There had Goldsmith met a rarer visitor, the bland and gracious Reynolds, soon after his first introduction to him, a few months back, in Johnson's chambers; and there would even Warburton drive in his equipage "besprinkled with mitres," on some proud business of his own, after calling on Garrick in Southampton Street.' His next step was the settlement in comfortable lodgings, where his board of L.50 a-year was guaranteed by Newberry. Here he was visited by Hogarth, and be-edition after edition appeared, and it was translated into came a member of the famous literary club established by Reynolds, admission into which was speedily considered a distinction by the greatest in the land.

But he was still in deep pecuniary straits, and all the deeper, perhaps, for the new company he kept. 'I received one morning,' Boswell represents Johnson to have said, 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.'

Soon after this adventure, was published the Traveller,' and the name of Oliver Goldsmith appeared for the first time on a title-page. A higher distinction still was the declaration of Johnson, that so fine a poem had not appeared since the days of Pope; and when the great lexicographer read it aloud in company, from the beginning to the end of it,' a sister of Reynolds said that she should never more think Goldsmith ugly. For this poem, which Charles Fox called one of the finest in the English language, it does not seem probable that he received more than twenty guineas. He was prevented by his own want of common sense from deriving a greater advantage than this; for on being told by the Earl of Northumberland that he was going to Ireland as lord-lieutenant, and would be glad to do the author of the Traveller a service, 'poor Goldy' could only reply that he had a brother there, a clergyman, who stood in need of help. Thus,' adds Hawkins, the teller of the anecdote, did this idiot in the affairs of the world trifle with his fortune, and put back the hand that was held out to assist him;' and Forster informs us that only a few days before the said idiot had borrowed fifteen shillings and sixpence from a friend.

Goldsmith's next attempt was to unite medicine with literature to practise as a doctor; and out he came accordingly in purple silk small-clothes, a handsome scarlet roquelaure buttoned to his chin, and with all the additional importance derivable from a full dress, professional wig, a sword, and a gold-headed cane.' The clothes cost four and a half guineas, and the doctor was so mightily pleased with them, that in the course of six months he got three more suits of a similar kind out of the unfortunate tailor. Nor is this indulgence to be wondered at, since the fact of wearing such a garb deprived him of all his customary enjoyments. No more tea at the White Conduit no more ale at the club at Islington-no more nights at the Wrekin or St Giles's! Goldsmith was now a professional man, and must behave himself genteelly.

The Vicar of Wakefield' now appeared, the identical novel which, through the agency of Johnson, had some time before released its author from the hands of the bailiffs. Every one,' says Forster, 'is familiar with the Vicar of Wakefield. We read it in youth and in age. We return to it, as Walter Scott has said, again

and again; "and we bless the memory of an author who contrives so well to reconcile us to human nature." Simple to very baldness are the materials employed. But he threw into the midst of them his own nature; his actual experience; the suffering, discipline, and sweet emotion of his chequered life; and so made them a lesson and a delight to all men.' Creating no stir at first, admiration gathered slowly but steadily around it; several continental languages. Herder read it aloud to Goethe; and Goethe, some seventeen years ago, standing, at the age of eighty-one, on the very brink of the grave, told a friend that, in the decisive moment of mental development, the Vicar of Wakefield had formed his education, and that he had lately, with unabated delight, "read the charming book again from beginning to end.""

His next original effort was the 'Good-Natured Man,' which, on the first night of its appearance, was barely saved from condemnation, poor Goldsmith looking on with inexpressible dismay. He supped, however, in company, sang his favourite song, and was very noisy; but all the while,' said he afterwards, 'I was suffering horrid tortures; and verily believe, that if I had put a bit into my mouth, it would have strangled me on the spot, I was so excessively ill; but I made more noise than usual to cover all that, and so they never perceived my not eating, nor, I believe, at all imagined to themselves the anguish of my heart. But when all were gone, except Johnson here, I burst out a-crying, and even swore by that I would never write again.' By this comedy he made L.500, which, with his usual thoughtlessness, he laid out upon the purchase and furniture of chambers, and so involved himself in difficul ties which he never surmounted. In these lodgings he seems to have lived with the most reckless extravagance; and he had other draughts upon his purse besides of another kind. 'He had two or three poor authors always on his list, besides "several widows and poor housekeepers;" and when he had no money to give the latter, he seldom failed to send them away with shirts or old clothes, sometimes with the whole contents of his breakfast-table, saying with a smile of satisfaction after they were gone, "Now let me only suppose I have ate a much heartier breakfast than usual, and I'm nothing out of pocket." His last guinea, exclaims Cooke, after relating some stories of this kind, was the boundary of his munificence.'

