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 conversation1; but, in truth, this has been greatly exaggerated. He has, 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 3! ” 1 In allusion to this, Mr. Horace Walpole, who admired his writings, said he was "an inspired idiot;" and Garrick described him as one -for shortness call'd Noll, Who wrote like an angel, and talk'd like poor Poll." Sir Joshua Reynolds mentioned to me that he frequently heard Goldsmith talk warmly of the pleasure of being liked, and observe how hard it would be if literary excellence should preclude a man from that satisfaction, which he perceived it often did, from the envy which attended it; and therefore Sir Joshua was convinced that he was intentionally more absurd, in order to lessen himself in social intercourse, trusting that his character would be sufficiently supported by his works. If it indeed was his intention to appear absurd in company, he was often very successful. But with due deference to Sir Joshua's ingenuity, I think the conjecture too refined.-Boswell. Hawk. p. 416420. [He affected Johnson's style and manner of conversation, and, when he had uttered, as he often would, a laboured sentence, so tumid as to be scarce intelligible, would ask, if that was not truly Johnsonian; yet he loved not Johnson, but rather envied him for his parts; and once entreated a friend to desist from praising him, "for in doing so,” said he, "you harrow up my very soul." He had some wit, but no humour, and never told a story but he spoiled it. The following anecdotes will convey some idea of the style and manner of his conversation: He was used to say he could play on the German-flute as well as most men ;-at other times, as well as any man living; and in his poem of the Traveller, bas hinted at this attainment; but, in truth, he understood not the character in which musick is written, and played on that instrument, as many of the vulgar do, merely by ear Roubiliac, the sculptor, a merry fellow, once heard him play, and minding to put a trick on him, pretended to be so charmed with his performance, that he entreated him to repeat the air, that he might write it down. simplicity of Goldsmith, which (though perhaps coloured a little, as anecdotes too often are) is characteristic at least of the opinion which his best friends entertained of Goldsmith. One afternoon, as Colonel O'Moore and Mr. Burke were going to dine with Sir Joshua Reynolds, they observed Goldsmith (also on his way to Sir Joshua's) standing near a crowd of people, who were staring and shouting at some foreign women in the windows "Obof one of the houses in Leicester-square. serve Goldsmith," said Mr. Burke to O'Moore, "and mark what passes between him and me byand-by at Sir Joshua's." They passed on, and arrived before Goldsmith, who came soon after, and Mr. Burke affected to receive him very coolly. This seemed to vex poor Goldsmith, who begged Mr. Burke would tell him how he had had the misfortune to offend him. Burke appeared very reluctant to speak, but, after a good deal of pressing, said, "that he was really ashamed to keep up an intimacy with one who could be guilty of such monstrous indiscretions as Goldsmith had just exhibited in the square.' Goldsmith, with great earnestness, protested he was unconscious of what was meant: "Why," said Burke, “did you not exclaim, as you were looking up at those women, what stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with such admiration at those painted jezabels; while a man of your talents passed by unnoticed?" Goldsmith was horror-struck and said, "Surely, surely, my dear friend, I did not say so?" Nay," replied Burke, "if you had 3 He went home with Mr. Burke to supper; not said so, how should I have known it?" and broke his shin by attempting to exhibit to the "That's true," answered Goldsmith, with great company how much better he could jump over a humility: "I am very sorry-it was very foolish: stick than the puppets.-BosWELL. [Colonel I do recollect that something of the kind passO'Moore, of Cloghan Castle in Ireland, told the Ed-ed through my mind, but I did not think I had itor an amusing instance of the mingled vanity and uttered it.”—ED.] 2 Miss Hornecks, one of whom is now married to Henry Bunbury, esq. and the other to Colonel Gwyn.