London at this time, wherever I happened to be. At one of Lord Mansfield's formal Sunday evening conversations, strangely called levees, his Lordship addressed me, 'We have all been reading your Travels, Mr Boswell.' I answered, 'I was but the humble attendant of Dr Johnson.' The Chief-Justice replied, with that air and manner which none who ever heard or saw him can forget, 'He speaks ill of nobody but Ossian.'

<< Johnson was in high spirits this evening at the club, and talked with great animation and success. He attacked Swift, as he used to do upon all occasions: The « Tale of a Tub» is so much superiour to his other writings, that we can hardly believe he was the author of it: there is in it such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of thoughts, so much of nature, and art, and life.' I wondered to hear him say of 'Gulliver's Travels,' 'When once you have thought of big and little men, it is very easy to do all the rest.' I endeavoured to make a stand for Swift, and tried to rouse those who were much more able to defend him ; but in vain. Johnson at last, of his own accord, allowed very great merit to the inventory of articles found in the pocket of 'the Man Mountain,' particularly the description of his watch, which it was conjectured was his god, as he consulted it upon all occasions. He observed, that 'Swift put his name to but two things (after he had a name to put), the « Plan of the Improvement of the English Language," and the last « Drapier's Letters.»'

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<< From Swift there was an easy transition to Mr Thomas Sheridan. Johnson, Sheridan is a wonderful admirer of the tragedy of Douglas, and presented its author with a gold medal, Some years ago, at a Coffee-house in Oxford, I called to him « Mr Sheridan, Mr Sheridan, how came you to give a gold medal to Home, for writing that foolish play?" This, you see, was wanton and insolent; but I meant to be wanton and insolent, A medal has no value but as a stamp of merit. And was Sheridan to assume to himself the right of giving that stamp? If Sheridan was magnificent enough to bestow a gold medal as an honorary reward of dramatic excellence, he should have requested one of the universities to choose the person on whom it

should be conferred. Sheridan had no right to give a stamp of merit: it was counterfeiting Apollo's coin.'»

Now that Goldsmith had acquired fame as a poet of the first rank, and was associated with the wit and talent that belonged to this celebrated club, his publisher, Mr Newberry, thought he might venture to give «The Vicar of Wakefield » to the world. It was accordingly brought out in 1766, and not only proved a most lucrative speculation for the bookseller, but brought a fresh accession of literary celebrity to its author. Notwithstanding the striking merit of this work, it is a fact not less singular than true, that the literary friends to whom Goldsmith submitted it for criticism, before publication, were divided in opinion as to the probability of its success; and it is still more singular that Dr Johnson himself should have entertained doubts on the subject. It has been asserted, that the publisher put it to press in the crude state in which he found it, when the bargain was made with Johnson for the manuscript; but such a conclusion is obviously erroneous. Goldsmith was at that time on the best terms with Newberry, and engaged in the completion of various minor pieces for him; and as the fame of the one as well as the profit of the other were equally at stake on the success of the performance, it is exceedingly improbable that both author and publisher should be regardless of such revisal and correction as was clearly for the benefit of both. That Goldsmith did alter and revise this work before publication, may be gathered from a conversation which took place between Johnson and Mr. Boswell. « Talking of a friend of ours," says the latter, «who associated with persons of very discordant principles and characters, I said he was a very universal man, quite a man of the world.» «Yes, sir," said Johnson, « but one may be so much a man of the world, as to be nothing in the world. I remember a passage in Goldsmith's 'Vicar of Wakefield,' which he was afterwards fool enough to expunge; 'I do not love a man who is zealous for nothing.'» Boswell, « That was a fine passage.» Johnson, «Yes, sir; there was another fine passage which he struck out: 'When I was a young man, being anxious to distinguish myself, I was perpetually starting new pro

positions; but I soon gave this over; for I found that generally what was new was false.'

The « Vicar of Wakefield » has long been considered one of the most interesting tales in our language. It is seldom that a story presenting merely a picture of common life, and a detail of domestic events, so powerfully affects the reader. The irresistible charm this novel possesses, evinces how much may be done, without the aid of extravagant incident, to excite the imagination and interest the feelings. Few productions of the kind afford greater amusement in the perusal, and still fewer inculcate more impressive lessons of morality. Though wit and humour abound in every page, yet in the whole volume there is not one thought injurious in its tendency, nor one sentiment that can offend the chastest ear. Its language, in the words of an elegant writer, is what «< angels might have heard and virgins told." In the delineation of his characters, in the conduct of his fable, and in the moral of the piece, the genius of the author is equally conspicuous. The hero displays with unaffected simplicity the most striking virtues that can adorn social life: sincere in his professions, humane and generous in his disposition, he is himself a pattern of the character he represents. The other personages are drawn with similar discrimination. Each is distinguished by some peculiar feature; and the general grouping of the whole has this particular excellence, that not one could be wanted without injuring the unity and beauty of the design. The drama of the tale is also managed with equal skill and effect. There are no extravagant incidents, and no forced or improbable situations; one event rises out of another in the same easy and natural manner as flows the language of the narration; the interest never flags, and is kept up to the last by the expedient of concealing the real character of Burchell, But it is the moral of the work which entitles the author to the praise of supereminent merit in this species of writing. No writer has arrived more successfully at the great ends of a moralist. By the finest examples, he inculcates the practice of benevolence, patience in suffering, and reliance on the provi dence of God.

A short time after the publication of the « Vicar of Wakefield," Goldsmith printed his beautiful ballad of the << Hermit.>> His friend Dr Percy had published, in the same year, « Reliques of Ancient English Poetry ;» and as the « Hermit » was found to bear some resemblance to a tale in that collection, entitled « The Friar of Orders Gray," the scribblers of the time availed themselves of the circumstance to tax him with plagiarism. Irritated at the charge, he published a letter in the St James's Chronicle, vindicating the priority of his own poem, and asserting that the plan of the other must have been taken from his. It is probable, however, that both poems were taken from a very ancient ballad in the same collection, beginning «Gentle Heardsman.» Our author had seen and admired this ancient poem, in the possession of Dr Percy, long before it was printed; and sổme of the stanzas he appears, perhaps undesignedly, to have imitated in the « Hermit," as the reader will perceive on examining the following specimens :

FROM THE OLD BALLAD.

And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsoothe,
Unless I willed him soe to doe.

Thus being wearyed with delayes,
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,

He gott him to a secrett place,

And there hee dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare,
And sacrifice my tender age;
And every day I'll beg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some secrett place;
For soe did hee, and soe will I.

FROM THE HERMIT.

For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain.

Till, quite dejected by my scorn,

He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he died.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I.

There has been an attempt, in later days, to cast a doubt upon the title of Goldsmith to the whole of this poem. It has been asserted that the « Hermit» was a translation of an ancient French poem entitled « Raimond and Angeline.>> The pretended original made its'appearance in a trifling periodical publication, entitled «The Quiz." It bears internal evidence of being in reality an imitation of Goldsmith's poem. The frivolous source of this flippant attack, and its transparent falsity, would have caused it to pass unnoticed here, had it not been made a matter of grave discussion in some periodical journals. To enter into a detailed refutation would be absurd.

The poem of «The Hermit » was at first inscribed to the Countess (afterwards Duchess) of Northumberland, who had shown a partiality for productions of this kind, by patronizing Percy's << Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. This led to a renewed intercourse with the duke, to whom we have already narrated Goldsmith's first visit; but the time had gone by when his grace