It is strange that the life of a poet and romancer should be graced by no love passage! The only thing in the volume even tending that way is the following account of two young ladies, the daughters of Captain Horneck. The eldest, Catherine, Little Comedy, as she was called, was already engaged to Henry William Bunbury, second son of a baronet of old family in Suffolk, whose elder son Charles had lately succeeded to the title, who is still remembered as Geoffrey Gambado, and as one of the cleverest amateur artists and social caricaturists of his day. The youngest, Mary, had no declared lover till a year after Goldsmith's death, nor was married till three years after that engagement to Colonel Gwyn; but already she had the loving nickname of the Jessamy Bride, and exerted strange fascination over Goldsmith. Heaven knows what impossible dreams may at times have visited the awkward unattractive man of letters! But whether at any time aspiring to other regard than his genius and simplicity might claim, at least for these the sisters heartily liked him; and perhaps the happiest hours of the later years of his life were passed in their society. Burke, who was their guardian, tenderly remembered in his premature old age the delight they had given him from their childhood; their social as well as personal charms are uniformly spoken of by all; and when Hazlitt met the younger sister in Northcote's painting-room some twenty years ago (she survived Little Comedy upwards of forty years, and died little more than seven years since!), she was still talking of her favourite Dr Goldsmith, with recollection and affec

tion unabated by time. Still, too, she was beautiful; beautiful even in years. The graces had triumphed over age. "I could almost fancy the shade of Goldsmith in the room," says Hazlitt, "looking round with complacency."

Goldsmith was now working at his various compilations; and in a letter to his brother, he notifies his appointment as 'professor of ancient history in a royal academy of painting,' which, in his situation, he remarks is something like ruffles to one who wants a shirt. Yet, with his usual generosity, he gives up to his needy relatives a legacy of L.15. The Deserted Village' was now published, and its success was instant and decisive. Many light miscellaneous works came after, with which the author replenished his purse for the theatres, Ranelagh, and Vauxhall, where he strutted about gaily dressed, and with a bag wig and sword. 'She Stoops to Conquer' followed, and met with prodigious success; and then 'Retaliation'-the last flash of his genius. His debts were increasing, no longer by shillings and pounds, but by hundreds, till they amounted at last, it is said, to L.2000; and as their burden waxed, Goldsmith sunk. He had neither the fortitude to reduce his expenses, nor the nerve to complain to his friends; and he bitterly felt a reproach,' his biographer tells us, which Johnson gave him at their last interview, in sending away, as a reproof, a whole second course untouched. He was attacked by a local disorder to which he was subject. It was neglect,' says Davies, which now brought it on. It was continual vexation of mind, arising from his involved circumstances; and death, I really believe, was welcome to a man of his great sensibility.' His worst symptom was want of sleep, and it was feared that this of itself might prove fatal. Is your mind at ease?' said Dr Turton, suddenly bethinking himself of the pregnant question. No, it is not,' was the reply the last words of Goldsmith. He died on the 4th of April 1774, having then lived five months beyond his forty-fifth year.

conception, of the depth of despondency into which a proud and manly nature may be plunged by the casualties of life.

But his miseries, of comparatively little moment to himself, were a great gain to the world. In no other author do we read better practical lessons in the philosophy of poverty; in no other moralist do we find the acerbities of life sweetened by so gentle and kindly a spirit. But this is a part of the scheme of Providence. Without pain, there could be no pleasure; without adversity, no fortitude; without weariness, no hope. Even the most inspiring strains of the muse are suggested by oppression; for wretched men

'Are cradled into poetry by wrong,

And learn in suffering what they teach in song.'

IN

ITALY.