-BOSWELL. -46 but that I had a brother there, a clergyman, that stood in need of help. As for myself, I have no dependence on the promises of great men; I look to the booksellers for support; they are my best friends, and I am not inclined to forsake them for others." Goldsmith readily consenting, Roubiliac | kindness." "And what did you answer," called for paper, and scored thereon a few asked Hawkins, "to this gracious offer? five-lined staves, which having done," Why," said he, "I could say nothing, Goldsmith proceeded to play, and Roubiliac to write; but his writing was only such random notes on the lines and spaces as any one might set down who had ever inspected a page of musick. When they had both done, Roubiliae showed the paper to Goldsmith, who, looking it over with seeming great attention, said it was very correct, and that if he had not seen him do it, he never could have believed his friend capable of writing musick after him. He would frequently preface a story thus: "I'll now tell you a story of myself, which some people laugh at, and some do I not." At the breaking up of an evening at a tavern, he entreated the company to sit down, and told them if they would call for another bottle, they should hear one of his bon-mots. They agreed, and he began thus: "I was once told that Sheridan, the player, in order to improve himself in stage gestures, had looking-glasses, to the number of ten, hung about his room, and that he practised before them; upon which I said, then there were ten ugly fellows together." The company were all silent. He asked, why they did not laugh? which, they not doing, he, without tasting the wine, left the room in anger. He once complained to a friend in these words: "Mr. Martinelli is a rude man; I said, in his hearing, that there were no good writers among the Italians, and he said to one that sat near him, that I was very ignorant." "People," said he, "are greatly mistaken in me. A notion goes about, that when I am silent, I mean to be impudent; but I assure you, gentlemen, my silence arises from bashfulness." Thus adds Hawkins, did this idiot', in the affairs of the world, trifle with his fortunes, and put back the hand that was held out to assist him! Other offers of a like kind he either rejected or failed to improve, contenting himself with the patronage of one nobleman [Nugent, Lord Clare], whose mansion afforded him the delights of a splendid table, and a retreat for a few days from the metropolis. While Hawkins was writing the History of Musick, Goldsmith, at the club, communicated to him some curious matter, which the former desired he would reduce to writing; he promised to do so, and desired to see Hawkins at his chambers. He called on him there; Goldsmith stepped into a closed, and tore out of a printed book six leaves that contained what he had mentioned. His poems are replete with fine moral sentiments, and bespeak a great dignity of mind; yet he had no sense of the shame, nor dread of the evils, of poverty.] 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 predomináted 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 is wonderful how he should have been so inconsiderate Sir John Hawkins having one day a call as to hazard it. He boasted to me at this to wait on the late duke, then earl, of North- time of the power of his pen in commandumberland, found Goldsmith waiting for an ing money, which I believe was true in a audience in an outer room. Hawkins ask- certain degree, though in the instance he ed what had brought him there: he repli- gave he was by no means correct. He ed, an invitation from his lordship. Haw- told me that he had sold a novel for four kins made his business as short as he could, hundred pounds. This was his "Vicar of and, as a reason, mentioned, that Gold- Wakefield." But Johnson informed me, smith was waiting without. The earl ask- that he had made the bargain for Golded if he was acquainted with him. He told smith, and the price was sixty pounds. him he was, adding what he thought like-" And, sir," said he," a sufficient price too, ly to recommend him. Hawkins retired, when it was sold; for then the fame of and staid in the outer room to take Goldsmith home, and, upon his coming out, asked him the result of his conversation. 'His lordship," says he, "told me he had read my poem (meaning the Traveller), and was much delighted with it; that he was going Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and that, hearing that I was a native of that country, he should be glad to do, me any 1 [It is hard on poor Goldsmith to be called an idiot for what, in another man, would have been applauded as disinterestedness and magnanimity. -ED.] been some mistake as to this anecdote, though I 2 I am willing to hope that there may havo had it from a dignitary of the church. Dr. Isaao Goldsmith, his near relation, was Dean of Cloyna in 1747.-BOSWELL. 