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ledged him second in fame only to John Bunyan: Jed, "was certainly too much, because more than he his feasts kept pace in sale with Nelson's Fasts; thought any publisher could afford, or, indeed, than and when his own name was fairly written out of any modern poetry whatever could be worth." credit, he wrote himself into immortality under an The sale of this poem, however, was so rapid and alias. Now, though necessity, or I should rather extensive, that the bookseller soon paid him the full say, the desire of finding money for a masquerade, amount of the note he had returned, with an acdrove Oliver Goldsmith upon abridging histories, | knowledgment for the disinterestedness he had and turning Buffon into English, yet I much doubt, evinced on the occasion. if, without that spur, he would ever have put his Although criticism has allotted the highest rank Pegasus into action: no, if he had been rich, the to "The Traveller," there is no doubt that "The world would have been poorer than it is, by the Deserted Village" is the most popular and favourite loss of all the treasures of his genius, and the con- poem of the two. Perhaps no poetical piece of tributions of his pen." equal length has been more universally read by all Much in the same style was Goldsmith himself classes or has more frequently supplied extracts accustomed to talk of his mercenary labours. A for apt quotation. It abounds with couplets and poor writer consulted him one day on what subjects single lines, so simply beautiful in sentiment, so he might employ his pen with most profit: "My musical in cadence, and so perfect in expression, dear fellow," said Goldsmith, laughing, indeed, but that the ear is delighted to retain them for their in good earnest, "pay no regard to the draggle-tail truth, while their tone of tender melancholy indeli Muses; for my part, I have always found produc- bly engraves them on the heart.—The charactertions in prose more sought after and better paid istic of our author's poetry is a prevailing simplicifor." ty, which conceals all the artifices of versification: On another occasion, one of his noble friends, but it is not confined to his expression alone, for it whose classical taste he knew and admired, lament-pervades every feature of the poem. His delineaed to him his neglect of the Muses, and enquired tion of rural scenery, his village portraits, his moral, of him why he forsook poetry, to compile histories, political, and classical allusions, while marked by and write novels? "My lord," said our author, singular fidelity, chasteness, and elegance, are all "by courting the Muses I shall starve, but by my chiefly distinguished for this pleasing and natural other labours, I eat, drink, and have good clothes, character. The finishing is exquisitely delicate, and enjoy the luxuries of life." This is, no doubt, without being overwrought; and, with the feelings the reason that his poems bear so small a propor- of tenderness and melancholy which runs through tion to his other productions; but it is said, that he the poem, there is occasianally mixed up a slight always reflected on these sacrifices to necessity with tincture of pleasantry, which gives an additional the bitterest regret. interest to the whole.

Although Goldsmith thus toiled for a livelihood

"The Deserted Village" is written in the same in the drudgery of compilation, we do not find that style and measure with "The Traveller," and may he had become negligent of fame. His leisure in some degree be considered a suite of that poem: hours were still devoted to his Muse; and the next pursuing some of the views and illustrating in their voluntary production of his pen was the highly-results some of the principles there laid down. But finished poem of "The Deserted Village." Pre- the poet is here more intimately interested in his vious to its publication, the bookseller who had bar-subject. The case is taken from his own experigained for the manuscript, gave him a note for one ence, the scenery drawn from his own home, and hundred guineas. Having mentioned this soon the application especially intended for his own afterwards to some of his friends, one of them re- country. marked, that it was a very great sum for so short a The main intention of the poem is to contrast performance. "In truth," said Goldsmith, "I agriculture with commerce, and to maintain that think so too; it is much more than the honest man the former is the most worthy pursuit, both as it can afford, or the piece is worth: I have not been regards individual happiness and national prosperieasy since I received it; I will therefore go back and ty. He proceeds to show that commerce, while it return him his note:" which he actually did, and causes an influx of wealth, introduces also luxury, left it entirely to the bookseller to pay him accord and its attendant vices and miseries. He dwells ing to the success of the sale and the profits it might with pathos on the effects of those lordly fortunes produce. His estimate of the value of this perform- which create little worlds of solitary magnificence ance was formed from data somewhat singular around them, swallowing up the small farms in for a poet, who most commonly appreciates his la- their wide and useless domains; thus throwing an bours rather by their quality than their quantity. air of splendour over the country, while in fact they He computed, that a hundred guineas was equal to hedge and wall out its real life and soul-its hardy five shillings a couplet, which, he modestly observ-peasantry.

Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

as might be applied to village-life in England, and modified them accordingly. He took what belonged to human nature in rustic life, and adapted it to the allotted scene. In the same way a painter takes his models from real life around him, even when he would paint a foreign or a classic group. The poet, again personified in the traveller, re- There is a verity in the scenes and characters of turns from his wanderings in distant countries to "The Deserted Village" that shows Goldsmith to the village of his childhood. In the opening of the have described what he had seen and felt; and it poem he draws from memory a minute and beauti- is upon record that an occurrence took place at ful picture of the place, and fondly recalls its sim- Lishoy, during his life time, similar to that which ple sports and rustic gambols. In all his journey-produced the desolation of the village in the poem. ings, his perils, and his sufferings, he had ever look- This occurrence is thus related by the Rev. Dr. ed forward to this beloved spot, as the haven of re- Strean, of the diocese of Elphin, in a letter to Mr. pose for the evening of his days.

And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return, and die at home at last.

Mangin, and inserted in that gentleman's "Essay on light reading."

"The poem of "The Deserted Village,'" says Dr. Strean, "took its origin from the circumstance of General Robert Napier, the grandfather of the

With these expectations he returns, after the gentleman who now lives in the house, within lapse of several years, and finds the village deserted and desolate. A splendid mansion had risen in its neighbourhood; the cottages and hamlets had been demolished; their gardens and fields were thrown into parks and pleasure-grounds; and their rustic inhabitants, thrust out from their favourite abodes, had emigrated to another hemisphere.

To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.

half a mile of Lishoy, built by the general, having purchased an extensive tract of the country surrounding Lishoy, or Auburn; in consequence of which, many families, here called cottiers, were removed to make room for the intended improvements of what was now to become the wide domain of a rich man, warm with the idea of chang-. ing the face of his new acquisition, and were forced, 'with fainting steps,' to go in search of 'torrid tracts,' and 'distant climes.'

"This fact might be sufficient to establish the Dejected at this disappointment of his cherished seat of the poem; but there can not remain a doubt hope, the poet wanders among the faint traces of in any unprejudiced mind, when the following are past scenes, contrasting their former life and gaiety added; viz. that the character of the village preachwith their present solitude and desolation. This er, the above-named Henry, the brother of the poet, gives occasion for some of the richest and mellow-is copied from nature. He is described exactly as est picturing to be found in any poetry. The he lived: and his 'modest mansion' as it existed. village-preacher and his modest mansion; the Burn, the name of the village-master, and the site schoolmaster and his noisy troop; the ale-house of his school-house, and Catherine Giraghty, a and its grotesque frequenters, are all masterpieces lonely widow,

of their kind.

The wretched matron, forced in age, for bread,

The village alluded to in this poem is at present To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread. sufficiently ascertained to be Lishoy, near Ballymahon, in the county of Westmeath, Ireland, in (and to this day the brook and ditches near the which Goldsmith passed his youth. It has been spot where her cabin stood abound with cresses), remarked, that the description of the place and still remain in the memory of the inhabitants, and the people, together with the introduction of the Catherine's children live in the neighbourhood. nightingale, a bird, it is said, unknown in the Irish The pool, the busy mill, the house where 'nutornithology, savour more of the rural scenery and brown draughts inspired,' are still visited as the rustic life of an English than an Irish village. But poetic scene; and the 'hawthorn bush,' growing this presents no insuperable difficulty. Such li- in an open space in front of the house, which I censes are customary in poetry; and it is notorious knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one, that the clear blue sky and the delicious tempera- the other two having been cut, from time to time, ture of Italy, have with much greater freedom by persons carrying pieces of it away to be made been appropriated by English bards to deck out into toys, etc. in honour of the bard, and of the their descriptions of an English spring. It is evi- celebrity of his poem. All these contribute to the dent, indeed, that Goldsmith meant to represent same proof; and the 'decent church,' which I athis village as an English one. He took from Lis-tended for upwards of eighteen years, and which hoy, therefore, only such traits and characteristics 'tops the neighbouring hill,' is exactly described

as seen from Lishoy, the residence of the preach- Goldsmith dedicated "The Deserted Village" to his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, from motives of af

er."

