charity with him was not the performance of a duty, but an impulse of his nature: he did not reason about it, but he felt it; "His pity gave ere charity began." There were never better-hearted men than Johnson and Goldsmith. "He is poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson. He is now become miserable, and that ensures the protection of Johnson," said Goldsmith of two objects whom the Doctor had befriended. This was the affinity that, in spite of their opposite habits, held them firmly together, a noble basis of intimacy worthy of both. Johnson "carried the unfortunate victim of disease and dissipation on his back up through Fleet street, an act which realizes the parable of the good Samaritan ;" and Goldsmith followed the Italian Baretti, who had been unfriendly to him, to prison. A ludicious incident is told of his hesitating to rise when called in the morning when he was found nestled in the midst of a feather bed which he had ripped up in the night in consequence of the cold :-he had given the clothes to a poor woman. More than once his last guinea was bestowed to relieve the call of distress. At one time while engaged at a game of whist with a party at a friend's house, he suddenly rushed from the table into the street, whence he immediately returned. On being asked by his host whether he was affected by the heat of the room, he replied, "Not at all; but in truth I could not bear to hear that unfortuuate woman in the street half singing, half sobbing; for such tones could only arise from the extremity of distress; her voice grated painfully on my ear and jarred my frame, so that I could not rest till I had sent her away." There is a volume of philosophy in these few words. A character of pure benevolence is rarely understood by the world, or it would be more lenient to its accompanying errors. It would not rebuke the man whose heart bled at the wants of others with indifference to his own. Prudence is a cardinal virtue, but we cannot inculcate it as a homily over the buried infirmities of Goldsmith. His errors were his own, and he reaped their penalty, but his virtues benefited society. We would deal gently with his failings, for they had their rise in a noble nature; they were the growth of a rich and productive soil, the ill weeds of a luxuriant harvest. If we may be allowed slightly to alter the sentiment of Dr. Johnson, we would say, "Let not his frailties be remembered, he was a very good man." Incidental to his benevolent character was his familiarity in * Hazlitt. company, his love of society and domestic life. Northcote said of his easy friendly manner, "When Goldsmith entered a room, sir, people who did not know him became for a moment silent from awe of his literary reputation; when he came out again they were riding upon his back." He knew how to value the little joys of home, or he could never have drawn the household scenes of the Vicar of Wakefield. His philosophy did not overlook trifles, and it was therefore the wiser. Life, domestic life, the abode of the good, old, well-worn, every day sentiments, the homely endearments of home, is made up of little things: of the accustomed circle round the fireside, the household anecdote and the honest family jest, never threadbare, the humour of the different members, the forwardness of of the young and the sedateness of the old, the easy vanity of the girls and the assuming consequence of the boys, with those deeper shades of character in the strength of a mother's affection or the fond pride of a father. Of such is the genuine interest of Goldsmith's novel, which, independent of schools and opinions, will be relished by the learned and the unlearned while an English home exists to preserve the simple fireside virtues. The friendship of Goldsmith with such men as Johnson, Burke, and Reynolds, stamps his character for sincerity and worth. We have the best evidence that he was loved by all these. Johnson constantly asserted a high sense of admiration, which appears strikingly set forth even in the partial pages of Boswell; Burke wrote a high-toned obituary at his death; and Reynolds, during his life, inscribed to him, as "his sincere friend and admirer," the print from his painting of Resignation, taken from the Poet's own verses in the Deserted Village. It were illiberal to contrast the character or reputation of Goldsmith and Johnson. They were both men of many virtues, great talents, and few failings. Perhaps we love the one while we admire the other, but we care not to make even this distinction-we love them both. Goldsmith had a proper sense of the literary character, or rather he was guided by a noble independence of soul, when, in his interview with the Earl of Northumberland, who proffered him his services, he asked for nothing for himself, but mentioned his brother, the clergyman in Ireland. "As for myself," he said, when interrogated on his apparent indifference, "I have no dependence on the promises of great men ; look to the booksellers for support: they are my best friends, * Life, p. 224. I and I am not inclined to forsake them for others." He sought no interest with the great by the flattery of dedications, but nobly preferred the claims of friendship to the hope of patronage. The Traveller was inscribed to his brother, fondly mentioned in the poem; Where'er I roam, whatever realm to see, The Deserted Village was addressed to Sir Joshua Reynolds: "Setting interest therefore aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this Poem to you." The dedication of his comedy to Johnson includes one of the finest and truest compliments he ever received," It may do me some honour to inform the public that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character without impairing the most unaffected piety." If he preserved himself free from the political controversy of the day, it was not without solicitation to the contrary. Lord North's ministry sent to him a carte blanche to procure his pen for the administration. His answer was memorable; "I can earn as much as will supply my wants without writing for any party; the assistance, therefore, you offer is unnecessary to me." With all his ease, his readiness to be deceived by a tale of pity, his pliability of disposition, he had moral strength and dignity enough to stand independent of party. Among Goldsmith's reputed failings, his vanity and love of play have been prominently set forth. It were strange if one so open and artless in his nature should not discover some foibles. If he sometimes exhibited a slight complacency on his success with the public, it was at least pardonable in one who deserved it so well. Johnson set this matter in its true view. When the Poet said of Lord Camden, "I met him at Lord Clare's house in the country, and he took no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man," the company laughed at his simplicity, but the moralist interfered; "Nay, gentlemen, Dr. Goldsmith is in the right. A nobleman ought to have made up to such a man as Goldsmith; and I think it is much against Lord Camden that he neglected him." As for his vanity in conversation, constantly thrusting himself forward with his inability to talk, as it is said :—this has been overstated. He was not an indifferent talker. He never possessed, indeed, the sustained wisdom of Johnson, yet he hit a truth occasionally with great felicity. His observation of the world had been very extensive, his memory was exact, and a ready humour turned every incident to account. But in no fair sense of the word can Goldsmith be considered a gamester. Neither Johnson nor Reynolds ever let fall any statements to support the general belief, and surely such would not have escaped the zeal of Boswell, (Life, p. 425.) He probably was fond of cards, but must have shunned the heartless life of the gambler. With such qualities as a man, his merits as a writer will survive through all time. The strength and grace combined in his poems will always please, the richness of his humour ever continue to 'play around the heart.' When more learned and bolder writers are forgotten, Goldsmith will continue to be read; for he depends not on theories which are ever fluctuating, or facts which are superseded; but on that interest of life and manners which never grows old. He is a window seat, fireside author, to be taken up at any moment. His excellence always delights. Beau Tibbs, the Man in Black, or the Monogamist, cannot fail to be cheery companions against a troubled or weary hour. The true lover of literature seeks refuge in such classic models from the distorted pictures, either in design or execution, which every age revives. Though contemporary writers have their peculiar interest, yet for pleasure and delight there are few that will not suffer in comparison with the miscellaneous ability of Goldsmith. His pen, "dropping the honey of Hybla," threw a charm over the most varied subjects. Where is now this pleasing variety? Alas! with the past. We have no well-drawn moral essays now-a-days; it is too often an extravagant homily or a piece of flippant gossip: genuine comedies of the good old school have given way to two-act farces or melo-dramas in three: we read no new biographies, such as those of Parnell and Bolingbroke; and the homefelt, heartfelt humour of the domestic novel like the Vicar of Wakefield is illy supplanted by the fashionable vocabulary of Almack's, or the last specimen of French extravagance. The age has lost by this departure from the literature of Goldsmith and Johnson. It has sacrificed quiet and ease, the delicious repose of authorship, the elegant finished calm of Rasselas and the Vicar; but it has not always reached sublimity. Power and strength are much talked of; we hear of vigor and boldness of conception with mastery of thought, (that we duly estimate); but we sigh in vain for the attic grace and softness of Goldsmith. One writer indeed connects us with the past. Washington Irving, like Charles Lamb, fairly belongs to another period, and seems by some freak of nature to have been thrown amid the bustle of the nineteenth century. But generally the age follows other standards of its own. In Irving's playful irony "Goldsmith was a pretty poet, a very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion now-a-days; but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would, no doubt, have written quite differently." ART. III-A Discourse of Natural Theology, showing the Nature of the Evidence and the Advantages of the Study. BY HENRY LORD BROUGHAM, F. R. S. and Member of the National Institute of France. Philadelphia. Carey, Lee & Blanchard. 1835. 12mo. pp. 190. ALTHOUGH this work of the multifarious ex-chancellor has been so long before the public, we take it up with the intention of subjecting its logic to a thorough examination, because we do not think it a good book; on the contrary, we think it calculated to do a great deal of harm to the very cause it professes to support. It professes to be an exposition of the nature and validity of the evidence on which the truths of Natural Theology rest; and we propose to show that his lordship has fallen into many grave misconceptions of his subject, uttered many irrelevances, propounded much bad logic, and set forth some principles unsound and of dangerous consequence. If this can be shown, it ought to be shown; for his lordship's name and character are held in much higher estimation in many quarters in this country than, in our opinion, it is entitled to hold; and this is likely to give his opinions a weight and influence they might not otherwise gain. Besides, so far as we know, the work has not been thoroughly reviewed, and in the right tone and manner. In most of the journals in this country, and in many in England, it has been highly commended as a valuable contribution to theological literature; and its logic and principles have been made the subject of exceedingly un |