Johnson had interfered, had pointed out the disadvantage to the play in any formal withdrawal from Covent Garden, and had himself gone to talk to Colman about it. This letter to Garrick was written early in February.

"DEAR SIR, I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yesterday. Upon more mature deliberation, and the advice of a sensible friend, I began to think it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium of confirming Mr. Colman's sentence. I therefore request you will send my play back by my servant; for having been assured of having it acted at the other house, though I confess yours in every respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in me to forego an advantage which lies in my power of appealing from Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment of the town. I entreat if not too late, you will keep this affair a secret for some time. I am, dear Sir, your very humble servant, OLIVER GOLDSMITH.”

Johnson described the spirit of his interview with Colman many years later, when, talking of the steep and thorny road through which his friend Goldsmith had had to make his way to fame, he reminded Reynolds that both his comedies had been once refused, his first by Garrick, his second by Colman, who was prevailed on at last

by much solicitation, nay, a kind of force, to bring it 'on'. Reynolds replied with a striking illustration of the strange crotchets of judgment in such things, to the effect that Burke could see no merit in the Beggars' Opera but in behalf of the new comedy, it is certain, the three distinguished friends were in hearty agreement ; and it is from one of Johnson's letters to Boswell, on the 22nd of February, that we learn it is at last about

to be performed. 'Doctor Goldsmith has a new comedy, 'which is expected in the spring. No name is yet given it. 'The chief diversion arises from a stratagem by which a 'lover is made to mistake his future father-in-law's house 'for an inn. This, you see, borders upon farce. The dialogue is quick and gay, and the incidents are so pre'pared as not to seem improbable.' But though Colman had consented, it was with reservation of his original opinion. Doctor Goldsmith,' wrote Johnson ten days later to an American divine, afterwards a bishop, 'has a new comedy in rehearsal at Covent Garden, to which the 'manager predicts ill success. I hope he will be mistaken. 'I think it deserves a very kind reception.'

Its chances of a kind reception had received strong reinforcement not many days before. It had been some time noised about that Foote had a novelty in preparation at the Haymarket, founded on the Panton Street puppets, and the town was all on tip-toe to welcome it. Will your figures 'be as large as life, Mr. Foote,' asked a titled dame. 'Oh no, my lady,' said Foote, 'not much larger than Garrick.' The night of The Primitive Puppet-Show, the 15th of February, arrived; the whole length of the Haymarket was crammed with carriages; such was the impatience of the less fashionable crowd in waiting, that the doors were burst open from without; and to an audience breathless with expected merriment, Foote in due time presented himself. He had to offer them on that occasion, he said, a comedy called the Handsome Housemaid, or Piety in

attributes its origin to Burke; though he misstates everything else connected with it. Here Cradock remembered to have heard much animated talk, in which Richard Burke made himself very prominent, and seemed the most free and easy of the company. Its members used to dine at each other's houses also, less frequently; and Goldsmith indulged himself now and then in very oddly assorted assemblages at his chambers after dinner, which (in allusion to the fashionable ball-rooms of the day) he called his 'little Cornelys.' More rarely, at meetings which became afterwards more famous, the titled people who jostled against writers and artists at Shelburne House in Berkeley Square, might be seen wondering or smiling at the simple-looking Irishman who had written the Deserted Village. There were Mrs. Vesey's parties, too, more choice and select than Mrs. Montagu's, her friend and imitator; and at both we have traces of Goldsmith: Your wild genius,' as Mrs. Vesey's statelier friend Mrs. Carter calls him. These ladies had got the notion of their blue-stocking routs from the Du Duffands, and L'Espinasses, at the last French peace; but alas! the Montesquieus, Voltaires, and Du Châtelets, the De Launays, Hainaults, De Choiseuls, and Condorcets, were not always forthcoming in Hill Street or Portman Square. In truth they seem to have been dull enough, these much-talked-about réunions; though sometimes enlivened by Mrs. Vesey's forgetfulness of her own name, and at all times sparkling with Mrs. Montagu's diamonds and bows. Mrs. Thrale's were better; and though the lively little lady

made a favourite jest of Goldsmith, he passed happy days with Johnson both in Southwark and Streatham. Still, perhaps, his happiest time was when he had Johnson to himself; when there were no listeners to talk for; when, to his half-childish frolicking absurdities, Johnson lowered all that was predominant or intolerant in his great fine nature; and together they came sporting from Gerrard Street to the Temple, or, when the Club did not meet, had supper by themselves at an adjoining tavern in Soho. This was that once famous Jack's (since Walker's) in Dean Street, kept by a singer of Garrick's company (Jack Roberts), and patronised by Garrick and his friends: which, in all but the life that departed from it when they departed, to this day exists unchanged; quite unvexed by disturbance or improvement; haunted by the ghosts of guests that are gone, but not much visited by guests that live; a venerable relic of the still life of Goldsmith's age, possessed by an owner who is venerable as itself, and whose memory, faithful to the past, now lives altogether with the shades that inhabit there. Of many pleasant 'tête-a-tête suppers' this was the scene; and here Goldsmith would seem boldly to have perpetrated very ancient sallies of wit, to half-grumbling half-laughing accompaniment from Johnson. 'Sir,' said the sage one night, as they supped off rumps and kidneys, these rumps are pretty little things; but then a man must eat a great many of them before he fills his belly.' 'Aye, but how many of them' asked Goldsmith innocently, would reach to the

Aye, Goldy,

'Not at all, sir,'

'Pray then sir,'

'moon?' 'To the moon!' laughed Johnson. 'I fear that exceeds your calculation.' says Goldsmith, I think I could tell.' says the other, 'let us hear.' 'Why,' and here Goldsmith instinctively, no doubt, got as far from Johnson as he could, ' one, if it were long enough.' 'Well sir, I have deserved 'it,' growled the philosopher. 'I should not have pro'voked so foolish an answer by so foolish a question.'

But Goldsmith's mirth is from a heart now ill at ease. Every day's uncertainty as to his comedy is become fraught with serious consequence to him, and Colman still delays his answer. The recollection of former mortifications no doubt sadly recurred, and with it came back the old distrust and bitter self-misgivings. Cooke informs us that he accidentally, at this time, met with an old acquaintance in a chop-house (most probably himself, for he elsewhere complains that Goldsmith's acquisition of more important friends had made their latter intercourse infrequent), and mentioning that he had written a comedy about which the manager seemed to have great doubts, asked him to listen to the plot and give him his candid opinion of it. The Doctor, Cooke proceeds, then began to tell the particulars of his plot, in his strange, uncouth, deranged manner, from which his friend the critic could only make out that the principal part of the business turned upon one gentleman mistaking the house of another for an inn: at which the critic shook his head, and said 'he was afraid the audience, under their then sentimental