To the honour of Ireland, and in particular of fection. "I can have no expectations," said the a gentleman named Hogan, grandson to General poet, "in an address of this kind, either to add to Napier the destroyer, we are enabled to add that your reputation, or to establish my own. You can the village of Lishoy, now bearing its poetical gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignoname of Auburn, has been renovated and restor- rant of that art in which you are said to excel: ed, at least as to its localities, to what it was in its and I may lose much by the severity of your judg happiest days. The parsonage, rescued from ment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than a legion of pigs and poultry, which had taken you. Setting interest therefore aside, to which I possession of its lower apartments, and relieved never paid much attention, I must be indulged at from loads of grain and fodder, under which its present in following my affections. The only upper chambers had for some years groaned, has dedication I ever made was to my brother, because resumed its ancient title of Lishoy-house: the I loved him better than most other men. He is church yet crowns the hill, and is again entitled since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem to to the appellation of decent; the school-house you." maintains its station; and the village-inn, with its sign repainted, its chambers re-whitewashed, and the varnished clock replaced in its corner, echoes once more with the voices of rustic politicians, merry peasants, and buxom maids,

Half willing to be press'd, Who kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.

To render the dispensation of poetical justice still more complete, the usurping mansion, the erection of which occasioned the downfall of the village, has become dismantled and dilapidated, and has

been converted into a barrack.*

The following account of the renovation of this village is extracted from a number of the New Monthly Magazine. "About three miles from Ballymahon, a very central town in the sister kingdom, is the mansion and village of Auburn, so called by their present possessor, Captain Hogan. Through the taste and improvement of this gentleman, it is now a beautiful spot, although fifteen years since it presented a very bare and unpoetical aspect. This, however, was owing to a cause which serves strongly to corroborate the assertion, that Goldsmith had this scene in view when he wrote his poem of 'The Deserted Village.' The then possessor, General Napier, turn ed all his tenants out of their farms, that he might enclose them in his own private domain. Littleton, the mansion of the General, stands not far off, a complete emblem of the desolating spirit lamented by the poet, dilapidated and converted into a barrack.

"The chief object of attraction is Lishoy, once the parsonage-house of Henry Goldsmith, that brother to whom the poet dedicated his 'Traveller,' and who is represented as the Village Pastor,

Passing rich with forty younds a-year.

bouring hill. Before me lay the little hill of Knockrue, on which he declares, in one of his letters, he had rather sit with a book in hand, than mingle in the proudest assemblies. And above all, startingly true, beneath my feet was

Yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild. "A painting from the life could not be more exact. The stubborn currant-bush' lifts its head above the rank grass, and the proud hollyhock flaunts where its sisters of the flowerknot are no more.

"In the middle of the village stands the old 'hawthorn

tree, built up with masonry, to distinguish and preserve it:
it is old and stunted, and suffers much from the depreda-
tions of post-chaise travellers, who generally stop to procure a
twig. Opposite to it is the village ale-house, over the door of
which swings "The Three Jolly Pigeons.' Within, every
thing is arranged according to the letter:

The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose.

"Captain Hogan, I have heard, found great difficulty in obtaining 'the twelve good rules,' but at length purchased them at some London book-stall, to adorn the white-washed parlour of the 'Three Jolly Pigeons.' However laudable this may be, nothing shook my faith in the reality of Auburn so much as this exactness, which had the disagreeable air of be. ing got up for the occasion. The last object of pilgrimage is the quondam habitation of the schoolmaster,

There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule.

"It is surrounded with fragrant proofs of its identity in The blossom'd furze unprofitably gay.

"Here is to be seen the chair of the poet, which fell into the

"When I was in the country, the lower chambers were in-hands of its presents possessors at the wreck of the parsonhabited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-rooms by oats, Captain Hogan, however, has, I believe, got it since into his possession, and has, of course, improved its condition.

"Though at first strongly inclined to dispute the identity of Auburn, Lishoy-house overcame my scruples. As I clambered over the rotten gate, and crossed the grass-grown lawn, or court, the tide of association became too strong for casuistry: here the poet dwelt and wrote, and here his thoughts fondly recurred when composing his 'Traveller,' in a foreign land. Yonder was the decent church, that literally 'topped the neigh

age-house: they have frequently refused large offers of purchase; but more, I dare say, for the sake of drawing contributions from the curious than from any reverence for the bard. The chair is of oak, with back and seat of cane, which precluded all hopes of a secret drawer, like that lately disco. vered in Gay's. There is no fear of its being worn out by the devout earnestness of sitters-as the cocks and hens have usurped undisputed possession of it, and protest most cla morously against all attemps to get it cleansed, or to seat one's self.