OCTOBER THE great heat which prevails in Italy during the summer months, offers little inducement to the traveller to leave the shelter of the city, or the refreshing breezes of the sea-coast. In the rural districts, during that period, the mid-day sun is intolerable. The peasant quits his occupation in the field; the cattle are brought up from the meadow; and the birds of the air are silent, and seek the shade. Hardly a breath of air is abroad to stir the silvery leaves of the olive; and not a sound strikes the ear save the chirrup of the grasshopper, or the croak of some uncomfortable frog in the adjacent pond. The 'quick-eyed lizard' is basking in the sun, and the butterfly is abroad, and the painted dragon-fly; but all else is stillness and sultry reposenature is taking her nap. Towards the evening, however, things appear to wake up again. All the world is alive, and out of doors. The water-carriers assemble at the well; the peasant girls are strolling through the valley, or over the neighbouring hills; the bat comes forth to enjoy its noiseless flight in the rosy twilight; and as night-balmy night-approaches, myriads of fire-flies people the olive grove, or sport about with their tiny lamps amongst the tall ripe corn.

Towards the latter part of the month of June we made an excursion into the interior of Tuscany, to visit a small village or hamlet about twenty-five miles from Leghorn, called the Baths of Casciana. These baths are situate in a sort of basin in the midst of several small hills, whose features in many places bear indications of considerable volcanic action. The waters are natural hot springs, strongly impregnated with iron; and during the summer months they are resorted to by

We have now touched lightly upon the leading points in the character and career of one of the most delightful of English authors, and have left ourselves no room to follow his biographer in what may be called, after the title of a work of Goldsmith himself, his survey of the state of literature in England, or in the vivid sketches he has introduced from time to time of distinguished contemporaries. But we cannot conclude without adverting once more (for we have already hinted at the subject in the beginning of this article) at the one defect of the volume-its practically confounding the character of the author and the man, and using, how-invalids from various parts, on account of their restoever unintentionally, the colours of poetry in rendering rative properties. Our visit was not so much for any weakness amiable and error attractive. It is obviously benefit we anticipated from the waters, as for the pleaa mistake to attribute the misfortunes of Goldsmith to sure we promised ourselves in the society of some good the peculiar condition of the literary profession in his friends, who had taken up their quarters there for a time. A career of the most brilliant success would short time. During our stay, we visited several parts have made him neither happier nor wiser. Through the of the surrounding country; and in one of our evening inherent recklessness of his nature (as strongly marked excursions, we extended our ride as far as a small vilin the boy ballad-rhymer as in the poet, novelist, and lage or walled town crowning the summit of a hill, and essayist), he would have wanted in the midst of all-commanding on all sides a most extensive view of the wanted luxuries that had become as necessary as bread; country. The air was pure and salubrious, and the and dying, instead of a debt of L.2000, he would have situation delightful. The vine was flourishing on all left behind him a debt of L.20,000. His impulses, in-sides, giving promise of an abundant vintage; and the deed, were all amiable, but they were governed by no locality altogether was so charming, that we resolved, Bense of right; and he would thus without scruple if all were well, to pass the month of October there. commit injustice in order to obtain the means of being generous.

To pity Goldsmith for his poverty is throwing sympathy away. He was happier in his humble pleasures (for he was never too poor for pleasure) than when strutting in a laced coat with Sir Joshua through a masquerade. It may be doubted whether his most abject distresses produced a greater amount of pain than falls to the lot of higher-minded men in passing through the world. The reason why he took the buffets of fortune with a good grace was, that he felt them lightly; and even in his saddest and loneliest moments, he perhaps never had any experience, or even

In Italy, October is the most beautiful month in the year. The days are brilliant and warm, without being oppressive, and the evenings are cool and exhilarating. It is the favourite month with the Italians, who frequently spend this delightful season at their country villas, or at some rural retreat in the midst of the vendemmia,' or vintage.

