TO write the life of Dr. Goldsmith, is far from being a laborious task, since little more is required than to give a transcript of the fairest pages of the human mind: to have known Shenstone, Cunning­ham, and Goldsmith, is to have been happy in an acquaintance with the brightest side of the Land­scape of Humanity; but to have seen one of these amiable pictures, is to have seen them all, abating for that slight difference in the colouring which became necessary from the different points of view, in which the pictures were to be placed.

[Page 2]The virtues of Dr. Goldsmith's mind, will long be conspicuous in his written page; and the reader will be warmed with the glowing graces, which, at once, animate and develope the soul of the author.

I know not if the observation was ever made, but I believe it will be found true, that when great abilities are united with very great virtues, if the possessor should be a writer at all, he will be a poet, and, if a poet, a very excellent one: in that case (as Cunningham sings)

I fancy if we were to try all the living writers by this standard, we should be able to form a more just opinion of their real characters as men, than by any other criterion. It is true, at least with regard to the literary men within the circle of my knowledge, that in proportion to the virtues of their minds, is the elegance of their writings; and that there is not a fool, or a worse character among them, that may not be distinguished by the turgidity of his style, and the consequential nothing­ness of his phrase.

Who could hesitate a moment to distinguish be­tween the manly dignity of style of the poet, whose loss we now lament, and the frippery bombast of a Murphy or a Kelly?—But the difference lay [Page 3] chiefly in the mind; and the one was exactly as much a better writer than the others, as a better man.

It is an observation that Dr. Goldsmith has made in his Vicar of Wakefield, that Where the mind is ca­pacious, the affections are good. I believe that the re­mark is founded in the laws of nature.—God is infinite in wisdom and goodness.—What is genius but an emanation of the divine beam? Know you a man distinguished from all the rest of his ac­quaintance for the frigid narrowness and selfishness of his soul?—depend on it he is remarkably de­ficient in point of intellect: he may have much cunning; but he has no wisdom. On the contrary, know you a man of a warmer heart?—rest assured that he has a clearer head, than those who are strangers to that sublime feeling which does honour to humanity.

If there be an apparent exception to this rule, (and such may be found) it must be attributed to that commerce with mankind, which will, in some degree, contaminate the purest sentiments; but even under all appearances of variation, the latent principles of the mind need only to be drawn forth, to appear the same.

Roscommon, in Ireland, claims the honour of Dr. Goldsmith's birth. His father, who was a gentleman of a small estate, had nine sons, of whom Oliver was the third. He was born in the [Page 4] year 1731, received a good classical education, and was intended for holy orders. With this view he was sent with his brother Henry to Trinity College, Dublin, in the year 1739, where he obtained a Bachelor's Degree: but his brother's merit, on leaving the College, not being rewarded with any preferment in the church, our author was advised to the study of physic, which he commenced, by attending several courses of anatomy in Dublin.

In the year 1751, he left Dublin and went to Edinburgh, where he prosecuted the study of medi­cine, under several celebrated professors of that university; but he had not resided long in Scotland, before he began to feel the ill effects of his un­bounded benevolence; and he was at length abso­lutely obliged to leave the country, to avoid a prison; for he had bound himself to pay a larger sum for a friend, than the narrowness of his finances would enable him to discharge.

It was in the beginning of the year 1754, that he quitted Edinburgh; but he had no sooner reached Sunderland, than he was arrested for the amount of his bond; but he was happily relieved from his distress, by the humanity of Dr. Sleigh and Mr. Laughlin Maclane.

The debt being discharged, our ingenious philan­thropist embarked on board a Dutch vessel, bound for Rotterdam, in which place he continued but a short time, and then went to Brussels. He now [Page 5] made the tour of a considerable part of Flanders, took the degree of Bachelor of Physic at Louvain, and thence went through Switszerland to Geneva, in company with an English gentleman, whom he had made an acquaintance with in the course of his travels in Flanders.

