Dalziels' Illustrated Goldsmith. Oliver Goldsmith Goldsmith

critic and emendator, authoritatively suggested the entire omission of Lofty, one of the best characters, and, to use an expressive vulgarism, seemed inclined to "burke" the comedy altogether. Goldsmith, smarting under the actor's patronizing criticism, became angry, refused to alter or amend the play, and finally took the manuscript out of Garrick's hands, and transferred it to the rival management of Colman at Covent Garden. But Colman, though he accepted the piece, had little or no hope that it would be a success; and he contrived to impart his own doubts and misgivings to the whole company. The fact was, that, at this period, sentimental comedy, showing men and women as they appear in the pages of novelists of a certain school, but not as they walk and talk in real life, was in the ascendant; and Hugh Kelly—a man with some ingenuity, but without a spark of genius—was the great representative of this school of writing. Now Goldsmith held that a comedy should be comic—that it should, above all things, amuse the spectators by humourous dialogue and startling action; and, in his dramatic creed, the enunciation of moral platitudes had no place. In fact, the lines Goldsmith afterwards wrote concerning Cumberland, Kelly's successor in the Sentimental School of Comedy, might well have been applied to Kelly himself:

      Goldsmith and his Landlady.

      "A flattering painter, who made it his care,

      To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are,

      His gallànts are all faultless, his women divine;

      And Comedy wonders at being so fine!

      Like a tragedy queen he has dizened her out,

      Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout."

      Now this Hugh Kelly had just produced a stupid comedy, insipid and full of mawkish sentimentality, and entitled "False Delicacy." It was acted at Drury Lane, while Goldsmith's "Good-Natured Man" was in rehearsal, and proved a complete success. This triumph of Kelly's further damaged the hopes of Colman and his actors. Goldsmith had made his hero, not an impossible monster of virtue, but an easy-going, kindly gentleman, who shows that excessive good-nature is, after all, only a kind of weakness. The fun was broad and hearty, and the characters were drawn in a style that differed from Kelly's as widely as a picture by Hogarth would differ from a pastoral piece by Watteau. At last the comedy was performed; and though it brought nearly five hundred pounds to the distressed poet, it was at first not successful. The taste of the town had been too much spoiled by the sentimentalisms of Kelly and his school, to appreciate at once the strong, hearty fare now offered; and especially was public opinion divided on the subject of the introduction of two bailiffs, who were then considered "low," and whose appearance is now acknowledged to be one of the best "points" in the whole play. Goldsmith declared he would write for the theatre no more: but fortunately he did not keep to his determination. Once again, in 1772, he wrote a comedy—one of the very best of our English plays—"She Stoops to Conquer," which was performed at Covent Garden, for the first time, on the 15th of March, 1773. Again was Goldsmith harassed by the misgivings of Colman, though sentimental comedy was no longer in the ascendant. It had never recovered the blow inflicted by a burlesque of Foote's, entitled "The Virtuous Housemaid; or Piety in Pattens," in which the mawkish platitudes of the sentimental school were turned into pitiless ridicule. But the laughter and cheers of a crowded house completely took Colman and the croakers by surprise; and so utter was their astonishment, that the town made sport of the doubters whose prognostications had proved so false. Colman was obliged to run away to Bath, from the shower of lampoons that hailed down upon him. One of the best of these bade him take comfort from the idea that though Goldsmith's present play succeeded, his next might fail; and advised Colman to bring about that desirable consummation, if all other methods failed, by writing the best play he could himself, and printing it in Goldsmith's name. "She Stoops to Conquer" has kept the stage for nearly a century, and bids fair long to retain its place. It was a triumph for our poet, but it was his last.

      For now money troubles and embarrassments thickened more and more around him. His fame, indeed, was established; but his habits of procrastination and unthrift were but too well known. The "Deserted Village" had silenced those even who carped at the "Traveller;" his charming "Animated Nature" had brought him profit and reputation as a scientific writer; but his dilatoriness and want of method spoiled all.

      Early in 1774 he was attacked by an illness to which he was subject, and as a remedy for which he obstinately insisted on dosing himself with "James's Powders." He grew rapidly worse, and to the question asked by his medical man: "Is your mind at ease?" replied with a mournful "No, it is not." For some days he fluctuated between life and death; but at last, on the morning of the 4th of April, strong convulsions came on, under which he expired.

      His death was mourned by a circle of friends comprising some of the most illustrious names in the land. A public funeral was proposed for him, but negatived in consideration of his embarrassed circumstances. For, alas! in spite of the success of his later years, he owed nearly two thousand pounds. "Was ever poet so trusted before!" exclaimed sturdy old Johnson. "But," added the same honest friend, pronouncing a verdict which a century has since endorsed, "let not his failings be remembered—he was a very great man!"

DALZIELS'

       ILLUSTRATED GOLDSMITH.

       THE

       VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I. The description of the family of Wakefield, in which a kindred likeness prevails as well of minds as of persons.

       Table of Contents

      I was ever of opinion that the honest man, who married and brought up a large family, did more service than he who continued single, and only talked of population. From this motive, I had scarcely taken orders a year, before I began to think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured, notable woman; and as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could show more. She could read any English book without much spelling; but for pickling, preserving, and cookery, none could excel her. She prided herself also upon being an excellent contriver in housekeeping, though I could never find that we grew richer with all her contrivances.

      However, we loved each other tenderly, and our fondness increased as we grew old. There was, in fact, nothing that could make us angry with the world or each other. We had an elegant house, situated in a fine country and a good neighbourhood. The year was spent in moral or rural amusement; in visiting our rich neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by the fireside, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown.

      As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry-wine, for which we had great reputation; and I profess, with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of them find fault with it. Our cousins too, even to the fortieth remove, all remembered their affinity, without any help from the heralds' office, and came very frequently to see us. Some of them did us no great honour by these claims of kindred; as we had the blind, the maimed, and the halt amongst the number. However, my wife always insisted that, as they were the same flesh and blood, they should sit with us at the same table: so that if we had not very rich, we generally had very happy friends about us; for this remark will hold good through life, that the poorer the guest the better pleased he ever is with being treated; and 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. However, when any one of our relations was found to be a person of a very bad character, a troublesome guest, or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house I ever took care to lend him a riding-coat,