With this object in view, we ourselves revisited the spot above referred to; and having an introductory line to one of the priests of the place, on one bright afternoon at the close of September, we alighted from our

calesso' (or country gig), and proceeded to introduce ourselves at his villa. On entering, we encountered

formed. At such time a movement is perceptible in the liquor; the volume of the fluid increases, and it becomes turbid and oily. At the end of several days, these tumultuous motions subside; the mass falls; and the liquor becomes clearer, and of a red colour, caused by the reaction of the ardent spirit on the colouring matter contained in the pellicle of the grape. When the heat in the mass disappears, and all the phenomena of fermentation have subsided, the liquor is drawn off into casks, where, by a second insensible fermentation, the wine is clarified, and in a very short time becomes fit for use.

The vine appears to us one of the most extraordinary and wonderful productions of nature. Passing through the vineyards in the early part of the year, you see nothing but the dry and sapless plant, not unlike the strands of an old rope hanging from tree to tree. The wood appears so dead and withered, that, as the prophet says, 'It is unfit for any work, nor do men take a pin of it to hang a vessel thereon.' It is utterly valueless even for fuel. But pass we the same spot in the exuberant autumn, and we shall see that withered and apparently sapless branch, staggering and borne down with the weight of clusters of tempting fruit, bringing joy and contentment to thousands, to whom its generous liquor seems as indispensable as bread.

The other staple production of the country is the olive, from the fruit of which the oil is expressed by a very simple process. The berries are carefully gathered in baskets, and passed under a millstone; and when sufficiently bruised, the pulp is put into coarse hempen bags, and placed under a powerful press, from which the liquor runs down into a stone trough, and the oil is seen floating on the surface. This is removed by means of a shallow metal bowl, and poured into large wickered flasks, where it is allowed to stand some time, when the grosser portion of the oil falls, and the finer is poured off into fresh flasks; this operation being repeated until it is sufficiently fine for table, leaving the inferior oil for various purposes connected with the household or farm.

In Tuscany, at this season, a great deal of attention is given to the snaring of birds, which are abundant, and in which amusement our host took a degree of interest that rather surprised us. A few days after our arrival, he took us into one of the upper rooms of his house, where we found upwards of fifty birds of various kinds, all chirruping and singing away most lustily. Each bird occupied a small willow cage; and noticing that some of the thrushes were blind, we found that their sight had been purposely destroyed, by passing a hot wire over their eyes, in order to make them sing better. Cruel as this custom was, it certainly had the desired effect; for the poor birds appeared to be dreaming of the bright sunshine, and the pleasant tree-tops, and poured forth a stream of song that was almost painful to listen to. These birds were used as decoys, at what is called the Paretella;' and at a very early hour, our priest and his man were to be seen, like Machiavel,

— Sallying forth

In an autumnal morn, laden with cages,'

of the ground-the roof being concealed by pine branches and other green stuff and in this the operator could stand, with a cord in hand commanding the bolt, and through a small aperture watch for the game. Most of our favourite birds had names, and could be distinguished by their pipes. That's Pietro,' said the priest. Bravo, Pietro!" Poor Pietro trilled his notes, and Beppo whistled, several others chimed in, and wo betide the luckless bunch of feathers that should come within hearing of that siren choir! Presently a few birds would fly over the ground; but attracted by the vocal harmony, they would wheel round, and drop on to that tempting beech hedge, to see what was going on. In a moment the priest's hand was on the cord, up flew the net over the poor birds, and our host, like a great black spider, stalked out to clutch his prey. The game bagged, the net was thrown back, the apparatus readjusted, and we all slunk off to await further victims. We took larks, becaficos, and numerous other small birds; indeed everything was game that came to the net; and in a few hours they were hissing and sputtering, all in a row, over our kitchen fire.

The thrush is taken with lime, and is much esteemed as a delicacy. The spot selected for this operation is a bit of elevated ground, which is closely planted with shrubs and evergreens. Between these plants, which are not more than eighteen or twenty inches asunder, they place twigs smeared with lime; and in the midst of this plantation a boy is concealed, with two or three cages of decoy birds. Attracted by their noise, some curious thrush visits the place, alights on the fatal twig, and is speedily secured by the boy. In this manner a great number of birds are taken, and hardly a day passed without our having a dish of them either at dinner or supper.

Our reverend friend, with whom we resided at this time, was the youngest of three brothers, the eldest of whom was an advocate, and the second a physician, in the beautiful city of Florence. Under such circumstances, it only remained for our host to conform to the wishes of his family, and go to the church.