The warm friendship which had subsisted for Soon after the publication of "The Deserted years between the painter and the poet, warranted Village," Goldsmith found leisure to accompany a this dedication; while the fine qualities which dis- party of ladies on an excursion to Paris. The tinguished that eminent artist, richly merited the only memorial which has been preserved of this elegant compliment thus paid him by Goldsmith. journey, is the following fragment of a letter adReynolds," says Mr. Cumberland, "was a per-dressed to his friend Sir Joshua. fect gentleman; had good sense, great propriety, "MY DEAR FRIEND,-We had a very quick paswith all the social attributes, and all the graces of sage from Dover to Calais, which we performed in hospitality, equal to any man. He well knew how three hours and twenty minutes, all of us extremeto appreciate men of talents, and how near akin ly sea-sick, which must necessarily have happened, the muse of poetry was to that art of which he was as my machine to prevent sea-sickness was not so eminent a master. From Goldsmith he caught completed. We were glad to leave Dover, bethe subject of his famous Ugolino; what aids he cause we hated to be imposed upon; so were in got from others, if he got any, were worthily be- high spirits at coming to Calais, where we were stowed and happily applied. Great as an artist, told that a little money would go a great way. Upon Sir Joshua was equally distinguished as a man; landing two little trunks, which was all we carried and as few have better deserved, so few have had with us, we were surprised to see fourteen or fifa more ample share of prosperity dealt out to them. teen fellows, all running down to the ship to lay He sunned himself, as it were, in an unclouded their hands upon them; four got under each trunk, sky, and his Muse, that gave him a palette dressed the rest surrounded, and held the hasps; and in by all the Graces, brought him also a cornucopia, this manner our little baggage was conducted with rich and full as Flora, Ceres, and Bacchus could a kind of funeral solemnity, till it was safely lodgconspire to make it. When he was lost to the ed at the custom-house. We were well enough world," continues Mr. Cumberland, "his death pleased with the people's civility, till they came to was the dispersion of a bright and luminous circle be paid. Every creature that had the happiness of ingenious friends, whom the elegance of his of but touching our trunks with their finger, exmanners, the equability of his temper, and the at-pected sixpence; and they had so pretty a civil traction of his talents, had caused to assemble manner of demanding it, that there was no refusround him as the centre of their society. In all the ing them. When we had done with the porters, we most engaging graces of his art, in disposition, at- had next to speak with the custom-house officers, titude, employment, character of his figures, and who had their pretty civil way too. We were diabove all, in giving mind and meaning to his por- rected to the Hotel d'Angleterre, where a valet de traits, if I were to say Sir Joshua never was ex- place came to offer his services; and spoke to me celled, I am inclined to believe so many better ten minutes before I once found out that he was opinions would be with me, that I should not be found to have said too much."

"The controversy concerning the identity of this Auburn was formerly a standing theme of discussion among the learned of the neighbourhood, but since the pros and cons have been all ascertained, the argument has died away. Its abetturs plead the singular agreement between the local history of the place and the Auburn of the poem, and the exactness with

which the scenery of the one answers to the description of the other. To this is opposed the mention of the nightingale,

And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made ;—
there being no such bird in the island. The objection is slight.
ed, on the other hand, by considering the passage as a mere
poetical license: 'Besides,' say they, 'the robin is the Irish
nightingale.' And if it be hinted, how unlikely it was that

Goldsmith should have laid the scene in a place from which
he was and had been so long absent, the rejoinder is always,
'Pray, sir, was Milton in hell when he built Pandemonium?'
"The line is naturally drawn between;-there can be no
doubt that the poet intended England by

⚫ The land to hast'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay.

"But it is very natural to suppose, that at the same time his imagination had in view the scenes of his youth, which give such strong features of resemblance to the picture."

speaking English. We had no occasion for his services, so we gave him a little money because he spoke English, and because he wanted it. I can not help mentioning another circumstance; I bought a new ribbon for my wig at Canterbury, and the barber at Calais broke it, in order to gain sixpence by buying me a new one."

About this period, the Royal Academy of painting was established, and Sir Joshua seized the opportunity it afforded him of testifying his regard and partiality for Goldsmith, by procuring for him the appointment of Professor of Ancient History. Though unattended with either emolument or trouble, it conferred some respectability, and entitled him to a seat at the occasional meetings of the academicians, as well as at their annual dinner. He himself properly considered it a more complimentary distinction, and from a passage in the following letter to his brother Maurice, it is evident he would have prized his new office much more highly had it been coupled with that unpoetical accompaniment, a salary. Maurice was the poet's youngest brother. Not having been bred to any business, he, upon some occasion, complained to Oliver, that The found it difficult to live like a gentlemen. On