When our poet sailed from England, he was al­most destitute of money, so that he was under the necessity of travelling on foot, or declining a journey in which he promised himself much satisfaction, from a review of the customs and manners of dif­ferent countries. Mr. Goldsmith was at this period in good health, possessing a strength of constitution, and a vigour of mind, which bid defiance to danger and fatigue. He was a tolerable proficient in the French language, and played on the German flute with a degree of taste something above mediocrity. Thus qualified, he travelled on, anxious to gratify his curiosity, and doubtful of the means of subsis­tence; his classical knowledge, however, afforded him occasional entertainment in the religious houses; while his musical talents continued to feed and lodge him among the merry poor of Flanders, &c.

The Doctor, in relating the history of this part of his travels, would say, ‘"When I approached a peasant's house in the evening, I played one of my most merry tunes; which procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the fol­lowing [Page 6] day: but I must own, that when I attempted to entertain persons of a higher rank, they always thought my performance contempt­ible, nor ever made me any return for my endeavours to please them."’

Our author evidently refers to these circumstances of his life, in the following lines in his Traveller:

Dr. Goldsmith had not been long at Geneva, when a young fellow arrived there, to whom he was recommended as a Tutor, in his travels through the rest of Europe. This youth having had a large fortune left him by his uncle, (a pawnbroker in London) resolved to improve himself by travel; [Page 7] but, as avarice was his ruling passion, he saw little more of the the curiosities of the continent, than are to be seen without expence. He was con­tinually remarking how extravagant were the ex­pences of travelling, and perpetually contriving methods of retrenching them: so that it is not to be wondered if our author and his pupil parted, which they did at Marseilles, where the latter em­barked for England, happy to save money rather than to gain knowledge.

There was, at this time, but a small balance due to Goldsmith, who was once more left to struggle with adversity. He now wandered alone through the greater part of France, till, having gratified his cu­riosity, and sufficiently experienced those inconve­niencies attennding the almost pennyless traveller, he sailed for England, and arriving at Dover to­wards the latter end of the year 1758, he hastened immediately to London, where he found himself a perfect stranger, with scarce a shilling in the world.

Thus situated, he began to be extremely uneasy. His friend, Dr. Sleigh, now resided in London; Goldsmith enquired him out, and was received with every mark of friendship and esteem. An offer was now made him of the place of Usher at Dr. Milner's Academy at Peckham; and this he eagerly acceped, unwilling to subsist on the bounty of Dr. Sleigh.

[Page 8]About this period, he wrote some criticisms for the Monthly Review; which meeting with high approbation, Mr. Griffiths (the proprietor) engaged him to superintend that publication; he therefore repaired to London, and commenced Author in form. This was in the year 1759, when he wrote a few pieces, and but a few, for the Booksellers: and though his pay was, as it me­rited, greater than that of many other writers, it was nevertheless very disproportionate to the merit of such a writer, and still farther below the me­rit of such a man as Dr. Goldsmith: yet were not the booksellers, his employers, worthy of censure, as his name was not known to the public, and his essays and poems were inserted among the pro­miscuous croud, in magazines, and other periodi­cal publications.

It was at this period that the Doctor became ac­quainted with the late Mr. Newberry, who being a proprietor of the Public Ledger, our poet was engaged as a writer in that paper, then newly esta­blished, in which he published a series of valuable letters, which have been since printed in volumes, under the title of the ‘"Citizen of the world."’

Hitherto the Doctor had lodged, much in the stile of a poor author, in Green-arbor Court in the Old Bailey; but he now got better apartments in Wine-Office Court, Fleet-street, and a summer lodging at Canonbury House, Islington, where he continued [Page 9] a considerable time, and then removed, first to the King's Bench Walks, and afterwards to Brick Court, in the Temple, where he died.

With the publication of the Traveller, our au­thor's literary fame began to encrease very fast, and it was established by the appearance of the Vicar of Wakefield; for he was now equally and justly esteemed both as a poet and novellist; he had been before known for a good critic; and he has since shone as a learned historian.

The publication of the Vicar of Wakefield was succeeded by that of the Comedy of the Good-na­tured Man, which was performed nine nights at Covent Garden Theatre; but did not meet with an applause equal to its merit; though it was far from being ill-received.

