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fying objections, and hinting the necessity of taking counsel with other advisers. Thus the matter stood in the middle of January 1773, when Goldsmith, with a galling sense that the best part of the season was passing, wrote with renewed earnestness to Colman.

"DEAR SIR, I entreat you'l relieve me from that state of suspense in which I have been kept for a long time. Whatever objections you have made or shall make to my play, I will endeavour to remove and not argue about them. To bring in any new judges either of its merit or faults I can never submit to. Upon a former occasion when my other play was before Mr. Garrick he offered to bring me before Mr. Whitehead's tribunal, but I refused the proposal with indignation I hope I shall not experience as hard treatment from you as from him. I have, as you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly; by accepting my play I can readily satisfy my Creditor that way, at any rate I must look about to some certainty to be prepared. For God's sake take the play and let us make the best of it, and let me have the same measure at least which you have given as bad plays as mine. I am your friend and servant, OLIVER GOLDSMITH."

In answer to this, the manuscript was at last returned with many distasteful remarks written in upon the blank leaves, though with accompanying assurance that the promise of the theatre should be kept, and the comedy acted notwithstanding; but in the vexation of Colman's criticism, though now with a dreary misgiving of as ill success at Drury Lane, Goldsmith sent his manuscript a few days later, as he had received it, to Garrick. He had hardly done so when he recalled it as hastily. With no fresh cause for distrust of Garrick, it would seem; but because

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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."

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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 5 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

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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.'

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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

Pattens; which was to illustrate how a maiden of low degree, by the mere effects of morality and virtue, raised herself to riches and honours. But they would not, he added, discover much wit or humour in it, because, agreeing with the most fashionable of his brother writers, that any signs of joyful satisfaction were beneath the dignity of such an assembly as he saw before him (roars of laughter interrupted him here), he had given up the sensual for the sentimental style. The Puppet-Show proceeded, and sentimental comedy never recovered the shock of that night. Garrick set himself at once to laugh at it, as loudly as though he never had supported it; and to that end sent Goldsmith a very humorous prologue descriptive of its unhappy fate, a tribute to the better prospects of his unsentimental comedy.

Not yet in the theatre itself, however, were these felt or understood. Mortification still attended Goldsmith there. The actors had taken their tone from the manager. Gentleman Smith threw up Young Marlow; Woodward refused Tony Lumpkin; and in the teeth of his own misgivings, Colman could not contest with theirs. So alarming was the defection, to some of Goldsmith's friends, that they urged the postponement of the comedy. 'No,' he said, giving to his necessity the braver look of independence, 'I'd rather my play were damned by bad players, than merely saved by good acting.' Tony was cast to Quick, the actor who had played the trifling part of the Postboy in his first comedy; and Shuter (still true to the cause of humour and character, which he admirably supported in

Mr. Hardcastle) suggested Lewes for Young Marlow. He was afterwards better known as Lee Lewes; to distinguish him from the exquisite light comedian whom Cumberland had just discovered at Dublin, and was writing about (in a capital critical style) to Garrick, but who subsequently made his appearance at Covent Garden. Lewes was the harlequin of the theatre; but on Shuter protesting in his vehement odd way that the boy could patter,' and 'use 'the gob-box as quick and smart as any of them,' Goldsmith consented to the trial; and before the second rehearsal was over, felt sure he would succeed. Famous was the company at these rehearsals. Shuter quite lost his presence of mind, and quaint talkativeness, when so many ladies appeared. Johnson attended them; Reynolds, his sister, and the whole Horneck party; Cradock, Murphy, and Colman. But not a jot of the latter's evil prediction, could all the hopeful mirth of the rest abate. He had set his face against success. He would not suffer a new scene to be painted for the play, refused to furnish even a new dress, and was careful to spread his forebodings as widely as he could. He was certainly not a false or ill-natured man; but appears unaccountably to have despaired of the comedy from the first, and to have thought it a kind of mercy to help it out of, rather than into, the world. With a manager so disposed, at almost every step taken within the theatre there was of course a stumble. Murphy volunteered an epilogue, but the lady who was not to speak it made objection to the lady who was; the author wrote an epilogue

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