the opening stanzas, he said to Lewes, "Come, let me tell you this is no bad morning's work; and now, my dear boy, if you are not better engaged, I should be glad to enjoy a Shoemaker's holiday with you.'

This Shoemaker's holiday was a day of great festivity to poor Goldsmith, and was spent in the following innocent manner:

*

Three or four of his intimate friends rendezvoused at his chambers, to breakfast, about ten o'clock in the morning; at eleven they proceeded by the City-road, and through the fields to Highbury Barn to dinner; about six o'clock in the evening they adjourned to White Conduit House to drink tea; and concluded the evening by supping at the Grecian or Temple Exchange Coffee-houses, or at the Globe, in Fleet-street. There was a very good ordinary of two dishes and pastry kept at Highbury Barn about this time (five-and-twenty years ago, in 1796) at 10d. per head, including a penny to the waiter, and the company generally consisted of literary characters, a few Templars, and some citizens who had left off trade. The whole expenses of this day's fête never exceeded a crown, and oftener from three-and-sixpence to four shillings, for which the party obtained good air and exercise, good living, the example of simple manners, and good conversation.

"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."

In 1773, Goldsmith produced his second play, She Stoops to Conquer, at Covent Garden; and if it be the object of comedy to make an audience laugh, Johnson says that it was better obtained by this play than by any other of the period. Lee Lewes was, for the first time, produced in a speaking character, as young Marlow, and is, therefore, entitled to record his own recollections concerning the piece.

"The first night of its performance, Goldsmith, instead of being at the theatre, was found sauntering, between seven and eight o'clock, in the Mall, St. James's Park; and it was on the remonstrance of a friend, who told him, 'how useful his presence might be in making some sudden alterations which might be found necessary in the piece,' that he was prevailed on to go to the theatre. He entered the stage-door just in the middle of the fifth act, when there was a hiss at the improbability of Mrs. Hardcastle supposing herself forty miles off, though on her own grounds, and near the house. 'What's that?' says the Doctor, terrified at the sound. 'Pshaw, Doctor,' says Colman, who was standing by the side of the scene, 'don't be fearful of squibs, when we have been sitting almost these two hours upon a barrel of gunpowder.'

"In the Life of Dr. Goldsmith, prefixed to his Works, the above reply

* The Grecian in Devereux-court, Strand, much frequented by Goldsmith and the Irish and Lancashire Templars, lasted till our day; and the Globe, No. 134, Fleet-street, was the resort of Goldsmith and Macklin, the actor; and here was held the Robin Hood Club. We remember it as a handsomely appointed tavern some forty years since.

of Colman's is said to have happened at the last rehearsal of the piece, but the fact was (I had it from the Doctor himself) as I have stated, and he never forgave it to Colman to the last hour of his life.”

There was much opposition to the play, a jealous editor lampooned the author, and he chastised him soundly. Nor was it fashionable. Walpole wrote of it as follows to Mason, May 27, 1773:

"Dr. Goldsmith has written a comedy; no, it is the lowest of all farces. It is not the subject I condemn, though very vulgar, but the execution. The drift tends to no moral, no edification of any kind; the situations, however, are well imagined, and make one laugh, in spite of the grossness of the dialogue, the forced witticisms, and total improbability of the whole plan and conduct. But what disgusts me most is, that though the characters are very low, and aim at low humour, not one of them says a sentence that is natural or marks any character at all. It is set up in opposition to sentimental comedy, and is as bad as the worst of them. Garrick would not act it, but bought himself off by a poor prologue, &c."

However, two generations have since confirmed the verdict of hearty approval which was pronounced on the first night; and She Stoops to Conquer, to this day, sends many a delighted Haymarket audience laughing home to their beds.

COLMAN AND GOLDSMITH.

What must have been the public taste of the day, when Colman, himself a writer of comedy, and a theatrical manager, should have thought so meanly of Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer, as to predict its condemnation, even after it was in reheasal. It was pressed on Colman by the friends of the author, who had to write this suppliant letter to the

manager:

DEAR SIR,

February, 1773.

I entreat you will relieve me from that state of suspense in which I have been kept for a long time. Whatever objections you have made, or shall make, to my play, I will endeavour to remove, and not argue about them. To bring in any new judge, either of its merit or faults, I can never submit. Upon a former occasion, when my other play was before Mr. Garrick, he offered to bring me before Mr. Whitehead's [the reader's] tribunal, but I refused the proposal with indignation; I hope I shall not experience as hard treatment from you as from him. I have, as you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditors that way at any rate, I must look about to some certainty to be prepared. For God's sake take the play and let us make the best of it, and let me have measure at last, which you have given as bad plays as mine. I am, your friend and servant, OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

To George Colman, Esq.

The comedy was produced March 15, 1773, with unqualified success. After the public had roared with laughter at it, Dr. Johnson said that "he knew no comedy for many years that had so much exhilarated an audience; that had answered so much the great end of comedy, making an audience merry." Struck to the heart by the critical forebodings, and by the chilling acceptance of his play on the part of the manager, whilst his wit and invention were delighting hundreds in the theatre, poor Goldsmith wandered he knew not whither, to be out of the frightful din that might pronounce his doom. The author of the Vicar of Wakefield deserved better treatment from manager, performers, and critics. But comedy of false sentiment was then in high favour; and Goldsmith was poor. He wrote no more for the stage-he died in two years after.

GOLDSMITH IN THE TEMPLE.