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 accidently worth more money." Piozzi, p. 119. Mrs. Piozzi and Sir John Hawkins have strangely mis-stated the history of Goldsmith's situation and Johnson's friendly interference, when this novel was sold. I shall give it authentically from Johnson's own exact narration: "I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit; told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill 2," 1 [How Mr. Boswell, who affects such extreme accuracy, should say that Hawkins has strangely mis-stated this affair is very surprising; what Hawkins says (Life, p. 420), is merely that, under a pressing necessity, he wrote the Vicar of Wakefield, and sold it to Newbury for 401. Hawkins's account is not in any respect inconsistent with Boswell's; and the difference between the prices stated, even if Hawkins be in error, is surely not sufficient to justify the charge of a strange misstatement.-ED.] " 2 It may not be improper to annex here Mrs. Piozzi's account of this transaction, in her own words, as a specimen of the extreme inaccuracy with which all her anecdotes of Dr. Johnson are related, or rather discoloured and distorted. "I have forgotten the year, but it could scarcely, I think, be later than 1765 or 1766, that he was called abruptly from our house after dinner, and returning in about three hours, said he had been with an enraged authour, whose landlady pressed him for payment within doors, while the bailiffs beset him without; that he was drinking himself drunk with madeira, to drown care, and fretting over a novel, which, when finished, was to be his whole fortune, but he could not get it done for distraction, nor could he step out of doors to offer it for sale. Mr. Johnson, therefore, Here let me not forget the curious anec dote 3, referred to by Dr. Maxwell, which was related to me by Mr. Beauclerk, and which I shall endeavour to exhibit as well as I can in that gentleman's lively manner; and, in justice to him, it is proper to add, that Dr. Johnson told me I might rely both on the correctness of his memory, and the fidelity of his narrative. "When Madame de Boufflers 4 was first in England (said Beauclerk), she was desirous to see Johnson. I accordingly went with her to his chambers in the Temple, where she was entertained with his conversation for some time. When our visit was over, she and I left him, and were got into Inner Templesent away the bottle, and went to the bookseller, recommending the performance, and desiring some immediate relief; which when he brought back to the writer, he called the woman of the their time in merriment."-Anecdotes of Dr. house directly to partake of punch, and pass Johnson, p. 119.-BOSWELL. [It is hardly fair to give this as a proof of Mrs. Piozzi's inaccuracy in all her anecdotes. We have seen some instances, and shall see more, in which Dr. Johnson, according even to Mr. Boswell's report, told an anecdote different ways, and how can we be sure that he did not do so in the present case? The greatest discrepancy between the two stories is the time of the day at which it happened; and, unluckily, the admitted fact of the bottle of madeira seems to render Mrs. Piozzi's version the more probable of the two. If, according to Mr. Boswell's account, Goldsmith had, in the morning, changed Johnson's charitable guinea for the purpose of getting a bottle of madeira, we cannot complain that Mrs. Piozzi's represents him as ས་ drinking himself drunk with madeira;" which Mr. Boswell thinks so violently inaccurate, as to deserve being marked in italics.-ED.] 3 [Mr. Boswell had placed this anecdote under 1775: it is thought right to introduce it near the date of the event.-ED.] 4 [La Comtesse de Boufflers was the mistress of the Prince de Conti, and aspired to be his wife; she was a bel-esprit, and in that character thought it necessary to be an Anglomane and to visit England in the summer of 1763. Horace Walpole says of her, in a letter to Montagu, 17th May, 1763, "Madame de Boufflers will, I think, die a martyr to a taste (for seeing sights), which she fancied she had, and finds she had not. Never having stirred ten miles from Paris, and having only rolled in an easy coach from one hotel to another on a gliding pavement, she is already worn out by being hurried from morning till night from one sight to another. She rises every morning so fatigued with the toils of the preceding day, that she has not strength, if she had inclination, to observe the least or the finest things she sees.' One of the sights, which this inquisitive traveller was taken to see, was Dr. Johnson, and a strange sight it seems that it was. Madame de Boufflers visited England a second time on the melancholy necessity of the emigra tion -ED.] lane, when all at once I heard a noise like | tical and biographical writer, being mentionthunder. This was occasioned by Johnson, ed, Johnson said, "Campbell is a man of who, it seems, upon a little recollection, much knowledge, and has a good share of had taken it into his head that he ought to