In person he was tall, and rather handsome; but far from meeting the austere priest that we had pictured to ourselves, and almost dreaded to encounter, we found him at once the easy, courteous, talkative man of the world, or what is commonly termed a jolly good fellow.' For him the lines had fallen in pleasant places

he had a goodly heritage; and with his gun on his arm, and his dogs at his heels, his whole time and attention seemed to be given to sport, and to overlooking the extensive and fertile domain which appertained to the family.

During our sojourn with him, he certainly did say mass once or twice in the neighbourhood; and, conforming to the rules of the church, he fasted twice in the week-an act of self-denial in which we begged to join him; for we very innocently considered that a repast of fish and eggs, various vegetables and omelets, salads, and all the delicious fruits of the season, together with wine ad libitum, was, after all, a kind of mortification of the flesh that was not to be despised. We noticed that the only time he permitted his usually sweet temper to be ruffled, was when he came in contact with his old cook in the matter of some

to the scene of operations. The Paretella is a snare for small birds by means of a net, and the one belong-dinner grievance. Quietly rising from table on such ing to the priest we shall describe. At the extremity of a ridge of high ground that ran out like a promontory into the valley, there was a green plot about thirty yards long and about fifteen in width. This was enclosed on three sides by a low hedge, and in and about this hedge perhaps thirty of these cages were concealed. In the centre of the ground there was a broad bed of dwarf beech, about four feet high, with its branches properly trimmed, and adapted to the feathered taste and habits; and alongside of this a large net, attached to a frame, lay on the ground, but so arranged by apparatus, that by drawing a bolt, the net would fly up and envelop the beech hedge. A hut was sunk in the earth at the end

occasions, we could see his brow darken, as he proceeded to the kitchen to call the old woman all the hard names he could think of. Being rather deaf, and having been in the family time out of mind, the old crone had become a sort of chartered sinner; and on the principle that every man is a hero save to his valet, so we thought that our priest might very well pass for an angel except to his cook; for we verily believe that, whatever the rest of the world thought of it, in his own kitchen he was not regarded as such. The old woman had a quiet and provokingly cool method of going about her affairs, and she generally weathered the storm well; while on the part of our host, he usually

took himself off in a fume, and walking up to an old Dutch clock that hung in the antechamber, he, by a few vigorous tugs at the cords, immediately wound it up. The operation seemed to have a wonderful effect upon his ruffled spirit, for he generally returned to table, took his seat again with most dignified and clerical composure, and with a degree of serenity depicted on his countenance that was delightful to contemplate.

IT IS POSSIBLE.

PRIVY-COUNSELLOR STRYK had perpetually upon his tongue three words that had become to him a kind of proverb: It is possible.' It often happened that he used them in the reports made by him to the minister in full council; and when this occurred, a smile, such as is usually given to our neighbours' weaknesses, played upon the lips of his colleagues.

Privy-Counsellor Stryk, nevertheless, was held in high consideration. The different rulers of the electorate, in their turn, showed their appreciation of his varied information and talent by always employing him. Every one did justice to his ability and tactnay, perhaps a little overrated them; and Stryk, open, upright, and conscientious, was looked upon as a deep and subtle politician, with a penetration and farsightedness little short of the gift of prophecy. And all this reputation he owed solely to the three words'It is possible.'

Often, however, they escaped him almost involuntarily; yet when they had once escaped him, he thought himself bound to follow up and maintain their consequences. Thus this saying exercised the greatest influence upon his opinions, his habits, and all the events of his life. Who could believe it of a man so learned and enlightened? And yet it was not only possible,

but true.

He was himself fully aware of this influence, and yet not only did he remain constant to his three words, but he was seriously anxious to impress his only son with the same conviction of their omnipotence. The young man, who, like most other young people, thought himself much more clear-sighted than his old father, considered this as nothing more than a very singular mania.

This little oddity, my dear father,' he said, 'may be excused in you, but my adopting it would be considered a mere piece of affectation, a ridiculous copying of you.'

heart, my second self, and despatched him to Amsterdam.'

'You never before mentioned this friend to me,' said Frederick.

