to imbitter the latter part of his life; and which, united with the vexations he suffered upon other occasions, brought on a kind of habitual despondency. In this unhappy condition he was attacked by a nervous fever, which terminated in his dissolution, on the 4th day of April, 1774, in the forty-fifth year of his age.

His friends, who were very numerous and respectable, had determined to bury him in Westminster abbey; his pall was to have been supported by Lord Shelburne, Lord Louth, Sir Joshua Reynolds, the Hon. Mr Beauclerc, Mr Edmund Burke, and Mr Garrick; but from some unaccountable circumstances this design was dropped, and his remains were privately deposited in the Temple burial ground.

Goldsmith's character is strongly illustrated by Pope in one line: "In wit a man, simplicity a child." The learned leisure he loved to enjoy was too often interrupted by distresses which arose from the openness of his temper, and which sometimes threw him into loud fits of passion; but this impetuosity was corrected upon a moment's reflection, and his servants have been known upon these occasions purposely to throw themselves in his way, that they might profit by it immediately after; for he who had the good fortune to have been reproved was sure of being rewarded for it when the fit of penitence came on. His dis

appointments at other times made him peevish and sullen, and he has often left a party of convivial friends abruptly in the evening, in order to go home and brood over his misfortunes. As a poet, he was a studious and correct observer of nature, happy in the selections of his images, in the choice of his subjects, and in the harmony of his versification; and, though his embarrassed situation often prevented him from putting the last hand to many of his productions, his 'Hermit,' his Traveller,' and his Deserted Village,' bid fair to claim a place among the most finished pieces in the English language. The last work of this ingenious author was 'A History of the Earth and Animated Nature,' in eight vols. 8vo, for which production his bookseller paid him £850. The doctor seems to have considered attentively the works of several authors who have wrote on this subject. If there should not be a great deal of discovery or new matter, yet a judicious selection from abundant materials is no small praise; and if the experiments and discoveries of other writers are laid open in an agreeable dress, so pleasing as to allure the young reader into a pursuit of this sort of knowledge, we owe no small obligations to the writer. Our author professes to have had a taste rather classical than scientific, and it was in the study of the classics that he first caught the desire of attaining a knowledge of nature. Pliny first inspired him, and he resclved to translate that agreeable writer, and by the help of a commentary to make his translation acceptable to the public. The appearance of Buffon's work, however, induced the doctor to change his plan, and instead of translating an ancient writer, he resolved to imitate the last and best of the modern, who had written on natural history. The result was one of the most popular if not most scientific works on this branch of science. Boswell, in his life of Johnson, has given us a vivid sketch of Goldsmith: "No man," says he, " had the art of displaying with more advantage as a writer whatever literary acquisitions he made. Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit.' His mind resembled a fertile but thin soil. There was a quick, but not a strong vegetation, of whatever chanced to be thrown upon it. No deep root could be struck. The oak of the forest did not grow there; but the elegant shrubbery and the fragrant parterre appeared in gay succession. It has been generally circulated and believed that he was a mere fool in conversation; but in truth, this has been greatly exaggerated. He had, no doubt, a more than common share of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his countrymen, and which sometimes produces a laughable confusion in expressing them. He was very much what the French call un etourdi, and from vanity and an eager desire of being conspicuous wherever he was, he frequently talked carelessly, without knowledge of the subject, or even without thought. His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. Those who were in any way distinguished, excited envy in him to so ridiculous an excess, that the instances of it are hardly credible. When accompanying two beautiful young ladies with their mother on a tour in France, he was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than to him; and once at the exhibition of the Fantoccini in London, when those who sat next him observed with what dexterity a puppet was made to toss a pike, he could not bear that it should have such praise, and exclaimed, with some warmth, Pshaw! I can do it better

myself.' He, I am afraid, had no settled system of any sort, so that his conduct must not be strictly scrutinized; but his affections were social and generous, and when he had money he gave it away very liberally. His desire of imaginary consequence predominated over his attention to truth. When he began to rise into notice, he said he had a brother who was dean of Durham, a fiction so easily detected that it was wonderful how he should have been so inconsiderate as to hazard it. He boasted to me at this time of the power of his pen in commanding money, which I believe was true in a certain degree, though in the instance he gave he was by no means correct. He told me that he had sold a novel for four hundred pounds. This was his 'Vicar of Wakefield.' But Johnson informed me that he had made the bargain for Goldsmith, and the price was sixty pounds. And, Sir,' said he, 'a sufficient price too, when it was sold; for then the fame of Goldsmith had not been elevated, as it afterwards was, by his "Traveller;" and the bookseller had such faint hopes of profit by his bargain, that he kept the manuscript by him a long time, and did not publish it till after the "Traveller" had appeared. Then, to be sure, it was accidentally worth more money.'"

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Benjamin Cooke.

BORN A. D. 1730.-DIED a. D. 1793.

THIS composer was educated by Dr Pepusch, under whom his progress was so rapid, that, at twelve, he was competent to the duty of deputy-organist of Westminster abbey. On the decease of Dr Pepusch, in 1752, he became conductor of the Academy of Ancient Music, a post he continued to hold for thirty-seven years. In the same year, he succeeded Bernard Gates, as lay clerk, and master of the boys at Westminster abbey; and in 1762, he was appointed organist. In 1775, he proceeded to the degree of doctor of music, at Cambridge, where he performed, as an exercise, his anthem, Behold, how good and joyfully!' In 1782, he was elected organist of St Martin's-in-the-Fields. He died on the 14th of September. His private character was extremely amiable, and he is described by Miss Hawkins, daughter of Sir John, as one of the worthiest and best-tempered men that ever existed. Dr Cooke's compositions-which were chiefly written for the Academy of Ancient Music, and the Catch Club-are characterized by correctness. His chief printed works are, two books of canons, glees, rondos, and duets; Milton's Morning Hymn,' and 'Collins's Ode on the Passions.' Amongst the most popular of his secular productions, are Thyrsis,' 'When he left me;' and, 'Let Rubinelli charm the Ear;' his chorus, 'I have been Young;' and his glees, Hark, hark, the Lark,'' As the Shades of Eve,' 'How Sleep the Brave,' and, 'In the Merry month of May.'