imagination. His 'Hermippus Redivivus' have done the honours of his literary resi- is very entertaining, as an account of the dence to a foreign lady of quality, and, ea- hermetick philosophy, and as furnishing a ger to show himself a man of gallantry, was curious history of the extravagancies of hurrying down the staircase in violent agi- the human mind. If it were merely imagitation. He overtook us before we reached nary, it would be nothing at all. Campthe Temple-gate, and, brushing in between bell is not always rigidly careful of truth me and Madame de Boufflers, seized her in his conversation; but I do not believe hand, and conducted her to her coach. His there is any thing of this carelessness in dress was a rusty, brown morning suit, a his books. Campbell is a good man, a pipair of old shoes by way of slippers, a little ous man. I am afraid he has not been in shrivelled wig sticking on the top of his the inside of a church for many years3; head, and the sleeves of his shirt and the but he never passes a church without pullknees of his breeches hanging loose. A ing off his hat. This shows that he has considerable crowd of people gathered good principles. I used to go pretty often round, and were not a little struck by this singular appearance." was, no doubt, an able, industrions, and very voluminous writer, but hardly can be designated as "the celebrated." His Lives of the Admi My next meeting with Johnson was on Friday, the 1st of July, when he and I and Dr. Goldsmith supped at the Mitre. I was before this time pretty well acquainted with Goldsmith, who was one of the brightest ornaments of the Johnsonian school. Goldsmith's respectful attachment to Johnson was then at its height; for his own literary reputation had not yet distinguished him so much as to excite a vain desire of competition with his great master. He had increased my admiration of the goodness of Johnson's heart, by incidental remarks in the course of conversation, such as, when I mentioned Mr. Levet, whom he entertained under his roof. "He is poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson;" and when I wondered that he was very kind to a man of whom I had heard a very bad character," He is now become miserable, and that ensures the protection of Johnson." Goldsmith attempted this evening to maintain, I suppose from an affectation of paradox," that knowledge was not desirable on its own account, for it often was a source of unhappiness." JOHNSON." Why, sir, that knowledge may in some cases produce unhappiness, I allow. But upon the whole, knowledge, per se, is certainly an object which every man would wish to attain, although, perhaps, he may not take the trouble necessary for attaining it." rals is the only one of his almost innumerable 3 I am inclined to think that he was misinformed as to this circumstance. I own I am jealous for 66 He is the Dr. John Campbell, the celebrated 2 polit-lusion, as grazing the common of literature. 1 [Mr. Boswell, as has been already observed, imagined that all the literary men in England were mere planets moving round and borrowing light from his great luminary, Johnson. Goldsmith was an ornament of the Johnsonian society, but in what respect can he be said to have belonged to the Johnsonian school? The style of his writings, the turn of his mind, the habits of his life, were, in almost every point, strikingly dissimilar from Johnson's.-ED.] 2 [Mr. Boswell a little exaggerates the literary station of his countryman, Dr. Campbell; who The strange story of Campbell's "pulling off his hat whenever he passed a church, though he had not been for many years inside one," must have arisen from some error. Johnson could hardly have seriously told such an absurdity. It is well known, that the members of the kirk of Scotland do not think it necessary to uncover on entering places of worship, though the lower classes sometimes show a kind of superstitious veneration for burial-places: perhaps Dr. Campbell may, in conversation with Johnson, have alluded to those circumstances, and thus given occasion to this whimsical misapprehension.—ED.] to Campbell's on a Sunday evening, till I I mentioned the periodical paper called began to consider that the shoals of Scotch-"The Connoisseur." He said it wanted men who flocked about him might proba- matter.