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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Jessamy Bride
-
-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951]
-Last Updated: March 13, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE JESSAMY BRIDE
-
-By Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Author Of “The Impudent Comedian,” Etc.
-
-With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
-
-New York
-
-Duffield & Company
-
-1906
-
-[Illustration: 0001]
-
-[Illustration: 0008]
-
-[Illustration: 0009]
-
-THE JESSAMY BRIDE
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are
-a company of intelligent men--although I allow that we should have
-difficulty in proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down
-with a Scotchman--and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
-intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
-ignorance and maintained by sophistry.”
-
-“Why, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even
-the most intelligent of men--whom I take to be myself--is interfered
-with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
-another.”
-
-Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
-Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced--with some
-care--that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile in
-the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
-faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
-conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind,
-and the latter--as Burke perceived in a moment--was solemn in mimicry of
-Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on his chair
-and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell turned an
-eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so that he
-might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon Garrick's
-face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right hand that
-he put behind his ear.
-
-Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
-Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious
-and unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their
-heads in the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces
-were identical as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who
-is greatly grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures
-worked by the same machinery, they turned their heads again toward
-Johnson.
-
-“Sir,” said Johnson, “your endeavour to evade the consequences of
-maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching
-upon mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
-intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I
-cannot permit to pass unrebuked.”
-
-“Nay, sir,” cried Boswell, eagerly, “I cannot believe that Dr.
-Goldsmith's intention was so monstrous.”
-
-“And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
-positive proof that the contrary is the case,” roared Johnson.
-
-“Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Men have been hanged on less,” remarked Burke. “But, to return to the
-original matter, I should like to know upon what facts----”
-
-“Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art
-would indeed be a departure,” said Goldsmith solemnly. “I cannot
-countenance a proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.”
-
-“And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
-you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?” said
-Garrick.
-
-“Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so--that's not just the
-same thing,” laughed Goldsmith.
-
-“Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
-imagination,” said Reynolds. “That is the most satisfactory
-arrangement.”
-
-“Yes, for the author,” said Burke. “Some time ago it was the book which
-was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.”
-
-“These sallies are all very well in their way,” said Garrick, “but their
-brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that
-Dr. Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
-included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses
-no more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with
-the exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
-statesman--another branch of the same profession--and therefore we are
-vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.”
-
-“The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,” said
-Johnson. “It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence--nay, even to
-Boswell's--that acting is a trick, not a profession--a diversion, not
-an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended to the
-contrary.”
-
-“It must only have been in sport, sir,” said Boswell mildly.
-
-“Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,” cried Johnson, “but
-he has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
-having you as his advocate.”
-
-“Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce
-an opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,” said
-Goldsmith. “His fine sense of humour----”
-
-“Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
-return from Corsica?” shouted Johnson.
-
-“Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,” said Garrick,
-“but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of
-a wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied
-by Mr. Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as
-outcasts because we happen to be actors?”
-
-“Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,” cried Johnson. “And good enough
-for you too, you rascal!”
-
-“And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
-become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who
-have relations in the church, to make such an assertion,” said Johnson
-sternly. “What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in
-your estimation?”
-
-“The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither
-could the stage look for another Garrick?” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street
-delighted the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,” cried Johnson; and
-when he perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay
-back in his chair and roared with laughter.
-
-Reynolds took snuff.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the
-puppets--I heard him myself,” said Boswell.
-
-“That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
-that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,”
- said Burke. “You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr.
-Boswell. But to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith;
-surely, Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of genius is at least
-on a level with a musician of genius.”
-
-“Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
-satisfy you,” replied Johnson.
-
-“Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that
-of Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,” said Burke.
-
-“Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and
-Piozzi the ill luck to be an Italian,” replied Johnson. “Sir, 't is no
-use affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the
-arts. I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that
-you actually believe what your words would imply.”
-
-“You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,” said Goldsmith: “whether you will
-have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.”
-
-“I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space,
-just as there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really
-interesting to me personally,” said Garrick, rising; “but the fact is
-that I rashly made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for
-perhaps twenty minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some
-agreement on a matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr.
-Burke and myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.”
-
-He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal
-education in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
-
-“If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I
-can bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,” said
-Goldsmith.
-
-“The dog is well enough,” said Johnson; “but he has need to be kept in
-his place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him
-in his place he will tolerate as he does mine.”
-
-“And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?” asked Goldsmith.
-“Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
-as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
-we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?”
-
-“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “your question is as ridiculous as anything you
-have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say
-a good deal.”
-
-“What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his
-attempts to shine,” whispered Boswell to Burke.
-
-“'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice
-heard in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,” said Burke.
-
-“Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?” asked Boswell.
-
-“A Niagara?” said Burke. “Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it
-in his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a
-Niagara is.”
-
-“Sir,” said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
-undertone. “Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-The conversation took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the
-Strand, where the party had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as
-good company as usual. There was a general feeling that he had rarely
-insulted Boswell so frequently in the course of a single evening--but
-then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself open to insult as he had upon
-this evening--and when he had finished with the Scotchman, he turned
-his attention to Garrick, the opportunity being afforded him by Oliver
-Goldsmith, who had been unguarded enough to say a word or two regarding
-that which he termed “the art of acting.”
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,” cried the great dictator.
-“Who gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
-acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler
-who kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist.
-Madame Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight
-rope, will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter--nay, every poodle that
-dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.”
-
-It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission
-of acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as
-Johnson asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made;
-it was in vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included
-among the arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the
-standing of artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose
-that the tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their
-claims to be on a level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of
-humanity. Dr. Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to
-him most courteously by his friends.
-
-Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told
-Burke he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was
-thoroughly Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and
-eminently capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements
-of a clubable man.
-
-He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
-in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who,
-as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of
-theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
-he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
-successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
-distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
-
-He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what
-Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
-
-“Pray, sir,” said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
-ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was
-as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. “Pray, sir, is there any evidence
-among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was
-imperishable?”
-
-“Sir,” said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, “there is evidence that
-the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_
-at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.”
-
-“Well, sir?” said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
-
-“Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such
-an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to
-accept the offer of a dinner,” said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest
-manner.
-
-Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally.
-He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from
-Johnson.
-
-“Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,” he murmured, but in
-no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every
-one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was
-necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he
-was the recipient.
-
-“Come, Goldy,” cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, “you must
-not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
-better of you in the argument.”
-
-“Argument, sir?” said Goldsmith. “I protest that I was not aware that
-any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
-argument, Doctor.”
-
-“'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr.
-Boswell, sir,” said Johnson, with a twinkle.
-
-“The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
-the wolf,” muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
-for his Animated Nature.
-
-At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
-to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
-to obtain permission to join the party.
-
-“My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?” said
-Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
-
-“Why, sir,” said Boswell, “you have told us more than once that you had
-a cousin who was a dignitary of the church.”
-
-“Have I, indeed?” said Goldsmith. “Then I suppose, if I said so, this
-must be the very man. A Dean, is he?”
-
-“Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common
-room of a tavern,” said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any
-sudden addition to his audience of an evening. “If your relation were an
-Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
-the order to show him into this room.” Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
-He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone
-told the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face
-undoubtedly wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any
-of his friends, before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and
-somewhat undersized clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands
-and apron of a dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect
-carriage that gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was
-white, but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in
-one eye.
-
-The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward.
-It contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table
-twenty minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver,
-perceived in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to
-that with which Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A
-little jerk which the visitor gave in raising his head was laughably
-like a motion made by Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
-
-“Gentlemen,” said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, “I entreat of
-you to be seated.” His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
-although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made
-an attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have
-regarded him as sincere. “Nay, gentlemen, I insist,” continued the
-stranger; “you embarrass me with your courtesy.”
-
-“Sir,” said Johnson, “you will not find that any company over which I
-have the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.”
-
-“I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,” said the stranger, with a
-deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
-of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. “Ah! I do not need to ask which
-of this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly--I beg your pardon,
-Oliver--ah, old times--old times!” He had caught Goldsmith's hands
-in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
-Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of
-a smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long
-silence that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an
-element of pathos.
-
-Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
-all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was
-now worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
-
-“I ask your pardon, sir,” he said, gravely, “but--sir, I am a
-painter--my name is Reynolds--and--well, sir, the family resemblance
-between you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith--a resemblance that
-perhaps only a painter's eye could detect--seemed to me so extraordinary
-as you stood together, that----”
-
-“Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried the visitor. “My
-cousin Oliver and I have not met for--how many years is it, Nolly? Not
-eleven--no, it cannot be eleven--and yet----”
-
-“Ah, sir,” said Oliver, “time is fugitive--very fugitive.”
-
-He shook his head sadly.
-
-“I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
-wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,” said the stranger.
-“But you must present me to your friends, Noll--Oliver, I mean. You,
-sir”--he turned to Reynolds--“have told me your name. Am I fortunate
-enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no
-doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am your
-servant. And you, sir”--he turned to Burke--“I seem to have seen your
-face somewhere--it is strangely familiar----”
-
-“That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,” said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
-recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of
-pride, as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The
-clergyman made precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying----
-
-“What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty--the friend of the
-people?”
-
-“The same, sir,” said Oliver. “He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
-Goldsmith.”
-
-“Then he is my friend also,” said the clergyman. “Sir, to be in a
-position to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.”
-
-“You do me great honor, sir,” said Burke.
-
-Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
-Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so
-far neglected.
-
-“Mr. Burke, you are our countryman--Oliver's and mine--and I know you
-are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have a talk
-with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?”
-
-“With all my power, sir,” said Burke. “Give me your hand again, sir.
-Mrs. Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an
-honour upon the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.”
-
-“You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
-you work with your arm that way?”
-
-“There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,” said Oliver.
-
-“They can wait,” cried Mr. Dean. “They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
-Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
-mortified at what I have said.”
-
-“This is Mr. Boswell, sir,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Mr. Boswell--of where, sir?”
-
-“Mr. Boswell, of--of Scotland, sir.”
-
-“Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre.
-Your clergymen might be better employed, Mr.--Mr.----”
-
-“Boswell, sir.”
-
-“Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you
-ever visit your country again--a remote possibility, from all that I can
-learn of your countrymen.”
-
-“Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'----” began
-Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
-
-“What, you would condone his offence?” he cried. “The fact of your
-having a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still
-sadly lax in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.”
-
-“And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,” said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
-
-His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
-bowing profoundly.
-
-“Dr. Johnson,” he cried, “I have long desired to meet you, sir.”
-
-“I am your servant, Mr. Dean,” said Johnson, towering above him as he
-got--somewhat awkwardly--upon his feet. “No gentleman of your cloth,
-sir--leaving aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in
-the church to which you have attained--fails to obtain my respect.”
-
-“I am glad of that, sir,” said the Dean. “It shows that you, though
-a Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal
-on behalf of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not
-disposed to relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration
-for the church.”
-
-“Sir,” said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
-“Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable.
-I am not a Non-conformist--on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
-quarter.”
-
-“Sir,” said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke
-to a subordinate. “Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened
-country and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you
-in the company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe
-that you were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of
-conscience. I regret that I was mistaken.”
-
-“Sir!” cried Goldsmith, in great consternation--for Johnson was rendered
-speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, instead
-of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. “Sir, this is the
-great Dr. Johnson--nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.”
-
-“'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
-weak,” said the clergyman, smiling. “Well, well, we will take the honest
-gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one
-sense: he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one
-scale. To such greatness we would do well to bow.”
-
-“Heavens, sir!” said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in
-it. “Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?”
-
-“Alas! sir,” said the stranger, “I am but a country parson. I cannot be
-expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
-Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you,
-Mr.--Mr.--ah! you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though
-I doubt not you are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you
-written that entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence
-of such gentlemen as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and--I add with
-pride--Oliver Goldsmith?”
-
-“I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,” muttered Boswell.
-
-“And he has doubtless greatness enough--avoirdupois--to serve for both!
-Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to speak for
-himself, tell me what he has written.”
-
-“He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
-Corsica,” said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
-
-“And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy
-altitude in literature?”
-
-“You are surely jesting, sir,” said Goldsmith. “The world is familiar
-with Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.”
-
-“Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no
-need for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the
-work appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?”
-
-[Illustration: 0037]
-
-But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up
-a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown
-and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his
-wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
-
-“Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
-with greater tenderness,” said the clergyman. “I would fain hope that
-the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the
-work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?”
-
-“Eighteen years ago,” said Oliver.
-
-“And what books has he written within the intervening years?”
-
-“He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
-our authors.”
-
-“Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
-eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You,
-cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be
-without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable
-list; but your friend--oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!--he is no true
-worker in literature, or he would--nay, he could not, have remained idle
-all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not
-use his pen?”
-
-“He has a pension from the King, sir,” stuttered Oliver. “I tell you,
-sir, he is the most learned man in Europe.”
-
-“His is a sad case,” said the clergyman. “To refrain from administering
-to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious
-duty.” He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head.
-Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's
-jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. “Dr.
-Johnson,” said the stranger, “I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman
-to urge upon you to amend your way of life.”
-
-“Sir,” shouted Johnson, “if you were not a clergyman I would say that
-you were a very impertinent fellow!”
-
-“Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience--if you have
-one--tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the
-knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
-room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
-acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
-have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
-friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
-friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
-though they are workers--not without honour--at that profession of
-letters which you despise--nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not
-despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life
-to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a
-pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
-of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr.
-Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think
-you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those
-tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down
-all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your
-love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I
-leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my
-leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have
-not spoken in vain.”
-
-He made a general bow--an awkward bow--and walked with some dignity to
-the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-
-When he had disappeared, the room was very silent.
-
-Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
-buried in his hands, started up, crying out, “'Rasse-las, Prince
-of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he
-published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?” He ran to the door and
-opened it, calling downstairs: “'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!”
- “Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!”
-
-“Sir!” came the roar of Dr. Johnson. “Close that door and return to your
-chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
-which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
-decently.”
-
-Goldsmith shut the door.
-
-“I did you a gross injustice, sir,” said he, returning slowly to the
-table. “I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book
-since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the
-moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'”
-
-“If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force
-of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson. “If I am
-suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
-volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
-industry.”
-
-“Those who know you, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “do not need any evidence of
-your industry. As for that man----”
-
-“Let the man alone, sir,” thundered Johnson.
-
-“Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?” said Boswell.
-
-“Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next
-to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's;
-and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.”
-
-“Oh, no, sir,” said Boswell. “We deny your generous plea of
-justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written
-even within the year.”
-
-“Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the--well, the less I think of
-them, if you will allow me the paradox,” said Johnson. “Sir, the man
-is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey
-my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can
-forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my
-Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?”
-
-“His name, sir, his name?” faltered Goldsmith.
-
-“Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,” said Johnson.
-
-“His name, sir, is--is--God help me, sir, I know not what is his name.”
-
-“Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell
-tells me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did
-so in a spirit of boasting, you erred.”
-
-For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
-in a low tone:
-
-“The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.”
-
-“Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,” cried Boswell. “You boasted
-of him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.”
-
-“Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,” said Burke with a smile.
-
-“His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
-nature are maintained when one hears his voice,” remarked Goldsmith in a
-low tone.
-
-“Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,” said Reynolds as the door was opened
-and Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced
-to the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before.
-“Mr. Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.”
-
-“Whatever he may be on some other points,” remarked Burke.
-
-“Gentlemen,” said Garrick, “you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
-you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May
-I inquire the reason of the difference?”
-
-“You may not, sir!” shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
-acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that
-it would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he
-knew that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick
-were to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene
-for the entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had
-heard more than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield
-had created by his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson,
-played an important part. He had been congratulating himself upon the
-fortunate absence of the actor during the visit of the clergyman.
-
-“You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,” he repeated, as Garrick looked
-with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
-
-“Sir,” said Boswell, “my veracity is called in question.”
-
-“What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
-that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?” cried Johnson.
-
-“Nay, sir, one question,” said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
-“Mr. Garrick--have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for a
-relative?”
-
-“Why, no, sir,” replied Garrick; “but I heard him say that he had a
-brother who deserved to be a Dean.”
-
-“And so I had,” cried Goldsmith. “Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
-poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.”
-
-“I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
-concerned,” said Johnson; “but it seemed to me that some of the man's
-gestures--nay, some of the tones of his voice as well--resembled those
-of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table noticed
-the similarity to which I allude.”
-
-“I certainly noticed it,” cried Boswell eagerly.
-
-“Your evidence is not admissible, sir,” said Johnson. “What does Sir
-Joshua Reynolds say?”
-
-“Why, sir,” said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick,
-“I confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
-regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
-was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.”
-
-“But if not, sir, how can you account for----”
-
-Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
-
-“Be silent, sir,” he thundered. “If you have left your manners in
-Scotland in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for
-the gift was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country
-in that respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken
-touching this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in
-the light of a personal affront.”
-
-After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
-
-“I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the
-past half-hour than any of this company.”
-
-“Well, Davy,” said Johnson, “the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
-dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been,
-sir, and of what nature was your diversion?”
-
-“Sir,” said Garrick, “I have been with a poet.”
-
-“So have we, sir--with the greatest poet alive--the author of 'The
-Deserted Village'--and yet you enter to find us immoderately glum,” said
-Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he did not
-regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he quite
-believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
-relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
-
-“Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick.
-“Mine was only a sort of poet.”
-
-“And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?” asked Boswell.
-
-“A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,” replied
-Garrick.
-
-He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
-for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who
-was anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just
-written. The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house
-in the Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was
-short, it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated
-by Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
-
-“A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman--he wore
-the bands and apron of a Dean,” he continued, “not seeming to notice the
-little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
-grasped me by the arm,” he continued, “doubtless recognising me from
-my portraits--for he said he had never seen me act--and then began an
-harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
-that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction
-than my neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith,
-gentlemen, he took it quite as a family grievance.” Suddenly he paused,
-and looked around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest
-were grave. A thought seemed to strike the narrator. “What!” he cried,
-“it is not possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin,
-the Dean, regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so, 'tis
-an extraordinary coincidence that I should have encountered
-him--unless--good heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here
-when I had thrown him off?”
-
-“Sir,” cried Oliver, “I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no
-Dean, entered this room!”
-
-“Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court
-on your return,” said Garrick. “Oh, yes, Doctor!--a small man with the
-family bow of the Goldsmiths--something like this.” He gave a comical
-reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
-
-“I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of
-mine,” protested Goldsmith.
-
-“And let that be the end of the matter,” declared Johnson, with no lack
-of decisiveness in his voice.
-
-“Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman
-again,” laughed Garrick. “I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was
-endeavouring to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version
-of 'The Deserted Village'--he said he had the version at his lodging,
-and meant to read it to his cousin--I ask your pardon, sir, but he said
-'cousin.'”
-
-“Sir, let us have no more of this--cousin or no cousin,” roared Johnson.
-
-“That is my prayer, sir--I utter it with all my heart and soul,” said
-Garrick. “It was about my poet I meant to speak--my poet and his play.
-What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as the
-subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?”
-
-“I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme
-of theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that
-scoundrel Foote,” said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite
-himself again, and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with
-that finality which carried conviction with it--yes, to James Boswell.
-
-For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details
-of his interview with the poet who--according to his account--had
-designed the drama of “Otaheite” in order to afford Garrick an
-opportunity of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in
-feathers, and beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while
-he delivered a series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to
-Mars, Vulcan and Diana.
-
-“The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,” said Garrick. “My poet
-explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to
-his advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess;
-and when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite
-could know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea
-Islanders were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights
-in the Pagan mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that
-the Romans should claim a monopoly of Diana.”
-
-Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's
-contention was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief
-to his mind to have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the
-argument, though he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in
-the poet's argument.
-
-He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
-question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
-of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
-mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
-hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
-force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
-originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
-tragedy.
-
-When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson
-apart--greatly to the pique of Boswell--and said--
-
-“Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
-will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
-you.”
-
-“You deserve no favour, Goldy,” said Johnson, laying his hand on the
-little man's shoulder, “and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants
-you one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your
-debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting
-you a favour.”
-
-“You say everything better than any living man, sir,” cried Goldsmith.
-“How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
-suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am
-anxious to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I
-have written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.”
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, “we have been good friends for several
-years now.”
-
-“Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.”
-
-“Undoubtedly, sir--long before you became recognised as the most
-melodious of our poets--the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote
-the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your
-second--nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be
-damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of
-'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith.”
-
-Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
-his eyes and his voice as he said--
-
-“Your generosity overpowers me, sir.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-Boswell, who was standing to one side watching---his eyes full of
-curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word--the little
-scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care
-that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's
-house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly;
-but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own
-capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets
-which had been exchanged in the corner.
-
-For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object--nay,
-when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
-Johnson turned upon him, saying--
-
-“Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell
-you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man,
-woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be
-a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger,
-who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by
-you, sir.”
-
-Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
-good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month
-of inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during
-the summer.
-
-The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
-Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house
-in Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through
-Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was
-very eloquent in his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who,
-he said, in spite of the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an
-impostor calling himself his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to
-receive the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, who understood the
-temperament of his countryman, felt that he himself might surpass in
-eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he took for his text the magnanimity
-of the author of “The Good Natured Man.” He, however, refrained from the
-attempt to prove to his companion that there were other ways by which a
-man could gain a reputation for generosity than by permitting the most
-distinguished writer of the age to dedicate a comedy to him.
-
-Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
-quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds
-was as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at
-a corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of
-ear-shot, he laid his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he
-said--
-
-“You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
-friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy--the greatest
-genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, and there
-never will be another such.”
-
-“Sir,” said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon
-his face, every gesture that he made corresponding. “Sir, I protest that
-you are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it,
-but as for the rascality--well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both
-a great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
-example, but----”
-
-“Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
-device as that bow which you made, Davy,” said Reynolds. “It presented
-before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths--all made in the same fashion
-as our friend on in front, and all striving---and not unsuccessfully,
-either--to maintain the family tradition of the Goldsmith bow. And
-then your imitation of your imitation of the same movement--how did we
-contain ourselves--Burke and I?”
-
-“You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?” said Garrick.
-
-“I'm convinced that he did.”
-
-“But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.”
-
-“You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
-tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.”
-
-“You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
-certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to
-him and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson
-and never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.”
-
-“You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
-David.”
-
-“It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device,
-my friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
-Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are
-others who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man
-to offer an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.”
-
-“He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.”
-
-“And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
-attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
-man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow
-a bad word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole
-dozen could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our
-friend Mr. Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of
-generosity because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at
-them, but preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I
-would rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of
-a dozen yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such
-as Bunbury. On the same principle, I have no particular liking to be
-preserved to make sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that
-literary three-decker, Johnson.”
-
-“I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
-schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.”
-
-“That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up
-my mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an
-actor being a degrading-one--about an actor being on the level with a
-fiddler--nay, one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old
-schoolmaster a more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it
-is probable that he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain
-truths which were told to him by the Dean.”
-
-“And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
-Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled
-by that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
-characteristics of the Goldsmith family.”
-
-“Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour--declaring that he had
-never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?”
-
-“Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
-magnanimous, David--as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an arm,
-plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a grain
-or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I have
-seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
-commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
-force the immorality of the whole proceeding.”
-
-They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
-and Burke--the former still talking eagerly--having waited for them to
-come up.
-
-“Gentlemen,” said Reynolds, “you have all gone out of your accustomed
-way to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
-refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
-opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
-Betty Hamilton.”
-
-“_O matre pulchra filia pulchrior_” said Goldsmith; but there was not
-much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been
-the loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
-Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
-
-Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
-servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out
-by the servant.
-
-He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
-
-“Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,” he cried, “I have to entreat your forgiveness
-for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
-absence.”
-
-“Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,” said Sir Joshua.
-“I cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.”
-
-“The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
-picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made
-a point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside
-when she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.”
-
-“I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
-to your Lordship's eye,” said Sir Joshua.
-
-“The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,” said the young man, but
-with no great show of ardour. “It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also
-a beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side
-of the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick--two birds with the one stone, you
-know?”
-
-“True, sir,” said Garrick. “Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.”
-
-“That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,” said the young
-man. “Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at
-the Pantheon to-night.”
-
-“Is it not a mask?” said Garrick.
-
-“Nay, finer sport even than that,” laughed the youth. “We are going to
-do more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in
-twenty years, sir.”
-
-“At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?” inquired Garrick.
-
-“Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,”
- cried Lord Stanley. “Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
-acquainted with them?”
-
-“Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick.
-
-“I have often longed for that privilege,” said Lord Stanley, bowing
-in reply to the salutation of the others. “Mr. Burke's speech on the
-Marriage Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always
-been my favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another,
-Dr. Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
-distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
-invite you all to the Pantheon--here are tickets to the show. You will
-give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night when
-Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.”
-
-“Alas, my Lord,” said Garrick, “that privilege will be in the hands of
-Mr. Col-man.”
-
-“What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
-you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to
-act my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.”
-
-He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with
-an air of mystery.
-
-“What does he mean?” asked Reynolds.
-
-“That is what I have been asking myself,” replied Garrick. “By heavens,
-I have it!” he cried after a pause of a few moments. “I have heard
-rumours of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers
-of the Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of
-Vauxhall and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the
-entrance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the
-leader of the scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also
-one of the plot. Let us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss
-being-present for the world.”
-
-“I am not so eager,” said Sir Joshua. “I have my work to engage me early
-in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to
-be on foot.”
-
-“I have not, thank heaven!” cried Garrick; “nor has Dr. Goldsmith,
-I'll swear. As for Burke--well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
-seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.”
-
-“We need a frolic,” cried Goldsmith. “God knows we had a dull enough
-dinner at the Crown and Anchor.”
-
-“An Irishman and a frolic are like--well, let us say like Lady Betty and
-your macaw, Sir Joshua,” said Burke. “They go together very naturally.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-Sir Joshua entered his house, and the others hastened northward to the
-Oxford road, where the Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a
-year for the entertainment of the fashionable world--a more fashionable
-world, it was hoped, than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh
-and Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and
-fashion sought their entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly
-Rooms when the weather failed to allow of their meeting at the two great
-public gardens. But as the government of the majority of these places
-invariably became lax--there was only one Beau Nash who had the
-cleverness to perceive that an autocracy was the only possible form of
-government for such assemblies--the committee of the Pantheon determined
-to frame so strict a code of rules, bearing upon the admission of
-visitors, as should, they believed, prevent the place from falling to
-the low level of the gardens.
-
-In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
-there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
-excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
-maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
-most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed
-to enter.
-
-The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions
-as eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
-sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going
-to those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such
-persons understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be
-optimists in regard to the question of the possibility of combining
-Puritanism and promiscuous entertainments terminating long after
-midnight. They hailed the arrival of the time when innocent recreation
-would not be incompatible with the display of the richest dresses or the
-most sumptuous figures.
-
-But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
-the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
-best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
-the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
-published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
-artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility
-of actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually
-scandalous.
-
-While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
-declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
-resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
-affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying
-out of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make
-the management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in
-endeavouring to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
-
-When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the
-thoroughfare was then called, the result of this meeting was making
-itself felt. The road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for
-something unusual to occur, though of what form it was to assume no
-one seemed to be aware. The crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They
-cheered heartily every coach that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed
-ladies to the Pantheon and to other and less public entertainments.
-They waved their hats over the chairs which, similarly burdened, went
-swinging along between the bearers, footmen walking on each side
-and link-boys running in advance, the glare of their torches giving
-additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows who had the
-chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an officer of the
-Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and occasionally a
-jostling match took place between some supercilious young beau and the
-apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force his way.
-More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of the
-lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
-next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
-with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
-Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick,
-drew his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the
-crowd. It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a
-space was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was
-thrown to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy
-dropped upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the
-crowd cheered and jeered in turn.
-
-At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
-frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
-dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
-use both.
-
-But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road,
-all the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object,
-and there was a cry of, “Here they come--here she comes--a cheer for
-Mrs. Baddeley!”
-
-“O Lord,” cried Garrick, “they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
-Baddeley for their experiment!”
-
-“Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,” said Goldsmith.
-“They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs.
-Baddeley. There are many gradations in colour between black and white.”
-
-“But not between black and White's,” said Burke. “This notion is well
-worthy of the wit of White's.”
-
-“Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,” said
-Garrick. “But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
-cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.”
-
-“That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene
-as this,” said Burke. “Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week
-after to-night.”
-
-“By my soul!” cried Goldsmith, “she looks as if she would give double
-that sum to be safe at home in bed.”
-
-The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
-the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
-through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance
-in front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold
-and silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
-gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed,
-and they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one
-side was the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr.
-Hanger, equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was
-immediately behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of
-the lady's escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
-
-The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was
-seated, smiling----“Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,” Burke
-remarked.
-
-“Oh, yes,” cried Goldsmith, “she was always the better actress. I am
-fortunate in having her in my new comedy.”
-
-“The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,” said
-Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
-several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
-
-“And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
-the Duchesses,” said Burke.
-
-“My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
-sway,” said Garrick. “I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
-will emancipate him.”
-
-“If so he is in error,” said Burke. “The Duchess of Argyll will never
-let him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady
-Betty.”
-
-“Till then, do you say?” said Goldsmith. “Faith, sir, if he fancies he
-will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had
-a very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady
-is most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
-Reynolds.”
-
-The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to
-Lady Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be
-a _fait accompli_; but there were rumours that the young man had of
-late been making an effort to release himself--that it was only with
-difficulty the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon
-her daughter, whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
-
-The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
-crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
-friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
-dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
-gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
-plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
-
-It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
-that a voice cried--
-
-“Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow
-them to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!” The
-discordant note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment
-a seasonable one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
-
-The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up
-a shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a
-Methodist service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with
-which the early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another
-direction a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as
-well as men; but above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the
-preacher was heard.
-
-“By my soul,” said Garrick, “that effect is strikingly dramatic. I
-should like to find some one who would give me a play with such a
-scene.”
-
-A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in
-the act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned
-suddenly round.
-
-“I'll take your order, sir,” he cried. “Only you will have to pay me
-handsomely.”
-
-“What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
-escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?” said Garrick.
-
-“Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,” cried Captain Horneck--Goldsmith's
-“Captain in lace.”