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Jeremiah Markland.

BORN A. D. 1693.-died A. D. 1776.

THIS learned and acute critic was son of Ralph Markland, vicar of Childwall, in Lancashire. He was admitted of Christ's hospital, London, in 1704, whence, in 1710, he was sent to the university of Cambridge. In 1717 he was chosen a fellow of St Peter's.

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The first publication which introduced him to the notice of the learned world was his Epistola critica ad eruditissimum virum F. Hare, in quâ Horatii loca aliquot et aliorum veterum emendantur,' Cantab. 1723, 8vo. In 1728 he edited an edition of the 'Sylvæ' of Statius, in which he greatly restored the integrity of the text, and exhibited uncommon felicity of judgment and conjecture. In 1745 he published Remarks on the Epistles of Cicero and Brutus,' in which he attempted to prove that these remains were not genuine; he likewise extended his scepticism to some of the orations ascribed to Cicero, which he characterized as "silly and barbarous stuff." Markland was, in this discussion, aided by Tunstall; and opposed by Middleton, and Ross afterwards bishop of Exeter.

About the year 1752 Markland retired into private life, selecting for his retreat the hamlet of Milton, near Dorking in Surrey. In this retirement he edited, by piecemeal, the plays of Euripides, but it was not without much difficulty that his friends prevailed on him to lay his valuable annotations before the public. He died in 1776.

Markland was a truly profound scholar; but his timid and shrinking disposition deprived the world of much of the fruits of his unwearied industry, fine taste, and extensive acquaintance with the stores of classical antiquity. He was a man of high moral integrity and independence of character.

Samuel Foote.

BORN A. D. 1720.-DIED A. D. 1777.

SAMUEL FOOTE, the modern Aristophanes, was born at Truro in Cornwall. He was descended from a very ancient family. His father was member of parliament for Tiverton in Devonshire, and enjoyed the post of commissioner of the prize-office. His mother was heiress of the Dinely and Goodhere families. He was educated at Worcester college, Oxford. "The church belonging to the college fronted the side of a lane, into which cattle were sometimes turned during the night, and from the steeple hung the bell-rope very low in the middle of the outside porch. Foote, one night, slily tied a wisp of hay to the rope as a bait for the cows, and one of them, after smelling the hay, instantly seized on it, and tugging, made the bell ring, to the astonishment of the whole parish. This trick was several times repeated. Such a phenomenon must be investigated for the honour of Oxford and philosophy, and accordingly the provost with the sexton agreed to sit up one night,

and on the first alarm to run out and drag the culprit to punishment. They waited in the church shuddering for the signal: at last the bell began to toll-forth they sallied in the dark. The sexton was the first in the attack: he cried out 'It is a gentleman commoner, for I have him by the gown.' The doctor, who at the same moment caught the cow by the horn, replied, 'No, no, you blockhead, 'tis the postman, and here I have hold of him by his horn.' Lights, however, being brought, the true character of the offender was discovered, and the laugh of the town was turned upon Doctor Gower. When Foote was enjoined to learn certain tasks in consequence of his idleness, he used to come with a large folio dictionary under his arm, and repeat his lessons, and then the doctor would give him several wholesome lectures on the dangers of idleness. In this lecture he usually made use of many hard words and quaint phrases, at which the other would immediately interrupt him, and after begging pardon with great formality, would take the dictionary from under his arm, and affect to search up the word, would then pretend he had found it, and say, 'Very well, Sir; now please to go on.’ On leaving the university he commenced student of law in the Temple; but as the dryness of this study did not suit the liveliness of his genius, he soon relinquished it.

In 1741 he married a young lady of good family and some fortune; but their tempers not agreeing, harmony did not long subsist between them. He now launched into all the fashionable foibles of the age, gaming not excepted, and in a few years spent his whole fortune. His necessities at last drove him on the stage, and he made his first appearance at the Haymarket, on the 6th of February, 1744, in the character of Othello. He attempted Lord Foppington likewise, but prudently gave it up. The fact is, Foote never was a good actor in the plays of others. In 1747 he opened a little theatre in the Haymarket, and appeared in a dramatic piece of his own composing, called The Diversions of the Morning.' This piece consisted of nothing more than the exhibition of several characters well-known in real life, whose style of conversation and expressions Foote very happily hit off in the diction of his drama, and still more happily represented on the stage. This performance at first met with some opposition from the magistrates of Westminster, under the sanction of the act of parliament for limiting the number of playhouses, as well as from the jealousy of the managers of Drury Lane playhouse; but the author being patronized by many of the principal nobility, and other persons of distinction, this opposition was overruled. Having altered the title of his performance, Foote proceeded without further molestation to give 'Tea in a Morning' to his friends, and represented it through a run of forty mornings to crowded and splendid audiences.

"This entertainment," says Galt, "resembled in many respects the kind of monologues which have been so much the delight of our own age by the admirable tact and humour of Mathews. Foote at the time and during his whole life had the peculiar zest of personal mimicry, but Mathews has gone a step farther, by performing alone different imaginary characters in the same manner that Foote imitated the peculiarities of well-known persons. The success of Foote in this novel species of

1 Galt's 'Lives of the Players.'