'It is possible,' answered the privy-counsellor; and I will soon tell you why. Alarmed for his health by his long delay and total silence, I sacrificed love to friendship, and tearing myself from my Philippina, while she, overcome with grief, was yet fainting in her mother's arms, I set out for Amsterdam. Suffice it to say, I discovered that my best friend had deceived me, and was by this time in America with the whole of my cousin's bequest. "It is impossible!" I cried; "it is impossible!" But soon I was obliged to say, "It is possible!" And I flew back to Philippina, to soothe the feelings wounded by the treachery of my friend; and again I was compelled to say, "It is possible," when the first greeting on my arrival at home was the announcement that, three days after the letter conveying the tidings of my loss, my betrothed had become the bride of another. I spare you my agonies. Henceforth I believed every. thing possible but good to me; and no matter how improbable any suggestion seemed, I replied, "It is possible!" In these three words was embodied my whole system of practical philosophy. I kept continually repeating them, till at length they became a comfort in sorrow-an antidote to despair. When I said to myself, "Canst thou ever again be happy in this world?"-my lips formed the words, "It is possible;" and the event justified the almost mechanical hope. I adopted the maxim, and no longer lived in an ideal world peopled either by angels or devils-the youthful heart seldom knows any medium. Henceforth good fortune had no power to intoxicate, for I thought of its instability, and said, "It is possible;" and misfortune could neither surprise nor wholly depress me, for I was prepared for anything. Men in general act in the ordinary, as well as the more important concerns of life, upon a sudden impulse, for which they can hardly account, and of which they are almost unconscious. Take my advice, my son, adopt my maxim, were it only to give you the power of self-possession, and make you ready either to do or to suffer. Repeat it till you have made it your own. This at least is possible.'

The favourite phrase of our privy-counsellor sometimes proved unpropitious; but he was not easily dejected. For instance, one day when the elector presided in person in the council, some debate arose upon the late French Revolution of '93; and as the many changes were mentioned in the people who once so idolised their kings, the elector exclaimed, 'The French are the most abominable race on the face of the earth: no other nation could act as they do. Can you fancy my subjects ever being seized with such madness-ever abjuring their allegiance to their prince? What is your opinion, Stryk?'

The elector turned pale. What do you mean?' he exclaimed. Do you think that a day can ever dawn when my subjects will rejoice in my downfall?'

'It is possible, my dear Frederick,' said the privycounsellor; but you may let laugh those that will, when you have in these three words the secret of prudence, repose, security, and happiness. Think not that this maxim became habitual to me by mere chance. I adopted it upon sad experience that led to mature reflection. I owe to it all that I have, all that I am. The counsellor, just then in a fit of absence, had only The misfortunes of my youth, and despair, made me half heard what the elector said, and shrugging his first lay hold of it; and once laid hold of, I raised my-shoulders, said mechanically, It is possible.' self by its help, and reconquered fortune. The little patrimony bequeathed to me by my parents only sufficed to enable me to subsist while studying at the university; and yet, because I carefully avoided debt, I passed for having a comfortable competence, and was welcomed into society that would have disdained me, had people known that I was all the while content with bread and milk as my whole dietary. I was well received, and generally esteemed, yet I had but one bosom friend amongst the men, and but one lady had ever engaged more than a passing thought; and pretension to her, the daughter of a general officer, was hopeless, and would have remained so, had not fortune smiled upon me most unexpectedly. I was made chamberlain to the dowager - duchess, with a good pension; and shortly after, a cousin died in Batavia, and left me a considerable property. Unwilling, in my first hours as an accepted lover, to leave my Philippina, I gave full powers to my friend Schneemuller, the friend of my

It is possible,' again said the counsellor; but this time he said it advisedly. Nothing is more uncertain than popular opinion; for a people is made up of men, who have each an individual interest, which they prefer to that of the prince. Any new order of things begets new hopes. Whatever may be the degree of love, and however well deserved, borne by the people to your highness, I would not swear that they would not, in new circumstances, forget the benefits of their prince, and that we might not see the electoral arms broken, to give place to the tree of liberty.'

The elector turned his back upon him, and Stryk was disgraced; while every one cried, What a fool with his "It is possible!"'

A few years after, the victorious French passed the Rhine; the elector, with all his court, took to flight.