The next piece of any consequence that our author presented the world with, was his Deserted Village, a poem abounding in nature, truth, ele­gance and benevolence. A circumstance respect­ing the sale of the copy of this piece, marks very strongly the author's simplicity of mind, and un­bounded goodness of heart. The manuscript having been delivered to the bookseller, he gave the Doctor his note of hand for one hundred gui­neas, for the copy-right. The Doctor mentioned this circumstance the same day to a gentleman, who said he thought it a large sum for so small a piece. ‘"In truth, said the poet, I think so too, nor [Page 10] have I been easy since I received it; I will therefore go and return him his note."’—This he actually did, leaving the payment to the bookseller's ho­nour, when the sale should inform him what he might afford to give.

The success of the Doctor's last comedy, She stoops to Conquer, is too generally known to need being mentioned. It is in fact, the most laughable piece which has been brought on the stage for many years.—Mr. Colman was, or pretended to be of opinion, that this piece would be damned. A proof that managers are not always the best judges of the taste of the town; and one would think that they are not therefore the most proper caterers, how­ever they may have assumed a right of cramming the public with any trash they think proper.

The fate of a writer for the stage is not much to be envied. After many months labour to complete a piece to his own approbation, he is to summon patience to a bide all the manager's affected correc­tions, and still more mortifying delays; and after all, perhaps, a disgusted acquaintance shall make a party, raise a riot, and damn the play!

Our ingenious writer had laid a plan for writing an ‘"Universal Dictionary of Arts and Sciences."’ In which he had a promise of the occasional assist­ance of Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Beauclerc, and David Garrick, Esq—Of the suc­cess [Page 11] of this great work, the Doctor had formed high expectations; but he did not live to make any pro­gress in it.

It is said that our author cleared 1800 l. in one year by his writings; notwithstanding which, part­ly by the unbounded benevolence of his disposition, and partly from an unhappy turn for gaming, which he contracted in his latter years, he was often dis­tressed for cash in a very great degree.

Dr. Goldsmith's great and shining talents procur­ed him many friends and admirers among persons in the first walk of life; among others the Duke of Northumberland is mentioned, as having wished to be known to our poet, who himself told the follow­ing story of his visit to the Peer.

‘"I was invited, said the Doctor, by my friend Mr. Percy, to wait upon the Duke, in consequence of the satisfaction he had received from the perusal of one of my productions. I dressed myself in the best manner I could, and after studying some com­pliments I thought necessary on such an occasion, proceeded to Northumberland-house, and acquaint­ed the servants that I had particular business with his Grace. They shewed me into an anti-chamber, where, after waiting some time, a gentleman very elegantly dressed made his appearance. Taking him for the Duke, I delivered all the fine things I had composed, in order to compliment him on the honour he had done me; when, to my great asto­nishment, [Page 12] he told me I had mistaken him for his master, who would see me immediately. At that instant the Duke came into the apartment; and I was so con­fused on the occasion, that I wanted words barely sufficient to express the sense I entertained of the Duke's politeness, and went away exceedingly cha­grined at the blunder I had committed."’

Dr. Goldsmith, happy as he thought himself in the strength of a vigorous constitution, paid at all times too little regard to the preservation of that health so dear to his friends, so important to the public.

I remember, some years since, on the Doctor's partial recovery from a fit of illness, he came into the Chapter Coffee-House; when a gentleman ob­served how pale he looked, and expressed his fears for his safety:— ‘"Pale! (cried the poet, in a pettish humour) that may be, Sir; but the Stamina's good—the Stamina's good."’

Dr. Goldsmith's natural disposition led him to covet a life of learned leisure; but this was too often interrupted by that want of money to which the benevolence of his disposition frequently reduced him. When his circumstances were embarrassed, his temper was so ruffled, that he often expressed himself in the most vehement manner. These gusts of passion, as they were very violent, were very short: the philosopher recollected, and resumed himself on a moment's reflection; but his servants [Page 13] profited by their master's violence; for they would put themselves in his way, when he was in a passion, sure to reap the reward of undeserved chastisement.