From Gray's Inn, Goldsmith removed to the Inner Temple, where he took chambers on the then Library Staircase, which he shared with one Jeffs, butler to the Society. His neighbour Johnson* paid him a visit soon after he had installed himself in his new quarters, and went prying about the apartments. Goldsmith was fidgeted, and apprehending a disposition to find fault, exclaimed, with the air of a man who had money in both pockets, "I shall soon be in better chambers than these." The harmless bravado drew a reply from Johnson, which touched the chord of proper pride. Nay, sir," said he, "never mind that. Nil te quæsiveris extra," implying that his reputation rendered him independent of outward show. Happy would it have been for Goldsmith had he kept this consolatory compliment perpetually in mind, and squared his expenses accordingly.

Goldsmith next removed to the second floor of No. 2, Brick-court, Middle Temple, on the right hand, ascending the staircase, and looking over the Temple Garden. The lease he purchased for four hundred pounds, and then went on to furnish his rooms handsomely. He dressed accordingly :

* Johnson's chambers were on the first floor, No. 1, Inner Templelane and Dr. Johnson's Staircase" existed till the autumn of 1857, when the buildings on the west side of the Lane were taken down, and handsomer chambers have been erected on the site. The carved overdoor and staircase have been preserved: the boarded and timber floor on which Johnson and his friends had so often walked, and the panelwork, windows, and doors of the chambers, realized by auction, 107. 58.

for, in addition to his suit of "Tyrian bloom, satin grain," we find another charge about this time in the books of Mr. Filby, in no less gorgeous terms, being "lined with silk and furnished with gold buttons." Thus lodged, Oliver gave dinners to Johnson, Reynolds, Percy, Bickerstaff, and other friends of note; and supper parties to young folks of both sexes. These last were preceded by round games of cards, at which there was more laughter than skill, and in which the sport was to cheat each other; or by romping games of forfeits and blindman's buff, at which he enacted the lord of misrule. Blackstone, whose chambers were immediately below, and who was studiously occupied on his Commentaries, used to complain of the racket made overhead by his revelling neighbour. He had, however, his reflective moments.

I have often [says Goldsmith] amused myself with observing the rooks' plan of policy from my window in the Temple that looks upon a grove, where they have made a colony in the midst of the city. At the commencement of spring, the rookery, which, during the continuance of winter, seemed to have been deserted, or only guarded by five or six, like old soldiers in a garrison, now begins to be once more frequented; and in a short time all the bustle and hurry of business is commenced.— Animated Nature.

Goldsmith was not always at ease with his new aristocratic acquaintance. An old friend one day turned up, rather inopportunely, at his gay rooms in the Temple.

"How do you think he served me?" said Goldsmith to a friend. "Why, sir, after staying away two years, he came one evening into my chambers, half drunk, as I was taking a glass of wine with Topham Beauclerc and General Oglethorpe; and sitting himself down, with most intolerable assurance, inquired after my health and literary pursuits, as if we were upon the most friendly footing. I was at first so much ashamed of ever having known such a fellow, that I stifled my resentment, and drew him into a conversation on such topics as I knew he could talk upon; in which, to do him justice, he acquitted himself very reputably; when all of a sudden, as if recollecting something, he pulled two papers out of his pocket, which he presented to me, with great ceremony, saying, 'Here, my dear friend, is a quarter of a pound of tea, and a half pound of sugar, I have brought you; for though it is not in my power at present to pay you the two guineas you so generously lent me, you, nor any man else, shall never have it to say that I want gratitude.' This," added Goldsmith, "was too much. I could no longer keep in my feelings, but desired him to turn out of my chambers directly; which he very coolly did, taking up his tea and sugar; and I never saw him afterwards."

In the Temple Gardens is preserved, with reverential care, the trunk of an aged sycamore, which died about twelve years since, and is now protected by an iron railing. This venerable

tree marks the site of the old Thames wall, on which it was growing in the reign of James II.; but the association which renders it still more interesting to the present generation isthat under the shade of this old sycamore, on what was then the margin of the river, Dr. Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith loved to sit for hours in the summer months.

GOLDSMITH'S PRACTICE.

As Goldsmith had acquired popularity and an extensive acquaintance, he attempted to resume the medical profession. He hired a man-servant, and appeared with a professional wig and cane, purple silk breeches, and a scarlet roquelare. Thus arrayed, he would strut into the apartments of his patients, with his three-cornered hat in one hand and his cane in the other. But he soon grew tired of the duties and restraints of his profession, and the fees were inadequate for his maintenance. At length, on prescribing for a lady of his acquaintance, a Mrs. Sidebotham, a warm dispute arose between Goldsmith and the apothecary as to the dose of medicine to be administered; the Doctor stood up for his degree, and resented the interference of the compounder of drugs, with whom Mrs. Sidebotham agreed; when Goldsmith flounced out of the house in a violent passion. "I am determined henceforth," said he to Topham Beauclerc, "to leave off prescribing for friends." "Do so, my dear Doctor," was the reply; "whenever you undertake to kill, let it be only your enemies." This was the end of Goldsmith's medical career.

JUDGE DAY'S RECOLLECTIONS OF GOLDSMITH. When Mr. Prior was writing his Life of the Poet, he received from the venerable Judge Day, of Dublin, a sketch, which is considered to embrace, on the whole, the most true and complete portraiture of Goldsmith in his latter days that the world is ever likely to see. Day appears to have formed his acquaintance when a young Templar in 1769:

"The Poet [writes the Judge] frequented much the Grecian Coffeehouse, and delighted in collecting around him his friends, whom he entertained with a cordial and unostentatious hospitality. Occasionally, he amused them with his flute or with whist, neither of which he played well, particularly the latter, but in losing his money he never lost his temper. In a run of bad luck and worse play, he would fling his cards upon the floor and exclaim, Bye-fore George I ought for ever to renounce thee, fickle, faithless Fortune !'