aspect of spontaneous production. The beauty of the poem, we have said, resides rather in the general effect and harmony of the parts, than in particular lines; but we may notice the pathos of the allusion to the misery of life: "Yet oft a sigh prevails and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small." The lively picture of the negro: "The naked negro panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine." The delicacy and elegance of the Italian landscape, where "Sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land." The well-known and most touching description of a peasant's love of his country: "And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, The Italian is Of verses remarkable for condensation and power of thought, one or two specimens will recur to every one. inimitably portrayed: 66 Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain ; The wonderful revival of the arts is vividly drawn: "The pregnant quarry teemed with human form.”* And, not to multiply quotations, the very extraordinary character of the French, which, for sententious brevity, is unexcelled in poetry: "They please, are pleased; they give, to get esteem, Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem." Even in the coterie of the Dictator the merits of the Traveller were acknowledged with an enthusiastic unanimity. Boswell gives a glimpse of the party. Langton.-There is not one bad line in that poem; not one of Dryden's careless verses.' 99 "Sir Joshua.-I was glad to hear Charles Fox say it was one of the finest poems in the English language." *How far superior to a corresponding passage in Addison: "Still to new scenes my wand'ring muse retires, Langton.-Why were you glad? you surely had no doubt of this before?" "Johnson.-No; the merit of the Traveller is so well established, that Mr. Fox's praise cannot augment it, nor his censure diminish it." Johnson's admiration of the poem was warm and constant, and he is said to have wept while repeating the noble lines upon England. "Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashioned, fresh from Nature's hand; True to imagin'd right, above control While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man.' The poem was revised by Johnson, who added eight lines of the conclusion, in which the leading proposition of the poet is re-stated with great vigour and condensation. The seventh and eighth lines are by Goldsmith. "How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which kings or laws can cause or cure. Our own felicity we make or find; With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, To men remote from power, but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own." An anecdote connected with the preparation of this poem has been preserved, and is interesting, not only for its personal nature, but as illustrative of the poetical character in general. Sir Joshua Reynolds, or an intimate friend, happening to call upon the poet, found him teaching a favourite dog to sit up and beg. Occasionally, proceeds the story, as given by Mr. Prior, he glanced his eye over his desk, and occasionally shook his finger at the unwilling pupil, to make him retain his position; while on the page before him was written that couplet, with the ink of the second line still wet, the description of Italy: "By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd, The sports of children satisfy the child." Goldsmith, in reply to the banter of his visitor, acknowledged that the amusement had suggested the idea. He coincided with Gray, in regarding description as the most graceful ornament of poetry, but unfit to form the subject. Swift objected to the Seasons, that they are all descriptive, and nothing is doing. From this blemish the Traveller and the Deserted Village are perfectly free. Action, pathos, and interest of the most varied character, continually relieve the reader's attention; and when he introduces a rural picture, it is always, as Mr. Mitford has remarked of Gray, to draw from it some moral reflection, or to make it an agreeable embellishment of action. From the Traveller to the Deserted Village the transition is easy; it was composed during seasons of severe labour, in sorrow and in disappointment. Washington Irving was shown the room at Islington, once a rural retreat, where the poem was written; its panelled wainscot and gothic windows threw an air of antiquity over the place. It is pleasing to reflect how sweetly and cheerfully these gleams of poetic sunshine must have broken upon the gloom and loneliness of the poet's fortune. He who has toiled down the midnight chimes in this vast city, with burning brow and aching hand labouring for the bread of the morrow, will often have experienced the refreshments with which the remembrance of the rural scenes of earlier days have visited him, cooling the fever of the spirits, and gilding the dreariness of reality with the beauty of recollection. No writer has dwelt with more enamoured fancy upon such scenes than Goldsmith. There are no pleasures, sensual or sentimental, he said, which this city does not produce; yet, I know not how, I could not be content to reside here for life. There is something so seducing in that spot where we first had existence, that nothing but it can please; whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we toil, or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home for tranquillity; we long to die in the spot which gave us birth, and in that pleasing expectation, opiate every calamity. Such were the