It is very remarkable of this gentleman, that, contrary to the opinion of almost all the world, he thought Ben Johnson, Beaumont, and their co­temporaries, but second-rate poets; indeed he considered Shakespear himself as inferior to Van­burgh and Farquhar.

The Doctor was, from principle, an enemy to that class of patriotic writers, (as they are called) who distinguish themselves, by abusing the govern­ment under which they live: in fact, he considered them as enemies to all good government. He was a friend to monarchy, and held sacred the person of the sovereign. But if he was an enemy to those who abused our government and governors, indiscri­minately, he was much more so to those paltry, those detestable writers, who, sacrificing every con­sideration at the shrine of Plutus, wrote on both sides of a contested question, and on both at the same time, for HIRE. It is said that Dr. Goldsmith did not speak to Mr. Kelly for seven years pre­ceeding his death.

He firmly believed the doctrine of a future state, in which the miseries of the virtuous in this life, would be amply rewarded by a permanency of happiness, incapable of decay: above flattering the vices or follies of the rich or great, he was ill qualified to push his fortune among those whom [Page 14] his genius taught to court his company: yet was he happy in a connection with many of the greatest and best characters of this kingdom.

Dr. Goldsmith being seized with a violent indis­position, on the 25th of March, 1774, sent for Mr. Hawes, an apothecary, in the Strand, the night succeeding that day, and declared his intention of taking Dr. James's fever powders; to his persisting in which resolution, many of his warmest friends have ascribed the loss of this great and good man! How far they are right in their conjectures it would be needless, if it were not impossible to say. Mr. Hawes has published an account of the Doctor's illness, so far as relates to the exhibition of these powders. The public may be interested in the enquiry into the probable effects of so powerful a medicine. The writer of these pages has only to say, that Mr. Hawes is a man whose skill or vera­city will not be doubted for a moment by any one who has the honour of knowing him.

This delightful poet, this sweet moralist, this excellent man! departed this life on the 4th of April, 1774, and was interred in the Burying-Ground of the Temple. It was proposed to have buried him in Westminster-Abey, where, however, a monument is to be erected to his memory:—but the best and most lasting monument will be found in his works.

Dr. Goldsmith was in stature rather under the middle size, and built more like the porter than [Page 15] the gentleman: his complexion was pale, his forehead low, his face almost round, and pitted with the small pox; but marked with the strong lines of thinking: upon the whole there was no­thing in his appearance that would not rather pre­possess the mind against him; but to those who knew him, there appeared a melting softness in his eye, that was the genuine effect of his humanity. Never did that eye behold an object of distress, but it conveyed an intelligence to the heart, that stretched out the hand irresistibly to relieve; and it is well known that his unbounded philanthropy contributed to keep him poor; but he ever felt a satisfaction in the conscious dignity and liberality of his mind, that the possession of wealth without the will to distribute it could never have afforded!

Presuming that the best use to which biography can be applied is to profit by the amiable part of the author's character: I shall extract, for the en­tertainment and instruction of my readers, such passages of Dr. Goldsmith's works, as mark in a striking manner, the unbounded benevolence of his temper, or the elegant simplicity of his mind. That he thought justly on most occasions is a fact which will appear incontestible from the perusal of many of the following observations:

‘"As some men gaze with admiration at the co­lours of a tulip, or the wing of a butterfly, so I was by nature an admirer of happy human faces."’ Vicar of Wakefield. vol. I. p. 3. 4th edition.

[Page 16] ‘"Never was the family of Wakefield known to turn the traveller, or the poor dependant out of doors."’ Ib. p. 4.

‘"Let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune."’ Ib. p. 19.

‘"The slightest distress touched him to the quick, and his soul laboured under a sickly sensibility of the miseries of others."’ Ib. p. 27.

‘"My youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons for the day, and he that read loudest, distinctest, and best, was to have a halfpenny on Sunday to put in the poors box."’ Ib. p. 37.

‘"I do not know whether such flouncing and shredding is becoming even in the rich, if we consider upon a moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the indigent world may be cloathed from the trimmings of the vain."’ Ib. p. 39.

