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in answer to the supplication for Irish aid during the travel abroad, seems to have been mentioned by Charles; and gratitude, for a little made Goldsmith grateful, prompted the letter. He begins by reminding his kinsman that his last letter to him was left unanswered. My brother 'Charles, however, informs me of the fatigue you were at ' in soliciting a subscription to assist me, not only among 'my friends and relatives, but acquaintances in general. 'Though my pride might feel some repugnance at being 'thus relieved, yet my gratitude can suffer no diminution. 'How much am I obliged to you, to them, for such 'generosity, or.. why should not your virtues have their 'proper name?.. for such charity to me at that juncture. My not receiving that supply was the cause of my present establishment in London. You may easily 'imagine what difficulties I had to encounter, left as I was 'without friends, recommendations, money, or impudence: ' and that in a country where being born an Irishman was 'sufficient to keep me unemployed. Many, in such 'circumstances, would have had recourse to the friar's 'cord, or the suicide's halter. But, with all my follies, I 'had principle to resist the one and resolution to combat 'the other. I suppose you desire to know my present 'situation. As there is nothing in it at which I should 'blush, or which mankind could censure, I see no reason 'for making it a secret. In short, by a very little practice 'as a physician, and a very little reputation as a poet, I 'make a shift to live. Nothing is more apt to introduce us

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'to the gates of the Muses than poverty; but it were well 'if they only left us at the door. The mischief is, they 'sometimes choose to give us their company at the enter'tainment; and WANT, instead of being Gentleman-usher, ' often turns Master of the Ceremonies. Thus, upon learn'ing I write, no doubt you imagine I starve; and the name of an author naturally reminds you of a garret. 'In this particular I do not think proper to undeceive my 'friends. But whether I eat or starve, live in a first floor or four pair of stairs high, I still remember them with ' ardour.'

This glance at the gloomy aspect of his present fortunes, were less pathetic to me if it had been less playful. His Irish friends had shown the charitable wish, however unavailing; and he would not trouble friendly eyes with needless exhibition of his sufferings, or make Grim Want the Master of other than somewhat cheerful Ceremonies. Lightly and quickly he passes from the subject, to that unaccountable fondness for Ireland already mentioned in connection with this letter. What little pleasures he had ever tasted in London, he says, Irish memories had soured. Signora Columba had never poured out all the mazes of melody, that he did not sit and sigh for Lissoy fireside, and Peggy Golden's song of Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night. If I climb Hampstead Hill, than 'where Nature never exhibited a more magnificent prospect, 'I confess it fine; but then I had rather be placed on the 'little mount before Lissoy gate, and there take in, to

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the most pleasing horizon in nature. Before Charles 'came hither, my thoughts sometimes found refuge from

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severer studies among my friends in Ireland. I fancied 'strange revolutions at home; but I find it was the 'rapidity of my own motion that gave an imaginary one 'to objects really at rest. No alterations there. Some 'friends, he tells me, are still lean, but very rich: others 'very fat, but still very poor. 'of you is, that you sally out in visits among the 'neighbours, and sometimes make a migration from the 'blue bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish 'that you and your wife, and Lissoy, and Ballyma'hon, and all of you, would fairly make a migration 'into Middlesex.' He adds, that if they do not, he believes he must go next year to see them; and subscribes himself his dear Dan's affectionate kinsman.'

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Poet and Physician: ragged livery of Grub Street under the one high-sounding name, and wretched fee-less patients beneath the other. He was the poet of Hogarth's print, which the common people then hailed with laughter at every print-shop; he was again, it would seem, the poor physician of the patched velvet among hovels of Bankside; and yet it was but pleasant colouring for the comfort of brother-in-law Hodson, when he said that with both he made a shift to live. With even more, he failed to attain that object of humble ambition.

In February, 1758, two duodecimos appeared with this most explanatory title: 'The Memoirs of a Protestant, con

'demned to the Galleys of France for his Religion. Written 'by himself. Comprehending an account of the various 'distresses he suffered in slavery, and his constancy in 'supporting almost every cruelty that bigoted zeal could 'inflict, or human nature sustain. Also a description of 'the Galleys, and the service in which they are employed. 'The whole interspersed with anecdotes relative to the 'general history of the times for a period of thirteen 'years, during which the author continued in slavery, 'till he was at last set free at the intercession of the 'Court of Great Britain. Translated from the Original, 'just published at the Hague, by James Willington.' James Willington was in reality Oliver Goldsmith. The property of the book belonged to Griffiths, who valued one name quite as much as the other; and the position of the translator appears in the subsequent assignment of the manuscript, at no small profit to Griffiths, by the Paternoster-Row bookseller to bookseller Dilly of the Poultry, for the sum of twenty guineas. But though the translator's name might pass for Willington, the writer could only write as Goldsmith; though with bitterness he calls himself the obscure prefacer,' the preface is clear, graceful, and characteristic, as in brighter days. The book cannot be recommended, he says, 'as a grateful entertain'ment to the readers of reigning romance, for it is strictly 'true. No events are here to astonish; no unexpected 'incidents to surprise; no such high-finished pictures, as 'captivate the imagination, and have made fiction fashion

'able. Our reader must be content with the simple 'exhibition of truth. He must be satisfied to see Vice 'triumphant and Virtue in distress; to see men punished

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or rewarded, not as his wishes but as Providence has 'thought proper to direct; for all here wears the face of sincerity.' He glances at the scenes of dungeon, rack, and scaffold through which the narrative will pass, and calls them but a part of the accumulated wretchedness of a miscalled glorious time while Louis, surnamed the 'Great, was feasting at Versailles, fed with the incense ' of flattery, or sunk in the lewd embraces of a prostitute.'

But why stood 'James Willington' on the title page of this book, instead of 'Oliver Goldsmith,' since the names were both unknown? The question will not admit of a doubtful answer, though a braver I could wish to have given. At this point there is evidence of despair.

Not without well-earned knowledge had Goldsmith passed through the task-work of the Monthly Review; faculties which lay unused within him, were by this time not unknown; and a stronger man, with a higher constancy and fortitude, might with that knowledge have pushed resolutely on, and, conquering the fate of those who look back when their objects are forward, found earlier sight of the singing tree and the golden water. But to him it seemed hopeless to climb any further up the desperate steep; over the dark obstructions which the world is glad to interpose between itself and the best labourers in its service, he had not as yet risen high enough to see

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