affecting sentiments of the Citizen of the World. We can imagine with what delight he sometimes, in the composition of his poem, escaped from the drudgery of the present into the poetry of the past; the lover's seat arose before him; the leaves of the hawthorn rustled around him; the brook murmured along beneath his feet; the decent church greeted his eyes; the same sounds were in his ears, as when the echoing shout proclaimed the "playful children just let loose from school." The nightingale sang among the boughs. In such a moment of enthusiasm we can fancy him to have poured out these pathetic lines: "In all my wanderings round this world of care, * Essay on the Poetry of Gray. To husband out life's taper at the close, And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, The Deserted Village is founded upon the following incident as related by Mr. Prior:-General Napier, on his return from Spain, with a large fortune, purchased the adjoining lands, and succeeded in ejecting, with the exception of the Goldsmith family, all the tenants whose habitations interrupted the plan of his demesne. Their houses were pulled down, and the park was enlarged to a circumference of nine miles; not, however, without exciting the indignation of the people, who inflicted great injury upon the house and property. This story Mr. Prior regards as very much exaggerated, if not totally untrue. The very situation of his residence presented an obstacle. But in a mind like Goldsmith's, never much addicted to analysis or severe inquiry, a very small portion of apparent oppression would be likely to sink deeply. In the house at Lissoy, the same gentleman informs us, lived Goldsmith's father, at first curate to an uncle named Green, and passing rich on forty pounds a-year. After the death of the incumbent he obtained the living. This gentleman and his wife were the genuine Dr. and Mrs. Primrose. Though a man of learning, there are many laughable instances of his simplicity and ignorance of mankind recorded in the neighbourhood to this day. In our remarks upon the scenery of the Task, we noticed the additional charms which the reality of the objects described lent to the picture; nor will the reader find the beauty of the Deserted Village diminished, by the assurance of Auburn not having been a poetical creation. The diligence of Mr. Prior has furnished us with some very interesting illustrations, both from the communications of friends, and from personal inquiries. "With respect to Auburn," writes Mr. Handcock, in 1790, "there is a place within six miles of this town, (Athlone,) where Oliver Goldsmith's father lived many years, 'The Village Preacher,' where Oliver himself was born, and passed his youth, and where I am assured he took the history, and I know he took the scenery, of the Deserted Village; all this a nephew of Goldsmith, and two of his sisters, now living here, assure me ho has acknowledged to them. In order to be accurate in the description you required of the place, I rode there immediately on the receipt of your letter; it is a snug farm-house, in view of the high road, to which a straight avenue leads with double rows of ash trees, six miles N. E. of this town. The farm is still held under the Napier family, by a nephew of Goldsmith, at present in America. In the front view of the house, is the decent church' of Kilkenny West, that literally' tops the neighbouring hill;' and in a circuit, not more than half a mile diameter, round the house, are the 'never failing brook,' the 'busy mill,' the hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, the brookwith mantling cresses spread,' Beyond yon straggling fence that skirts the way, There too is Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high, the house where nut-brown draughts inspired; in short, every striking object in the picture. There are besides many ruined houses in the neighbourhood, bespeaking a better state of population than at present." Such is the account of one who appears to have trodden the ground of Auburn with a becoming enthusiasm. Mr. Prior has added many minute particulars. The decent church is appropriately characterised by an epithet, to which its humble aspect entitles it; the hawthorn bush, so famous in song, rose, we are told, with a double trunk, shading a considerable portion of ground opposite the ale-house, and affording sufficient space not only for talking age, and whispering lovers, but for the livelier band, who "Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree." The desire of every visiter to carry away a memorial of Goldsmith, has destroyed this beautiful tree; the trunks followed the branches, and even the roots did not entirely escape, so that in 1820 scarcely a vestige remained; but when Mr. Prior visited the spot in 1830, a tender shoot had reared its head above the surface, which perhaps may flourish into strength and beauty. The affecting lines, in which the water-cress gatherer is brought so touchingly before our eyes, are supposed to refer to a woman named Catherine Geraghty, whom Goldsmith had known in her happier fortune. Cresses are still found on the brooks and ditches where her cabin was situated, and several of her descendants reside in the neighbourhood. The village master is thought to refer to his own preceptor, Thomas Byrne; and the schoolhouse is still shown,-although, in this particular, tradition is not countenanced by probability. Like its predecessor, the Deserted Village was the result of very considerable labour. Four or five years are said to have |