‘"The virtue which requires to be ever guarded, is scarce worth the sentinel."’ Ib. p. 48.

‘"Hospitality is one of the first Christian duties. The beast retires to its shelter, and the bird flies to its nest; but helpless man, can only find refuge from his fellow creature. The greatest stranger in this world was he that came to save it: he never had a house, as if willing to see what hos­pitality was left remaining among us."’ Ib. p. 52.

‘"We should never strike an unnecessary blow at a victim over whom providence holds the scourge of its resentment."’ Ib. p. 54.

[Page 17] ‘"Such as are poor and will associate with none but the rich, are hated by those they avoid, and despised by those they follow."’ Ib. p. 123.

‘"The pain which conscience gives a man who has already done wrong, is soon got over: Con­science is a coward, and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom has justice enough to accuse."’ Ib. p. 130.

‘"The opinion a man forms of his own pru­dence, is measured by that of the company he keeps."’ Ib. p. 132.

‘"Wit and understanding are trifles without inte­grity; it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant without fault, is greater than the philosopher with many."’ Ib. p. 150.

‘"The reputation of men should be prized not for their exemption from fault, but the size of those virtues they are possessed of."’ ib. p. 150.

‘"When great vices are opposed in the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character de­serves contempt."’ Ib. p. 151.

‘"Bad men want shame; they only blush at being detected in doing good, but glory in their vices."’ Ib. p. 154.

‘"For the first time the very best may err; art may persuade, and novelty spread out its charm. The first fault is the child of simplicity; but every other the offspring of guilt."’ Ib. p. 185.

[Page 18] ‘"Man little knows what calamities are beyond his patience to bear till he tries them; as in ascending the heights of ambition, which look bright from below, every step we rise shews us some new and gloomy prospect of hidden disap­pointment; so in our descent from the summits of pleasure, though the vale of misery below may appear at first dark and gloomy, yet the busy mind, still attentive to its own amusement, finds as we descend something to flatter and to please. Still as we approach, the darkest objects appear to brighten, and the mortal eye becomes adapted to its gloomy situation."’ Ib. p. 191.

‘"The looks of domesticks ever transmit their master's benevolence."’ Ib. vol. II. p. 15.

‘"I found that monarchy was the best govern­ment for the poor to live in, and common-wealths for the rich. I found that riches in general, were in every country, another name for free­dom; and that no man is so fond of liberty him­self as not to be desirous of subjecting the will of some individuals in society to his own."’ Ib. p. 32.

‘"Go, my boy, and if you fall, though distant, exposed and unwept by those that love you, the most precious tears are those with which heaven bedews the unburied head of a soldier."’ Ib. p. 40.

‘"Wisdom makes but a slow defence against trouble, though at last a sure one."’ Ib. p. 46.

[Page 19] ‘"In all human institutions a smaller evil is al­lowed to procure a greater good; as in politics, a province may be given away to secure a king­dom; in medicine, a limb may be lopt off, to preserve the body. But in Religion the law is written, and inflexible, never to do evil."’ Ib. p. 50.

‘"That single effort by which we stop short in the down-hill path to perdition, is itself a greater exertion of virtue, than a hundred acts of jus­tice."’ Ib. p. 63.

‘"None but the guilty can be long completely miserable."’ Ib. p. 65.

‘"That melancholy which is excited by objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of har­mony, sooths the heart instead of corroding it."’ Ib. p. 77.

‘"Though the mind may often be calm under great injuries, little villainy can at any time get within the soul, and sting it into rage."’ Ib. p. 81.

‘"Good council rejected returns to enrich the giver's bosom."’ Ib. p. 116.

‘"It were highly to be wished, that the legis­lative power would direct the law rather to re­formation than severity. That it would seem convinced that the work of eradicating crimes is not by making punishments familiar, but formid­able. Then instead of our present prisons, [Page 20] which find or make men guilty, which enclose wretches for the commission of one crime, and return them, if returned alive, fitted for the per­petration of thousands; we should see, as in other parts of Europe, places of penitence and solitude, where the accused might be attended by such as could give them repentance if guilty, or new motives to virtue if innocent. And this, but not the increasing punishments, is the way to mend a state."’ Ib. p. 119.