-No doubt it had not the deep bly say, when any thing of mine was well thinking of Johnson's writings. But suredone, Ay, ay, he has learnt this of CAW- ly it has just views of the surface of life, MELL!'" and a very sprightly manner. His opinion of The World was not much higher than of the Connoisseur. He talked very contemptuously of Churchill's poetry, observing, that "it had a temporary currency, only from its audacity of abuse, and being filled with living names, and that it would sink into oblivion." I ventured to hint that he was not quite a fair judge, as Churchill had attacked him violently. JOHNSON. "Nay, sir, I am a very fair judge. He did not attack me violently till he found I did not like his poetry; and his attack on me shall not pre-recollect and record his conversation with vent me from continuing to say what I think of him, from an apprehension that it may be ascribed to resentment. No, sir, I called the fellow a blockhead at first, and I will call him a blockhead still. 'However, I will acknowledge that I have a better opinion of him now than I once had; for he has shown more fertility than I expected. To be sure, he is a tree that cannot produce good fruit he only bears crabs. But, sir, a tree that produces a great many crabs is better than a tree which produces only a few." Let me here apologize for the imperfect manner in which I am obliged to exhibit Johnson's conversation at this period. In the early part of my acquaintance with him, I was so wrapt in admiration of his extraordinary colloquial talents, and so little accustomed to his peculiar mode of expres sion, that I found it extremely difficult to its genuine vigour and vivacity. In progress of time, when my mind was, as it were, strongly impregnated with the Johnsonian ather, I could, with much more facility and exactness, carry in my memory and commit to paper the exuberant variety of his wisdom and wit, At this time Miss Williams, as she was called, though she did not reside with him in the Temple under his roof, but had lodgings in Bolt-court, Fleet-street, had so much of his attention, that he every night drank tea with her before he went home, however In this depreciation of Churchill's poetry late it might be, and she always sat up for I could not agree with him. It is very him. This, it may be fairly conjectured, true that the greatest part of it is upon the was not alone a proof of his regard for her, topicks of the day, on which account, as it but of his own unwillingness to go into solbrought him great fame and profit at the itude, before that unseasonable hour at time, it must proportionably slide out of which he had habituated himself to expect the publick attention as other occasional the oblivion of repose. Dr. Goldsmith, beobjects succeed. But Churchill had ex- ing a privileged man, went with him this traordinary vigour both of thought and ex- night, strutting away, and calling to me pression. His portraits of the players will with an air of superiority, like that of an ever be valuable to the true lovers of the esoterick over an exoterick disciple of a sage drama; and his strong caricatures of seve- of antiquity2, "I go to Miss Williams." I ral eminent men of his age will not be forgotten by the curious. Let me add, that ton's burlesque Ode on St. Cecilia's day. It was there are in his works many passages which performed at Ranelagh in masks, to a very are of a general nature; and his " Prophecy sided in Norfolk. Beard sung the salt-box song, crowded audience, as I was told; for I then reof Famine" is a poem of no ordinary mer-which was admirably accompanied on that instruit. It is, indeed, falsely injurious to Scot-ment by Brent, the fencing-master, and father of land; but therefore may be allowed a greater share of invention. Miss Brent, the celebrated singer; Skeggs on the broomstick, as bassoon; and a remarkable perBonnell Thornton had just published a former on the Jew's-harp,-" Buzzing twangs the burlesque "Ode on St. Cecilia's Day," iron lyre." Cleavers were cast in bell-metal for adapted to the ancient British musick, viz. this entertainment. All the performers of the old the salt box, the jew's-harp, the marrow-woman's oratory, employed by Foote, were, I bones and cleaver, the hum-strum or hurdygurdy, &c. Johnson praised its humour, and seemed much diverted with it. He repeated the following passage: "In strains more exalted the Salt-box shall join, And clattering and battering and clapping combine; With a rap and a tap, while the hollow side sounds, Up and down leaps the flap, and with rattling rebounds 1." believe, employed at Ranelagh, on this occasion. -BURNEY. [In the original edition of this ode now before the editor, the date on the title-page is 1749, a mistake, no doubt, for 1769. For the use to which Dr. Burney put it, as a burlesque vehicle for musick, it is very well; but as a literary production, it seems without object or meaning. It has not even the low merit of being a parody; the best line is that on the jew's-harp, above quoted-" Buzzing twangs the iron lyre."-ED.] 2 [It may perhaps not be unnecessary to some In 1769 I set for Smart and Newbury, Thorn- readers to explain that the ancient philosophers |