*

which the poet begged he would without delay rive, I hope one day to return, and increase their quit so unprofitable a pursuit, and betake him- good-humour by adding to my own. I have sent self to a trade. Maurice wisely took the hint, and my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I bound himself apprentice to a cabinet-maker. He believe it is the most acceptable present I can offer. had a shop in Dublin when the Duke of Rutland I have ordered it to be left for her at George Faulkwas Lord Lieutenant; and his grace, at the in- ner's, folded in a letter. The face, you well know, stance of Mr. Orde (afterwards Lord Bolton,) is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. I will shortmade him an inspector of the licenses in that city, ly also send my friends over the Shannon some out of regard for his brother's memory. He was mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of my also appointed mace-bearer on the erection of the friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, Royal Irish Academy; both of them places very and Colman. I believe I have written a hundred compatible with his business. In the former, he letters to different friends in your country, and gave proofs of his integrity, by detecting several never received an answer from any of them. I do frauds in the revenue in his department, by which not know how to account for this, or why they are he himself might have profited, if he had not been unwilling to keep up for me those regards which I a man of principle. He died without issue. must ever retain for them. If then you have a mind The letter is dated January, 1770. to oblige me, you will write often, whether I an"DEAR BROTHER,-I should have answered swer you or not. Let me particularly have the news your letter sooner, but in truth I am not fond of of our family and old acquaintances. For instance, thinking of the necessities of those I love, when it you may begin by telling me about the family is so very little in my power to help them. I am where you reside, how they spend their time, and sorry to find you are still every way unprovided whether they ever make mention of me. Tell me for; and what adds to my uneasiness is, that I have about my mother, my brother Hodson, and his son, received a letter from my sister Johnson, by which my brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister I learn that she is pretty much in the same circum- Johnson, the family of Ballyoughter, what is bestances. As to myself, I believe I could get both come of them, where they live, and how they do. you and my poor brother-in-law something like You talked of being my only brother; I don't unthat which you desire, but I am determined never derstand you: Where is Charles? A sheet of pa to ask for little things, nor exhaust any little inter- per occasionally filled with news of this kind would est I may have, until I can serve you, him, and make me very happy, and would keep you nearer myself more effectually. As yet, no opportunity my mind. As it is, my dear brother, believe me to has offered, but I believe you are pretty well con- be yours most affectionately."* vinced that I will not be remiss when it arrives. The lives of Lord Bolingbroke and Dr. Parnell, The king has lately been pleased to make me Pro- undertaken for the booksellers, were the next professor of Ancient History in a Royal Academy of ductions that came from his pen. They were prePainting, which he has just established, but there fixed to the respective works of these writers, pubis no salary annexed; and I took it rather as a com-lished about 1770 or 1771. Both performances are pliment to the institution, than any benefit to my-executed with his wonted taste and felicity of exfelf. Honours to one in my situation are something pression; and, in his memoir of Parnell, the pover like ruffles to a man that wants a shirt. You tell ty of incident peculiar to the life of a scholar is inme that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds left me geniously supplied by the author's own reflections. in the hands of my cousin Lawder, and you ask When Dr. Johnson afterwards undertook to write me what I would have done with them. My dear the "Lives of the Poets," he concluded the series brother, I would by no means give any directions to with that of Parnell, and seized the opportunity it my dear worthy relations at Kilmore how to dis- afforded him of paying an elegant compliment to pose of money, which is, properly speaking, more the memory of his deceased friend. "The life of theirs than mine. All that I can say, is, that I en- Dr. Parnell," said he, "is a task which I should tirely, and this letter will serve to witness, give up very willingly decline, since it has lately been writany right and title to it; and I am sure they will ten by Goldsmith; a man of such variety of powers, dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I en- and such felicity of performance, that he always tirely leave it, whether they or you may think the seemed to do best that which he was doing; a man whole necessary to fit you out, or whether our poor who had the art of being minute without tedioussister Johnson may not want the half, I leave en-ness, and general without confusion; whose lantirely to their and your discretion. The kindness guage was copious without exuberance, exact withof that good couple to our poor shattered family, out constraint, and easy without weakness. demands our sincerest gratitude: and though they have almost forgot me, yet, if good things at last ar

His

To the original of this letter there is annexed a receipt, which shows the sum of 15l. was paid to Maurice Goldsmith, for a legacy bequeathed to Oliver Goldsmith by the late Rev. youngest sister, who had made an unfortunate marriage. Thomas Contarine, dated 4th February, 1770.

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