‘"To religion we must hold in every circum­stance of life for our truest comfort; for if already we are happy, it is a pleasure to see that we can make that happiness unending; and if we are miserable, it is very consoling to think that there is a place of rest. Thus to the fortunate religion holds out a continuance of bliss, to the wretched a change from pain."’ Ib. p. 153.

‘"After a certain degree of pain, every new breach that death opens in the constitution, na­ture kindly covers with insensibility."’ Ib. p. 155.

‘"No efforts of a refined imagination can sooth the wants of nature, can give elastic sweetness to the dank vapour of a dungeon, or ease to the throbbings of a broken heart. Let the philoso­pher from his couch of softness, tell us that we can resist all these.—Alas! the effort by which we resist them is still the greatest pain!"’ Ib. p. 157.

‘"The greatest object in the universe (says a [Page 21] certain philosopher) is a good man struggling with adversity; yet there is still a greater, which is the good man that comes to relieve it."’ ib. p. 173.

‘"You imagine, perhaps, that a contempt for your own life, gives you a right to take that of another; but where, Sir, is the difference between a duellist who hazards a life of no value, and the murderer who acts with greater security? Is it any diminution of the gamester's fraud when he alledges that he has staked a counter?"’ Ib. p. 174.

The above will, we conceive, be deemed a suf­ficient specimen of Dr. Goldsmith's abilities as a prose writer. The reader will not be displeased to see how the poetical talents of this admirable ge­nius are equally adapted to charm the imagination, and win the heart to virtue.

In his TRAVELLER, after having described the fraternal fondness of an ‘" untravelled heart,"’ he ad­dresses his brother as follows,

Is not the following as beautiful, in point of poetry, as the wish that concludes it is honour­able to the feelings of the writer's heart?

Our author seems to have been of opinion that, however different in appearance the degrees of happiness in different countries, the beneficent author of nature has given an equal share to all.

Speaking of Italy and its inhabitants, our author has the following beautiful lines.

But let us, with the poet, turn to

Of France and its inhabitants, he says,

His picture of the Dutch is very striking.

Is he not equally happy in describing our own country, and its inhabitants?

[Page 25]This very elegant poem concludes with the following lines:

In the DESERTED VILLAGE, our poet execrates and laments that encrease of luxury, which will, probably, hasten the ruin of this empire. The co­louring of this poem is very warm, but I am afraid it is too just.—The luxuries of the higher ranks have been so long taxing the industry of the low­er, and such numerous emigrations have already taken place, that there seems every reason to appre­hend that Dr. Goldsmith's Deserted Village may, in another century, be realized in a Deserted Kingdom.

[Page 26]This poem is every where, and so equally excel­lent, that we know not to which particular beauty to turn the eye of the reader. The following ex­tracts will shew to what a height of elegance the English language may arrive, and how astonishing­ly sweet may be the harmony of its periods, with­out their deducting any thing from the sterling man­liness of their sense.

Behold the picture of the country scoolmaster.

Having painted the village Ale-house, (decayed of course since its customers had been obliged to leave their native land in search of bread) our poet has the following picturesque lines.

This following picture of a rustic family, on the point of emigrating, will give a melancholy, but, [Page 29] I fear, a just idea, of scenes that too often occur in the distant parts of these kingdoms!

We shall conclude with the following lines, sorry only that, as general experience has proved their [Page 30] truth, England seems resolved not to become an exception to the rule.

As Dr. Goldsmith's Ballad of the Hermit has been justly celebrated, on account of its elegant tender­ness, and sweet simplicity, I presume I cannot oblige my readers with a more acceptable present.

Since Doctor Goldsmith's death a poem has ap­peared entitled RETALIATION, which owes its origin to the following circumstance: The Doc­tor was a member of a kind of club of wits, which met, occasionally, at the St. James's Coffee House; and a member of the society having proposed to write Epitaphs on our poet, he was called upon for Retaliation, in consequence of which he wrote, and produced at the next meeting of the club, a poem under that title, from which the following charac­ters are selected: