Percy has mentioned the delightful facility with which his prose flowed forth unblotted with erasure, as a contrast to the labour and pains of his verse interlined with countless alterations; but in prose, as in poetry, he aimed at the like effects, and obtained them. He knew that no picture will stand, if the colours are bad, ill-chosen, or indiscreetly combined; and that not chaos, but order is creation. It is a pity that men, though of perhaps greater genius, who have lived since his time, should not more deeply have pondered such lessons as his writings bequeath to us. It is a pity that the disposition to rush into print should be so general; for few men have ever repented of publishing too late. Pope's method of sending forth a part of a poem one winter, and promising its completion for the winter following, would be laughed at now a days: yet extremely few are the thoughts conceived with rapture and with fire begot,' compared with those that may be carefully brought forth, becomingly and charmingly habited, and introduced by the Graces. Men of the more brilliant order of fancy and imagination should be always distrustful of their powers. Spar and stalactite are bad materials for the foundation of solid edifices.

The year 1770 opens with a glimpse into the old fireside at Kilmore. The Lauders do not seem to have communicated with him since his uncle Contarine's death; and a legacy of £15, left him by that generous friend, remained unappropriated in their hands. His brother Maurice, still without calling or employment, and apparently living on

such of his relatives as from time to time were willing to afford him a home, seems to have heard this mentioned while he made one of his self-supporting visits, and to have straightway written to Oliver. The money would help him to an outfit, if his famous brother could help him to an appointment; and to express his earnest hopes in this direction, the letter was written. His sister Johnson wrote soon after for her husband, in a precisely similar strain; and to these letters his reply has been kept. It shows little change since earlier days. His Irish friends and family are as they then were. They do not seem to have answered many recent communications sent them; he now learns for the first time that Charles is no longer in Ireland; his brother-in-law, Hodson, has been as silent as the rest; and he sends Cousin Jenny his portrait, in memory of an original 'almost forgot.' The letter is directed to 'Mr. Maurice 'Goldsmith, at James Lauder's, Esq., at Kilmore, near Car'rick-on-Shannon,' and bears the date of 'January 1770.'

"DEAR BROTHER, I should have answered your letter sooner, but in truth I am not fond of thinking of the necessities of those I love, when it is so very little in my power to help them. I am sorry to find you are every way unprovided for; and what adds to my uneasiness is, that I have received a letter from my sister Johnson, by which I learn that she is pretty much in the same circumstances. As to myself, I believe I could get both you and my poor brother-inlaw something like that which you desire; but I am determined never to ask for little things, nor exhaust any little interest I may have, until I can serve you, him, and myself, more effectually. As yet no opportunity has offered, but I believe you are pretty well convinced

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that I will not be remiss when it arrives. . The King has lately been pleased to make me professor of Ancient History in a Royal Academy of Painting, which he has just established, but there is no salary annexed, and I took it rather as a compliment to the institution, than any benefit to myself. Honours to one in my situation, are something like ruffles to one that wants a shirt. . You tell me that there are thirteen or fourteen pounds left me in the hands of my cousin Lauder, and you ask me what I would have done with them. My dear brother, I would by no means give any directions to my dear worthy relations at Kilmore, how to dispose of money, which is, properly speaking, more theirs than mine. All that I can say is, that I entirely, and this letter will serve to witness, give up any right and title to it; and I am sure they will dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely leave it; whether they or you may think the whole necessary to fit you out, or whether our poor sister Johnson may not want the half, I leave entirely to their and your discretion. The kindness of that good couple to our shattered family, demands our sincerest gratitude; and though they have almost forgot me, yet if good things at last arrive, I hope one day to return and increase their good humour, by adding to my own.. I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I believe it is the most acceptable present I can offer. I have ordered it to be left for her at George Faulkner's, folded in a letter. The face you well know is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. I will shortly also send my friends over the Shannon some Mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I have written a hundred letters to different friends in your country, and never received an answer to any of them. I do not know how to account for this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards which I must ever retain for them. If then you have a mind to oblige me, you will write often, whether I answer you or not. Let me particularly have the news of

our family and old acquaintances. For instance, you may begin by telling me about the family where you reside, how they spend their time, and whether they ever make mention of me. Tell me about my mother; my brother Hodson and his son; my brother Harry's son and daughter; my sister Johnson; the family of Ballyoughter; what is become of them, where they live, and how they do. You talked of being my only brother. I don't understand you. Where is Charles? A sheet of paper occasionally filled with news of this kind, would make me very happy, and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear brother, believe me to be yours most affectionately, OLIVER GOLDSMITH."

The writer's weakness is here, too, as of old. He believes he could get, for his poor, idle, thriftless petitioners, exactly what they want; though ruffles, minus the shirt, are the sum of his own acquisitions. But he will wait; and they must wait; and good things are sure to arrive; and they will one day be all in good humour again. The old, hopeful, sanguine, unreflecting story. Nevertheless, Maurice tired of waiting, as his wealthier relatives tired of helping him to wait; and he is soon afterwards discovered again complaining to his brother, that really he finds it difficult to live like a gentleman. Oliver replies upon this in somewhat plainer fashion; recommending him by all means to quit the unprofitable calling, and betake himself to some handicraft employment, if no better can be found: whereupon Maurice bound himself to a cabinet-maker in Drumsna, in the county of Leitrim; in which calling, several years after his brother's death, he kept a shop in Dublin. Meanwhile Oliver's enquiry after brother-in-law Hodson's son,

soon after his letter reached Athlone, had the effect of bringing back to London a very unsettled, and somewhat eccentric youth: who had formerly visited Goldsmith, after abruptly quitting Dublin University, leaving at that time obscure traces of the extent to which his celebrated relative had befriended him; and who now, having chiefly occupied the interval in foreign travel, during which he had turned to account certain half-finished medical studies, lived for the most part, until his uncle Oliver's death, as a pensioner on his scanty resources. He resembled Oliver in some thoughtless peculiarities of character, and in his odd vicissitudes of good and evil fortune (he once paid a small debt with an undrawn lottery ticket, which turned out a prize of £20,000); practised occasionally, without any regular qualification, as an apothecary, in Newman Street; and ended his days as a prosperous Irish gentleman, farming his patrimonial estate. When Goldsmith died, half the unpaid bill he owed to Mr. William Filby (amounting in all to £79), was for clothes supplied to this nephew Hodson. One other circumstance indicated by the letter to Kılmore ought not to pass without notice. It has its biographical significance. The head of the author of the Traveller now figured in the print- shops. Reynolds had painted his portrait. In poetry we may be said to have 'nothing new,' says a letter-writer of the day; but we

' have the mezzotinto print of the new poet, Doctor Goldsmith, in the print-shop windows. It is in profile from 'a painting of Reynolds, and resembles him greatly.'