-
-“If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
-would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to
-my Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
-happen.” Then he turned to Goldsmith. “Come along, Nolly, my friend,” he
-cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; “if you want a scene for
-your new comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not
-wearing the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to
-be resisted, whatever you wear.”
-
-“You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,” said
-Goldsmith. “I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
-stop at the porch of the Pantheon.”
-
-“As a matter of course you will come,” said young Horneck. “Let us
-hasten out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin
-to preach!”
-
-He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
-arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as
-they could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his
-companion, that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but
-for the fact that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord
-Albemarle, and that his mother had entreated him not to do anything that
-might jeopardise the match.
-
-“You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,” said Garrick.
-
-“Nay,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
-means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
-would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that
-his act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.”
-
-“You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,” said the Captain.
-“Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
-But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty
-and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.”
-
-“Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,” said Burke.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being
-under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have
-had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building,
-where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed
-his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the
-people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little
-way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of
-the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and
-cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just
-as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down.
-
-The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed
-in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a
-line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped
-out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked
-between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered
-the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy
-than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at
-that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition.
-
-Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the “business” of the part which she had
-to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding
-herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick
-standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he
-bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit
-was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a
-_grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her
-hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying--
-
-“La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's
-the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?”
-
-“Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,” said Garrick
-gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
-porch.
-
-The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
-serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
-collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
-side of the lady.
-
-“Madam,” he cried, “honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
-What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
-visitor?” he shouted to the liveried porter.
-
-“Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,”
- replied the man.
-
-“Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,” said the young
-gentleman. “Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.”
-
-“I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,” replied the man.
-
-“Nay, Mr. Hanger,” replied the frightened actress, “I wish not to be the
-cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.”
-
-“Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, “I know that it is not
-your will that we should come in active contest with the representatives
-of authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that
-our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?” When
-the cries of assent came to an end he continued, “Then, sirs, the
-responsibility for bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords
-to the front! You will touch no man with a point unless he oppose you.
-Should a constable assault any of this company you will run him through
-without mercy. Now, gentlemen.”
-
-In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and
-in that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
-moments stood irresolute, but then--the points of a dozen swords were
-within a yard of their breasts--lowered their staves and slipped quietly
-aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt to
-withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
-went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
-
-To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from
-the thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort
-walked through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being
-sheathed at the entrance.
-
-It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
-rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
-of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to
-look scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave
-the assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose
-first husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively
-plain, in spite of their masks of paint and powder.
-
-The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of
-her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
-twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess
-of Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of
-a body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
-anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had
-no touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her
-complexion, and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add
-to their silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the
-cold whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose.
-The solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that
-she made with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that
-lovely woman.
-
-Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
-small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
-Duchess's elegance and distinction.
-
-Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at
-the lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her
-body guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her,
-they exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess
-even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster
-shrugged her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a
-Frenchwoman.
-
-Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
-also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying--
-
-“Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
-her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
-frightened away.”
-
-Captain Horneck had gone up to his _fiancee_.
-
-“You were not in that creature's train, I hope,” said the lady.
-
-“I? Dear child, for what do you take me?” he said. “No, I certainly was
-not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.”
-
-“If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
-you the impropriety,” said she.
-
-(She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than
-a year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
-
-By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and
-now returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where
-Mrs. Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
-
-“Madam,” said Lord Conway, “these gentlemen are anxious to offer you
-their sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and
-to express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour
-them by your patronage.”
-
-And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the
-management, with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling
-actress.
-
-“And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,” said Lord Stanley. “She
-agreed to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.”
-
-“She can take very good care of herself,” said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
-curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to
-underrate the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to
-divide the honours attached to her position with another woman, much
-less with one who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself.
-“Mrs. Abington is a little timid, my Lord,” she continued; “she may not
-find herself quite at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place,
-to be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better
-taste.”
-
-But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was
-conveyed to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of
-the honours which were being done to the lady who had entered the room,
-and when this news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through
-the porch to the side of her sister actress.
-
-And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll
-and Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two
-actresses, offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them
-frequently at the assemblies in the rotunda.
-
-The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
-condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
-their shoulders once more.
-
-Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
-disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew
-that the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the
-Duchess's daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity
-of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible
-suitors were growing scarce?
-
-Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played
-under his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy,
-and he was compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more
-highly finished exhibition of this form of art.
-
-His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
-Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
-liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to
-remain in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious
-to see what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and
-his friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the
-part of the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke,
-he heard a merry voice behind him saying--
-
-“Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the
-Pantheon?”
-
-“Nay,” cried another voice, “Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing
-of a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
-century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on
-the Oxford road.”
-
-He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
-handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
-
-“Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride--and my sweet Little Comedy!” he cried, as
-the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act
-of making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
-Katherine--the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. “Mrs. Horneck, madam,
-I am your servant--and don't I look your servant, too,” he added,
-remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
-
-“You look always the same good friend,” said the lady.
-
-“Nay,” laughed Mrs. Bunbury, “if he were your servant he would take
-care, for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it
-is not that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something
-gorgeous. What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?”
-
-(His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
-Bun-burys.)
-
-“Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
-company, madam,” said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. “But
-a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
-to-night.” He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses
-and their admirers.
-
-Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
-
-“The air is tainted,” said Goldsmith, solemnly.
-
-“Yes,” said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. “'T is as you
-say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.”
-
-“I said not so, madam,” cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. “As
-amusing---amusing----”
-
-“As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,”
- protested Little Comedy. “Were they not, Mary?”
-
-“Oh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them,”
- replied the Jessamy Bride.
-
-“There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
-witnesses!” said Mrs. Bunbury.
-
-“I could deny nothing to two such faces,” said Goldsmith, “even though
-one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius
-weeping over the Pantheon.”
-
-“And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
-it?” she inquired, with her chin in the air.
-
-“Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,”
- said Goldsmith.
-
-“Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,” cried the young
-lady.
-
-“Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,” said
-Oliver.
-
-“That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,”
- remarked Mary.
-
-“And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the
-Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer,” cried her sister,
-with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well
-qualified to be an exponent.
-
-“'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to
-the Royal Academy of Arts,” said a lady who had come up with Burke at
-that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
-movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
-
-Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
-Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
-unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
-
-“In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,” Goldsmith began, but seeing the
-ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and
-the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
-
-“Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
-Goldsmith?” said Mrs. Thrale.
-
-“Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
-declining to argue out the matter with you,” said the Professor of
-Ancient History.
-
-Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
-quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed
-in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention
-to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who,
-moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in
-accepting her patronage.
-
-She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most
-of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the
-Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
-busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
-injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_,
-she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the
-benefit of her remarks.
-
-Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy,
-pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when,
-suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing
-behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the
-expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as
-she gazed across the rotunda.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object
-was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs.
-Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence
-of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his
-bearing.
-
-Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck
-and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an
-instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
-the girl across the room.
-
-Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
-white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after
-the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy
-of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been
-a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but
-he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely
-noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them;
-and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the
-majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the
-name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently
-interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that
-elaborate bow.
-
-Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star,
-but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
-
-“I have never seen him before,” she said. “I don't think he can be
-any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually
-nobodies--until we come to know them.”
-
-“That is quite reasonable,” said he. “It is a distinction to become your
-friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor
-at the Academy are forgotten.”
-
-His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
-attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
-
-“Heavens, child!” she whispered to her, “what is the matter with you?”
-
-“What should be the matter with me?” said Mary. “What, except--oh, this
-place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
-well ventilated at all times!”
-
-“My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,” said
-Bunbury.
-
-“No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
-moment,” said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. “For heaven's
-sake don't stare so, child,” she added to her sister, making a pitiful
-attempt to laugh.
-
-“But, my dear----” began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary.
-
-“Nay,” she cried, “I will not have our mother alarmed, and--well, every
-one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness
-has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company?
-Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss.
-Lend me your arm, if you please.”
-
-“With all pleasure in life,” cried Oliver.
-
-He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
-greatly she was trembling.
-
-When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister
-and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
-immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
-who had bowed to her.
-
-“Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,” she said. “Take me
-somewhere--some place away from here--any place away from here.”
-
-He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one
-sconce with wax candles was alight.
-
-“Why should you tremble, my dear girl?” said he. “What is there to be
-afraid of? I am your friend--you know that I would die to save you from
-the least trouble.”
-
-“Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” she cried. “I am in no
-trouble--only for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you
-did not come in the bloom-tinted coat after all.”
-
-He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was
-broken only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's
-song--the hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the
-rotunda and around the galleries.
-
-At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying--
-
-“I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend--I wonder what
-you think of your Jessamy Bride.”
-
-“I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,” said he tenderly.
-“But if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may
-be able to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a
-moment. Why, what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry
-in France together?”
-
-“Nothing--nothing has happened--I give you my word upon it,” she
-said. “Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
-frightened--no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have
-not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could not
-understand--psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. Goldsmith;
-girls are foolish creatures.”
-
-“Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?”
- said he. “Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence?
-Think if it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs
-are concerned, but I feel that for others--for you, my dear--ah, child,
-don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
-poignancy is blunted?”
-
-“I have never had consolation except from you,” said the girl. “But
-this--this--oh, my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's
-soul to enable you to write those lines--
-
-               'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
-
-               And finds too late. . . '?”
-
-There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to
-his forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked
-slowly away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than
-a dozen steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of
-indecision, hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying--
-
-“I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.”
-
-“Yes,” she said; “it is only a woman who can think everything that is
-evil about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their
-own destruction, but by women.”
-
-She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
-
-“Let us go away,” she said. “I am sick of this place. There is no corner
-of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever
-any singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song!
-I would pay fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her
-efforts.” Her laugh had a shrill note that caused it to sound very
-pitiful to the man who heard it.
-
-He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
-standing with Burke and her son.
-
-“I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,” said Mrs.
-Horneck. “We have been entranced with its melody.”
-
-“Oh, no; I have missed no note of it--no note. Was there ever anything
-so delicious--so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went homeward,
-mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.”
-
-“At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!”
- said Burke. “It is the young miss in these days who insists on her
-mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!”
-
-“Mary was always a wise little person,” said Mrs. Horneck.
-
-“Wise? Oh, let us go home!” said the girl wearily.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,” said her
-mother.
-
-Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the
-janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
-
-He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
-lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
-girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
-hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
-
-The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went
-out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While
-Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was
-furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for
-seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so
-clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated,
-bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so
-rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a
-gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if
-to take leave of the ladies.
-
-The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
-staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
-the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered
-wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his
-awkwardness.
-
-“Curse you for a lout!” cried the officer.
-
-Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
-
-“Look you, sir!” he said. “I have offered you my humblest apologies for
-the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to
-say as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir--Oliver
-Goldsmith--and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that we
-are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
-may be.”
-
-The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
-cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish,
-shouted “Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke
-forever!” For both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as
-they were in society.
-
-While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
-in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
-stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand.
-Then he turned to his opponent, saying--
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you
-can let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.”
-
-“Or if it suits you better, sir,” said another gentleman coming to
-Goldsmith's side, “you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
-Clare.”
-
-“My Lord,” cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, “I have no
-quarrel with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in
-the heat of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman
-might not make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I
-have the honour to wish your Lordship good-night.”
-
-He bowed and made his exit.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting
-him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let
-him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his
-comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman,
-felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece was so
-inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough to
-sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible.
-
-He read this letter--one of several which he had received from Colman
-during the week prophesying disaster--without impatience, and threw it
-aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save the
-expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
-his lines--
-
-               “When lovely woman stoops to folly,
-
-               And finds too late....”
-
-“Too late----” She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had broken,
-as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had broken,
-when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is enshrined for
-all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress of tears. It
-would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in her eyes.
-Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
-
-What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl
-who had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other
-human being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had
-shown themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing
-himself on the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when
-Little Comedy married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him
-which had begun at Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he
-spent at the Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his
-life.
-
-But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his “Jessamy
-Bride,” drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt
-from the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature--that
-in her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy
-which he sought. More than once she had proved to him that she
-recognised the greatness of his nature--his simplicity, his generosity,
-the tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his
-trustfulness, that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his
-intolerance of hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was
-the note of the most successful productions of the day. Above all,
-he felt that she recognised his true attitude in relation to English
-literature. If he was compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order
-to earn his daily bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English
-literature. How nobly he discharged this debt his “Traveller,” “The
-Vicar of Wakefield,” “The Deserted Village,” and “The Good Natured
-Man” testified at intervals. He felt that he was the truest poet, the
-sincerest dramatist, of the period, and he never allowed the work which
-he was compelled to do for the booksellers to turn him aside from his
-high aims.
-
-It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood
-what his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of
-the world. She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she
-understood him and sympathised with him.
-
-As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
-her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
-time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
-her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
-how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a
-long visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look
-of gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her
-with a letter. “The Vicar of Wakefield” was the book, and she had said--
-
-“You can never, never know what it has been to me--what it has done
-for me.” Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude--of
-affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes
-had overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not
-be easily severed.
-
-[Illustration: 0105]
-
-But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
-song.
-
-What was he to think of her?
-
-One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then,
-on glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
-changed from one of merriment to one of despair--the despair of a bird
-that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
-
-What was he to think of her?
-
-He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of
-her, but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
-certain, brought about her change of mood.
-
-It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
-guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
-going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
-means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep
-the man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
-rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
-
-Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary
-it had proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the
-girls, and he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to
-regard the occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run
-the man through some vital part.
-
-What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the
-very sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him,
-and his too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number
-of answers to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no
-ill of her. He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly
-good. He felt that her concern was on account of some one else who
-might be in the power of that man. He knew how generous she was--how
-sympathetic. He had told her some of his own troubles, and though he did
-so lightly, as was his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing
-of them. Might it not then be that the trouble which affected her was
-not her own, but another's?
-
-Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
-incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
-
-Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow
-whose appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had
-escaped with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an
-ordinary shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how
-he had declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a
-man he would have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but
-design, and would have been ready to fight.
-
-Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of
-the man would be a step in the right direction.
-
-It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the
-morning that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which
-contained some unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the
-details of the news, but he was certain that on receiving it he had a
-definite idea that it was unpleasant. When he now read Colman's
-letter for the second time he found that his recollection of his first
-impression was not at fault. It was just his luck: no man was in the
-habit of writing more joyous letters or receiving more depressing than
-Goldsmith.
-
-He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
-mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
-to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
-could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
-dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
-stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
-interests to be connected with a failure.
-
-This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
-
-“Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
-not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?” he said.
-
-“It might be in respect to most plays, sir,” replied Colman; “but in
-regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
-anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
-this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.”
-
-“I shall try to bear both with fortitude,” said Goldsmith quietly,
-though he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his
-gratuitous predictions of failure--predictions which from the first his
-attitude in regard to the play had contributed to realise. “I should
-like to have a talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,” he added.
-
-“They are in the green room,” said the manager. “I must say that I was
-in hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work
-would enable you to see your way to withdraw it.”
-
-“I decline to withdraw it, sir,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“I have been a manager now for some years,” said Colman, “and, speaking
-from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
-hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
-complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that
-was ever wrote.”
-
-“That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
-appreciate,” said Goldsmith. “Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
-what the people want nowadays is a novelty?”
-
-“Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of
-yours is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's
-the novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words,
-sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young boor--what's the fellow's
-name?--Lumpkin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the
-refinement and sensibility of the period--the fellow who talks of his
-bear only dancing to the genteelest of tunes--all this, Dr. Goldsmith,
-I pledge you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an
-early fall of the curtain.”
-
-“An early fall of the curtain?”
-
-“Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
-beyond that of your pothouse to be set.”
-
-“Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not
-a pothouse.”
-
-“The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.”
-
-“Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
-apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
-through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
-Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.”
-
-“Of _your_ play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
-share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
-having anything to do with its production.”
-
-“If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
-respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
-with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.”
-
-Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's
-office and went to the green room.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.
-
-The attitude of Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping
-with the traditions of the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it
-so contrary to the traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like
-the rest of his profession--not even excepting Garrick--possessed only a
-small amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented
-to them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his
-own acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted
-blank verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional
-lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack
-of human nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and
-he could see no reason why he should substitute for them anything more
-natural. He had no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure
-a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious
-sentimentality of an artificial age.
-
-He had produced “The Good Natured Man” some years before, and had made
-money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who
-had condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that
-play were still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
-characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but
-actually intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named
-provisionally “The Mistakes of a Night,” he at first declined to have
-anything to do with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential
-friends--friends who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised
-his genius when he was living in a garret and before he had written
-anything beyond a few desultory essays--and they brought all their
-influence to bear upon the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the
-comedy, but laid it aside for several months, and only grudgingly, at
-last, consented to put it in rehearsal.
-
-Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best
-to depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging
-his shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant
-to allow certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written
-them.
-
-This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
-than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
-soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
-half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
-
-At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young
-Marlow, threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was
-serious in his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment
-Goldsmith assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract
-with the manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same
-contract by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was
-handed over to Lee Lewes.
-
-After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
-the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
-chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
-manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
-possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
-to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
-provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
-encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
-regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said
-he was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up
-their parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
-rehearsing.
-
-When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
-conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He
-knew that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could
-not doubt what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round
-and go back to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw
-the play. The temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of
-determination which had carried him through many difficulties--that
-spirit which Reynolds appreciated and had embodied in his portrait--came
-to his aid. He walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with
-both Woodward and Mrs. Abington.
-
-“I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
-Colman,” he said; “but I am sure that you have not taken this serious
-step without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr.
-Colman will be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an
-agreement with me to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he
-will therefore sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick
-will, I hope, honour me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs.
-Bulk-ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the
-rehearsal.”
-
-The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
-the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and
-who had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now
-began to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had
-been a fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched
-garret knew what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate
-to kick downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him
-employment as a libeller.
-
-“Sir,” cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to
-him--“Sir, you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will
-not be my fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success.
-You have been badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your
-ill-treatment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to
-appear in your piece.”
-
-“Madam,” said Goldsmith, “you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
-ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
-gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to
-assert that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I
-shall regard as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has
-passed I know that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection
-of the opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the
-success of this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
-circumstances incidental to its birth.”
-
-He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly
-that he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors:
-they reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course,
-caused them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
-
-“You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,” said Shuter,
-who was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
-
-“You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,” said Goldsmith.
-“Lord, sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident
-was to happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned
-to a certainty.”
-
-The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
-Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
-influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
-acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith
-that none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet
-the members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption
-that its failure was inevitable.
-
-On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
-since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers
-to dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at
-a wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
-during the greater part of the night.
-
-The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her
-eyes at the same moment had yet to be explained.
-
-He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his
-elbow resting on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After
-half-an-hour's thought his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens.
-Picking one up with a sigh, he began to write.
-
-Verse after verse appeared upon the paper--the love-song of a man who
-feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
-consolation in life is love.
-
-After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again
-rested his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he
-had written. His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected
-sincerity when every one around him was engaged in composing verses
-which were regarded worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were
-artificial.
-
-He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
-Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would
-she be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
-delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
-known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
-enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
-feeling?
-
-His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
-
-“How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?” he
-muttered. “Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is
-the chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should
-he himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life
-that the man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to
-live in loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was
-struck blind--a great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from
-love receives no pity--no pity on earth--no pity in heaven.”
-
-He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for
-an hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper
-which he had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it.
-He did not tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand
-to the desk and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making
-the torn edge rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of
-a woman whose lover was beside her--that was what the quivering motion
-suggested to the poet who watched it.
-
-“And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!” he said.
-“Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!”
-
-He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
-where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
-men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
-that friendship could afford him no solace.
-
-He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
-giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.
-
-For the next two days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes
-in his play as were suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals.
-The alterations were not radical, but he felt that they would be
-improvements, and his judgment was rarely at fault. Moreover, he was
-quick to perceive in what direction the strong points and the weak
-points of the various members of the company lay, and he had no
-hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them a better chance
-of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman called the
-“pot-house scene” would he change, not a word of the scene where the
-farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow to be
-omitted.
-
-Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
-to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee
-house talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the
-fate that was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he
-not adopted this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become
-aware, as they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy.
-When it was produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the
-manager up to ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a
-new set of lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
-
-But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some
-of them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
-hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he
-might not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not
-possibly be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a
-pity, one of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be
-so easily avoided?
-
-To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
-or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written
-it, he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the
-medium of these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the
-verdict of the playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on
-those scenes so early in the play was that the playgoers might know not
-to expect a sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a
-natural school of comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of
-the manners of the day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only
-the broadest and heartiest fun.
-
-“If the scenes are ungenteel,” said he, “it is because nature is made
-up of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
-interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
-when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a
-greater favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest
-gentleman who ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely
-on the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not
-interfere with his romping.”
-
-He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
-on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when
-he did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from
-his over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others--a disability
-which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
-consequence, delightfully fluent.
-
-On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
-he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that
-the Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some
-degree of apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might
-think he looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he
-was by her side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her.
-The words still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it
-would pain her to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite
-content that matters should remain as they were. Whatever the words
-might have meant, it was impossible that they could mean anything that
-might cause him to think of her with less reverence and affection.
-
-He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to
-find out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom
-there came to his ears the sound of laughter--such laughter as caused
-him to remark to the servant--
-
-“I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.”
-
-“Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
-sir,” replied Ralph.
-
-“I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
-entertaining them,” said Goldsmith.
-
-Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
-entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
-
-The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
-keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits
-of laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
-amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him
-much manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
-imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
-details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
-entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
-laboriously at his “Animated Nature.”
-
-“Good morning, sir, good morning,” he cried, pretending to take off
-his gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect
-self-possession, previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. “Now
-mind you don't sit there, Dr. Goldsmith,” he continued, raising a
-warning finger. A little motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis,
-with his mincing ways, was transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy
-and self-conscious in the presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy
-politeness to get him a chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very
-one on which the man had placed his hat. “Now, now, now, what are you
-about?”--once more Garrick was the amanuensis. “Did not I warn you to
-be careful about that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it?
-Sir, that excuse is a mere quibble--a mere quibble. This must not occur
-again, or I shall be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then,
-my good sir? Now to business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man
-to make me a cup of chocolate--with milk, sir--plenty of milk, and two
-lumps of sugar--plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a
-patriot--none of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think
-on't, your laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for
-me; and mind you tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in
-it”--this shouted half-way out of the door through which he had shown
-Goldsmith hurrying with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate.
-Then came the monologue of the amanuensis strolling about the room,
-passing his sneering remarks at the furniture--opening a letter which
-had just come by post, and reading it _sotto voce_. It was supposed to
-be from Filby, the tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform
-in which Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the
-Haymarket would be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith
-had made up his mind as to the exact orders which he meant to
-wear, ending with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and
-discrimination in choosing a costume which was so well adapted to
-his physique, and a humble suggestion that it should be worn upon the
-occasion of the first performance of the new comedy, when the writer
-hoped no objection would be raised to the hanging of a board in front of
-the author's box with “Made by Filby” printed on it.
-
-Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain
-words--giving an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here
-and there, and finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a
-postscript alluding to the length of time that had passed since the
-writer had received a payment on account, could not have been surpassed.
-The effect of the comedy upon the people in the room was immeasurably
-heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick,
-as the amanuensis, immediately walked to him gravely with the scrap of
-paper which had done duty as the letter, in his hand, asking him if what
-was written there in black and white about the field-marshal's uniform
-was correct, and if he meant to agree to Filby's request to wear it on
-the first night of the comedy.
-
-Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
-entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
-of the scene, saying-“Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
-more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful
-issue a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager
-of a playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why
-should not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?”
-
-The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew
-that Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment,
-and would not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In
-an instant, however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious
-amanuensis, and became David Garrick, crying--
-
-“Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to
-reply to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of
-your experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
-nature.”
-
-Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated
-at the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much
-what might follow.
-
-At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
-the room.
-
-“Come, sir,” said the amanuensis, “we have no time to waste over empty
-civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we
-cannot keep the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the
-booksellers, 'tis the world we think of. What is this?”--picking up an
-imaginary paper--“'The derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed
-the ingeniousness of many able writers, but there can be no doubt in
-the mind of any one who has seen that noble creature, as I have, in
-its native woods, careering nimbly from branch to branch of the largest
-trees in search of the butterflies, which form its sole food, that
-the name elephant is but a corruption of elegant, the movements of the
-animal being as singularly graceful as its shape is in accordance with
-all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your
-style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' should be himself
-both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon should himself
-be a buffoon.”
-
-In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
-leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis
-as to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer
-and warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
-Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
-imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
-the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked--
-
-“The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis!
-Lord! what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to
-dictate to his amanuensis?”
-
-Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house,
-around the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household
-in roars of laughter--as one delightful member of the household has
-recorded--over his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of
-Dr. Johnson.
-
-“And all this,” said Goldsmith, “came out of the paltry story which I
-told him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment
-he sat down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I
-knew he saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea
-and send him away.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.
-
-Goldsmith was delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from
-care. He had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear
-that she was unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry
-a mood as he had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at
-dinner, and he was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the
-mysterious mood that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
-
-She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
-him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though
-she said that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the
-intention of the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go
-together to the theatre and demand its immediate production on the
-finest scale possible.
-
-“There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
-Colman in that respect,” said Goldsmith. “Only to-day, when I ventured
-to talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not
-his intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be
-played for longer than a small portion of one evening.”
-
-“The monster!” cried the girl. “I should like to talk to him as I
-feel about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will
-tolerate his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs
-some one to be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him
-how contemptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him.
-The occasion is one that demands the powers of a man who has a whole
-dictionary at his back--yes, Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten
-that if he does not behave handsomely he will, in his next edition of
-the Dictionary, define a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps
-an author in suspense for months, and then produces his comedy so
-ungenerously as to make its failure a certainty. But, no, your play
-will be the greater success on account of its having to overcome all the
-obstacles which Mr. Colman has placed in its way.”
-
-“I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be
-the greatest success of the century,” said he.
-
-“And so it will be--oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will--oh, we
-shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
-and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
-upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.”
-
-“You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to
-the remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
-suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
-upon an ill-treated author.”
-
-“I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
-one of the two enterprises--the first being the changing of the mistakes
-of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the changing of
-the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager--ay, and of an
-author as well.”
-
-“Admirably spoke!” cried the author. “I have a mind to let the name 'The
-Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.”
-
-“No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,” said she.
-“Oh, do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot
-hit upon a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath
-of laurel.” Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not
-far away, had put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a
-word or two of the girl's sentence.
-
-“I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,” said
-he. “You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
-Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?”
-
-“Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
-Knight!'” said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
-not like too many people to hear him make one.
-
-“'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get
-a better,” said Goldsmith. “I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
-Horneck to discover the better one.”
-
-“Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
-and damn the play,” said Reynolds. “I have given it its proper name,
-and if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
-reprobation of all honest folk who detest an _alias_.”
-
-“Then that name shall stand,” said Goldsmith. “I give you my word, Sir
-Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have
-it damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in
-England.”
-
-“That is very well said, indeed,” remarked Sir Joshua. “It gives
-evidence of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all
-should respect.”
-
-Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely,
-for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase,
-but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of
-laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he
-was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
-
-Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
-question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
-story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
-not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
-
-A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner--his name was Colonel
-Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck--took
-up the question quite seriously.
-
-“For my part,” he said, “I admit frankly that I have never heard the
-story of Grouse in the gun-room.”
-
-“Is it possible, sir?” cried Garrick. “What, you mean to say that you
-are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who
-asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was
-locked--that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?”
-
-“No, sir,” cried Colonel Gwyn. “I had no idea that the story was a
-familiar one. It seems interesting, too.”
-
-“Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,” said Garrick. “But you are an
-army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the
-mess-table.”
-
-“I protest, sir,” said Colonel Gwyn, “I know so little about it that
-I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog--I have myself known of
-sporting dogs called Grouse.”
-
-“Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,” cried Garrick. “Ould Grouse a dog! Pray
-do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man,
-and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr.
-Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death
-severely.”
-
-“Then he is dead?” said Gwyn. “That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
-the narrative.”
-
-“A particularly pathetic interest, sir,” said Garrick, shaking his head.
-“I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that
-that dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us--that the gunroom door
-is now open, but that within there is silence--no sound of the dear old
-feet that were wont to patter and potter--you will pardon my emotion,
-madam”--He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
-became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured
-to assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology,
-did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now
-without seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had
-too high an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face
-perfectly grave, while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to
-suppress came from the napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti
-said something in Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the
-melancholy nature of the party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin,
-saying--
-
-“'T is selfish to repine, and he himself--dear old soul!--would be the
-last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in the
-gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
-I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
-delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
-known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had
-no particular character in the neighbourhood.”
-
-“Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,” said the Colonel.
-
-“Well, if the truth must be told--but no, the man is dead and gone now,”
- cried Garrick, “and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
-do, the nimbleness of his wit--the genial mirth which ran through the
-gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
-is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse
-or two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
-thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
-comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
-afraid to joke, sir, and----”
-
-“But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
-read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
-actually narrated, but only hinted at,” said Gwyn.
-
-“That makes little matter, sir,” said Garrick. “The untold story of Ould
-Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
-year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.”
-
-“At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,” said Mrs. Bunbury, “after the pains which
-Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of
-the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.”
- Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled.
-
-“I protest, madam,” said he, “that up to the present--ah! I fear that
-the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to
-be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind
-you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----”
-
-This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with
-laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel
-Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and
-then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never
-quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household
-where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the
-ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with
-a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be
-merry.
-
-“Colonel Gwyn,” said Garrick, “these gentlemen seem to have their own
-reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate
-when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive
-they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
-sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
-the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
-don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
-some years.”
-
-He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
-in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
-the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
-
-When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
-embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who
-was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends
-every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which
-chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of
-port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom
-he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward
-regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written
-for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very
-effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a
-single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick
-were indignant.
-
-“You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,” said
-the latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the
-play to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
-
-“Ah, Davy, my friend,” Goldsmith replied, “I feel more at my ease in
-reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst--or the best. If
-the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
-for the next year or two.”
-
-In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
-entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
-room.
-
-Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
-and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting
-long sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was
-supposed to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment
-has survived, and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with
-Garrick repeating the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous
-change of expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with
-Goldsmith burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly
-amusing gestures the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed
-that Sir Joshua's guests were convulsed.
-
-After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
-playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
-did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines
-after the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous
-than that of the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an
-affecting passage from Addison's “Cato,” Goldsmith began to sing
-the song which he had been compelled to omit from the part of Miss
-Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course
-Garrick's gestures during the delivery of the song were marvellously
-ingenious, and an additional element of attraction was introduced by
-Dr. Burney, who hastily seated himself at the pianoforte and interwove a
-medley accompaniment, introducing all the airs then popular, but without
-prejudice to the harmonies of the accompaniment.
-
-Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
-marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
-caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees--he begged the
-lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was accustomed
-to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica shook her
-head.
-
-“Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,” said Sir Joshua to
-the Jessamy Bride. “Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
-hearing her sing.”
-
-Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
-Angelica.
-
-“Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!” she cried. “Will your Majesty
-condescend to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned
-to captivate our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to
-conquer our savage hearts by the exercise of another?”
-
-A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
-thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
-springing to his feet.
-
-“By the Lord, I've got it!” shouted Goldsmith. “The Jessamy Bride has
-given it to me, as I knew she would--the title of my comedy--she has
-just said it: '_She Stoops to Conquer_.'”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII.
-
-As a matter of course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith
-communicated it to him the next day; but the latter was firm on this
-particular point. He had given the play its name, he said, and he would
-not alter it now on any consideration.
-
-Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play
-gave him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret
-at not being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he
-believed the manager would play to perfection.
-
-But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the
-whole Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his
-customary emphasis, that no better title than “She Stoops to Conquer”
- could be found for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and
-the rehearsal was proceeded with.
-
-“Nay, sir,” cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
-in order to go upon the stage, “Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
-must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we
-may be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
-filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?”
-
-“I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss
-Horneck--Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
-topics of the hour. “I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as
-will enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but
-to a whole archipelago of wit.”
-
-“Otaheite is a name of good omen,” said Cradock. “It is suggestive of
-palms, and '_palmam qui meruit ferat._'”
-
-“Sir,” said Johnson, “you should know better than to quote Latin in the
-presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
-it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
-is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
-playgoers.”
-
-“Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,” laughed
-Cradock. “Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal,
-and Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
-critics.”
-
-Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
-Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
-opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
-his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
-critics.
-
-Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
-servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
-outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
-broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed
-and applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons--especially the
-satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists--but it was the
-drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of Miss
-Horneck--
-
-“Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?”
-
-When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
-Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much
-amazed as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage
-out of compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority
-regarding the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in
-the estimation of his company, remarked--
-
-“Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
-generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
-playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
-your wit.”
-
-“I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent
-the instruction of Dr. Johnson,” said Goldsmith quietly.
-
-The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed
-it during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it
-became understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit
-their regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been
-originally cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the
-prologue, which Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told
-Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or two to Woodward.
-
-The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
-Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
-threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
-thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
-epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
-declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
-herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
-ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
-were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject;
-but Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
-epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding
-the first performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was
-eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley.
-
-“It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an
-epilogue which will never be spoke,” sneered Colman when the last
-difficulties had been smoothed over.
-
-Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
-consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
-Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
-of the play--when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
-niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
-either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
-almost caused him to break down.
-
-Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
-She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
-hesitate for a moment.
-
-“I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,” she said; “my dress
-would be ruined.”
-
-He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
-
-“Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour
-of the play,” she cried. “Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their
-dusters, and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one
-of the candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years
-contained such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr.
-Col-man for a curmudgeon.”
-
-“You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,”
- said Goldsmith. “Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and
-I only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.”
-
-“It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
-play, sir,” said Johnson. “The credit of your friends, who insisted on
-Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.”
-
-“And above all,” said Reynolds pleasantly, “the play must be a success
-in order to put Colman in the wrong.”
-
-“That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
-important to us all,” said Mary. “It would never do for Colman to be in
-the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
-saved by Monday night.”
-
-“I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,” said
-Goldsmith. “I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a
-sense of my own unworthiness.”
-
-“You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,” cried
-Johnson. “Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
-hear your play.”
-
-“I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
-when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care
-to send a guinea in advance,” said Goldsmith, and every one present knew
-that he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by
-Johnson on the day that “The Vicar of Wakefield” was sold.
-
-“And now,” said Reynolds, “I have to prove how certain we are of the
-future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday
-previous to the performance.”
-
-“Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
-success of the play,” said Johnson. “To proffer such an invitation would
-be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public
-had attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who
-know your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that
-our esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday
-night, sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour
-to have you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with
-us.”
-
-“You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what
-you mean better,” said Goldsmith. “A compliment is doubly a compliment
-coming from Dr. Johnson.”
-
-He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
-walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter
-of a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character
-of Young Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had
-sufficiently recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how
-remarkable a character he had created.
-
-On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the
-St. James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found
-the author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
-salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered
-with silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any
-mistake on this point.
-
-“Heavens!” cried the visitor. “Have you forgot that you cannot wear
-colours?”
-
-“Why not?” asked Goldsmith. “Because Woodward is to appear in mourning
-to speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy
-should also be in black?”
-
-“Nay,” said Steevens, “that is not the reason. How is it possible that
-you forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat
-of yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in
-front of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you
-hope that the King will command a performance.”
-
-Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
-garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
-dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
-before throwing it over the back of a chair.
-
-“It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,”
- said he. “I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.”
-
-He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with
-his friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
-Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
-assembled.
-
-It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook
-hands twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the
-King of Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for
-regret with him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He
-expressed a hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have
-so depressing an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their
-enjoyment of his comedy.
-
-Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did
-not think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would
-be quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
-frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
-all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose
-name they had probably never heard.
-
-Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
-the best, but still....
-
-Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
-Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
-heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
-merriment.
-
-The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
-concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
-become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
-of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the
-clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time
-to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
-
-Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds
-that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his
-nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken
-at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took
-place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave
-all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to
-him--not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity
-College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with
-him.
-
-While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
-theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
-had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
-to have the omission repaired without delay.
-
-He never returned.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII.
-
-The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter
-from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was
-having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house,
-the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in
-the direction of Pall Mall.
-
-“Psha! sir,” said Johnson to Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is little better than
-a fool.” Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
-
-“Yes,” said Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
-ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
-let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say
-the best comedy of a century.”
-
-“I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the
-playhouse?” said Richard Burke.
-
-“It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
-concerned,” said Steevens. “I think that the best course we can adopt
-is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
-looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
-Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
-burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.”
-
-“You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
-playhouse, sir,” said Johnson.
-
-“If I know anything of him, sir,” said Steevens, “the playhouse is just
-the place which he would most persistently avoid.” There was a long
-pause before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
-
-“Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.”
-
-“That is very kind of you, sir,” replied Steevens. “But you may rest
-assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.”
-
-While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
-hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
-Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting
-alone in some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable
-failure of his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled
-him to hold out against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced,
-suffer a relapse when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and
-his naturally sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his
-life give place to a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him
-to put in an appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his
-friends. Steevens actually made up his mind that if he failed to find
-Goldsmith during the next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage
-on the Edgware road.
-
-He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house--from Jack's, in Dean
-street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster--but he failed to discover his
-friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this way; and all
-this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse--except
-the one box that held Cumberland and his friends--were greeting the
-brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
-contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
-authors had witnessed.
-
-The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens
-have imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous
-figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with
-a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and
-as phrase after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and
-vivified with numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken,
-he seems to shake the theatre with his laughter.
-
-Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
-of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two
-notable figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
-frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
-
-Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
-Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the
-most notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
-occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
-laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
-she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
-Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
-Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
-lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
-every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
-
-Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, “looking glum,” as one
-witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
-having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth
-the resentment of the pit.
-
-In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
-years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's “Good-Natured Man” at “the other
-house,” sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
-“Ossian.” He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
-an impostor.
-
-The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
-younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
-for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from
-the pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact
-that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his
-eyes fixed upon her--earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his
-_fiancée_ are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important
-box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may
-be gratified by beholding her. It does not so much matter about her
-husband, who once thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a
-concern whose operations represented the potentialities of wealth
-beyond the dreams of avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the
-Gunnings when she first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever
-recorded to the eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll,
-mindful of that trick which the cleverness of her mother turned to so
-good account, does not condescend to notice from her box, where she sits
-with Lady Betty Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though
-she is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising
-between the acts.
-
-What a play! What spectators!
-
-We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought
-to those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with
-delight at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the
-little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
-
-Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality
-upon their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
-biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
-down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
-
-And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
-nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in
-St. James's Park.
-
-Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching
-for him.
-
-“Don't speak, man, for God's sake,” cried Oliver. “'Tis not so dark but
-that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
-the comedy is ended--that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in the
-middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is ended.”
-
-“Not I,” said Steevens. “I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
-what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at
-the coffee house?”
-
-“I don't know what you speak of,” said Goldsmith. “But I beg of you to
-hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play--don't fear to
-tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly twenty
-years; I am not easily dismayed.”
-
-“My dear friend,” said Steevens, “I have no intention of going to
-the playhouse unless you are in my company--I promised so much to Dr.
-Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
-yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
-sir?”
-
-“What do you mean by that?”
-
-“I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise
-on the stage that you, and you only, can decide--are you willing to
-allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman,
-who is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
-prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great
-man, too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I
-am convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?”
-
-“It shall not--it shall not!” cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
-“I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I
-have something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in
-this battle have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my
-friend--I'll go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to
-avert disaster.”
-
-They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
-obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
-Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of
-the play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence
-to insist on a scene being omitted--or, perhaps, a whole act; and
-nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
-
-When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his
-head out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the
-playhouse--that his worst fears were realized.
-
-“Nonsense!” cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other
-window. “The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental
-to any performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on
-their boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy
-has yet to be damned.”
-
-When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage
-door, looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as
-if to see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the
-back of the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick,
-in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had
-driven her forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was
-within twenty yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights
-were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have
-failed to recognise the familiar features of the scene. The next moment
-there came a hiss--a solitary hiss from the boxes.
-
-“What's that, Mr. Colman?” whispered the excited author.
-
-“Psha! sir,” said Colman brutally. “Why trouble yourself about a squib
-when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?”
-
-“That's a lie,” said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
-Mr. Hardcastle. “'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
-assured from the first.”
-
-“By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
-while I live!” said Goldsmith.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV.
-
-It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever
-uttered. Goldsmith was soon made aware of this. The laughter that
-followed Tony Lumpkin's pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle
-was a highwayman was not the laugh of playgoers who have endured four
-acts of a dull play; it was the laugh of people who have been in a good
-humour for over two hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from
-their laughter that the people in every part of the house were following
-the comedy with extraordinary interest. Every point in the dialogue was
-effective--the exquisite complications, the broad fun, the innumerable
-touches of nature, all were appreciated by an audience whose expression
-of gratification fell little short of rapture.
-
-When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not
-return to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue
-was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
-
-As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of
-speaking to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits,
-and from them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the
-first scene to the one which was being represented, the performance had
-been a succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every
-member of the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and
-scenery familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary
-success of the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the
-offensive terms of the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the
-audience, several of the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and
-cheering for some time--so much Goldsmith learned little by little at
-intervals from the actors.
-
-“I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
-word; he has treated me cruelly--more cruelly than he has any idea
-of,” said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. “But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
-anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes
-much to you, sir.”
-
-“Faith then, sir,” cried Lewes, “I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
-will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
-Goldsmith.”
-
-“You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,” said Goldsmith.
-
-And so he had.
-
-When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
-Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
-Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head,
-and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through
-half-closed eyes.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility,
-“I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
-foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray
-of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at
-having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
-sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I
-might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.”
-
-“Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a
-part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to
-accept it.”
-
-“Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him
-both her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
-Goldsmith.”
-
-[Illustration: 0173]
-
-And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company
-and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
-congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
-had filled the theatre.
-
-“We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
-Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,” said he.
-“You dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
-indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast.
-On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding
-modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make
-you a coxcomb.”
-
-“Oh, I hope not, sir,” said Goldsmith. “No, you don't hope it, sir,”
- cried Johnson. “You are thinking at this moment how much better you are
-than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal.”
-
-“And he has a right to think so,” said Mrs. Bunbury. “Come, Dr.
-Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters.”
-
-“Certainly, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Where are they?”
-
-“Well said!” cried Edmund Burke.
-
-“Nay, sir,” said Johnson. “Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough.
-We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
-garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.”
-
-His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake
-on the walls.
-
-Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand.
-She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she
-was not mistaken.
-
-For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit
-and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in
-the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived
-the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly
-imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the
-points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian
-into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the
-background with the Bunburys.
-
-So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in
-uniform had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind
-Mr. Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner,
-saying a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action,
-though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the
-girl, and perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes
-were turned upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her
-heart.
-
-He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out
-her inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
-people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing
-was paying no attention to her.
-
-When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought
-it advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
-
-“Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried. “We have given you our ears for more
-than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.”
-
-“I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, you
-were remarking that----”
-
-“That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be
-compared to a boy who has robbed an orchard,” said the lady.
-
-“True--very true, madam,” said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
-involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
-beside her. She was not smiling.
-
-“Yes, 'tis true; but why?” cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
-did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
-
-“Ah, yes; that's just it--why?” said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
-from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and
-Henry Bunbury were standing.
-
-“Why?” said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. “Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
-suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because
-his booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in
-his pockets what he is not entitled to.”
-
-She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
-did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
-successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
-attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
-gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
-more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
-
-“You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?” said Mr. Thrale.
-
-“Nay, sir!” cried Bunbury; “mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
-some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.”
-
-“What did I say, Goldy?” cried Johnson. “Was it not that, after the
-presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?”
-
-“Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
-of them I accepted some days ago,” said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
-hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
-conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
-
-But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
-laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of
-the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
-involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious
-to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this
-form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that
-refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
-Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he “talked like
-poor Poll.” He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely
-because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
-couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
-
-Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
-thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
-expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
-given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons
-around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which
-makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who “talked
-like poor Poll” was the man who, even before he had done anything in
-literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop
-Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and
-a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious
-Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to
-great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
-
-While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that
-the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs.
-Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying
-to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his
-adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying--
-
-“Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.”
-
-“I shall take good care that you don't, sir,” said she.
-
-“Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!” he cried, bowing
-as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he
-suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Why, if
-I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman
-in uniform who was speaking with you just now,” said he. “I fancy I have
-met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.”
-
-“His name is Jackson,” she replied. “Yes, Captain Jackson, though the
-Lord only knows what he is captain of.”
-
-“I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,” said Goldsmith.
-“'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by
-professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.”
-
-When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
-affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the
-occasion, she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in
-their coach--her mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
-
-The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
-produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
-eaten no dinner--Johnson and his friends had been by no means reticent
-on the subject of the dinner--he was without an appetite for the
-delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
-in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
-endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
-almost speechless the whole evening.
-
-“Ah,” said she, “I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been
-quite obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with
-us at Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a
-little comedy may become a great tragedy.”
-
-Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
-play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
-Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as
-he could without being rude.
-
-He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick
-Court. But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
-
-All his life he had been looking forward to this night--the night
-that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him
-an incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his
-period. And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with
-destiny was within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever
-felt in his garret.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XV.
-
-
-What did it all mean?
-
-That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
-refer to the reception given to “She Stoops to Conquer,” which had
-placed him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to
-the strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
-
-The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had
-been speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
-reputation--he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
-reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
-room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
-glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the
-eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs.
-Woffington, showed that he was a person of no position in society. This
-conclusion to which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no
-persons of any distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the
-playhouse had shown that they were acquainted with him--no one person
-save only Mary Horneck.
-
-Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and
-Mrs. Bulk-ley.
-
-This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have
-been incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had
-invariably shunned in society those persons--women as well as men--who
-had shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested
-the man--he was popular enough at that period--who had allowed
-innuendoes to do duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman--she
-is popular enough now--who had laughed at and made light of the
-innuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
-
-And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
-fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
-The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands
-with the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for
-her own ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary
-Horneck stood in a very different position from that occupied by the
-Duchess. While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the
-lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from
-the actresses.
-
-And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one
-of these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor--a man
-who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
-
-What could this curious incident mean?
-
-The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
-the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
-had arrived--not a post had been missed--from persons who professed the
-most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to borrow from
-him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom he had
-rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
-consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would
-continue his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so
-marked a way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their
-letters lay unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he
-sent his guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That
-was how he contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had
-earned since leaving his garret.)
-
-His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
-left his chambers.
-
-He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
-no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed
-to notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain
-Jackson--he would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared
-to him more than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to
-another girl all that he had noticed, he would have said that such a
-matter required no explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young
-girls with men of the stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck,
-however, the matter was not so easily explained. The shrug and
-the raising of the eyebrows were singularly inappropriate to any
-consideration of an incident in which she was concerned.
-
-He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
-success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several
-of the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on
-terms of the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a
-cordiality, the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces.
-Among them was one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had
-early found a friend in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this
-early friendship of his.
-
-Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
-word, and whose wife was his laundress--not wholly above suspicion as
-regards her honesty--stammered his congratulations, and received the
-crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he
-had always suspected--that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
-world for men who have become successful.
-
-Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
-that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
-another hour would pass.
-
-He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
-alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
-time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of
-such intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to
-inquire if Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to
-ear as he admitted the visitor.
-
-“I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,” he said,
-his grin expanding genially.
-
-“Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?” said Goldsmith.
-“You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?”
-
-“I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the
-table--and Mr. Marlow's man, sir--as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what
-more you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says
-he quite cool-like and satisfied--and it's the gentleman's own private
-house, after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh
-till he thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then
-sent us off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some
-fools about us said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr.
-Northcote--Sir Joshua's young man, sir--he up and says that nature isn't
-always genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth--I beg
-your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
-couldn't ha' done worse than me--talking so familiar-like, instead of
-showing you up.”
-
-“Nay, sir,” said Goldsmith, “the patron has the privilege of addressing
-his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
-George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer;
-and, to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for
-my benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.”
-
-“Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,” whispered the man, for he had led
-the way to the drawingroom door. “I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If
-I told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
-without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls
-this year, sir.”
-
-In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
-
-She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
-that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
-smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
-ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
-sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them
-that touched him deeply.
-
-“You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
-honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,” she said,
-giving him her hand. “But it was impossible--oh, quite impossible, for
-me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
-how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear
-friend.”
-
-“It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,” said he. “I was looking forward to
-that night also--I don't know for how many years--all my life, it seems
-to me.”
-
-“Never mind!” she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. “Never
-mind! your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you
-now; every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.”
-
-“There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,” said
-Goldsmith. “But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
-single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
-miserable.”
-
-“I know it,” she said, giving him her hand once more. “I know it, and
-knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.”
-
-“What is the matter, Mary?” he asked her after a pause. “Once before I
-begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
-able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man
-of many resources.”
-
-“I cannot tell you,” she said slowly, but with great emphasis. “There
-are some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree
-that a woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with
-another--either with a sister or with a brother--even so good a friend
-as Oliver Goldsmith.”
-
-“That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,” said
-he. “I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its
-origin to me.”
-
-“Ah, I see everything but too plainly,” she cried, throwing herself down
-on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. “Why, all my
-misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
-Oh, I have said too much,” she cried piteously. She had sprung to her
-feet and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. “Pray forget
-what I have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say;
-oh, pray go away--go away and leave me alone with my sorrow--it is my
-own--no one has a right to it but myself.”
-
-There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
-little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
-
-“No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,” said he. “You shall
-tell me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room
-last night has to do with your sorrow.”
-
-She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a
-curious look of cunning in her eyes--a look that made him shudder, so
-foreign was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
-
-“A man? Did I speak to a man?” she said slowly, affecting an endeavour
-to recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. “Oh, yes, I
-suppose I spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded
-it was! And it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked
-in their paint!--almost as terrible as a lady of quality!”
-
-“Poor child!” said he. “My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
-everything from me you have told me all--all except--listen to me, Mary.
-Nothing that I can hear--nothing that you can tell me--will cause me to
-think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to make me
-aware that that man--Captain Jackson, he calls himself----”
-
-“How did you find out his name?” she said in a whisper. “I did not tell
-you his name even at the Pantheon.”
-
-“No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
-why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
-as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
-rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?”
-
-“He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet----”
-
-“How has he got you in his power--that is what you are going to tell
-me.”
-
-“No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not
-know me, or you would not ask me to tell you.”
-
-“What would you have me think, child?”
-
-“Think the worst--the worst that your kind heart can think--only leave
-me--leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I may soon
-die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'”
-
-“I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything
-ill of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have
-written so much as I have written about men and women without being able
-to know when a woman is altogether good--a man altogether bad? I know
-you, my dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him?
-Think of the friends you have.”
-
-“It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but
-if they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
-loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
-fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?”
-
-“For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.”
-
-“It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch
-who stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being
-thrust out behind to push her over.”
-
-She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
-thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
-
-“That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind
-you, there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from
-slipping. There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice,
-or else those who hold them out to you will go over the brink with
-you. Ah, my dear, dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In
-another year--perhaps in another month--you will wonder how you could
-ever have taken so gloomy a view of the present hour.”
-
-A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained
-there, however. Then she shook her head, saying--
-
-“Alas! Alas!”
-
-She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his
-own, laying his other caressingly on her head.
-
-“You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,” said he. “You fill
-with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that
-it would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my
-dying could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What
-I do say is that I should like to live for you--to live to see happiness
-once again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing--you will
-not give me a chance of helping you.”
-
-She shook her head sadly.
-
-“I dare not--I dare not,” she said. “I dare not run the chance of
-forfeiting your regard forever.”
-
-“Good-bye,” he said after a pause.
-
-He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
-and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
-
-“Mary,” he said, “I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
-beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again--that
-you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
-company of such a man--talking to him as I saw you last night--what
-would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
-construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
-dear?”
-
-“Alas! alas!” she cried piteously. “I cannot make you such a promise.
-You will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my
-own free will?”
-
-“What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
-you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!”
-
-“That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
-power over me--he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot speak
-to you more! Leave me--leave me! I have been a fool and I must pay the
-penalty of my folly.” Before he could make a reply, the door was opened
-and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
-sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
-
-“Nonsense, dear Mamma,” cried Little Comedy. “What Mary needs is some
-one who will raise her spirits--Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I
-am sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor?
-Nay, you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain
-that you would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but
-I protest it would seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your
-attention. He doesn't look particularly like our agreeable Rattle at
-the present moment, does he, Mamma? And it was the same at supper
-last night. It might have been fancied that he was celebrating a great
-failure instead of a huge success.”
-
-For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
-the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the
-author some account of what the friends whom she had met that day
-said of the piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a
-perpetually sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her
-gaiety was out of tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the
-first breathing space that the girl permitted him.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI.
-
-
-He felt that the result of his interview with Mary was to render more
-mysterious than ever the question which he had hoped to solve.
-
-He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
-had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd
-enough to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed
-account of his interview with the girl--a detailed account of his
-observation of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the
-Pantheon, then in the green room of Covent Garden--would have no trouble
-whatever in accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could
-see the shrugs of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed
-to be vastly grieved.
-
-Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all
-womankind together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one
-woman to be swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind
-generally.
-
-But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe
-that she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think
-anything evil regarding her.
-
-“She is not as others,” was the phrase that was in his mind--the thought
-that was in his heart.
-
-He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance
-that when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not
-as other women are.
-
-He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that
-when a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from
-other women, he loves that woman.
-
-He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out
-the heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that
-had occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in
-the same apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that
-the killing of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question
-which was puzzling him.
-
-After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he
-went to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of
-the author's nights for “She Stoops to Conquer.” Baretti was a
-well known personage in the best literary society in London, having
-consolidated his reputation by the publication of his English and
-Italian dictionary. He had been Johnson's friend since his first exile
-from Italy, and it was through his influence Baretti, on the formation
-of the Royal Academy, had been appointed Secretary for Foreign
-Correspondence. To Johnson also he owed the more remunerative
-appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. He had frequently dined
-with Goldsmith at his chambers.
-
-Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
-author of the play upon his success.
-
-“If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it
-creates in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,” said the
-Italian.
-
-“Yes,” said Goldsmith quickly, “that is just what I wish to have a word
-with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
-should be.”
-
-“What,” cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who
-had certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. “What, do you
-mean to fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be
-your weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen
-you should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty
-certain of victory.”
-
-“Ah, yes; but there are cases--well, one never knows what may happen,
-and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can
-do a little sword play--enough to enable me to face a moderately good
-antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
-in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.”
-
-“How did you retort?”
-
-“Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised
-as gentlemen.”
-
-“Bacchus! An effective retort! And then----”
-
-“Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
-making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout
-of swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
-compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
-any first-rate master of the art in London?”
-
-The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
-
-“You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you
-into a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?”
-
-“Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.”
-
-“Better make it five years.”
-
-“Five years?”
-
-“My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
-express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be
-made a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell
-you that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front
-place among swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so
-short-sighted I could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I
-shall never kill a man.”
-
-He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
-them.
-
-“I have made up my mind to have some lessons,” said Goldsmith, “and I
-know there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.”
-
-“Psha!” said Baretti. “There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
-are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
-teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
-you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
-such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
-fiber than yourself.”
-
-“There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men--nay,
-even an Irishman--to show himself adroit with a sword,” said Goldsmith;
-“and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services towards
-this end.”
-
-He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
-
-“You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no
-further than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular
-wish to place myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,” said
-he. “I fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a
-fencing master.”
-
-“I shall keep it a secret,” laughed Baretti; “but mind, sir, when you
-run your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the
-court as a witness as to your pacific character.”
-
-(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called
-as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with
-the murder of a man.)
-
-He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had
-taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own
-nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel
-with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him
-through a vital part.
-
-He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
-containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon
-Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic
-of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and
-so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
-express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
-posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
-care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement
-with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
-scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
-the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
-lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
-
-If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
-enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many
-months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his
-triumph in another direction.
-
-After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
-several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with
-him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
-
-He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all
-clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was
-unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had
-received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
-
-He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
-was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
-
-“You were talking about me just before I entered,” said he: “I always
-know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now,
-may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to
-me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I
-hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all
-that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own
-reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?”
-
-Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
-fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
-which he said--
-
-“You may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
-Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends.”
-
-“Psha, sir!” cried Goldsmith, “don't I know that already? Were you not
-all my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
-overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
-bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?”
-
-“Goldsmith,” said Steevens, “we received a copy of the _London Packet_
-half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
-attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.”
-
-“At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
-assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
-is none other than myself,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,” said Steevens. “It
-is the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.”
-
-“Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,” said Goldsmith. “You
-know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once
-I made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
-caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that
-it is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where
-is the _Packet?_”
-
-“There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,” said Cradock.
-“Take my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise
-nature of that scoundrel's slanders.”
-
-“Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to
-sting me,” replied Goldsmith. “And so, sir, let me have the _Packet_,
-and you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
-Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
-detraction.”
-
-“Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
-garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,” said Steevens.
-
-“Come, sirs, I insist,” cried Goldsmith. “Why do I waste time with you?”
- he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. “I waste time
-here when I can read the _Packet_ in the bar.”
-
-“Hold, sir,” said Burke. “Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
-would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched
-forth to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the
-paper and here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English
-writers--the truest of English poets--the best of Englishmen.”
-
-“You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick
-flings himself upon me?”
-
-He took the _Packet_. It opened automatically, where an imaginary letter
-to himself, signed “Tom Tickle,” appeared.
-
-He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
-nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
-from it--he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing--but
-suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
-crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
-flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the
-room with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword
-and placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a
-word to any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane
-only.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVII.
-
-Kenrick's article in the _London Packet_ remains to this day as the
-vilest example of scurrility published under the form of criticism. All
-the venom that can be engendered by envy and malice appears in every
-line of it. It contains no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains
-no clever phrase. It is the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the
-demon of jealousy. The note of the Gadarene herd sounds through it,
-strident and strenuous. It exists as the worst outcome of the period
-when every garret scribbler emulated “Junius,” both as regards style and
-method, but only succeeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead
-of the thunder of the unknown master of vituperation.
-
-Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt;
-but when he came to that vile passage--“For hours the _great_ Goldsmith
-will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
-pier-glass. Was but the lovely H------k as much enamoured, you would not
-sigh, my gentle swain”--his hands tore the paper in fury.
-
-He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did
-not know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him
-aware of the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He
-did not mind any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have
-the name that he most cherished of all names associated with his in an
-insult that seemed to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was
-more than he could bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind
-him and had struck from thence the one who had been kindest to him of
-all the people in the world.
-
-There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
-There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him
-and the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck
-in the face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to
-whom he had been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would
-undoubtedly feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself
-was to blame for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt
-that if the attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have
-escaped. Yes, that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over
-him to her.
-
-His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
-upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his
-sword he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his
-hands.
-
-And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
-assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink
-from running him through the body with his sword.
-
-On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
-counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew
-that he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a
-corner; he felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was
-made up as to what he should do, and all that he now feared was that
-some circumstance might prevent his realising his intention.
-
-He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans,
-the publisher of the _London Packet_. He arrived almost breathless at
-the place--it was in Little Queen street--and entered the shop demanding
-to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. Evans, the
-publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and hearing
-a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
-Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was
-in the house.
-
-“I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon
-me which appeared in the _Packet_ of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!” said
-the visitor.
-
-The shopkeeper smiled.
-
-“Does anything appear about you in the _Packet_, sir?” he said,
-over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
-
-“You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!” cried Goldsmith,
-stung by the supercilious smile of the man; “you are the publisher of
-this gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote
-it struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.”
-
-He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with
-his cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
-opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a
-small wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance,
-and had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and
-all the noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his
-paymaster. It was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back
-from the cane of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a
-missile to fling at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a
-table and hurled it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it
-struck Evans on the chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over
-him. This Kenrick perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small
-shop chairs and rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled;
-but, before he could carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop
-from the street, and, flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught
-Goldsmith, who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried him into a
-hackney-coach, which drove away.
-
-The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
-room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became
-uneasy regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving
-the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent
-the assault which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the
-person of Kenrick.
-
-He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of
-the occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his
-conduct. A lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when
-delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain
-Higgins's counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
-
-“Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have
-abstained from doing,” cried the still breathless man. “I did what my
-manhood prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done
-yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans--it was
-that reptile Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to
-shelter him, what was left to me, I ask you, sir?”
-
-“You were a fool, Oliver,” said his countryman; “you made a great
-mistake. Can't you see that you should never go about such things
-single-handed? You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who
-would not hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why
-the devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when
-you left the tavern?”
-
-“Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,” replied Goldsmith.
-“And, besides,” he added, “I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with
-me to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day.
-I have taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it.
-Kenrick won't attack me again so long as I am alive.”
-
-He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
-Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
-which he was a master.
-
-When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
-Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
-Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
-like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
-that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies
-a lesson.
-
-But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
-insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
-been less gracious to him--if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
-example, had been accustomed to treat him--regarding him and his defects
-merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have escaped
-all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause of her
-being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
-
-But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
-forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
-think about.
-
-The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that
-he had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
-years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
-despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
-that could not be surmounted.
-
-He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her
-forgiveness for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be
-responsible. He could not, he added, expect that in the future it would
-be allowed to him to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and
-her family as had been permitted to him in the past.
-
-Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
-when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
-which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only
-had seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent
-Garden, and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had
-originated with that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if
-he was justified in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not
-asked him to be her champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it
-was a very poor champion that he would have made; but still he knew more
-of her grief than any one else, and he believed he might be able to help
-her.
-
-He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
-
-“I will not leave her,” he cried. “Whatever may happen--whatever blame
-people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave her
-until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.”
-
-He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain
-Horneck.
-
-For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother
-had no reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and
-Kenrick. But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation
-passed away.
-
-“Ha, my little hero!” Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
-threshold. “What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what
-are things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
-booksellers?”
-
-“You have heard of it?” said Oliver. “You have heard of the quarrel, but
-you cannot have heard of the reason for it!”
-
-“What, there is something behind the _London Packet_, after all?” cried
-Captain Horneck.
-
-“Something behind it--something behind that slander--the mention of your
-sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?”
-
-“My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists
-between my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as
-this--a strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as
-you are concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?”
-
-Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which
-he was holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the
-words never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of
-his own, and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped
-it, and burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
-
-Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
-affected.
-
-“Come, come, old friend,” he said at last, placing his hand
-affectionately on Goldsmith's shoulder. “Come, come; this will not do.
-There is nothing to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little
-aware of your own position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck
-family regard your friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good
-heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid
-for immortality through our names being associated with yours? Who in a
-hundred years--in fifty years--would know anything of the Horneck
-family if it were not for their association with you? The name of Oliver
-Goldsmith will live so long as there is life in English letters, and
-when your name is spoken the name of your friends the Hornecks will not
-be forgotten.”
-
-He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
-chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVIII.
-
-The next day the news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by
-Goldsmith in respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the
-literary circle of which Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling
-was one of regret that Kenrick had not received the beating instead of
-Evans. Of course, Johnson, who had threatened two writers with an oak
-stick, shook his head--and his body as well--in grave disapproval of
-Goldsmith's use of his cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes
-were of the opinion that a cane had never been more appropriately used.
-
-What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands
-of pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
-afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
-which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
-Colman's management.
-
-Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
-had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl
-of indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period--some
-in the pay of the government others of the opposition--solely by
-stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person
-of the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in
-the form of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded
-Junius.
-
-The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
-public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest
-in the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling
-audience. When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the _Daily
-Advertiser_--surely the manliest manifesto ever printed--the howls
-became attenuated, and shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted,
-even by Dr. Johnson--and so emphatically, too, that his biographer
-could not avoid recording his judgment--that Goldsmith had increased his
-reputation by the incident.
-
-(Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account
-of this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
-received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
-
-For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
-Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
-search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
-him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel
-when he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
-
-But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
-of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
-found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
-responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, after he had made some of those
-grotesque movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably
-accompanied--“Dr. Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years,
-sir.”
-
-“That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,” said
-Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
-that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
-come rather sooner.
-
-“If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
-to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,” said Johnson.
-
-“Yes, sir,” said Goldsmith, “you were right in assuming that you could
-say nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a
-fool--at many times--in many ways.”
-
-“I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
-and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
-my suspicion.”
-
-“If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he
-do after having seen me?” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Johnson, “it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
-to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of
-your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.”
-
-“What do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now
-what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose
-for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who
-could resist Filby's flatteries?”
-
-“Sir,” said Johnson, “you gave me permission several years ago to read
-any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.”
-
-“And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably
-been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect
-for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you
-suggested?”
-
-“It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
-waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,”
- said Johnson sternly.
-
-Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
-
-“I forget now what work was last under my hand,” said he; “but whatever
-it was, sir----”
-
-“I have it here, sir,” said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
-noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
-laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived
-that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the
-Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had
-them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would
-be the result of sending them to her.
-
-He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
-friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
-matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
-
-“Oh, those verses, sir,” he stammered; “they are poor things. You will,
-I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they
-resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my
-man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the
-cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----”
-
-“They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man
-of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the
-happiness of others.”
-
-“I protest, sir, I scarcely understand----”
-
-“Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.”
-
-“Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
-character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
-heart speaks.”
-
-“Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that
-may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your
-heart throbs in every line.”
-
-“Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise
-the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more
-happy than I fancied.”
-
-“Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.”
-
-“Sir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have
-spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote
-those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that
-came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?”
-
-“My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
-did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.”
-
-“A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been
-the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few
-consolations.”
-
-“Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
-as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
-Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
-family have extended to you.”
-
-“I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
-What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
-remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the
-indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship?
-Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?”
-
-“My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes,
-and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to
-know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even
-though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she
-will not be free from unhappiness.”
-
-“She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens
-all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.”
-
-“Nay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it
-for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear
-friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a
-battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
-come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
-it to flight before it prove your ruin.”
-
-“Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there
-is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you
-call it our enemy?”
-
-“I call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith.”
-
-“Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from
-other men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for
-evermore from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he
-has proved to the world that he is most capable of all mankind of
-appreciating tenderness and grace? What trick of nature is this? What
-paradox for men to vex their souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from
-men, evermore looking on happiness through another man's eyes? If you
-answer 'yes,' then I say that men who are not poets should go down on
-their knees and thank Heaven that they are not poets. Happy it is for
-mankind that Heaven has laid on few men the curse of being poets. For
-myself, I feel that I would rather be a man for an hour than a poet for
-all time.”
-
-“Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us
-look at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate
-enough to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be
-brought to think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish
-enough to regard their kindness to you--their acceptance of you as a
-friend--as encouragement in your mad aspirations.”
-
-“You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.”
-
-“I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
-only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
-not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you
-as a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to
-her? Answer me that question, sir.”
-
-But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
-hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
-
-“You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,” resumed Johnson. “I
-will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
-only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but
-I ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on
-your side as ridiculous--nay, worse--a gross affront.”
-
-Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
-resumed his discourse.
-
-“The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
-desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends,
-and of forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your
-infatuation?”
-
-Goldsmith started up.
-
-“Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,” he cried almost
-piteously. “Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
-hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
-the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
-which I wrote--I could not help writing them--but she does not know that
-they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from me. My
-history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover--a blank--a blank.”
-
-“My poor friend,” said Johnson after a pause--he had laid his hand
-upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
-table--“My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups which
-are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I have
-drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
-others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means
-to have double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself
-before now worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have
-faced life, by your independence of the patronage of the great. You
-dedicated 'The Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me.
-You did not hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to
-offer you money for the prostitution of the talents which God has given
-you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect--you have the respect of every
-good man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your
-detractors who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would
-give them an opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will
-not do anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and
-show all those who are your friends that their friendship for you is
-well founded. I am assured that I can trust you, sir.”
-
-Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIX.
-
-When his visitor had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and
-gave way to the bitter reflections of the hour.
-
-He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
-which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception--to his
-hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion
-might be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of
-vain dreams that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his
-straightforwardness there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that
-made any appeal from his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in
-the utterances of his phrases when forcing his contentions upon any
-audience; but Goldsmith knew that he only spoke strongly because he felt
-strongly.
-
-Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson
-had said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake
-the sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
-content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
-Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
-house--a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting his
-father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
-Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were
-to present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
-
-It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his
-hearing to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions.
-The tragedy of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their
-prospects in the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he
-felt, the most cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who
-make music of the passions of men--who have surrounded the passion
-of love with a glorifying halo--should be doomed to spend their lives
-looking on at the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of
-the music which the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy
-of life, and Goldsmith had often found himself face to face with it,
-feeling himself to be one of those with whom destiny is only on jesting
-terms.
-
-Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
-Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
-that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only
-of all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his
-cause, he would be regarded--and rightly, too--as both presumptuous and
-ridiculous.
-
-He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
-letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking
-to themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to
-look forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
-contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
-poet for the loss of home--the grateful companionship of a wife--the
-babble of children--all that his fellow-men associated with the gladness
-and glory of life?
-
-He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
-surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
-such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation--he had
-sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness
-of having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
-envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
-sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval
-of his friends.
-
-And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He
-had sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his
-ills during the past few years had departed from him. He would never
-see Mary Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the
-burden of his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide
-by it.
-
-He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
-resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
-one consolation of his life.
-
-In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt
-down and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the
-manuscript into it between the bars when the light that it made fell
-upon one of the lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he
-had read the remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a
-sigh, he hastily thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little
-blaze had fallen again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could
-raise it by a breath or two, his servant entered the room. He started to
-his feet.
-
-“A letter for you, sir,” said John Eyles. “It came by a messenger lad.”
-
-“Fetch a candle, John,” said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too
-dark for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on
-the seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
-
-By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines
-that the letter contained--
-
-_Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
-only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if
-not, then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride._
-
-He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
-He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
-to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
-that he was about to stand face to face with her.
-
-He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
-small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
-of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
-cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
-walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
-between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and
-her sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put
-her hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
-
-“I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew that I could trust you.”
-
-“You may trust me, indeed,” he said. He held her hand in his own,
-looking into her pale face and sunken eyes. “I knew the time would come
-when you would tell me all that there is to be told,” he continued.
-“Whether I can help you or not, you will find yourself better for having
-told me.”
-
-She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
-was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up,
-and, after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the
-mantelpiece, leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into
-the smouldering fire in the grate.
-
-He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
-heart.
-
-“What am I to tell you--what am I to tell you?” she cried at last,
-resuming her pacing of the floor.
-
-He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes.
-She went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking
-with vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the
-sconces. Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a
-great effort she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil
-when she spoke, seating herself.
-
-“You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of
-that man,” she said. “You alone were observant. Did you also see him
-call me to his side in the green room at the playhouse?”
-
-“I saw you in the act of speaking to him there--he calls himself
-Jackson--Captain Jackson,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“You saved me from him once!” she cried. “You saved me from becoming
-his--body and soul.”
-
-“No,” he said; “I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
-me to do so.”
-
-“I tell you if it had not been for you--for the book which you wrote, I
-should be to-day a miserable castaway.”
-
-He looked puzzled.
-
-“I cannot quite understand,” said he. “I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar
-of Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
-complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which
-I had presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of
-reading it.”
-
-“It was that which saved me,” she cried. “Oh, what fools girls are! They
-are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
-child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of
-men--some men--so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge
-of womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told
-all that we should guard against?”
-
-She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
-
-He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying--
-
-“I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
-Jessamy Bride.”
-
-She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
-
-“Then you will err,” she said. “You will have to think ill of me. Thank
-God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
-from all--to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
-I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
-village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
-received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and
-feted in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love
-with him, and I--innocent fool that I was--considered myself the most
-favoured creature in the world because he made love to me. Any day we
-failed to meet I wrote him a letter--a foolish letter such as a
-school miss might write--full of protestations of undying affection.
-I sometimes wrote two of these letters in the day. More than a month
-passed in this foolishness, and then it came to my uncle's ears that we
-had meetings. He forbade my continuing to see a man of whom no one knew
-anything definite, but about whom he was having strict inquiries made. I
-wrote to the man to this effect, and I received a reply persuading me
-to have one more meeting with him. I was so infatuated that I met him
-secretly, and then in impassioned strains he implored me to make
-a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When he had been
-fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies had been
-active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, and he
-should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I consented
-to leave my uncle's house by his side.”
-
-“But you cannot have done so.”
-
-“You saved me,” she cried. “I had been reading your book, and, by God's
-mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him
-I came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With
-the suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The
-scales fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to
-Damascus, only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited
-me. I knew that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a
-single hour--thanks to the genius that wrote that book--my love for that
-man, or what I fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet
-him. I returned to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote
-to me reproaching me for disappointing him; and the very next day my
-uncle's suspicions regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted
-in proof positive of the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself
-Captain Jackson, He had left the army in America with a stain on his
-character, and it was known that since his return to England at least
-two young women had been led into the trap which he laid for me.”
-
-“Thank God you were saved, my child,” said Goldsmith, as she paused,
-overcome with emotion. “But being saved, my dear, you have no further
-reason to fear that man.”
-
-“That was my belief, too,” said she. “But alas! it was a delusion. So
-soon as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in
-his true colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I
-had been foolish enough to write to him, to my friends--he was even
-scoundrel enough to point out that I had in my innocence written certain
-passages which were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of
-guilt--nay, his letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had
-been guilty, so that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood.
-What was left for me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to
-me those letters. I asked him how he could think it consistent with his
-honour to retain them and to hold such an infamous threat over my head.
-Alas! he soon gave me to understand that I had but placed myself more
-deeply in his power.”
-
-“The scoundrel!”
-
-“Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
-meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.”
-
-“And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.”
-
-“I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing
-that I had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France
-together! But then--ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me--I
-cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
-rings I am in trepidation.”
-
-“Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
-account?” cried Goldsmith.
-
-“Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?” she asked. “What did he
-say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me
-a fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
-letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who
-had written them.”
-
-“And his terms?” asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
-
-“His terms? I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you. The very thought that
-I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
-such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.”
-
-“By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!” cried Goldsmith, “for I
-shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.”
-
-“No--no!” she said, laying a hand upon his arm. “No friend of mine must
-suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother for
-fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
-plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
-would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
-that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
-being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
-determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope--the forlorn
-hope--that you might be able to help me. Tell me--tell me, my dear
-friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that of which
-poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'”
-
-“Guilt? Who talks of guilt?” said he. “Oh, my poor innocent child, I
-knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought
-of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted
-foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your
-own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any
-monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against
-this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of
-escape for you.”
-
-“Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to
-myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what
-direction lies my hope of escape?”
-
-He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said--
-
-“'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
-invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it
-is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one
-can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real
-life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts
-of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by
-halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from
-you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity
-as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as
-Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be
-saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you
-out of your present difficulty.”
-
-“You give me hope,” she said. “Yes--a little hope. But you must promise
-me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how
-brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday
-when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place
-yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause
-it to spring.”
-
-“I feel now that I was foolish,” said he humbly; “I ran the chance of
-forfeiting your friendship.”
-
-“Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,” she said. “But in this matter of
-mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save
-me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man
-on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what
-my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that
-if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
-arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.”
-
-“You have spoken truly,” said he. “You are wiser than I have ever been.
-But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing
-that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be
-saved, whatever may happen.”
-
-He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “You shall be saved,” he
-repeated.
-
-“If not----” said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
-
-“No--no,” he whispered. “I have given you my promise. You must give me
-yours. You will do nothing impious.”
-
-She gave a wan smile.
-
-“I am a girl,” she said. “My courage is as water. I promise you I will
-trust you, with all my heart--all my heart.”
-
-“I shall not fail you--Heaven shall not fail you,” said he, going to the
-door.
-
-He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
-white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
-more pallid!
-
-He bowed at the door.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XX.
-
-He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none
-of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as
-the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company.
-He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he
-had been elected only a few days before the production of “She Stoops to
-Conquer,” and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club
-would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard
-Burke was wittiest.
-
-While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
-the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
-assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
-attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
-Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
-town were talking.
-
-The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
-smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
-the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty
-of the press as that of which--according to the writer--the ingenious
-Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the
-room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
-worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
-with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
-
-He knew perfectly well--had he not good reason to know?--that the man
-who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
-nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
-notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
-and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the
-fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more
-eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day.
-That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of
-Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted,
-and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all
-that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius
-one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions--all they
-required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
-
-No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
-Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money
-that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called
-himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there
-would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people
-were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any
-one--especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been
-breathed--the result of the publication of the letters would mean
-practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
-
-Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
-at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
-regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
-the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in
-such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did,
-that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was
-not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
-possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should
-find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and
-he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was
-situated would be to forfeit their respect forever.
-
-She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and
-he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her
-sake.
-
-He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
-in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon--how often his
-friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
-not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some
-occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also
-remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned
-out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon.
-
-He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
-
-He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
-(which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
-shrewdness).
-
-How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required
-it, cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly
-wisdom? By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the
-world?
-
-He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
-reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
-waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
-short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
-not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly
-felt no vexation at being made so easy a victim of--he was accustomed to
-that position.
-
-When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between
-the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred
-at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning,
-coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast
-aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all,
-he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his
-property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary
-Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he
-had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of
-that which he had admitted to be foolishness.
-
-Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
-dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
-reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the
-truth, she would understand.
-
-And that time did come.
-
-In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to
-get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
-attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
-for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully
-aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of
-a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the
-discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
-
-It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
-would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
-affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
-defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
-
-That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the
-woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was
-accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should
-have considerable difficulty in finding her.
-
-He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
-question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
-knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to
-do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and
-he liked her.
-
-He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made
-it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
-while.
-
-He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became
-impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington
-until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced
-a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as
-Colonel Gwyn.
-
-Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
-recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at
-the Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit
-to Brick Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted
-Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be one of the most natural
-occurrences in the world for him to appear at that particular moment.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith,” said the visitor when he had seated himself, “you
-have no doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of
-calling upon you without first communicating with you.”
-
-“Not at all, sir,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis a great compliment you offer to
-me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.”
-
-“You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
-have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.”
-
-“Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
-generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.”
-
-And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
-so successfully caricatured.
-
-“Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The
-fact is, sir, that I--I--i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
-how it is I appear before you in this fashion.”
-
-“You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You
-are a friend of my best friend--Sir Joshua Reynolds.”
-
-“Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
-Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem
-of--of--well, of all the members of the Horneck family.”
-
-It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way
-his visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what
-reply to make to him.
-
-“I perceive that you are surprised, sir.” said Gwyn.
-
-“No, no--not at all--that is--no, not greatly surprised--only--well,
-sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
-yourself, a soldier,” stammered Goldsmith.
-
-“I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past
-week or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Gwyn; “but upon no
-occasion have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me
-she was by no means well.”
-
-“And they told you the truth, sir,” said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
-
-“You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
-they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
-confess a headache was not specified.”
-
-“Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination.
-But why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel
-Gwyn?”
-
-Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
-
-“I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking
-a liberty,” he said somewhat awkwardly.
-
-“Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?” asked Goldsmith.
-
-“Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see--sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend
-of the lady's--I perceived long ago--nay, it is well known that she
-regards you with great affection as a--no, not as a father--no, as--as
-an elder brother, that is it--yes, as an elder brother; and therefore
-I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be
-quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate--as I am sure
-you could understand that any man must--before declaring myself to her.
-Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to
-be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of
-the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank
-with me, sir.”
-
-Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel
-Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat
-upright on his chair--a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some
-people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat
-inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that
-they were the manners of a gentleman.
-
-Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
-Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
-
-He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last
-he gave a little start.
-
-“You should not have come to me, sir,” he said slowly.
-
-“I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,” said Gwyn.
-
-“On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
-confidence. But--ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady
-would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?”
-
-“I thought it possible that she--Miss Horneck--might have let you know.
-You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she
-might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
-Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of--well, a sort of vested
-interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.”
-
-“Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate
-them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become
-accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the
-children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if
-they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose,
-that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers,
-which is quite apart from the world of letters.”
-
-Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
-difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the
-exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted
-as much.
-
-“I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,” he said. “But for that
-matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
-plain to you.”
-
-“Oh, yes,” said Goldsmith, “I think I gathered from your words all that
-you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
-subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
-lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
-chances of success.”
-
-“How admirably you put the matter!” said Gwyn. “And I fancied you did
-not apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?”
-
-“I cannot tell,” said Goldsmith. “Miss Horneck has never told me that
-she loved any man.”
-
-“Then I have still a chance?”
-
-“Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments
-to their fathers--no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
-consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
-advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself
-if you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to
-become attached. Add to the effect of your personality--which I think is
-great, sir--the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you have
-won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether your
-suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.”
-
-“You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
-some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
-Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
-that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.”
-
-“You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the
-man exist who would be worthy of her love?”
-
-“He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
-some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
-is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
-
-“It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
-consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr.
-Goldsmith--not as men go--there is in my lifetime nothing that I have
-cause to be ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness,
-her purity, her tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own
-presumption in aspiring to win her. You think me presumptuous in this
-matter, I am convinced, sir.”
-
-“I do--I do. I know Mary Horneck.”
-
-“I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with
-me in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me
-to thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me
-away without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that
-I have your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
-happiness.”
-
-“Colonel Gwyn, my wishes--my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may
-be happy.”
-
-“And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.”
-
-Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to
-him.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXI.
-
-Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men
-who were understood to be admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made
-humourous verses on some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic
-illustrations, and Mary and her sister had had their laugh. He could not
-even now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more
-eligible suitor than the majority whom he had met from time to time at
-the Hornecks' house. He knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the
-girl had no thoughts to give to love and suitors. If Gwyn were to go
-to her immediately and offer himself as a suitor he would meet with a
-disappointment.
-
-Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who
-had just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be
-exultant at the thought that it was he--he--Oliver Goldsmith--who had
-been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret--with the duty of saving
-her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
-
-Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
-enterprise had fallen.
-
-He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
-position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
-rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
-instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
-hand of the maiden?
-
-For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate
-all his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the
-struggle had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had
-become the most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor
-at the Royal Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most
-eminent men of the period. And then, although he was plain of face and
-awkward in manner--nearly as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as
-Johnson--he had been appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in
-England. He felt that he had reason to exult.
-
-But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with
-Colonel Gwyn--he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel
-Gwyn. What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in
-preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a
-mirror in order to learn what chance he would have of being accepted
-as the lover of a lovely girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to
-himself?
-
-He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he
-had--a glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
-
-He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from
-complete despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted
-with the task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
-destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
-too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
-him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
-
-He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
-evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
-Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his
-play--in which she did not appear--was being acted on the stage.
-
-He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that
-his design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should
-pursue in regard to the actress--how far he would be safe in confiding
-in her--was frustrated.
-
-The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
-with him--well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make
-a quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such
-a disaster. Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in
-Boswell's eyes he could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of
-a second person.
-
-“Psha! Sir,” said Goldsmith, “you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you
-do of the Irish nation and their characteristics.”
-
-“Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,” said
-Boswell. “But now all is over; he will never see me again.”
-
-“Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
-order to give you a chance of knowing him better?” said Goldsmith.
-
-“For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,” cried Boswell after
-a contemplative pause.
-
-“Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
-consciousness of his generosity.”
-
-“What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
-again?”
-
-“No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
-feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
-secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
-talking together.”
-
-“What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?”
-
-“Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
-biographer.”
-
-Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which
-the Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
-
-“Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
-Goldsmith?” he cried anxiously.
-
-“I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,” replied Goldsmith, with
-an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
-that Shakespeare was pompous.
-
-“Now you are imitating him,” said Boswell. “But I perceive that he has
-told you of our quarrel--our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
-sir.”
-
-“Through me, sir?”
-
-“Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
-Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no
-one of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has
-lately been mimicking the Dean--yes, down to his very words, at the
-Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
-acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
-upbraided me for half an hour.”
-
-“To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?”
-
-“To no human being, sir.”
-
-“Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.”
-
-“To no one, sir--that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly have
-had the story.”
-
-“Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
-expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
-perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail
-to make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
-Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
-accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
-Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
-in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.”
-
-“Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
-friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
-being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
-that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
-order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?”
-
-“Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
-biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick
-and choose the incidents with which he has to deal--that he may, if he
-please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his
-hero or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you
-frankly that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are
-mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I
-insist on your writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the
-very words that passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and
-you will also furnish me with a list of the persons--if you have not
-sufficient paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream
-at the stationer's at the corner--to whom you gave an account of the
-humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship
-with me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do
-not seek to avoid so obvious a duty.”
-
-Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam
-of a smile on his face.
-
-He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a
-word.
-
-“Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,” muttered Goldsmith.
-“If I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
-hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.”
-
-(The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
-him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained
-his forgiveness. “You were right, sir,” the letter concluded. “Dr.
-Johnson has still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.”)
-
-But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to
-the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long
-practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give
-him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It
-was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
-not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
-his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
-
-The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
-which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
-only of “She Stoops to Conquer” had been reached, and as she did not
-appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
-piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town
-by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady
-of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
-a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
-loose about the neck and shoulders.
-
-“Ha, my little hero,” cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
-his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then
-to Mrs. Abington. “Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last?
-Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all
-a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There
-was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.”
-
-“The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
-madam,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir,
-you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the
-playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about
-you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them
-all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it
-was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making
-an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional
-channel.”
-
-“If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
-Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for
-that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
-before me in that dress--ay, or any other.”
-
-“Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
-compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus,” and she made an exquisite
-courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are
-as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?”
-
-“I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am
-extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most
-accomplished should be moved,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a
-comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than
-that of Miss Hardcastle.”
-
-“I have the design of one in my head, madam.”
-
-“Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
-head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
-great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
-you have begun the comedy, sir?”
-
-“I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
-air. I want your assistance in that direction.”
-
-“What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
-Goldsmith?”
-
-“Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic
-as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you
-give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?”
-
-“With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
-Goldsmith.”
-
-“I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
-have to tell you.”
-
-“Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.”
-
-“How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?”
-
-“Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
-him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his
-family--a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your
-face suggested.”
-
-“I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for
-help.”
-
-“Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
-think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
-the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light--which I take to be
-the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman--he is too powerful
-for me, I frankly confess.”
-
-“Mine is a male fiend.”
-
-“Not the manager of a theatre--another form of the same hue?”
-
-“Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.”
-
-“Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.”
-
-“If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
-greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to
-coffee house repeating it.”
-
-“Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.”
-
-“How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was
-more than you could cope with?”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXII.
-
-And now, sir, to face the particulars--to proceed from the fancy
-embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact--who or what is the
-aggressive demon that you want exorcised?”
-
-“His name is Jackson--he calls himself Captain Jackson,” replied Oliver.
-He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's
-story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this
-point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
-any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
-had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
-
-“Jackson--Captain Jackson!” cried the actress. “Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this
-is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely,
-sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a
-battering-ram to overturn a house of cards--one does not requisition a
-park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.”
-
-“Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of
-the power of a piece of ordnance,” said Goldsmith. “The truth is, madam,
-that in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.”
-
-“If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
-you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
-doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.”
-
-“I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
-there is a lady in the question.”
-
-“Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
-waiting for the lady.”
-
-“She is the most charming of her sex, madam.”
-
-“I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may
-be taken for granted.”
-
-“Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.”
-
-“I wonder in what part of the world she lived--certainly not in London.”
-
-“Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared
-upon the scene----”
-
-“Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
-the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
-even though the serpent be slaughtered.”
-
-“Pardon me, Mrs. Abington”--Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely--“pardon
-me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
-has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.”
-
-In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
-of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let
-it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
-taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America;
-and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to
-him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them
-the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
-
-“The lady is prostrated with grief,” he said, concluding his story. “The
-very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
-killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
-knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.”
-
-“'Tis a sad story indeed,” said Mrs. Abington. “The man is as bad as
-bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
-Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
-meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
-the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
-been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
-possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know
-that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of
-Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of
-guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?”
-
-“That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
-think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,” said
-Goldsmith.
-
-“Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not
-in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,”
- cried the lady. “Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in
-a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego
-the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the
-coins.”
-
-“You may be right,” said he. “But whence are the guineas to come, pray?”
-
-“Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a
-couple of hundred pounds.”
-
-“Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends!
-She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she
-had written letters of affection to such a man.”
-
-“She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.”
-
-“If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have
-allowed herself to be imposed on by a stranger?”
-
-“Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
-who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
-your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return
-to the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters?
-How do you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?”
-
-“Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
-conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
-It occurred to me that perhaps--it might be possible--in short, Mrs.
-Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel could
-be entrapped.”
-
-“You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary
-men--and of wary--is what nature and art have fitted me for--nature and
-practice?”
-
-“I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear
-madam. But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady
-with whom I am acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest
-intelligence. That is why you are our greatest actress. The highest
-intelligence is valueless on the stage unless it is associated with a
-heart that beats in sympathy with the sorrow and becomes exultant with
-the joy of others. That is why I regard myself as more than fortunate in
-having your promise to accept a part in my next comedy.”
-
-Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
-author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him
-out of his difficulty.
-
-“I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,” said
-the actress. “Yes, in spite of your being--being--ah--innocent--a poet,
-and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, Dr.
-Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to--to--well, shall
-we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?”
-
-“That is the position I long for, dear madam.”
-
-“Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know
-you, Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or
-two--that will give both of us a chance of still further considering the
-possibility of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe
-it was the lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were
-doubtless for running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his
-throat without the delay of a moment.”
-
-“Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.”
-
-“Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
-about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
-'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?”
-
-“Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite
-perceive their bearing.”
-
-“Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their
-little step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir,
-I perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress
-for my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used
-to term 'ructions.'”
-
-She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
-before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
-effective kiss.
-
-He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for
-he was not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had
-departed without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would
-have regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however,
-that clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt
-that it was a pleasure to do anything for such a man--especially as he
-was a writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she
-could so interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be
-the most notable success of the season.
-
-As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
-progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
-feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not
-been at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting
-with Mrs. Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs.
-Abington were associated.
-
-The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
-consolidated by a “command” performance at which the whole of his
-Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because
-it meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
-sentimentalists who were still harping upon the “low” elements of
-certain scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good
-augury. He felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan
-by which he should be able to get possession of the letters.
-
-When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
-not been unmindful of his interests.
-
-“The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
-yesterday,” said she, “but I tolerated him--nay, I encouraged him--not
-for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me,
-but for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking
-fool of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly
-makes a fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of
-herself.”
-
-“Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
-Mrs. Abing ton,” said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
-laughter.
-
-“You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,” she
-said. “But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for
-I have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably
-the most effective.”
-
-“You have found that by your experience of traps?” said Goldsmith. “The
-smile is the silken net?”
-
-“Even so,” said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. “Ah,
-Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.”
-
-“Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
-but at me.”
-
-“Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being
-smiled at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response
-to the encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my
-private address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when
-the fly begins to lure on the spider.”
-
-“'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not--to the fly.”
-
-“Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass.
-Sir, to be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private
-address, but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next
-Thursday night.”
-
-“Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
-behalf----”
-
-“Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that
-I am only interested in my sister-fly--would she be angry if she were to
-hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?”
-
-There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
-upon Goldsmith's ear.
-
-“Madam,” said he, “she is a Christian woman.”
-
-“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,” said the actress, “a very small amount of Christian
-charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman.
-Let that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on
-Thursday night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round
-the corner, and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you
-to appear boldly, as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my
-hospitality. You must come into the room when we have begun, carrying
-with you a roll of manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene
-of your new comedy, upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.”
-
-“I shall not fail to recollect,” said Goldsmith. “Why, 'tis like the
-argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
-elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.”
-
-“Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,” said the lady. “I think I
-know the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama
-of mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which
-you will not be able to play to perfection.”
-
-“You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
-When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I
-trust, ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the
-pleasure of your society for even an hour.”
-
-“I will ask you to join us at the table, and then--well, then I have
-a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
-friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known
-all his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters
-of his.”
-
-Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
-possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity--the fact
-being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
-Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
-romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
-formed the basis of more than one comedy--he had a notion that if these
-comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
-been so clearly defined.
-
-She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
-
-“What, sir!” she cried. “Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity
-of my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt--not at
-scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.”
-
-“I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
-play, dear lady,” said he. “But then, you see, it would be in my power
-to make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the
-right moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that
-was necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes
-quite hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most
-ordinary precepts of art.”
-
-“Psha! sir,” said the actress. “Nothing in this world is certain. I am
-a poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my
-life. At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully
-arranged plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the
-slovenliness of the actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain
-dialogue, yet in the end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama
-out of the ruins of our schemes than we originally designed. So, in this
-case, sir, I am not without hope that even though our gentleman's lips
-remain sealed--nay, even though our gentleman remain sober--a great
-calamity--we may still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep
-your ears open and I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if
-between us we cannot get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.”
-
-“I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,” said Oliver; “and I
-can only repeat what you have said so well--namely, that even the most
-clumsy of our schemes--which this one of yours certainly is not--may
-become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
-that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you
-on Thursday evening.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIII.
-
-Goldsmith for the next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a
-consciousness of having wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon
-Mrs. Abington and discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing
-the purpose which he had at heart; for he could not but perceive how
-shallow was the scheme which she had devised for the undoing of Mary
-Horneck's enemy. He felt that it would, after all, have been better for
-him to place himself in the hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had
-promised to find out for him, and to do his best to run the scoundrel
-through the body, than to waste his time listening to the crude scheme
-concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imitation of some third-class
-playwright.
-
-He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
-scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to
-join her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent
-his exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan
-for obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
-seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when
-he had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
-which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident
-to effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had
-suggested the possibility of such an accident taking place--in fact, she
-seemed to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than
-upon the ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think
-that she was right in this respect. He had a considerable experience
-of life and its vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a
-jesting mood the most judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be
-overturned by an accident apparently no less trivial than the raising of
-a hand, the fluttering of a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
-
-He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and
-a vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
-causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he
-met a young woman who changed--for a time--all his ideas of the sex. As
-he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
-Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
-factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
-accident is only another form of despair.
-
-In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he
-met Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an
-Italian fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
-
-“What!” cried Baretti. “Have you another affair on your hands in
-addition to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You
-do not need to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.”
-
-“I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,” said Goldsmith. “They
-have stepped between me and starvation more than once.”
-
-“Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
-to make money by his philanthropy?” asked Baretti in his usual cynical
-way.
-
-“I cannot say,” replied Goldsmith. “I don't think that I can lay claim
-to the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
-rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.”
-
-“'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
-mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
-swordsman in Europe,” said Baretti.
-
-“Do so, my friend,” said Goldsmith; “and when I succeed in killing a
-critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as
-a memento.”
-
-“I shall look for them--yes, in five years, for it will certainly take
-that time to make you expert with a sword,” said the Italian. “And,
-meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
-fighter as Kenrick.”
-
-“In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
-may take a fancy to have.”
-
-“And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
-martyr--a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other unclean
-beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
-within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
-should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
-as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not
-want a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear
-one of our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.”
-
-“And who may that friend be?”
-
-“You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
-with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?”
-
-“Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?”
-
-“What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the
-little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur.
-Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than--than----”
-
-“A lioness robbed of her whelps?”
-
-“Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is
-the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that
-you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer;
-and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit
-into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles--reminiscent of
-his native land--ever since.”
-
-Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
-Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
-Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
-evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
-the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time,
-his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
-flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
-every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
-said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit
-who had shouted: “Stick to the coo, mon!” On the whole, Garrick said, he
-thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
-many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion--whatever it might
-be worth--that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most
-successful in attempting.
-
-Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
-accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
-believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
-
-He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
-inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper,
-and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme
-which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of
-inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he
-was in the habit of keeping the letters.
-
-“These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,”
- said she; “and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may
-become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously.
-If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
-farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.”
-
-“What then is to be gained by our supping with him?” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Why, you are brought into contact with him,” she replied. “You will
-then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take
-him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great?
-heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak--one
-cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
-and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
-fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting
-the letters into your pocket.”
-
-“I'll hope for better luck than that,” said Oliver.
-
-“Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,” said she. “But good
-luck is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
-cleverest people.”
-
-“That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,”
- said Goldsmith. “But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs.
-Abington as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.”
-
-“Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,” said she.
-
-“Madam,” said he, “I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
-your advice and reserve my compliments to you for--well, no, not a
-month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done
-very well.”
-
-As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
-that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
-alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of
-an adroit scoundrel. He had heard--nay, he had written--of the wiles of
-women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of testing a
-woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his estimate
-of their value.
-
-It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare
-tavern at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll
-of manuscript in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the
-waiter to inform the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was
-very fluent up to this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave
-when he found himself face to face with the man who had made the life of
-Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered if he would be able to restrain his
-impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat.
-
-When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington
-that she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended
-the stairs to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved
-himself to play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not
-beyond his powers.
-
-Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her
-chair laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her
-_vis-à-vis_, for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting
-upon it and one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the
-points of his narrative.
-
-When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly,
-pleasantly, but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the
-story which Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with
-his fingers still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most
-inopportune entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other
-is in the act of telling a story to an appreciative audience--say, a
-beautiful actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be
-seen to the greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb
-and flow of that roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate
-wimplings, rising and falling between the porcelain of her throat and
-the curve of the ivory of her shoulders.
-
-The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition
-of Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs.
-Abington's tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned
-his head round as the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward
-the table, bowing profusely--rather too profusely for the part he was
-playing, the artistic perception of the actress told her.
-
-“Ha, my little author!” cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
-patron.
-
-“You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers--the best time
-for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.”
-
-“Ah, sir,” said Goldsmith, “we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
-convenience of our betters.”
-
-“Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
-convenience in an ante-room--ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that the
-scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets write
-best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.”
-
-“For shame, Captain!” cried Mrs Abington. “Dr. Goldsmith is a man as
-well as a poet. He has broken heads before now.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIV.
-
-Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself
-back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had
-advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of
-the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady
-perceived.
-
-“Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is
-a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head
-broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I
-swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is
-accustomed to spread terror around.”
-
-“Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs.
-Abington.
-
-“Nay, my dear madam,” cried her _vis-à-vis_, “you must pardon me for
-saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
-exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known
-kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a
-poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would
-overcome a sound head.”
-
-“I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she
-turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript.
-“Come, Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of
-supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play
-which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped.”
-
-“Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal;
-still----”
-
-He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
-hoarse laugh, crying--
-
-“Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
-by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
-himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the
-romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a
-party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable
-kill-joy?”
-
-“You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in
-smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view
-of the poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of
-parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long;
-will you, Dr. Goldsmith?”
-
-She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast
-at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own
-part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was
-patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in
-a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's
-cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to
-seating himself.
-
-“Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient
-to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such
-distinguished company.”
-
-“And so you should, sir,” cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
-about, laying a fresh plate and glass, “so you should. Your grand
-patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you
-from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely
-to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity,
-General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I
-had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking
-me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the
-General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his
-dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn
-upon him.”
-
-“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,” said Mrs. Abington.
-“But I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being
-drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.”
-
-“If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
-swear,” cried the Captain bowing over the table.
-
-“Good,” she said. “And so I call upon you to drink to his health--a
-bumper, sir, a bumper!”
-
-The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With
-an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained
-it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
-Goldsmith.
-
-“Hang him!” he cried, when he had wiped his lips, “I bear Goldsmith no
-malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
-shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge
-after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health
-of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show
-does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous
-to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.”
-
-“Nay, Captain,” said the lady, “I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain
-from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many
-healths during the day, sir.”
-
-“What mean you by that, madam?” he cried. “Do you suggest that I cannot
-carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
-gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that
-you would have a chance of offering.”
-
-“Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,” said the actress hastily. “I will
-prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr.
-Goldsmith's new comedy.”
-
-“Now you are very much my dear,” said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
-decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. “Yes,
-your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam,
-shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American
-rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be
-said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his
-name is--George Washington”--he had considerable difficulty over the
-name--“is accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not
-men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his
-Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what
-the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to
-the health of Colonel Washington!”
-
-“Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,” said Mrs.
-Abington, rising. “'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place;
-and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform.”
-
-“The devil take the King's uniform!” shouted the man. “The devils of
-rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell
-you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
-drank----” Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and
-seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his
-cloak.
-
-“Hold, sir,” cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
-upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. “Hold, sir, I
-perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured
-by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success
-to the cause that will triumph in America.” Jackson, who was standing at
-the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
-half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
-him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
-
-“It sounds all right,” he muttered as if he were trying to convince
-himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. “It sounds all
-right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
-little poet,” he continued. “I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
-sir--drink to the success of the cause in America.” Goldsmith got upon
-his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine.
-
-“Success to it!” he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his
-third tumbler of brandy.
-
-“Hark ye, my little poet!” whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
-across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not
-returned to her place. “Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a
-general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned
-me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from
-Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was
-mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you!
-If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to
-pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis,
-let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was
-ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the
-Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a
-man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy----
-Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the
-colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who
-would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's
-the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't
-everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got
-letters--letters----”
-
-“Yes, yes, you have letters--where?” cried Goldsmith, in the
-confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
-
-The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and
-then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
-half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
-chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
-
-“Letters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own
-matter--a secret,” he murmured in vague tones. “The government would
-give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon
-itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary
-and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'”--he pronounced the word “Secrary”--“'I
-know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are
-the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir,
-my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the
-lady?”
-
-He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
-well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
-
-“I'm here,” cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
-which Jackson's coat was thrown. “I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
-not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.”
-
-“Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?” cried the man with a lurch
-forward and a wave of the hand. “Madam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I
-wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that
-it contains--all that----”
-
-His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
-his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face;
-he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness
-that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the
-cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining
-until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the
-pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively
-into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was
-another packet.
-
-Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over
-her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that
-Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as “Miss Prue.”
- She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed
-coarsely, saying huskily--
-
-“A handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of
-my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my
-charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll
-challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up
-your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call
-you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only
-knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the
-truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may
-be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!”
-
-Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
-remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
-man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass
-before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand
-on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring--
-
-“Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
-Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
-table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.”
-
-He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had
-entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his
-chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
-
-[Illustration: 0315]
-
-“That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,” she cried,
-standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
-hand. “You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
-Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of
-my room, sir!”
-
-She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought
-it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
-watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
-stupour, his jaw fallen.
-
-Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
-
-“Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,” said the actress,
-pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated.
-
-“A coach? Certainly, madam,” said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
-
-“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Mrs. Abington, “may I beg of you to have the
-goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
-hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have
-a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is
-Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.”
-
-* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
-watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from
-uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to
-Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set
-herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet
-which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket
-of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great
-difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the
-coach.
-
-“They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,” were the first words
-spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in
-his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. “What did I
-say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel
-hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour.
-What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley?
-Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged
-his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac
-flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few
-stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been
-their darling always.” Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but
-husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and
-he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the
-high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter
-re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at
-the door of the tavern.
-
-At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
-it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
-the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord
-and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson.
-He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed
-him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord
-and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such
-persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith
-reached the street.
-
-“Hold on, sir,” he cried, “I am accompanying that gentleman to his
-lodging.”
-
-“Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the
-fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach
-the Strand.”
-
-“Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it
-upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.”
-
-He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXV.
-
-The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the
-man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the
-cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours
-rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the
-starting coach made no impression upon him.
-
-Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
-arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
-he must act at once.
-
-He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
-detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All
-he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the
-pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
-
-The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted
-his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his
-breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened
-himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite
-unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him.
-
-“Dear madam, you do me great honour,” he said, and then gave a little
-hiccupping laugh. “Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me
-all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give
-you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold
-the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to
-put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to
-a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever
-except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
-shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned,
-my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her
-own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer,
-in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents,
-for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the
-pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of
-accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend!
-and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars
-for them.”
-
-Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
-man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
-
-Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he
-referred to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel
-had not only tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been
-endeavouring to sell the secrets of the King's forces to the American
-rebels. Goldsmith had, however, no doubt that the letters which he was
-desirous of getting into his hands were those which the man had within
-his waistcoat. His belief in this direction did not, however, assist him
-to devise a plan for transferring the letters from the place where they
-reposed to his own pocket.
-
-The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
-Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of
-the brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his
-fingers remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would
-be quite impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith
-could not claim to be, to open the garment.
-
-He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
-packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet
-that it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont
-Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any
-more attempts to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake,
-and Goldsmith knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough
-to cope with three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
-
-Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit
-so broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
-entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
-Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest
-did not end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide
-awake, and he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he
-spoke that he showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very
-far from sober.
-
-“Good Lord!” he cried, “how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
-be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me--grossly
-insulted me--turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, you
-rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you to
-look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for you.
-Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?”
-
-Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might
-not be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward
-attempt to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration
-of the question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open
-the door. He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the
-coach on to the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on
-its leathern straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the
-turnstile. At the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance
-to the court, almost coming in collision with Jackson.
-
-“You cursed, clumsy lout!” shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round
-as the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the
-other.
-
-“You low ruffian!” he said. “You cheated me last night, and left me
-to sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been
-waiting for you. Take that, you scoundrel--and that--and that----”
-
-He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
-forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
-fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
-street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
-
-Goldsmith shouted out, “Follow him--follow the murderer!” pointing
-wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
-
-In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
-pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
-hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the
-body in order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more
-adroitness than was necessary--for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp
-all the street was in darkness--slipped the wallet into his other hand
-and then under his coat.
-
-A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
-had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had
-been run through with a sword.
-
-“It was a knock-down blow,” said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
-prostrate man; “and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great
-harm has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a
-beer barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
-recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.”
-
-He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
-almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
-sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
-meant by choking him.
-
-A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith
-picked up his hat and straightened his sword, saying--
-
-“Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his
-physician in that way has small need of his services. I thought the
-fellow might be seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point
-recently; and so good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he
-relapse. By a casual savour of him I should say that he is not used to
-water.”
-
-He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple,
-and as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on
-completely recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned
-him, would miss his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was
-greatly relieved when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the
-head porter, and he paid the driver with a liberality that called down
-upon him a torrent of thanks.
-
-As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
-cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no
-doubt that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands
-of his dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him--had
-alone trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
-
-He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
-room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
-wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
-and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
-chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
-taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of
-Mrs. Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that
-they were the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
-
-He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He
-was utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
-occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought.
-He could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers,
-covered with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own
-desk before starting for the tavern.
-
-What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
-the wallet?
-
-Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
-hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
-
-He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
-over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
-which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
-Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
-until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which
-he transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had
-had no time--at least, so Goldsmith thought--to put the sham act of the
-play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
-unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
-in the wallet?
-
-Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
-greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
-craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
-of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected
-Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the
-expense of the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on,
-and had fooled them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying
-that they were entrapping him.
-
-Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
-he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he
-was showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
-shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
-he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
-happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
-doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made
-by Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
-
-How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the
-length of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy
-that when they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on
-any subject. But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin
-to act, she had failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to
-place himself in her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
-
-He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
-would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
-consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
-to get the better.
-
-What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary,
-and tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him.
-She should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would
-have been ready to help her and capable of helping her--some man with a
-knowledge of men--some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver of
-fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. Nothing
-was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve
-success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
-
-He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a
-house of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his
-life, whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze
-that had swept down upon it.
-
-He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
-cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
-than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
-already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
-prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great
-a mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never
-have made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he
-said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious
-generosity of the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity
-that had led him to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was
-utterly unsuited; and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him
-in the reflection that his awakening had come before it was too late. He
-had not been led away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She
-had been saved the unhappiness which that confession would bring to
-a nature so full of feeling as hers. And he had been saved the
-mortification of the thought that he had caused her pain.
-
-The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees
-of the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had
-passed before he fell asleep.
-
-He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he
-found that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the
-letters which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with
-but a languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
-bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith
-had promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged
-the loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently,
-from its shape and bulk, a manuscript--one of the many which were
-submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned
-it over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
-convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
-perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
-accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
-
-He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when
-at the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The
-instant he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that
-the parcel contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's
-handwriting to a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire
-village where she had been staying the previous summer.
-
-On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
-Mrs. Abing ton--the spelling as well as the writing was hers--
-
-“'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few
-feathers pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in
-the capp of dear Dr. Goldsmith.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXVI.
-
-He was so greatly amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the
-scattered letters on the table in front of him. He was even more amazed
-at finding them there than he had been the night before at not finding
-them in the wallet which he had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He
-thought he had arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to how he had
-come to find within the wallet the sheets of manuscript which he had had
-in his hand on entering the supper room; but how was he to account for
-the appearance of the letters in this parcel which he had received from
-Mrs. Abington?
-
-So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth--to
-appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his
-table. But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and
-happiness to Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy.
-She was saved. He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and
-who had the means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had
-caused him to go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing
-the task with which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been
-mistaken in applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish
-scheme of a pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken
-when she had singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most
-women would have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a
-knight-errant.
-
-His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
-despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
-knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
-morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him;
-but now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him--his
-imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
-happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to
-Mary and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
-Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
-Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
-
-He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of
-his formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest,
-but it was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion
-so delicate an enterprise as that which he--Goldsmith--had accomplished.
-Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. Abington to help
-him, and that was just where he would have made a huge mistake. Any man
-who thought to get the better of the devil without the aid of a woman
-was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of this as he
-stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been when he
-had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The previous
-half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
-Providence and the world.
-
-When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate
-some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
-obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
-thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
-the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to
-be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have
-felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it,
-substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his
-entrance to the supper-room.
-
-The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that
-the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
-recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair
-with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
-treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to
-turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had
-been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her
-glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as
-Mrs. Baddeley!
-
-He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
-particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
-acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
-the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
-perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
-the letters beyond the man's hands.
-
-Once again he laughed, saying out loud--
-
-“Ah, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a
-devil!”
-
-Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was
-at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
-letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself
-in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
-consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face
-would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
-would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
-that she was safe.
-
-That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
-bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on
-her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
-laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would
-be happy through witnessing her happiness.
-
-He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for
-the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his
-servant announced two visitors.
-
-Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered.
-The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a
-compatriot of his own, named Nicolo.
-
-“I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in
-my hands,” said Baretti. “My friend Nicolo is a master of the art
-of fencing as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the
-impression, singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than
-once during your wanderings in Tuscany.”
-
-“And now I am sure of it,” said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
-spoke French rather better than English. “Yes, I was a student at
-Pisa when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in
-recognising him.”
-
-“And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,”
- said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; “I cannot, however, recall the
-circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
-memory, sir?”
-
-“There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,” said Signor
-Nicolo.
-
-“I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,”
- said Goldsmith quickly. “You were one of the orators--quite reckless, if
-you will permit me to say so much.”
-
-The man smiled somewhat grimly.
-
-“If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,”
- said Baretti. “Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
-climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
-government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back
-again.”
-
-“It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor
-Nicolo,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of
-a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.”
-
-“Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
-now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,” said the man
-with another grim smile.
-
-“You are not quite right, my friend,” laughed Goldsmith; “for if my
-memory serves me--and it does so usually on the matter of dress--I had
-no coat whatsoever to my back--that was of no importance in Pisa, where
-the air was full of patriotism.”
-
-“The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,” said
-Baretti. “There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We
-are examples--Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a
-brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy
-Englishman--and there are a good number of them, too--into an expert
-swordsman in twelve lessons--yes, if the pupil will but practise
-sufficiently afterwards.”
-
-“We need not talk of business just now,” said Goldsmith. “I insist on
-my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
-'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
-excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.”
-
-He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple
-of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to
-him--very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not
-have remained.
-
-The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
-heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
-room.
-
-“I have found you, you rascal!” he shouted, swaggering across the room
-to where Goldsmith was seated. “Now, my good fellow, I give you just
-one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my
-pocket last night.”
-
-“And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken
-blackguard,” said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo,
-who was in the act of rising. “Come, sir,” he continued, “I submitted
-to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I
-promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your
-carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils.”
-
-Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
-gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
-cowardly to attack.
-
-“You cur!” he said through his set teeth. “I don't know what prevents me
-from running you through the body.”
-
-“Do you not? I do,” said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of
-wine off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
-
-“Come, sir,” said the bully after a pause; “I don't wish to go to Sir
-John Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property,
-but, by the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will
-not spare you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an
-hour has passed.”
-
-“Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American
-spy, is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith
-has at hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest
-scoundrels,” said Goldsmith.
-
-Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
-second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons.
-The bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
-
-“My little poet,” he said in a mocking voice, “you fancy that because
-you have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you
-for your information that I have something in my possession that I can
-use as I meant to use the letters.”
-
-“And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall
-kill you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!” cried Goldsmith,
-leaping up.
-
-There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
-the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him
-behind a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
-
-“Pardon me, sir,” said he, bowing to Jackson, “but we cannot permit you
-to stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend
-and I regard as a grave affront to us.”
-
-“Then let one of you draw!” shouted the man. “I see that you are
-Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
-sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.”
-
-“Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,” said Baretti.
-“I do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a
-weaker man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a
-ruffian as you undoubtedly are.”
-
-He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter
-had whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti,
-putting quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when
-Baretti had turned partly round.
-
-“Briccone! assassin!” hissed Baretti. “You saw that he meant to kill me,
-Nicolo,” he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
-
-“He shall pay for it,” whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
-foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
-of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
-
-“Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,” he cried. “We used to enjoy a sausage
-or two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
-without absolutely killing the beast.”
-
-The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
-
-Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
-laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian--it was not
-melodious--acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, trying to
-beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single inch.
-He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His expression
-resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has airily
-offered to play with him opens the game.
-
-After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to
-attack, Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
-
-“Take a chair, sir,” said Baretti, grinning. “You will have need of one
-before my friend has finished with you.”
-
-Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
-before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt
-him now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the
-man breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
-Italian.
-
-Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
-no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but
-his antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard
-breathing was a contrast to the only other sound in the room--the
-grating of steel against steel.
-
-Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed
-gradually to vanish. He became more than serious--surely his expression
-was one of apprehension.
-
-Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as
-one of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
-shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
-doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge
-of the other man.
-
-It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as
-he pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in
-touching Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once,
-and now it was plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was
-breathing hard, and the look of apprehension on his face had increased
-until it had actually become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to
-perceive this, and malignant triumph was in every feature of his face.
-Any one could see that he felt confident of tiring out the visibly
-fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with staring eyes, once again clutched
-Baretti.
-
-Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
-and forehead in smiles.
-
-“I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,”
- said he.
-
-In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
-paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
-head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying
-behind it like the little pennon on a lance.
-
-“Heavens!” whispered Goldsmith.
-
-“Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,” said Baretti. “For
-God's sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that
-last was like a bullet.”
-
-Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat
-from which it was torn.
-
-And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
-face.
-
-“That is his fun,” said Baretti. “Oh, body of Bacchus! A great
-humourist!”
-
-The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
-in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
-
-The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but
-his antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed
-him round the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing
-heavily, but apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his
-sword into his left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
-
-Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
-They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
-meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
-Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
-dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
-Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
-result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
-
-And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
-man's pocket fell on the floor.
-
-With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
-The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining
-by a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo
-had spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single
-flash. Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they
-were the batch of letters which he had received in the course of his
-traffic with the American rebels.
-
-“Come, Sandrino,” said Baretti, affecting to yawn. “Finish the rascal
-off, and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us.
-Come, sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has
-kept us from our wine too long already.”
-
-With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
-sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
-over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
-the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with
-an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
-thoroughly exhausted.
-
-[Illustration: 0349]
-
-Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
-the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
-guard.
-
-“John,” shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
-witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
-exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) “John, give that
-man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked
-out of my house.” When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to
-the half-naked panting man. “You are possibly the most contemptible
-bully and coward alive,” said he. “You did not hesitate to try and
-accomplish the ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here
-with intent to murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your
-clutches. If I let you go now, it is because I know that in these
-letters, which I mean to keep, I have such evidence against you as will
-hang you whenever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to use it if
-you are in this country at the end of two days. Now, leave this house,
-and thank my servant for giving you his coat, and this gentleman”--he
-pointed to Nicolo--“for such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you
-never before received.”
-
-The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which
-John Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
-
-“You contemptible cur!” he said, “I have not yet done with you. You have
-now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of
-them passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in
-pretty high places, let me tell you.”
-
-“I do not doubt it,” said Baretti. “The gallows is a high enough place
-for you and your friends.”
-
-The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
-
-“Look to yourself, you foreign hound!” he said, his face becoming livid,
-and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare
-as before. “Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to
-be made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!”
-
-“Turn that rascal into the street, John,” cried Goldsmith, and John
-bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
-flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
-powers--not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, but
-one which he was certain was more English in its style.
-
-“No one shall lay a hand on me,” said Jackson. “Do you fancy that I am
-anxious to remain in such a company?”
-
-“Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,” said John, hustling him to the
-door. “Come--out with you--sharp!”
-
-In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
-and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put
-on the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him
-walk in the direction of the Temple lodge.
-
-Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
-prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
-on his wall.
-
-“You came at an opportune moment, my friend,” said he. “You have not
-only saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never
-have known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of
-your art.”
-
-“The best swordsman is the best patriot,” said Baretti.
-
-“That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,” said
-Goldsmith.
-
-“Alas! yes,” said Nicolo. “Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
-or you would not be able to live in England.”
-
-“I am not an Englishman,” said Goldsmith. “I am an Irish patriot, and
-therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it
-is not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than
-to starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
-dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
-Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor
-an hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects
-of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it
-will take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the
-fragments of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr.
-Johnson's friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.”
-
-“Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,”
- said Baretti. “Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
-engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.”
-
-“He has taken part in one engagement, at least,” said Goldsmith,
-
-“And I am now at your service,” said the fencing-master.
-
-They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his
-pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his
-desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and
-Anchor in an hour.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXVII.
-
-It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before
-known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All
-the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary
-exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with
-him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more
-than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance,
-Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing
-hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and
-allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded
-as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
-amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did
-not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon
-Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt
-which he owed to Jackson.
-
-And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life
-in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world
-the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that
-every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
-realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
-cheeks change to red once more.
-
-It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to
-Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him
-this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
-
-“I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
-Goldsmith,” said the lady. “I believe that she was more than a little
-disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.”
-
-“Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?” he asked. This
-fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was
-very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise
-on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in
-his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of
-his success.
-
-“She seemed very anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I fear, dear
-Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
-sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
-secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
-Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly,
-girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
-neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
-with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely
-she has got over that foolishness!”
-
-“Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
-foolishness,” said Goldsmith. “You may take my word for it that when she
-sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.”
-
-“I do hope so,” said Mrs. Horneck. “Yes, you could always contrive to
-make her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared
-that that disgraceful letter in the _Packet_ had affected you. That was
-why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
-nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.”
-
-“That was very kind of you, my dear madam,” said he; “but I have seen
-Mary since that thing appeared.”
-
-“To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?”
-
-“Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance
-that when I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to
-recovery. You have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor
-of medicine, and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in
-this direction may amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself
-have. Still, I think you will say something in my favour when you see
-Mary's condition begin to improve from the moment we have a little chat
-together.”
-
-“That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr.
-Goldsmith. Your chat with her will do more for her than all the
-medicine the most skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very
-inopportune time for her to fall sick.”
-
-“I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?”
-
-“Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
-steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
-attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.”
-
-“The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.”
-
-He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
-
-“Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman
-was drawn toward her?” said the lady smiling.
-
-“I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,” said Goldsmith. “And
-you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she
-would have listened to his proposals, madam?”
-
-“Why should she not have done so, sir?” said Mrs. Horneck.
-
-“Why not, indeed?”
-
-“Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,” said she. “He is,
-to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.”
-
-“You think so--you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing in
-such a case?” said Oliver, rather eagerly.
-
-“How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?” cried Mrs.
-Horneck. “Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
-am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
-my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
-After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty--thirty-seven,
-I believe--but he does not look more than thirty-five.”
-
-“No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
-you give emphasis, madam,” said Goldsmith. “And you think that Mary will
-see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?”
-
-“I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
-so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,” said the lady.
-“That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring
-back the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly
-attracted to her.”
-
-“I understand--I understand.”
-
-He spoke slowly, gravely.
-
-“I knew you would help us,” said Mrs. Horneck, “and so I hope that you
-will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
-Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
-passed.”
-
-Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
-him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks--not for him, but
-for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days,
-the hours of thought--all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
-facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
-his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
-sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being
-for evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
-possession as her love.
-
-That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
-yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said--
-
-“Even so; I am satisfied--I am satisfied.”
-
-It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and
-Goldsmith persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he
-succeeded in doing so, for he had felt it was quite possible that
-Baretti might inquire of him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to
-Brick Court, and he could not well explain to the Italian the nature of
-the enterprise which he had so successfully carried out by the aid
-of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. Abington into
-his confidence, and quite another to confide in Baretti. He was
-discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, while the
-secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it would be by
-no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some people might
-laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that which was
-generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and Baretti
-a man.
-
-He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn
-all about Jackson--that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
-become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
-for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes.
-He was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
-prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
-
-Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
-regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
-the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
-conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
-declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
-man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
-out--
-
-“Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am
-glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to
-make him certain you had stolen it from me.”
-
-“Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,” said
-Goldsmith.
-
-“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “I did not say that it was good enough to have
-been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
-foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person,
-Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly,
-that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of
-stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which
-when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir,
-are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?”
-
-“Sir, I am more than satisfied,” said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the
-cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face.
-This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
-
-After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
-to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington
-for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped
-to do.
-
-He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
-costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the
-less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee,
-holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to
-speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she
-was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew,
-were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
-
-“Well, my poet,” she said at last, “have you need of my services to
-banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?”
-
-“I was right,” he managed to say after another pause, “yes, I knew I was
-not mistaken in you, my dear lady.”
-
-“Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest
-demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,” said
-she. “Well, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful
-compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her
-champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our
-friend in the hackney coach.”
-
-“Nay,” he cried, “it is you who have not yet told me by what means
-you became possessed of the letters which I wanted--by what magic you
-substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
-into the supper room.”
-
-“Psha, sir!” said she, “'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered
-from a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair,
-that he had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He
-gave me a hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is
-not to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every
-document on which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty
-naturally received a great shock when he offered to drink to the
-American rebels, and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or
-so sufficed me to discover the wallet with the letters; but then I
-was at my wits' end to find something to occupy their place in the
-receptacle. Happily my eye caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay
-in your hat on the floor beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick
-was played. I had a sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep
-me hoping all the night that you would be able to get possession of the
-wallet, believing it contained the letters for which you were in search.
-Lord, sir! I tried to picture your face when you drew out your own
-papers.” The actress lay back on her couch and roared with laughter,
-Goldsmith joining in quite pleasantly.
-
-“Ah!” he said; “I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression
-which my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
-humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but
-he paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
-termed his property.”
-
-“Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?”
-
-At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
-Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
-
-“By my faith, sir!” she cried; “I would give ten guineas to have been
-there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,” she added a moment afterwards,
-“you will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the
-town.”
-
-“Nay, my dear,” said he. “It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left
-my room--not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
-as would hang him.”
-
-“Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon
-your life?” cried the actress. “He may try to kill Baretti on a point
-of sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a
-matter of business.”
-
-“Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
-something in what you say,” said Goldsmith. “So I will e'en take a
-hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
-the very door of my chambers.”
-
-“Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have
-yet to write for me in a comedy.”
-
-“I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my
-dear friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.”
-
-“Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?” cried the actress, looking
-at him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua
-Reynolds could not quite translate to show the next century what manner
-of woman was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young
-wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country
-girl's smile of Mrs. Abington.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXVIII.
-
-Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was
-alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be
-waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any
-adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel
-of letters and set himself to peruse their contents.
-
-He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was
-sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
-perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
-rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
-themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which
-he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
-Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead
-of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to
-England as a suspected traitor.
-
-As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
-indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
-obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
-certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
-country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
-him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
-Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
-course.
-
-Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he
-ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have
-been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his
-honesty.
-
-He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour
-which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies
-of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself
-to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly
-weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the
-tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a
-woman, and therefore all the more to be loved.
-
-It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
-Hornecks.
-
-He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
-There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he
-would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock
-dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably
-be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with
-the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due
-precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be
-induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point
-in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's
-counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give
-the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might
-be.
-
-It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention
-in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not
-return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the
-Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
-
-He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
-communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not
-having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
-
-“You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said
-Reynolds. “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if
-only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has
-promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well.”
-
-Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in
-front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far,
-however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was
-engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly
-fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic
-style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the
-habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a
-painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from
-her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical
-traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman
-toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to
-be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.
-
-All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
-eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
-adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
-suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
-faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
-eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
-
-“What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
-anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member
-of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day
-clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?”
-
-“Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied
-Goldsmith.
-
-Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
-to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
-than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
-phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
-
-“Sir,” he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, “there is a very
-flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even
-depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted
-position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what
-would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after
-what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the
-advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in
-English.”
-
-“And why not, sir?” said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added,
-“For my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
-Westminster Abbey written in English.”
-
-Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to
-her--Angelica Kauffman.
-
-After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
-door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
-went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
-lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
-detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
-Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
-reason of his absence from the meeting.
-
-When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
-as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
-wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
-him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
-hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
-The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
-
-“If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,” said
-Goldsmith.
-
-In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
-the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out
-so as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
-
-“A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
-men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
-been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding
-in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no
-time coming to you.”
-
-“Merciful heaven!” cried Goldsmith. “I was waiting for Baretti in order
-to warn him.”
-
-“You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack
-as was made upon him,” said Steevens. “It seems that the fellow whom
-Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable
-gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated
-what his name was.”
-
-“And what was his name?” asked Reynolds.
-
-“Richard Jackson,” replied Steevens. “Of course we never heard the name
-before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.”
-
-“The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,” said Goldsmith.
-
-“Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
-should a jury find him guilty,” said Steevens. “We must make an effort
-to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to
-speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They
-carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to
-go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr.
-Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John
-Fielding at Bow street in the morning.”
-
-“That we shall,” said Sir Joshua. “He shall have the best legal advice
-available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him
-that he may depend on our help, such as it is.”
-
-The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
-waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
-custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but
-they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have,
-and also to carry back to them his reply.
-
-Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an
-account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could
-not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They,
-however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the
-help of all his friends in his emergency.
-
-Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected,
-and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from
-reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
-and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
-the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in
-the surgeon's hands.
-
-Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
-meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through
-the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two
-men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with
-heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his
-sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself
-with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him,
-as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article
-of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great
-mischance he must have severed an artery.
-
-The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
-friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held
-a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being
-tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to
-England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months,
-and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house
-in Whetstone Park.
-
-“So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence,
-it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,” said
-Goldsmith.
-
-“If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the
-gentleman,” said the Bow street runner. “But I fancy the judge will tell
-them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of
-its rogues.”
-
-Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
-view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid
-of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having
-parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy.
-He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of
-his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked
-himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no
-concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted
-with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never
-forgive himself.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIX.
-
-After a very restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that
-Johnson had already gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house
-Goldsmith learned that Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's;
-so it was plain that Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting
-about helping him. They all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and
-Goldsmith found that Burke had already instructed a lawyer on behalf of
-Baretti. His tender heart was greatly moved at the sight of Baretti
-when the latter was brought into court, and placed in the dock, with a
-constable on each side. But the prisoner himself appeared to be quite
-collected, and seemed proud of the group of notable persons who had come
-to show their friendship for him. He smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith,
-and, when the witnesses were being examined, polished the glasses of his
-spectacles with the greatest composure. He appeared to be confident that
-Sir John Fielding would allow him to go free when evidence was given
-that Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad character, and he seemed
-greatly surprised when the magistrate announced that he was returning
-him for trial at the next sessions.
-
-Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the
-prisoner in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request
-was granted.
-
-He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on
-this melancholy drive, saying--
-
-“My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
-this.”
-
-“Psha, sir!” said Baretti. “'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
-country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment.
-In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
-ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
-protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
-violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
-accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried
-for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice
-in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!”
-
-“Do not be alarmed,” said Goldsmith. “When you appear before a judge and
-jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
-being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?”
-
-“I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
-responsible for this _contretemps_,” said Baretti. “But I cannot forgive
-that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed
-to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
-considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
-whom I killed should be regarded sacred--as sacred as though he were an
-Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?”
-
-“You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,”
- said Goldsmith. “It is quite impossible that you could be convicted--oh,
-quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and
-Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.”
-
-But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
-railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
-Newgate.
-
-It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone
-in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house
-in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been
-uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to
-see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress
-of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the
-conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in
-respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for
-him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as
-he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy
-Bride.
-
-Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
-signs of recent tears were visible on it.
-
-“Dear Dr. Goldsmith,” she said, “I am in deep distress about Mary.”
-
-“How so, madam?” he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
-him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
-point of death?
-
-“She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
-when she left town,” said Mrs. Horneck. “But who could fancy that her
-condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as
-was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor
-Baretti?”
-
-“It prostrated her?”
-
-“Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
-printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he
-read out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair
-to the floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her
-friends, instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.”
-
-“And now?”
-
-“Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming
-with strange impatience--I told her that you had been here yesterday and
-also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
-from her faint--accusing herself of bringing her friends into trouble,
-but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come--why does he not come
-to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
-Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her
-in this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
-acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
-the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition
-is the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to
-call to-day.”
-
-“Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,” said Goldsmith, “Will
-you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
-am confident that I can restore her to health?”
-
-“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!--ah, if you only could! But alas,
-alas!”
-
-He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
-interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of
-sobbing within the room came to his ears.
-
-“Now, my dear child,” said her mother with an affectation of
-cheerfulness, “you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come
-to his Jessamy Bride.”
-
-The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
-pathetically how weak she was.
-
-“Ah, he is come he is come!” she cried. “Leave him with me, mother; he
-has much to tell me.”
-
-“Yes.” said he; “I have much.”
-
-Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
-
-She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
-spasmodically in both her own--he felt how they were trembling-as she
-cried--
-
-“The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead--you know it, of
-course? Oh, it is terrible--terrible! But the letters!--they will be
-found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be impossible
-to keep my secret longer. Will his friends--he had evil friends, I
-know--will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face that
-you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be undone--undone.”
-
-“My dear,” he said, “you might be able to bear the worst news that I
-could bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?”
-
-“The best! Ah, what is the best?”
-
-“It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
-child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.”
-
-She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
-more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to
-speak, but failing to utter a single word.
-
-He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet
-of her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for
-certainly a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only
-gaze mutely at the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the
-truth upon her meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not
-now be overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
-
-Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
-her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
-Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed--not hysterically,
-but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an effort and
-walked across the room to the window that looked upon the street. He
-followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she turned round
-with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long was it since
-he had heard her laugh in that way?
-
-She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for
-her cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June,
-and her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
-
-“Ah,” she cried, putting out both her hands to him. “Ah, I knew that I
-was right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew
-that you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to
-me for evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like
-you, dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that--so good, so true,
-so full of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the
-greatest and best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear,
-dear friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted--a friend who would be
-ready to die for his friend. Gratitude--you do not want gratitude. It is
-well that you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you
-for what you have done? You have saved me from death--from worse than
-death--and I know that the thought that you have done so will be your
-greatest reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel
-that I live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me
-out of the deep waters--the waters that had well-nigh closed over my
-head.”
-
-He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon
-him. His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him;
-but he felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since
-he had lived to see--even through the dimness of tears--so sweet a
-face looking into his own with eyes full of the light of--was it the
-gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
-
-He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the
-small hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the
-tendrils of a climbing flower.
-
-“Have you nothing to say to me--no word to give me at this moment?” she
-asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her fingers
-seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
-
-“What word?” said he. “Ah, my child, what word should come from such
-a man as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete
-happiness as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in
-words. You have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my
-life. You have understood me--you alone, and that to such as I means
-happiness.”
-
-She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had
-flung them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the
-direction of the window.
-
-“You talk of my understanding you,” she said in a voice that had a sob
-in it. “Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a
-man's nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy
-of a thought?”
-
-He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with
-a sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
-locked the fingers of both together.
-
-Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
-the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in
-the throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman
-well enough to have no thought of himself--no thought except for her
-happiness.
-
-“No,” he said at last. “No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say
-to you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
-himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
-happy--watching your happiness--in silence. Perhaps I may understand
-you--I may understand something of the thought which gratitude suggests
-to you.”
-
-“Ah, gratitude!” said she in a tone that was sad even in its
-scornfulness. She had not turned her head toward him.
-
-“Yes, I may understand something of your nature--the sweetest, the
-tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself
-better, and I know in what direction lies my happiness--in what
-direction lies your happiness.”
-
-“Ah! are you sure that they are two--that they are separate?” said she.
-And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his face.
-
-There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
-still held them behind him. At last he said slowly--
-
-“I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were
-a chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to
-look on happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there
-is more happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not
-speak--for God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which
-are trembling on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.”
-
-She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she
-turned away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears,
-with her face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
-
-After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
-
-She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
-hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice--
-
-“You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that
-word; but I can never--never cease to think of you as the best--the
-noblest--the truest of men. You have been my best friend--my only
-friend--and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by a
-woman.”
-
-He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
-
-A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
-
-“Oh, mother, mother!” cried the girl, starting up, “I knew that I was
-right--I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
-new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more--that
-I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!”
-
-“Why, what a transformation there is already!” said her mother. “Ah, Dr.
-Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!”
-
-“Friend--friend!” she said slowly, almost gravely. “Yes, he was always
-my friend, and he will be so forever--my friend--our friend.”
-
-“Always, always,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I am doubly glad to find that you
-have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
-just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
-May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
-seeing you?”
-
-“No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,” cried the girl. “Send him
-away--send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one but
-our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do for
-me that I should wish to see him?”
-
-“My dear Mary----”
-
-“Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
-sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has
-not yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing
-together as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am
-myself again.”
-
-“I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,” said Mrs.
-Horneck. “I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.”
-
-“Do, dear mother,” cried the girl, laughing. “Say next week, or next
-year, sweetest of mothers, or--best of all--say that he had better come
-by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by and
-by is easily said.'”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXX.
-
-As he went to his chambers to dress before going to dine with the
-Dillys in the Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years.
-He had seen the light return to the face that he loved more than all
-the faces in the world, and he had been strong enough to put aside the
-temptation to hear her confess that she returned the love which he bore
-her, but which he had never confessed to her. He felt happy to know that
-the friendship which had been so great a consolation to him for several
-years--the friendship for the family who had been so good and so
-considerate to him--was the same now as it had always been. He felt
-happy in the reflection that he had spoken no word that would tend to
-jeopardise that friendship. He had seen enough of the world to be made
-aware of the fact that there is no more potent destroyer of friendship
-than love. He had put aside the temptation to speak a word of love; nay,
-he had prevented her from speaking what he believed would be a word of
-love, although the speaking of that word would have been the sweetest
-sound that had ever fallen upon his ears.
-
-And that was how he came to feel happy.
-
-And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he
-found a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had
-dedicated to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy.
-He added poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly
-interpreted--verses pulsating with the love that was in his
-heart--verses which Mary Horneck could not fail to interpret aright
-should they ever come before her eyes.
-
-“But they shall never come before her eyes,” he said. “Ah, never--never!
-It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.”
-
-And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day
-she might read those verses of his--yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
-that day was far off or nigh.
-
-When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house,
-he had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did
-not, however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to
-entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's
-killing of Jackson as an accident.
-
-After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be
-well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be
-to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the
-threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it
-might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck.
-But Burke, after hearing the story--no mention of the name of Mary
-Horneck being made by Goldsmith--came to the conclusion that it would be
-unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part
-of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer--as,
-indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity
-on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered
-that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was
-most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal.
-If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently
-as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did,
-Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance
-of obtaining a verdict.
-
-The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of
-the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine
-nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's
-safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated
-trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this
-matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion
-of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of
-Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by
-the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of
-Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against
-a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an
-offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony,
-would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for
-stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the
-result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and
-yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against
-a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but
-commendable.
-
-Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson
-was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For
-all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable
-country--which, however, he found preferable to his own--he ridiculed
-the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered
-it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that,
-however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the
-likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such
-an excursion.
-
-He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
-Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty
-with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent
-authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition
-of the sage.
-
-It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
-of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste
-as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
-Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that
-if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat
-his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we
-know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the
-idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record
-of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably
-deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to
-silence.
-
-But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be--however
-insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may--according to Johnson--have been,
-there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
-until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
-Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained
-an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined
-to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit
-for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
-
-Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
-was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians,
-they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought
-by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had
-attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems
-rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law
-permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
-
-Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
-joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which
-was felt--or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
-simulated--by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
-the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
-circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had
-not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance
-that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the
-counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old
-Bailey.
-
-When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
-had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
-was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
-Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
-trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works
-which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
-addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of
-his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
-
-He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times
-to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
-friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in
-her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the
-fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too
-busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's
-country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in
-their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their
-practical jests.
-
-He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of
-the pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he
-would see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
-constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both
-of them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure
-that he would be as strong a second time.
-
-This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged--this constant endeavour
-to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life endurable to
-him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, when a coach
-drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had passed, and Mrs.
-Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the change which was
-apparent in his appearance.
-
-“Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!” she cried when she entered his little
-parlour, “you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
-was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
-you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
-despairing.”
-
-“Nay, my dear madam,” he said. “I am only suffering from a slight attack
-of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
-assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to
-give me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught
-sight of you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a
-moment; I feared that--ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.”
-
-“However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked
-as I was when you appeared before me,” said the lady. “Why, dear sir,
-you are killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one
-here to give you the attention which your condition requires.”
-
-“What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?” said the Doctor, making a
-pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
-
-“Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,” said she. “I will take you in
-hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now
-I will beg of you to go thither in your own.”
-
-“To Barton? Oh, my dear madam----”
-
-“Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
-should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
-interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others
-than to help yourself.”
-
-“How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?”
-
-“Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
-who could be of the same help to us as you.”
-
-“There is no one who would be more willing, madam.”
-
-“You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that
-mysterious indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced
-that it was you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.”
-
-“Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again
-in need of my help.”
-
-“It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
-you are interested in her future--in the happiness which we all are
-anxious to secure for her.”
-
-“Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?”
-
-“I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family--nay, I can
-talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.”
-
-“You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.”
-
-“And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day.
-I know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
-Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.”
-
-“No; she has not told me that.”
-
-He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
-emotion which he felt.
-
-“It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally
-settled, and so not worthy of another thought,” said Mrs. Horneck.
-
-“Finally settled?” repeated Goldsmith. “Then she has accepted Colonel
-Gwyn's proposal?”
-
-“On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,” said the mother.
-
-He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
-one of gladness?
-
-“Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,” said
-the lady. “Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character
-is irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
-convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him--and
-yet she sends him away from her.”
-
-“That is possibly because she knows her own mind--her own heart, I
-should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.”
-
-“Alas! she is but a girl.”
-
-“Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives
-is worthy of her.”
-
-“That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
-rigidly on that assumption--an assumption which would condemn her to
-live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to
-take a practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely
-concerns the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you
-take a great interest.”
-
-“I would do anything for her happiness.”
-
-“I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards
-you with the greatest respect and esteem--nay, if I may say it, with
-affection as well.”
-
-“Ah! affection--affection for me?”
-
-“You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
-for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to
-yield to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit.
-Mary is there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence
-with her on behalf of Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“What! I, madam?”
-
-“Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell
-you, my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
-yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for
-no one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
-convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion
-while turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
-influence, will you not, dear friend?”
-
-“I must have time to think--to think. How can I answer you at once in
-this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.”
-
-He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
-looking into the empty grate.
-
-“You are wrong,” she said in a low tone. “You are wrong; I know what is
-in your thoughts--in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
-would stand on a different footing in respect to you.”
-
-“Ah! a different footing!”
-
-“I think that you are in error in that respect,” said the lady.
-“Marriage is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is
-not Katherine the same to you now as she was before she married Charles
-Bunbury?”
-
-He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew
-of what was in his heart!
-
-“Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,” said he.
-
-“And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,” said Mrs. Horneck.
-
-“But where lies the need for her to marry at once?” he inquired. “If she
-were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
-not marry at once; but if she does not love him----”
-
-“Who can say that she does not love him?” cried the lady. “Oh, my dear
-Dr. Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world
-of whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir,
-I was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When
-I married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
-disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
-for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
-woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing
-a just opinion on the subject.”
-
-“I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.”
-
-“Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous
-of seeing her married to a good man--a man with whom her future
-happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend;
-alas! that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates
-her life and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is
-ruled by her heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what
-her uncle, with whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her
-meeting a certain man there--my brother did not make me acquainted with
-his name--and being so carried away with some plausible story he told
-that she actually fancied herself in love with him--actually, until my
-brother, learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop
-to an affair that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her
-heart----”
-
-“Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.”
-
-“That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
-some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
-the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
-fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
-desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?”
-
-There was a long pause before he said--
-
-“Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to
-point out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,” cried the
-mother, catching his hand and pressing it. “But I would ask of you not
-to put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl
-with a heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
-direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to
-the ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.”
-
-“You are a woman.”
-
-“I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts--her longings--her
-hopes--and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart--ah, Dr.
-Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
-life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?--
-
-               'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
-
-               And finds too late. . .'
-
-To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
-poor Olivia!” He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
-in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying--
-
-“I will go to her.”
-
-“You will be saving her--ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,”
- cried Mrs. Horneck.
-
-He started slightly.
-
-“Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?”
-
-“I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and
-saw you,” she replied. “You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and
-the change to the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been
-neglecting yourself--yes, and some one who will nurse you back to life.
-Oh, Barton is the place for you!”
-
-“There is no place I should like better to die at,” said he.
-
-“To die at?” she said. “Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
-still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
-you.”
-
-“Your daughter Mary is there,” said he.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXI.
-
-He wrote that very evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure,
-one of his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had
-resolved to yield gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant
-to leave for Barton the next day. When that letter was written he gave
-himself up to his thoughts.
-
-All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between
-her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making
-it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought
-himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he,
-Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her
-sister--with the affection which exists between good friends.
-
-While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
-he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
-heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
-had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
-and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
-what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He
-knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done
-that day, she would have told him that she loved him.
-
-Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
-follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
-mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
-led in the future?
-
-Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was
-to be found only in marriage--marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
-undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit
-to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
-undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
-good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
-and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the
-dangers which surrounded her.
-
-Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He
-would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word
-duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his
-argument, tend to frustrate his intention.
-
-He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed,
-and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his
-visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought
-before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a
-moment's consideration.
-
-She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where
-the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was
-even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance.
-While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with
-pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward
-him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself
-painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement
-both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law.
-
-She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
-
-“Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?” he cried. “Why,
-you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?”
-
-Mary only shook her head.
-
-“I have been ill,” said Oliver. “But I am better already, having seen
-you both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she
-ready to give me another lesson in loo?”
-
-“She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,” said
-Bunbury, while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. “Oh! yes; we
-will take care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,” he
-continued. “Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are!
-But we'll build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you
-and such as you, my friend.”
-
-“I tell you I am better already,” cried Goldsmith; and then, as the
-chaise drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her
-face had become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him;
-she was not even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and
-the ploughed fields.
-
-Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
-uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
-which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton;
-but though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the
-chaise arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her
-guest at the great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the
-depressing effect of her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not
-betray the shock which she experienced on observing how greatly changed
-was her friend since he had been with her and her sister at Ranelagh.
-She met him with a laugh and a cry of “You have never come to us without
-your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, you will e'en have to go back
-for it.”
-
-The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
-last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
-at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
-vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
-became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for
-his friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
-harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
-Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
-his visit to the house he loved. He felt better--better than he had been
-for months.
-
-In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
-her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
-after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
-imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
-his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily
-the manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of
-the scene, especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she
-declared she had good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so
-greatly as to cause him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea,
-when he had meant to talk about love.
-
-She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much
-character into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to
-imitate, she never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating
-person would be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily
-than Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
-
-Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into
-the already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected
-to understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his
-rejection. A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary,
-and of course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely
-appropriate to Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and
-good-humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done in the
-house which humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done
-in the house which had ever been so delightful to at least one of the
-guests.
-
-He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
-fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
-incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
-extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat
-as the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day
-treated before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
-
-And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to
-him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her
-future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think
-what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only
-by her own sympathetic heart.
-
-He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
-Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
-laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
-of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no
-doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of
-gravity.
-
-The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
-afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with
-Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new
-covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of
-the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and
-jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with
-bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling,
-Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
-
-“What a housewife we have become!” he cried. “Quite right, my dear; the
-head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.”
-
-Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
-the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
-
-“I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,” said he, “that I do not enter into the
-spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
-husband.”
-
-“'Tis foolish on their part,” said she. “But Little Comedy is ever on
-the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active
-abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle
-threadbare by now.”
-
-“Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,”
- said he.
-
-“Indeed, I agree with you,” she cried. “I agree with you heartily. I do
-not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
-flattered by his attention?”
-
-“No--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
-man from the Prince down--or should I say up?” he replied.
-
-“'Twould be treason to say so,” she laughed. “Well, let poor Colonel
-Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way
-of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
-valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never
-saved a poor woman a day's work.”
-
-“I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,” said he quietly. “On the
-contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him.”
-
-“Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,” said she,
-continuing her work.
-
-“Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,”
- said he.
-
-“Only of late!” she cried. “Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of
-your thoughts long ago as well.”
-
-“I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
-latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.” She ceased her work
-and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and
-went to her side.
-
-“My sweet Jessamy Bride,” said he, “I have thought of your future with
-great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father
-might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent
-upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares.”
-
-“I know that,” she quietly said. “Ah, you know that I have had some
-experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame
-would have been mine!”
-
-“Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
-affair,” said he. “It was your tender heart that led you astray at
-first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But
-alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for
-you.”
-
-“Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,” said she. “Did not I send
-Colonel Gwyn away from me?”
-
-“You were wrong to do so, my Mary,” he said. “Colonel Gwyn is a good
-man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able
-to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own
-heart may lead you again as it led you before.”
-
-“You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?” said she.
-
-“Yes,” he replied. “I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as
-his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a
-girl as you in the world.”
-
-“Ah! my dear friend,” she cried. “I have seen enough of the world to
-know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from
-the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only
-begin to beset her on that day?”
-
-“Often--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least,
-not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly
-man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
-standpoint of her matchmaking mother.”
-
-“Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
-way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think
-of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of
-all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
-position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have
-seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.”
-
-“And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?”
-
-“Yes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your
-happiness--yes, happiness in the future.”
-
-“Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!” she cried. “You are
-ready to sacrifice yourself--I mean you are ready to forego all the
-pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
-the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
-happiness--or what you fancy will be happiness.”
-
-“I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.”
-
-“I do,” she said after a pause. “I do, because I know what it would mean
-to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
-marry Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“Nay--nay--do not speak so definitely,” he said.
-
-“I will speak definitely,” she cried. “Yes, the time is come for me to
-speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of
-being happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else
-with all my heart, I dare not--oh! I dare not even entertain the thought
-of marrying Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“You love some one else?” he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment
-there went through his mind the thought--
-
-“_Her heart has led her astray once again._'”
-
-“I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,” she cried;
-“I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
-world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
-heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.”
-
-Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
-in a hushed voice--
-
-“Ah, child--child--spare me that pain--let me go from you.”
-
-“Not till you hear me,” she said. “Ah! cannot you perceive that I love
-you--only you, Oliver Goldsmith?”
-
-“Hush--for God's sake!” he cried.
-
-“I will not hush,” she said. “I will speak for love's sake--for the sake
-of that love which I bear you--for the sake of that love which I know
-you return.”
-
-“Alas--alas!”
-
-“I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her
-love for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before
-heaven would be in my keeping silence--in marrying a man I do not love.
-Ah! I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood
-your nature--so sweet--so simple--so great--so true. I thought last year
-when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling which I had for
-you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to know the truth.”
-
-He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper--
-
-“Stop--stop--for God's sake, stop! I--I--do not love you.”
-
-She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
-died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes
-fixed upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
-
-“You do not love me?” she said in a slow whisper. “Will you say those
-words again with your eyes looking into mine?”
-
-“Do not humiliate me further,” he said. “Have some pity upon me.”
-
-“No--no; pity is not for me,” she said. “If you spoke the truth when you
-said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not love
-me.”
-
-“You say you know me,” he cried, “and yet you think it possible that
-I could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and
-sympathetic heart has made for your own undoing. Look there--there--into
-that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.”
-
-He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
-exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
-and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark--a
-figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
-
-“Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,” he said, “and you will see
-what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which
-have been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the
-pain they gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in
-the future? Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who
-have been kinder than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune
-that could befall them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I
-could be so base.”
-
-“I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
-worthy of being loved of all men in the world,” said she. “Ah, sir,
-cannot you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my
-affection for you?”
-
-“Mary--Mary--this is madness!”
-
-“Listen to me,” she said. “I feel that you return my affection; but I
-will put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that
-you do not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-There was another pause before he said--
-
-“Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
-ordeal? Let me go--let me go.”
-
-“Not until you answer me--not until I have proved you. Look into my
-eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
-now.”
-
-“Ah, dear child----”
-
-“You cannot speak those words.” There was another long silence. The
-terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
-are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
-maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
-whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
-before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
-expectation.
-
-He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
-way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
-said slowly--
-
-“It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.”
-
-“That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!”
-
-She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
-
-He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
-the room--out of the house.
-
-In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much
-of the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
-impulse.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXII.
-
-When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became
-alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went
-out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
-
-Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
-still-room, he inquired.
-
-She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell.
-
-“I am afraid that his running away was due to me,” she said. “If so, I
-shall never forgive myself.”
-
-“What can be your meaning, my dear?” he inquired. “I thought that you
-and he had always been the closest friends.”
-
-“If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,” said
-she. “You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance
-of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and
-begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the
-proposal of Colonel Gwyn.”
-
-“I heard nothing of that,” said he, with a look of astonishment. “And so
-I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
-said something that offended him.”
-
-She held down her head.
-
-“You should be ashamed of yourself,” said he “Have you not seen long ago
-that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?”
-
-“I am ashamed of myself,” said she. “I shall never forgive myself for my
-harshness.”
-
-“That will not bring him back,” said her brother-in-law. “Oh! it is
-always the best of friends who part in this fashion.”
-
-Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
-so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
-felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
-induce him to return.
-
-But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
-back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
-face was very grave.
-
-“I saw the poor fellow,” he said. “I found him at his chambers in Brick
-Court. He is very ill indeed.”
-
-“What, too ill to be moved?” she cried. He shook his head.
-
-“Far too ill to be moved,” he said. “I never saw a man in worse
-condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks
-before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love
-to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he
-says.”
-
-“His rudeness! his rudeness!” said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
-tears. “Oh, my poor friend--my poor friend!” She did not tell her sister
-all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious
-to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen
-him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had
-promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to
-the country.
-
-The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the
-postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a
-letter from the doctor.
-
-No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
-Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
-
-When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
-sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand--poems addressed to her--the
-love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
-hopeless years.
-
-She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
-
-She started up, crying--
-
-“Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me--he loves me as I love him--only
-his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love--he loves me,
-and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
-sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself--nay, he has sacrificed
-himself for me--for me!”
-
-She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
-
-“My dear--dear sister,” said Katherine, “is it possible that
-you--you----”
-
-“That I loved him, do you ask?” cried Mary, raising her head. “Yes, I
-loved him--I love him still--I shall never love any one else, and I am
-going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good--God will be good. My
-love shall live until I go to him.”
-
-“My poor child!” said her sister. “I could never have guessed your
-secret. Come away. We will go to him together.”
-
-They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
-together to Brick Court.
-
-A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
-Abington.
-
-“Do not tell me that I am too late--for God's sake say that he still
-lives!” cried Mary.
-
-The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
-
-She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at
-the girl, and the girl understood.
-
-She threw herself into her sister's arms.
-
-“He is dead!” she cried. “But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
-that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.”
-
-“That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
-Presence,” said Mrs. Abington. “Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but
-I know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the
-thought of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever
-lived. Ah, there was none like him--a man of such sweet simplicity
-that every word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his
-works; you and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not
-less than those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the
-Son who on earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.”
-
-Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
-
-She went with her sister among the weeping men and women--he had been a
-friend to all--up the stairs and into the darkened room.
-
-She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
-
-THE END.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51951 ***
+
+THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+
+By Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+Author Of â€œThe Impudent Comedian,â€ Etc.
+
+With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
+
+New York
+
+Duffield & Company
+
+1906
+
+[Illustration: 0001]
+
+[Illustration: 0008]
+
+[Illustration: 0009]
+
+THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+Sir,â€ said Dr. Johnson, â€œwe have eaten an excellent dinner, we are
+a company of intelligent men--although I allow that we should have
+difficulty in proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down
+with a Scotchman--and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
+intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
+ignorance and maintained by sophistry.â€
+
+â€œWhy, sir,â€ cried Goldsmith, â€œI doubt if the self-satisfaction of even
+the most intelligent of men--whom I take to be myself--is interfered
+with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
+another.â€
+
+Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
+Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced--with some
+care--that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile in
+the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
+faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
+conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind,
+and the latter--as Burke perceived in a moment--was solemn in mimicry of
+Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on his chair
+and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell turned an
+eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so that he
+might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon Garrick's
+face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right hand that
+he put behind his ear.
+
+Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
+Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious
+and unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their
+heads in the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces
+were identical as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who
+is greatly grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures
+worked by the same machinery, they turned their heads again toward
+Johnson.
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Johnson, â€œyour endeavour to evade the consequences of
+maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching
+upon mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
+intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I
+cannot permit to pass unrebuked.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir,â€ cried Boswell, eagerly, â€œI cannot believe that Dr.
+Goldsmith's intention was so monstrous.â€
+
+â€œAnd the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
+positive proof that the contrary is the case,â€ roared Johnson.
+
+â€œPray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œMen have been hanged on less,â€ remarked Burke. â€œBut, to return to the
+original matter, I should like to know upon what facts----â€
+
+â€œAh, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art
+would indeed be a departure,â€ said Goldsmith solemnly. â€œI cannot
+countenance a proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.â€
+
+â€œAnd you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
+you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?â€ said
+Garrick.
+
+â€œWell, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so--that's not just the
+same thing,â€ laughed Goldsmith.
+
+â€œAh, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
+imagination,â€ said Reynolds. â€œThat is the most satisfactory
+arrangement.â€
+
+â€œYes, for the author,â€ said Burke. â€œSome time ago it was the book which
+was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.â€
+
+â€œThese sallies are all very well in their way,â€ said Garrick, â€œbut their
+brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that
+Dr. Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
+included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses
+no more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with
+the exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
+statesman--another branch of the same profession--and therefore we are
+vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.â€
+
+â€œThe matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,â€ said
+Johnson. â€œIt must be apparent to the humblest intelligence--nay, even to
+Boswell's--that acting is a trick, not a profession--a diversion, not
+an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended to the
+contrary.â€
+
+â€œIt must only have been in sport, sir,â€ said Boswell mildly.
+
+â€œSir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,â€ cried Johnson, â€œbut
+he has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
+having you as his advocate.â€
+
+â€œOh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce
+an opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,â€ said
+Goldsmith. â€œHis fine sense of humour----â€
+
+â€œSir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
+return from Corsica?â€ shouted Johnson.
+
+â€œGentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,â€ said Garrick,
+â€œbut in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of
+a wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied
+by Mr. Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as
+outcasts because we happen to be actors?â€
+
+â€œUndoubtedly you at least are, Davy,â€ cried Johnson. â€œAnd good enough
+for you too, you rascal!â€
+
+â€œAnd, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
+become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who
+have relations in the church, to make such an assertion,â€ said Johnson
+sternly. â€œWhat, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in
+your estimation?â€
+
+â€œThe Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither
+could the stage look for another Garrick?â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œPsha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street
+delighted the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,â€ cried Johnson; and
+when he perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay
+back in his chair and roared with laughter.
+
+Reynolds took snuff.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the
+puppets--I heard him myself,â€ said Boswell.
+
+â€œThat was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
+that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,â€
+ said Burke. â€œYou understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr.
+Boswell. But to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith;
+surely, Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of genius is at least
+on a level with a musician of genius.â€
+
+â€œSir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
+satisfy you,â€ replied Johnson.
+
+â€œSurely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that
+of Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,â€ said Burke.
+
+â€œYes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and
+Piozzi the ill luck to be an Italian,â€ replied Johnson. â€œSir, 't is no
+use affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the
+arts. I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that
+you actually believe what your words would imply.â€
+
+â€œYou can take your choice, Mr. Burke,â€ said Goldsmith: â€œwhether you will
+have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.â€
+
+â€œI am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space,
+just as there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really
+interesting to me personally,â€ said Garrick, rising; â€œbut the fact is
+that I rashly made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for
+perhaps twenty minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some
+agreement on a matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr.
+Burke and myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.â€
+
+He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal
+education in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
+
+â€œIf Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I
+can bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,â€ said
+Goldsmith.
+
+â€œThe dog is well enough,â€ said Johnson; â€œbut he has need to be kept in
+his place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him
+in his place he will tolerate as he does mine.â€
+
+â€œAnd what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?â€ asked Goldsmith.
+â€œDo you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
+as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
+we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Dr. Johnson, â€œyour question is as ridiculous as anything you
+have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say
+a good deal.â€
+
+â€œWhat a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his
+attempts to shine,â€ whispered Boswell to Burke.
+
+â€œ'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice
+heard in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,â€ said Burke.
+
+â€œPray, sir, what is a Niagara?â€ asked Boswell.
+
+â€œA Niagara?â€ said Burke. â€œBetter ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it
+in his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a
+Niagara is.â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
+undertone. â€œSir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+The conversation took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the
+Strand, where the party had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as
+good company as usual. There was a general feeling that he had rarely
+insulted Boswell so frequently in the course of a single evening--but
+then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself open to insult as he had upon
+this evening--and when he had finished with the Scotchman, he turned
+his attention to Garrick, the opportunity being afforded him by Oliver
+Goldsmith, who had been unguarded enough to say a word or two regarding
+that which he termed â€œthe art of acting.â€
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,â€ cried the great dictator.
+â€œWho gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
+acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler
+who kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist.
+Madame Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight
+rope, will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter--nay, every poodle that
+dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.â€
+
+It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission
+of acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as
+Johnson asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made;
+it was in vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included
+among the arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the
+standing of artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose
+that the tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their
+claims to be on a level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of
+humanity. Dr. Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to
+him most courteously by his friends.
+
+Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told
+Burke he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was
+thoroughly Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and
+eminently capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements
+of a clubable man.
+
+He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
+in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who,
+as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of
+theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
+he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
+successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
+distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
+
+He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what
+Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
+
+â€œPray, sir,â€ said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
+ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was
+as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. â€œPray, sir, is there any evidence
+among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was
+imperishable?â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, â€œthere is evidence that
+the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_
+at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.â€
+
+â€œWell, sir?â€ said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
+
+â€œWell, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such
+an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to
+accept the offer of a dinner,â€ said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest
+manner.
+
+Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally.
+He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from
+Johnson.
+
+â€œNay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,â€ he murmured, but in
+no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every
+one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was
+necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he
+was the recipient.
+
+â€œCome, Goldy,â€ cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, â€œyou must
+not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
+better of you in the argument.â€
+
+â€œArgument, sir?â€ said Goldsmith. â€œI protest that I was not aware that
+any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
+argument, Doctor.â€
+
+â€œ'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr.
+Boswell, sir,â€ said Johnson, with a twinkle.
+
+â€œThe logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
+the wolf,â€ muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
+for his Animated Nature.
+
+At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
+to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
+to obtain permission to join the party.
+
+â€œMy cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?â€ said
+Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
+
+â€œWhy, sir,â€ said Boswell, â€œyou have told us more than once that you had
+a cousin who was a dignitary of the church.â€
+
+â€œHave I, indeed?â€ said Goldsmith. â€œThen I suppose, if I said so, this
+must be the very man. A Dean, is he?â€
+
+â€œSir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common
+room of a tavern,â€ said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any
+sudden addition to his audience of an evening. â€œIf your relation were an
+Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
+the order to show him into this room.â€ Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
+He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone
+told the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face
+undoubtedly wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any
+of his friends, before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and
+somewhat undersized clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands
+and apron of a dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect
+carriage that gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was
+white, but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in
+one eye.
+
+The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward.
+It contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table
+twenty minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver,
+perceived in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to
+that with which Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A
+little jerk which the visitor gave in raising his head was laughably
+like a motion made by Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
+
+â€œGentlemen,â€ said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, â€œI entreat of
+you to be seated.â€ His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
+although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made
+an attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have
+regarded him as sincere. â€œNay, gentlemen, I insist,â€ continued the
+stranger; â€œyou embarrass me with your courtesy.â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Johnson, â€œyou will not find that any company over which I
+have the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.â€
+
+â€œI am the humblest of its ministers, sir,â€ said the stranger, with a
+deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
+of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. â€œAh! I do not need to ask which
+of this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly--I beg your pardon,
+Oliver--ah, old times--old times!â€ He had caught Goldsmith's hands
+in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
+Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of
+a smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long
+silence that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an
+element of pathos.
+
+Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
+all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was
+now worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
+
+â€œI ask your pardon, sir,â€ he said, gravely, â€œbut--sir, I am a
+painter--my name is Reynolds--and--well, sir, the family resemblance
+between you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith--a resemblance that
+perhaps only a painter's eye could detect--seemed to me so extraordinary
+as you stood together, that----â€
+
+â€œNot another word, sir, I entreat of you,â€ cried the visitor. â€œMy
+cousin Oliver and I have not met for--how many years is it, Nolly? Not
+eleven--no, it cannot be eleven--and yet----â€
+
+â€œAh, sir,â€ said Oliver, â€œtime is fugitive--very fugitive.â€
+
+He shook his head sadly.
+
+â€œI am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
+wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,â€ said the stranger.
+â€œBut you must present me to your friends, Noll--Oliver, I mean. You,
+sirâ€--he turned to Reynolds--â€œhave told me your name. Am I fortunate
+enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no
+doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am your
+servant. And you, sirâ€--he turned to Burke--â€œI seem to have seen your
+face somewhere--it is strangely familiar----â€
+
+â€œThat gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,â€ said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
+recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of
+pride, as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The
+clergyman made precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying----
+
+â€œWhat, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty--the friend of the
+people?â€
+
+â€œThe same, sir,â€ said Oliver. â€œHe is, besides, the friend of Oliver
+Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œThen he is my friend also,â€ said the clergyman. â€œSir, to be in a
+position to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.â€
+
+â€œYou do me great honor, sir,â€ said Burke.
+
+Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
+Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so
+far neglected.
+
+â€œMr. Burke, you are our countryman--Oliver's and mine--and I know you
+are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have a talk
+with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?â€
+
+â€œWith all my power, sir,â€ said Burke. â€œGive me your hand again, sir.
+Mrs. Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an
+honour upon the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.â€
+
+â€œYou are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
+you work with your arm that way?â€
+
+â€œThere are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,â€ said Oliver.
+
+â€œThey can wait,â€ cried Mr. Dean. â€œThey are certain to be inferior to Mr.
+Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
+mortified at what I have said.â€
+
+â€œThis is Mr. Boswell, sir,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œMr. Boswell--of where, sir?â€
+
+â€œMr. Boswell, of--of Scotland, sir.â€
+
+â€œScotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre.
+Your clergymen might be better employed, Mr.--Mr.----â€
+
+â€œBoswell, sir.â€
+
+â€œMr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you
+ever visit your country again--a remote possibility, from all that I can
+learn of your countrymen.â€
+
+â€œWhy, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'----â€ began
+Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
+
+â€œWhat, you would condone his offence?â€ he cried. â€œThe fact of your
+having a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still
+sadly lax in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.â€
+
+â€œAnd this is Dr. Johnson, sir,â€ said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
+
+His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
+bowing profoundly.
+
+â€œDr. Johnson,â€ he cried, â€œI have long desired to meet you, sir.â€
+
+â€œI am your servant, Mr. Dean,â€ said Johnson, towering above him as he
+got--somewhat awkwardly--upon his feet. â€œNo gentleman of your cloth,
+sir--leaving aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in
+the church to which you have attained--fails to obtain my respect.â€
+
+â€œI am glad of that, sir,â€ said the Dean. â€œIt shows that you, though
+a Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal
+on behalf of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not
+disposed to relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration
+for the church.â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
+â€œSir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable.
+I am not a Non-conformist--on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
+quarter.â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke
+to a subordinate. â€œSir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened
+country and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you
+in the company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe
+that you were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of
+conscience. I regret that I was mistaken.â€
+
+â€œSir!â€ cried Goldsmith, in great consternation--for Johnson was rendered
+speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, instead
+of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. â€œSir, this is the
+great Dr. Johnson--nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.â€
+
+â€œ'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
+weak,â€ said the clergyman, smiling. â€œWell, well, we will take the honest
+gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one
+sense: he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one
+scale. To such greatness we would do well to bow.â€
+
+â€œHeavens, sir!â€ said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in
+it. â€œIs it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?â€
+
+â€œAlas! sir,â€ said the stranger, â€œI am but a country parson. I cannot be
+expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
+Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you,
+Mr.--Mr.--ah! you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though
+I doubt not you are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you
+written that entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence
+of such gentlemen as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and--I add with
+pride--Oliver Goldsmith?â€
+
+â€œI am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,â€ muttered Boswell.
+
+â€œAnd he has doubtless greatness enough--avoirdupois--to serve for both!
+Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to speak for
+himself, tell me what he has written.â€
+
+â€œHe has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
+Corsica,â€ said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
+
+â€œAnd his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy
+altitude in literature?â€
+
+â€œYou are surely jesting, sir,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œThe world is familiar
+with Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.â€
+
+â€œAlas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no
+need for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the
+work appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?â€
+
+[Illustration: 0037]
+
+But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up
+a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown
+and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his
+wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
+
+â€œYour great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
+with greater tenderness,â€ said the clergyman. â€œI would fain hope that
+the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the
+work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?â€
+
+â€œEighteen years ago,â€ said Oliver.
+
+â€œAnd what books has he written within the intervening years?â€
+
+â€œHe has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
+our authors.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
+eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You,
+cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be
+without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable
+list; but your friend--oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!--he is no true
+worker in literature, or he would--nay, he could not, have remained idle
+all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not
+use his pen?â€
+
+â€œHe has a pension from the King, sir,â€ stuttered Oliver. â€œI tell you,
+sir, he is the most learned man in Europe.â€
+
+â€œHis is a sad case,â€ said the clergyman. â€œTo refrain from administering
+to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious
+duty.â€ He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head.
+Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's
+jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. â€œDr.
+Johnson,â€ said the stranger, â€œI feel that it is my duty as a clergyman
+to urge upon you to amend your way of life.â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ shouted Johnson, â€œif you were not a clergyman I would say that
+you were a very impertinent fellow!â€
+
+â€œYour way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience--if you have
+one--tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the
+knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
+room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
+acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
+have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
+friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
+friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
+though they are workers--not without honour--at that profession of
+letters which you despise--nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not
+despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life
+to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a
+pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
+of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr.
+Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think
+you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those
+tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down
+all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your
+love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I
+leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my
+leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have
+not spoken in vain.â€
+
+He made a general bow--an awkward bow--and walked with some dignity to
+the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+When he had disappeared, the room was very silent.
+
+Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
+buried in his hands, started up, crying out, â€œ'Rasse-las, Prince
+of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he
+published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?â€ He ran to the door and
+opened it, calling downstairs: â€œ'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!â€
+ â€œRasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!â€
+
+â€œSir!â€ came the roar of Dr. Johnson. â€œClose that door and return to your
+chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
+which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
+decently.â€
+
+Goldsmith shut the door.
+
+â€œI did you a gross injustice, sir,â€ said he, returning slowly to the
+table. â€œI allowed that man to assume that you had published no book
+since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the
+moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'â€
+
+â€œIf you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force
+of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ said Johnson. â€œIf I am
+suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
+volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
+industry.â€
+
+â€œThose who know you, sir,â€ cried Goldsmith, â€œdo not need any evidence of
+your industry. As for that man----â€
+
+â€œLet the man alone, sir,â€ thundered Johnson.
+
+â€œPray, why should he let the man alone, sir?â€ said Boswell.
+
+â€œBecause, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next
+to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's;
+and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.â€
+
+â€œOh, no, sir,â€ said Boswell. â€œWe deny your generous plea of
+justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written
+even within the year.â€
+
+â€œPsha! Sir, the more I think of them the--well, the less I think of
+them, if you will allow me the paradox,â€ said Johnson. â€œSir, the man
+is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey
+my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can
+forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my
+Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?â€
+
+â€œHis name, sir, his name?â€ faltered Goldsmith.
+
+â€œYes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,â€ said Johnson.
+
+â€œHis name, sir, is--is--God help me, sir, I know not what is his name.â€
+
+â€œNonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell
+tells me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did
+so in a spirit of boasting, you erred.â€
+
+For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
+in a low tone:
+
+â€œThe man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.â€
+
+â€œNay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,â€ cried Boswell. â€œYou boasted
+of him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.â€
+
+â€œMr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,â€ said Burke with a smile.
+
+â€œHis ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
+nature are maintained when one hears his voice,â€ remarked Goldsmith in a
+low tone.
+
+â€œHere comes Mr. Garrick himself,â€ said Reynolds as the door was opened
+and Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced
+to the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before.
+â€œMr. Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.â€
+
+â€œWhatever he may be on some other points,â€ remarked Burke.
+
+â€œGentlemen,â€ said Garrick, â€œyou seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
+you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May
+I inquire the reason of the difference?â€
+
+â€œYou may not, sir!â€ shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
+acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that
+it would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he
+knew that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick
+were to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene
+for the entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had
+heard more than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield
+had created by his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson,
+played an important part. He had been congratulating himself upon the
+fortunate absence of the actor during the visit of the clergyman.
+
+â€œYou may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,â€ he repeated, as Garrick looked
+with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Boswell, â€œmy veracity is called in question.â€
+
+â€œWhat is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
+that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?â€ cried Johnson.
+
+â€œNay, sir, one question,â€ said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
+â€œMr. Garrick--have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for a
+relative?â€
+
+â€œWhy, no, sir,â€ replied Garrick; â€œbut I heard him say that he had a
+brother who deserved to be a Dean.â€
+
+â€œAnd so I had,â€ cried Goldsmith. â€œAlas! I cannot say that I have now. My
+poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.â€
+
+â€œI am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
+concerned,â€ said Johnson; â€œbut it seemed to me that some of the man's
+gestures--nay, some of the tones of his voice as well--resembled those
+of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table noticed
+the similarity to which I allude.â€
+
+â€œI certainly noticed it,â€ cried Boswell eagerly.
+
+â€œYour evidence is not admissible, sir,â€ said Johnson. â€œWhat does Sir
+Joshua Reynolds say?â€
+
+â€œWhy, sir,â€ said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick,
+â€œI confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
+regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
+was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.â€
+
+â€œBut if not, sir, how can you account for----â€
+
+Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
+
+â€œBe silent, sir,â€ he thundered. â€œIf you have left your manners in
+Scotland in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for
+the gift was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country
+in that respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken
+touching this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in
+the light of a personal affront.â€
+
+After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
+
+â€œI begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the
+past half-hour than any of this company.â€
+
+â€œWell, Davy,â€ said Johnson, â€œthe accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
+dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been,
+sir, and of what nature was your diversion?â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Garrick, â€œI have been with a poet.â€
+
+â€œSo have we, sir--with the greatest poet alive--the author of 'The
+Deserted Village'--and yet you enter to find us immoderately glum,â€ said
+Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he did not
+regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he quite
+believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
+relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
+
+â€œAh, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,â€ said Garrick.
+â€œMine was only a sort of poet.â€
+
+â€œAnd pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?â€ asked Boswell.
+
+â€œA sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,â€ replied
+Garrick.
+
+He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
+for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who
+was anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just
+written. The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house
+in the Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was
+short, it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated
+by Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
+
+â€œA few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman--he wore
+the bands and apron of a Dean,â€ he continued, â€œnot seeming to notice the
+little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
+grasped me by the arm,â€ he continued, â€œdoubtless recognising me from
+my portraits--for he said he had never seen me act--and then began an
+harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
+that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction
+than my neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith,
+gentlemen, he took it quite as a family grievance.â€ Suddenly he paused,
+and looked around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest
+were grave. A thought seemed to strike the narrator. â€œWhat!â€ he cried,
+â€œit is not possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin,
+the Dean, regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so, 'tis
+an extraordinary coincidence that I should have encountered
+him--unless--good heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here
+when I had thrown him off?â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ cried Oliver, â€œI affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no
+Dean, entered this room!â€
+
+â€œThen, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court
+on your return,â€ said Garrick. â€œOh, yes, Doctor!--a small man with the
+family bow of the Goldsmiths--something like this.â€ He gave a comical
+reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
+
+â€œI tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of
+mine,â€ protested Goldsmith.
+
+â€œAnd let that be the end of the matter,â€ declared Johnson, with no lack
+of decisiveness in his voice.
+
+â€œOh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman
+again,â€ laughed Garrick. â€œI got rid of him by a feint, just as he was
+endeavouring to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version
+of 'The Deserted Village'--he said he had the version at his lodging,
+and meant to read it to his cousin--I ask your pardon, sir, but he said
+'cousin.'â€
+
+â€œSir, let us have no more of this--cousin or no cousin,â€ roared Johnson.
+
+â€œThat is my prayer, sir--I utter it with all my heart and soul,â€ said
+Garrick. â€œIt was about my poet I meant to speak--my poet and his play.
+What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as the
+subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?â€
+
+â€œI think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme
+of theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that
+scoundrel Foote,â€ said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite
+himself again, and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with
+that finality which carried conviction with it--yes, to James Boswell.
+
+For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details
+of his interview with the poet who--according to his account--had
+designed the drama of â€œOtaheiteâ€ in order to afford Garrick an
+opportunity of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in
+feathers, and beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while
+he delivered a series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to
+Mars, Vulcan and Diana.
+
+â€œThe monarch was especially devoted to Diana,â€ said Garrick. â€œMy poet
+explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to
+his advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess;
+and when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite
+could know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea
+Islanders were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights
+in the Pagan mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that
+the Romans should claim a monopoly of Diana.â€
+
+Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's
+contention was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief
+to his mind to have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the
+argument, though he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in
+the poet's argument.
+
+He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
+question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
+of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
+mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
+hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
+force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
+originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
+tragedy.
+
+When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson
+apart--greatly to the pique of Boswell--and said--
+
+â€œDr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
+will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
+you.â€
+
+â€œYou deserve no favour, Goldy,â€ said Johnson, laying his hand on the
+little man's shoulder, â€œand therefore, sir, you make a man who grants
+you one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your
+debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting
+you a favour.â€
+
+â€œYou say everything better than any living man, sir,â€ cried Goldsmith.
+â€œHow long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
+suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am
+anxious to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I
+have written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.â€
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith,â€ said Johnson, â€œwe have been good friends for several
+years now.â€
+
+â€œLong before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.â€
+
+â€œUndoubtedly, sir--long before you became recognised as the most
+melodious of our poets--the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote
+the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your
+second--nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be
+damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of
+'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith.â€
+
+Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
+his eyes and his voice as he said--
+
+â€œYour generosity overpowers me, sir.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+Boswell, who was standing to one side watching---his eyes full of
+curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word--the little
+scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care
+that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's
+house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly;
+but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own
+capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets
+which had been exchanged in the corner.
+
+For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object--nay,
+when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
+Johnson turned upon him, saying--
+
+â€œSir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell
+you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man,
+woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be
+a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger,
+who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by
+you, sir.â€
+
+Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
+good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month
+of inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during
+the summer.
+
+The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
+Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house
+in Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through
+Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was
+very eloquent in his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who,
+he said, in spite of the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an
+impostor calling himself his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to
+receive the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, who understood the
+temperament of his countryman, felt that he himself might surpass in
+eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he took for his text the magnanimity
+of the author of â€œThe Good Natured Man.â€ He, however, refrained from the
+attempt to prove to his companion that there were other ways by which a
+man could gain a reputation for generosity than by permitting the most
+distinguished writer of the age to dedicate a comedy to him.
+
+Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
+quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds
+was as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at
+a corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of
+ear-shot, he laid his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he
+said--
+
+â€œYou are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
+friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy--the greatest
+genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, and there
+never will be another such.â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon
+his face, every gesture that he made corresponding. â€œSir, I protest that
+you are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it,
+but as for the rascality--well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both
+a great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
+example, but----â€
+
+â€œOnly a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
+device as that bow which you made, Davy,â€ said Reynolds. â€œIt presented
+before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths--all made in the same fashion
+as our friend on in front, and all striving---and not unsuccessfully,
+either--to maintain the family tradition of the Goldsmith bow. And
+then your imitation of your imitation of the same movement--how did we
+contain ourselves--Burke and I?â€
+
+â€œYou fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?â€ said Garrick.
+
+â€œI'm convinced that he did.â€
+
+â€œBut he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.â€
+
+â€œYou are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
+tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.â€
+
+â€œYou mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
+certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to
+him and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson
+and never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.â€
+
+â€œYou will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
+David.â€
+
+â€œIt was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device,
+my friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
+Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are
+others who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man
+to offer an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.â€
+
+â€œHe will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.â€
+
+â€œAnd by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
+attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
+man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow
+a bad word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole
+dozen could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our
+friend Mr. Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of
+generosity because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at
+them, but preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I
+would rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of
+a dozen yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such
+as Bunbury. On the same principle, I have no particular liking to be
+preserved to make sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that
+literary three-decker, Johnson.â€
+
+â€œI have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
+schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.â€
+
+â€œThat license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up
+my mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an
+actor being a degrading-one--about an actor being on the level with a
+fiddler--nay, one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old
+schoolmaster a more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it
+is probable that he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain
+truths which were told to him by the Dean.â€
+
+â€œAnd poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
+Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled
+by that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
+characteristics of the Goldsmith family.â€
+
+â€œNay, did I not bear testimony in his favour--declaring that he had
+never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?â€
+
+â€œOh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
+magnanimous, David--as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an arm,
+plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a grain
+or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I have
+seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
+commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
+force the immorality of the whole proceeding.â€
+
+They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
+and Burke--the former still talking eagerly--having waited for them to
+come up.
+
+â€œGentlemen,â€ said Reynolds, â€œyou have all gone out of your accustomed
+way to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
+refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
+opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
+Betty Hamilton.â€
+
+â€œ_O matre pulchra filia pulchrior_â€ said Goldsmith; but there was not
+much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been
+the loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
+Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
+
+Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
+servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out
+by the servant.
+
+He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
+
+â€œAh, my dear Sir Joshua,â€ he cried, â€œI have to entreat your forgiveness
+for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
+absence.â€
+
+â€œYour Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,â€ said Sir Joshua.
+â€œI cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.â€
+
+â€œThe fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
+picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made
+a point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside
+when she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.â€
+
+â€œI cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
+to your Lordship's eye,â€ said Sir Joshua.
+
+â€œThe picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,â€ said the young man, but
+with no great show of ardour. â€œIt pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also
+a beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side
+of the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick--two birds with the one stone, you
+know?â€
+
+â€œTrue, sir,â€ said Garrick. â€œLady Betty is a bird of Paradise.â€
+
+â€œThat's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,â€ said the young
+man. â€œTalking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at
+the Pantheon to-night.â€
+
+â€œIs it not a mask?â€ said Garrick.
+
+â€œNay, finer sport even than that,â€ laughed the youth. â€œWe are going to
+do more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in
+twenty years, sir.â€
+
+â€œAt the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?â€ inquired Garrick.
+
+â€œCome to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,â€
+ cried Lord Stanley. â€œWho are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
+acquainted with them?â€
+
+â€œYour Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,â€ said Garrick.
+
+â€œI have often longed for that privilege,â€ said Lord Stanley, bowing
+in reply to the salutation of the others. â€œMr. Burke's speech on the
+Marriage Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always
+been my favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another,
+Dr. Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
+distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
+invite you all to the Pantheon--here are tickets to the show. You will
+give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night when
+Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.â€
+
+â€œAlas, my Lord,â€ said Garrick, â€œthat privilege will be in the hands of
+Mr. Col-man.â€
+
+â€œWhat, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
+you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to
+act my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.â€
+
+He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with
+an air of mystery.
+
+â€œWhat does he mean?â€ asked Reynolds.
+
+â€œThat is what I have been asking myself,â€ replied Garrick. â€œBy heavens,
+I have it!â€ he cried after a pause of a few moments. â€œI have heard
+rumours of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers
+of the Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of
+Vauxhall and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the
+entrance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the
+leader of the scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also
+one of the plot. Let us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss
+being-present for the world.â€
+
+â€œI am not so eager,â€ said Sir Joshua. â€œI have my work to engage me early
+in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to
+be on foot.â€
+
+â€œI have not, thank heaven!â€ cried Garrick; â€œnor has Dr. Goldsmith,
+I'll swear. As for Burke--well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
+seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.â€
+
+â€œWe need a frolic,â€ cried Goldsmith. â€œGod knows we had a dull enough
+dinner at the Crown and Anchor.â€
+
+â€œAn Irishman and a frolic are like--well, let us say like Lady Betty and
+your macaw, Sir Joshua,â€ said Burke. â€œThey go together very naturally.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+Sir Joshua entered his house, and the others hastened northward to the
+Oxford road, where the Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a
+year for the entertainment of the fashionable world--a more fashionable
+world, it was hoped, than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh
+and Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and
+fashion sought their entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly
+Rooms when the weather failed to allow of their meeting at the two great
+public gardens. But as the government of the majority of these places
+invariably became lax--there was only one Beau Nash who had the
+cleverness to perceive that an autocracy was the only possible form of
+government for such assemblies--the committee of the Pantheon determined
+to frame so strict a code of rules, bearing upon the admission of
+visitors, as should, they believed, prevent the place from falling to
+the low level of the gardens.
+
+In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
+there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
+excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
+maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
+most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed
+to enter.
+
+The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions
+as eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
+sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going
+to those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such
+persons understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be
+optimists in regard to the question of the possibility of combining
+Puritanism and promiscuous entertainments terminating long after
+midnight. They hailed the arrival of the time when innocent recreation
+would not be incompatible with the display of the richest dresses or the
+most sumptuous figures.
+
+But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
+the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
+best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
+the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
+published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
+artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility
+of actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually
+scandalous.
+
+While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
+declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
+resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
+affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying
+out of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make
+the management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in
+endeavouring to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
+
+When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the
+thoroughfare was then called, the result of this meeting was making
+itself felt. The road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for
+something unusual to occur, though of what form it was to assume no
+one seemed to be aware. The crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They
+cheered heartily every coach that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed
+ladies to the Pantheon and to other and less public entertainments.
+They waved their hats over the chairs which, similarly burdened, went
+swinging along between the bearers, footmen walking on each side
+and link-boys running in advance, the glare of their torches giving
+additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows who had the
+chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an officer of the
+Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and occasionally a
+jostling match took place between some supercilious young beau and the
+apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force his way.
+More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of the
+lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
+next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
+with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
+Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick,
+drew his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the
+crowd. It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a
+space was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was
+thrown to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy
+dropped upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the
+crowd cheered and jeered in turn.
+
+At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
+frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
+dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
+use both.
+
+But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road,
+all the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object,
+and there was a cry of, â€œHere they come--here she comes--a cheer for
+Mrs. Baddeley!â€
+
+â€œO Lord,â€ cried Garrick, â€œthey have gone so far as to choose Sophia
+Baddeley for their experiment!â€
+
+â€œTheir notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,â€ said Goldsmith.
+â€œThey might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs.
+Baddeley. There are many gradations in colour between black and white.â€
+
+â€œBut not between black and White's,â€ said Burke. â€œThis notion is well
+worthy of the wit of White's.â€
+
+â€œSophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,â€ said
+Garrick. â€œBut whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
+cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.â€
+
+â€œThat's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene
+as this,â€ said Burke. â€œSophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week
+after to-night.â€
+
+â€œBy my soul!â€ cried Goldsmith, â€œshe looks as if she would give double
+that sum to be safe at home in bed.â€
+
+The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
+the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
+through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance
+in front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold
+and silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
+gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed,
+and they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one
+side was the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr.
+Hanger, equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was
+immediately behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of
+the lady's escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
+
+The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was
+seated, smiling----â€œVery much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,â€ Burke
+remarked.
+
+â€œOh, yes,â€ cried Goldsmith, â€œshe was always the better actress. I am
+fortunate in having her in my new comedy.â€
+
+â€œThe Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,â€ said
+Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
+several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
+
+â€œAnd young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
+the Duchesses,â€ said Burke.
+
+â€œMy Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
+sway,â€ said Garrick. â€œI wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
+will emancipate him.â€
+
+â€œIf so he is in error,â€ said Burke. â€œThe Duchess of Argyll will never
+let him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady
+Betty.â€
+
+â€œTill then, do you say?â€ said Goldsmith. â€œFaith, sir, if he fancies he
+will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had
+a very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady
+is most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
+Reynolds.â€
+
+The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to
+Lady Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be
+a _fait accompli_; but there were rumours that the young man had of
+late been making an effort to release himself--that it was only with
+difficulty the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon
+her daughter, whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
+
+The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
+crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
+friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
+dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
+gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
+plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
+
+It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
+that a voice cried--
+
+â€œWoe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow
+them to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!â€ The
+discordant note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment
+a seasonable one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
+
+The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up
+a shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a
+Methodist service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with
+which the early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another
+direction a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as
+well as men; but above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the
+preacher was heard.
+
+â€œBy my soul,â€ said Garrick, â€œthat effect is strikingly dramatic. I
+should like to find some one who would give me a play with such a
+scene.â€
+
+A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in
+the act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned
+suddenly round.
+
+â€œI'll take your order, sir,â€ he cried. â€œOnly you will have to pay me
+handsomely.â€
+
+â€œWhat, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
+escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?â€ said Garrick.
+
+â€œHush, man, for Heaven's sake,â€ cried Captain Horneck--Goldsmith's
+â€œCaptain in lace.â€
+
+â€œIf Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
+would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to
+my Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
+happen.â€ Then he turned to Goldsmith. â€œCome along, Nolly, my friend,â€ he
+cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; â€œif you want a scene for
+your new comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not
+wearing the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to
+be resisted, whatever you wear.â€
+
+â€œYou, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,â€ said
+Goldsmith. â€œI have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
+stop at the porch of the Pantheon.â€
+
+â€œAs a matter of course you will come,â€ said young Horneck. â€œLet us
+hasten out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin
+to preach!â€
+
+He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
+arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as
+they could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his
+companion, that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but
+for the fact that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord
+Albemarle, and that his mother had entreated him not to do anything that
+might jeopardise the match.
+
+â€œYou are more discreet than Lord Stanley,â€ said Garrick.
+
+â€œNay,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œ'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
+means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
+would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that
+his act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.â€
+
+â€œYou have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,â€ said the Captain.
+â€œPoor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
+But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty
+and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.â€
+
+â€œAy, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,â€ said Burke.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being
+under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have
+had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building,
+where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed
+his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the
+people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little
+way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of
+the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and
+cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just
+as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down.
+
+The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed
+in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a
+line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped
+out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked
+between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered
+the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy
+than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at
+that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition.
+
+Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the â€œbusinessâ€ of the part which she had
+to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding
+herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick
+standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he
+bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit
+was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a
+_grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her
+hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying--
+
+â€œLa! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's
+the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?â€
+
+â€œNay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,â€ said Garrick
+gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
+porch.
+
+The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
+serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
+collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
+side of the lady.
+
+â€œMadam,â€ he cried, â€œhonour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
+What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
+visitor?â€ he shouted to the liveried porter.
+
+â€œSir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,â€
+ replied the man.
+
+â€œNevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,â€ said the young
+gentleman. â€œCome, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.â€
+
+â€œI cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,â€ replied the man.
+
+â€œNay, Mr. Hanger,â€ replied the frightened actress, â€œI wish not to be the
+cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.â€
+
+â€œGentlemen,â€ cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, â€œI know that it is not
+your will that we should come in active contest with the representatives
+of authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that
+our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?â€ When
+the cries of assent came to an end he continued, â€œThen, sirs, the
+responsibility for bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords
+to the front! You will touch no man with a point unless he oppose you.
+Should a constable assault any of this company you will run him through
+without mercy. Now, gentlemen.â€
+
+In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and
+in that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
+moments stood irresolute, but then--the points of a dozen swords were
+within a yard of their breasts--lowered their staves and slipped quietly
+aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt to
+withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
+went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
+
+To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from
+the thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort
+walked through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being
+sheathed at the entrance.
+
+It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
+rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
+of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to
+look scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave
+the assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose
+first husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively
+plain, in spite of their masks of paint and powder.
+
+The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of
+her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
+twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess
+of Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of
+a body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
+anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had
+no touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her
+complexion, and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add
+to their silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the
+cold whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose.
+The solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that
+she made with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that
+lovely woman.
+
+Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
+small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
+Duchess's elegance and distinction.
+
+Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at
+the lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her
+body guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her,
+they exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess
+even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster
+shrugged her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a
+Frenchwoman.
+
+Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
+also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying--
+
+â€œHer Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
+her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
+frightened away.â€
+
+Captain Horneck had gone up to his _fiancee_.
+
+â€œYou were not in that creature's train, I hope,â€ said the lady.
+
+â€œI? Dear child, for what do you take me?â€ he said. â€œNo, I certainly was
+not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œIf you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
+you the impropriety,â€ said she.
+
+(She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than
+a year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
+
+By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and
+now returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where
+Mrs. Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
+
+â€œMadam,â€ said Lord Conway, â€œthese gentlemen are anxious to offer you
+their sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and
+to express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour
+them by your patronage.â€
+
+And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the
+management, with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling
+actress.
+
+â€œAnd now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,â€ said Lord Stanley. â€œShe
+agreed to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.â€
+
+â€œShe can take very good care of herself,â€ said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
+curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to
+underrate the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to
+divide the honours attached to her position with another woman, much
+less with one who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself.
+â€œMrs. Abington is a little timid, my Lord,â€ she continued; â€œshe may not
+find herself quite at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place,
+to be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better
+taste.â€
+
+But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was
+conveyed to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of
+the honours which were being done to the lady who had entered the room,
+and when this news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through
+the porch to the side of her sister actress.
+
+And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll
+and Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two
+actresses, offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them
+frequently at the assemblies in the rotunda.
+
+The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
+condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
+their shoulders once more.
+
+Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
+disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew
+that the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the
+Duchess's daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity
+of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible
+suitors were growing scarce?
+
+Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played
+under his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy,
+and he was compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more
+highly finished exhibition of this form of art.
+
+His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
+Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
+liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to
+remain in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious
+to see what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and
+his friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the
+part of the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke,
+he heard a merry voice behind him saying--
+
+â€œIs Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the
+Pantheon?â€
+
+â€œNay,â€ cried another voice, â€œDr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing
+of a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
+century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on
+the Oxford road.â€
+
+He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
+handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
+
+â€œAh, my dear Jessamy Bride--and my sweet Little Comedy!â€ he cried, as
+the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act
+of making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
+Katherine--the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. â€œMrs. Horneck, madam,
+I am your servant--and don't I look your servant, too,â€ he added,
+remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
+
+â€œYou look always the same good friend,â€ said the lady.
+
+â€œNay,â€ laughed Mrs. Bunbury, â€œif he were your servant he would take
+care, for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it
+is not that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something
+gorgeous. What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?â€
+
+(His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
+Bun-burys.)
+
+â€œWell, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
+company, madam,â€ said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. â€œBut
+a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
+to-night.â€ He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses
+and their admirers.
+
+Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
+
+â€œThe air is tainted,â€ said Goldsmith, solemnly.
+
+â€œYes,â€ said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. â€œ'T is as you
+say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.â€
+
+â€œI said not so, madam,â€ cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. â€œAs
+amusing---amusing----â€
+
+â€œAs Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,â€
+ protested Little Comedy. â€œWere they not, Mary?â€
+
+â€œOh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them,â€
+ replied the Jessamy Bride.
+
+â€œThere, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
+witnesses!â€ said Mrs. Bunbury.
+
+â€œI could deny nothing to two such faces,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œeven though
+one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius
+weeping over the Pantheon.â€
+
+â€œAnd why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
+it?â€ she inquired, with her chin in the air.
+
+â€œAh, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,â€
+ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œPsha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,â€ cried the young
+lady.
+
+â€œFew men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,â€ said
+Oliver.
+
+â€œThat depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,â€
+ remarked Mary.
+
+â€œAnd so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the
+Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer,â€ cried her sister,
+with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well
+qualified to be an exponent.
+
+â€œ'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œNay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to
+the Royal Academy of Arts,â€ said a lady who had come up with Burke at
+that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
+movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
+
+Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
+Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
+unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
+
+â€œIn the presence of Mrs. Thrale,â€ Goldsmith began, but seeing the
+ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and
+the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
+
+â€œIs it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
+Goldsmith?â€ said Mrs. Thrale.
+
+â€œMadam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
+declining to argue out the matter with you,â€ said the Professor of
+Ancient History.
+
+Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
+quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed
+in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention
+to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who,
+moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in
+accepting her patronage.
+
+She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most
+of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the
+Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
+busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
+injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_,
+she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the
+benefit of her remarks.
+
+Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy,
+pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when,
+suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing
+behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the
+expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as
+she gazed across the rotunda.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object
+was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs.
+Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence
+of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his
+bearing.
+
+Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck
+and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an
+instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
+the girl across the room.
+
+Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
+white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after
+the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy
+of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been
+a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but
+he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely
+noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them;
+and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the
+majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the
+name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently
+interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that
+elaborate bow.
+
+Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star,
+but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
+
+â€œI have never seen him before,â€ she said. â€œI don't think he can be
+any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually
+nobodies--until we come to know them.â€
+
+â€œThat is quite reasonable,â€ said he. â€œIt is a distinction to become your
+friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor
+at the Academy are forgotten.â€
+
+His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
+attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
+
+â€œHeavens, child!â€ she whispered to her, â€œwhat is the matter with you?â€
+
+â€œWhat should be the matter with me?â€ said Mary. â€œWhat, except--oh, this
+place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
+well ventilated at all times!â€
+
+â€œMy dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,â€ said
+Bunbury.
+
+â€œNo, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
+moment,â€ said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. â€œFor heaven's
+sake don't stare so, child,â€ she added to her sister, making a pitiful
+attempt to laugh.
+
+â€œBut, my dear----â€ began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary.
+
+â€œNay,â€ she cried, â€œI will not have our mother alarmed, and--well, every
+one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness
+has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company?
+Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss.
+Lend me your arm, if you please.â€
+
+â€œWith all pleasure in life,â€ cried Oliver.
+
+He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
+greatly she was trembling.
+
+When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister
+and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
+immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
+who had bowed to her.
+
+â€œTake me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,â€ she said. â€œTake me
+somewhere--some place away from here--any place away from here.â€
+
+He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one
+sconce with wax candles was alight.
+
+â€œWhy should you tremble, my dear girl?â€ said he. â€œWhat is there to be
+afraid of? I am your friend--you know that I would die to save you from
+the least trouble.â€
+
+â€œTrouble? Who said anything about trouble?â€ she cried. â€œI am in no
+trouble--only for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you
+did not come in the bloom-tinted coat after all.â€
+
+He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was
+broken only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's
+song--the hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the
+rotunda and around the galleries.
+
+At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying--
+
+â€œI wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend--I wonder what
+you think of your Jessamy Bride.â€
+
+â€œI think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,â€ said he tenderly.
+â€œBut if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may
+be able to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a
+moment. Why, what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry
+in France together?â€
+
+â€œNothing--nothing has happened--I give you my word upon it,â€ she
+said. â€œOh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
+frightened--no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have
+not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could not
+understand--psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. Goldsmith;
+girls are foolish creatures.â€
+
+â€œIs it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?â€
+ said he. â€œIs it not possible for you to let me have your confidence?
+Think if it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs
+are concerned, but I feel that for others--for you, my dear--ah, child,
+don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
+poignancy is blunted?â€
+
+â€œI have never had consolation except from you,â€ said the girl. â€œBut
+this--this--oh, my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's
+soul to enable you to write those lines--
+
+               'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+
+               And finds too late. . . '?â€
+
+There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to
+his forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked
+slowly away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than
+a dozen steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of
+indecision, hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying--
+
+â€œI am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.â€
+
+â€œYes,â€ she said; â€œit is only a woman who can think everything that is
+evil about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their
+own destruction, but by women.â€
+
+She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
+
+â€œLet us go away,â€ she said. â€œI am sick of this place. There is no corner
+of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever
+any singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song!
+I would pay fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her
+efforts.â€ Her laugh had a shrill note that caused it to sound very
+pitiful to the man who heard it.
+
+He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
+standing with Burke and her son.
+
+â€œI do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,â€ said Mrs.
+Horneck. â€œWe have been entranced with its melody.â€
+
+â€œOh, no; I have missed no note of it--no note. Was there ever anything
+so delicious--so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went homeward,
+mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.â€
+
+â€œAt what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!â€
+ said Burke. â€œIt is the young miss in these days who insists on her
+mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!â€
+
+â€œMary was always a wise little person,â€ said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+â€œWise? Oh, let us go home!â€ said the girl wearily.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,â€ said her
+mother.
+
+Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the
+janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
+
+He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
+lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
+girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
+hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
+
+The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went
+out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While
+Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was
+furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for
+seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so
+clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated,
+bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so
+rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a
+gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if
+to take leave of the ladies.
+
+The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
+staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
+the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered
+wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his
+awkwardness.
+
+â€œCurse you for a lout!â€ cried the officer.
+
+Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
+
+â€œLook you, sir!â€ he said. â€œI have offered you my humblest apologies for
+the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to
+say as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir--Oliver
+Goldsmith--and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that we
+are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
+may be.â€
+
+The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
+cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish,
+shouted â€œWell done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke
+forever!â€ For both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as
+they were in society.
+
+While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
+in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
+stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand.
+Then he turned to his opponent, saying--
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you
+can let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.â€
+
+â€œOr if it suits you better, sir,â€ said another gentleman coming to
+Goldsmith's side, â€œyou can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
+Clare.â€
+
+â€œMy Lord,â€ cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, â€œI have no
+quarrel with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in
+the heat of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman
+might not make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I
+have the honour to wish your Lordship good-night.â€
+
+He bowed and made his exit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting
+him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let
+him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his
+comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman,
+felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece was so
+inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough to
+sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible.
+
+He read this letter--one of several which he had received from Colman
+during the week prophesying disaster--without impatience, and threw it
+aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save the
+expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
+his lines--
+
+               â€œWhen lovely woman stoops to folly,
+
+               And finds too late....â€
+
+â€œToo late----â€ She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had broken,
+as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had broken,
+when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is enshrined for
+all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress of tears. It
+would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in her eyes.
+Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
+
+What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl
+who had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other
+human being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had
+shown themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing
+himself on the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when
+Little Comedy married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him
+which had begun at Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he
+spent at the Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his
+life.
+
+But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his â€œJessamy
+Bride,â€ drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt
+from the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature--that
+in her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy
+which he sought. More than once she had proved to him that she
+recognised the greatness of his nature--his simplicity, his generosity,
+the tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his
+trustfulness, that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his
+intolerance of hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was
+the note of the most successful productions of the day. Above all,
+he felt that she recognised his true attitude in relation to English
+literature. If he was compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order
+to earn his daily bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English
+literature. How nobly he discharged this debt his â€œTraveller,â€ â€œThe
+Vicar of Wakefield,â€ â€œThe Deserted Village,â€ and â€œThe Good Natured
+Manâ€ testified at intervals. He felt that he was the truest poet, the
+sincerest dramatist, of the period, and he never allowed the work which
+he was compelled to do for the booksellers to turn him aside from his
+high aims.
+
+It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood
+what his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of
+the world. She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she
+understood him and sympathised with him.
+
+As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
+her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
+time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
+her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
+how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a
+long visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look
+of gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her
+with a letter. â€œThe Vicar of Wakefieldâ€ was the book, and she had said--
+
+â€œYou can never, never know what it has been to me--what it has done
+for me.â€ Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude--of
+affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes
+had overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not
+be easily severed.
+
+[Illustration: 0105]
+
+But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
+song.
+
+What was he to think of her?
+
+One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then,
+on glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
+changed from one of merriment to one of despair--the despair of a bird
+that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
+
+What was he to think of her?
+
+He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of
+her, but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
+certain, brought about her change of mood.
+
+It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
+guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
+going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
+means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep
+the man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
+rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
+
+Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary
+it had proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the
+girls, and he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to
+regard the occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run
+the man through some vital part.
+
+What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the
+very sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him,
+and his too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number
+of answers to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no
+ill of her. He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly
+good. He felt that her concern was on account of some one else who
+might be in the power of that man. He knew how generous she was--how
+sympathetic. He had told her some of his own troubles, and though he did
+so lightly, as was his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing
+of them. Might it not then be that the trouble which affected her was
+not her own, but another's?
+
+Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
+incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
+
+Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow
+whose appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had
+escaped with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an
+ordinary shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how
+he had declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a
+man he would have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but
+design, and would have been ready to fight.
+
+Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of
+the man would be a step in the right direction.
+
+It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the
+morning that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which
+contained some unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the
+details of the news, but he was certain that on receiving it he had a
+definite idea that it was unpleasant. When he now read Colman's
+letter for the second time he found that his recollection of his first
+impression was not at fault. It was just his luck: no man was in the
+habit of writing more joyous letters or receiving more depressing than
+Goldsmith.
+
+He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
+mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
+to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
+could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
+dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
+stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
+interests to be connected with a failure.
+
+This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
+
+â€œIs it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
+not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?â€ he said.
+
+â€œIt might be in respect to most plays, sir,â€ replied Colman; â€œbut in
+regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
+anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
+this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.â€
+
+â€œI shall try to bear both with fortitude,â€ said Goldsmith quietly,
+though he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his
+gratuitous predictions of failure--predictions which from the first his
+attitude in regard to the play had contributed to realise. â€œI should
+like to have a talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,â€ he added.
+
+â€œThey are in the green room,â€ said the manager. â€œI must say that I was
+in hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work
+would enable you to see your way to withdraw it.â€
+
+â€œI decline to withdraw it, sir,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œI have been a manager now for some years,â€ said Colman, â€œand, speaking
+from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
+hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
+complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that
+was ever wrote.â€
+
+â€œThat is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
+appreciate,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œGood Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
+what the people want nowadays is a novelty?â€
+
+â€œAy, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of
+yours is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's
+the novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words,
+sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young boor--what's the fellow's
+name?--Lumpkin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the
+refinement and sensibility of the period--the fellow who talks of his
+bear only dancing to the genteelest of tunes--all this, Dr. Goldsmith,
+I pledge you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an
+early fall of the curtain.â€
+
+â€œAn early fall of the curtain?â€
+
+â€œEven so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
+beyond that of your pothouse to be set.â€
+
+â€œLet me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not
+a pothouse.â€
+
+â€œThe playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.â€
+
+â€œWhich you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
+apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
+through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
+Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.â€
+
+â€œOf _your_ play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
+share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
+having anything to do with its production.â€
+
+â€œIf you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
+respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
+with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.â€
+
+Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's
+office and went to the green room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+The attitude of Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping
+with the traditions of the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it
+so contrary to the traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like
+the rest of his profession--not even excepting Garrick--possessed only a
+small amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented
+to them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his
+own acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted
+blank verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional
+lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack
+of human nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and
+he could see no reason why he should substitute for them anything more
+natural. He had no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure
+a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious
+sentimentality of an artificial age.
+
+He had produced â€œThe Good Natured Manâ€ some years before, and had made
+money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who
+had condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that
+play were still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
+characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but
+actually intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named
+provisionally â€œThe Mistakes of a Night,â€ he at first declined to have
+anything to do with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential
+friends--friends who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised
+his genius when he was living in a garret and before he had written
+anything beyond a few desultory essays--and they brought all their
+influence to bear upon the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the
+comedy, but laid it aside for several months, and only grudgingly, at
+last, consented to put it in rehearsal.
+
+Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best
+to depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging
+his shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant
+to allow certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written
+them.
+
+This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
+than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
+soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
+half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
+
+At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young
+Marlow, threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was
+serious in his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment
+Goldsmith assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract
+with the manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same
+contract by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was
+handed over to Lee Lewes.
+
+After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
+the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
+chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
+manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
+possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
+to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
+provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
+encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
+regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said
+he was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up
+their parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
+rehearsing.
+
+When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
+conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He
+knew that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could
+not doubt what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round
+and go back to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw
+the play. The temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of
+determination which had carried him through many difficulties--that
+spirit which Reynolds appreciated and had embodied in his portrait--came
+to his aid. He walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with
+both Woodward and Mrs. Abington.
+
+â€œI am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
+Colman,â€ he said; â€œbut I am sure that you have not taken this serious
+step without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr.
+Colman will be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an
+agreement with me to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he
+will therefore sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick
+will, I hope, honour me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs.
+Bulk-ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the
+rehearsal.â€
+
+The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
+the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and
+who had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now
+began to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had
+been a fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched
+garret knew what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate
+to kick downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him
+employment as a libeller.
+
+â€œSir,â€ cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to
+him--â€œSir, you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will
+not be my fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success.
+You have been badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your
+ill-treatment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to
+appear in your piece.â€
+
+â€œMadam,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œyou overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
+ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
+gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to
+assert that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I
+shall regard as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has
+passed I know that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection
+of the opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the
+success of this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
+circumstances incidental to its birth.â€
+
+He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly
+that he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors:
+they reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course,
+caused them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
+
+â€œYou mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,â€ said Shuter,
+who was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
+
+â€œYou may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,â€ said Goldsmith.
+â€œLord, sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident
+was to happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned
+to a certainty.â€
+
+The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
+Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
+influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
+acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith
+that none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet
+the members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption
+that its failure was inevitable.
+
+On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
+since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers
+to dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at
+a wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
+during the greater part of the night.
+
+The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her
+eyes at the same moment had yet to be explained.
+
+He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his
+elbow resting on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After
+half-an-hour's thought his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens.
+Picking one up with a sigh, he began to write.
+
+Verse after verse appeared upon the paper--the love-song of a man who
+feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
+consolation in life is love.
+
+After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again
+rested his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he
+had written. His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected
+sincerity when every one around him was engaged in composing verses
+which were regarded worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were
+artificial.
+
+He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
+Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would
+she be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
+delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
+known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
+enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
+feeling?
+
+His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
+
+â€œHow is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?â€ he
+muttered. â€œWhy has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is
+the chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should
+he himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life
+that the man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to
+live in loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was
+struck blind--a great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from
+love receives no pity--no pity on earth--no pity in heaven.â€
+
+He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for
+an hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper
+which he had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it.
+He did not tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand
+to the desk and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making
+the torn edge rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of
+a woman whose lover was beside her--that was what the quivering motion
+suggested to the poet who watched it.
+
+â€œAnd I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!â€ he said.
+â€œAlas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!â€
+
+He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
+where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
+men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
+that friendship could afford him no solace.
+
+He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
+giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+For the next two days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes
+in his play as were suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals.
+The alterations were not radical, but he felt that they would be
+improvements, and his judgment was rarely at fault. Moreover, he was
+quick to perceive in what direction the strong points and the weak
+points of the various members of the company lay, and he had no
+hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them a better chance
+of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman called the
+â€œpot-house sceneâ€ would he change, not a word of the scene where the
+farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow to be
+omitted.
+
+Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
+to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee
+house talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the
+fate that was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he
+not adopted this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become
+aware, as they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy.
+When it was produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the
+manager up to ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a
+new set of lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
+
+But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some
+of them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
+hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he
+might not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not
+possibly be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a
+pity, one of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be
+so easily avoided?
+
+To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
+or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written
+it, he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the
+medium of these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the
+verdict of the playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on
+those scenes so early in the play was that the playgoers might know not
+to expect a sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a
+natural school of comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of
+the manners of the day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only
+the broadest and heartiest fun.
+
+â€œIf the scenes are ungenteel,â€ said he, â€œit is because nature is made
+up of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
+interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
+when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a
+greater favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest
+gentleman who ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely
+on the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not
+interfere with his romping.â€
+
+He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
+on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when
+he did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from
+his over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others--a disability
+which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
+consequence, delightfully fluent.
+
+On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
+he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that
+the Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some
+degree of apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might
+think he looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he
+was by her side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her.
+The words still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it
+would pain her to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite
+content that matters should remain as they were. Whatever the words
+might have meant, it was impossible that they could mean anything that
+might cause him to think of her with less reverence and affection.
+
+He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to
+find out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom
+there came to his ears the sound of laughter--such laughter as caused
+him to remark to the servant--
+
+â€œI perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.â€
+
+â€œMr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
+sir,â€ replied Ralph.
+
+â€œI shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
+entertaining them,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
+entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
+
+The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
+keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits
+of laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
+amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him
+much manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
+imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
+details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
+entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
+laboriously at his â€œAnimated Nature.â€
+
+â€œGood morning, sir, good morning,â€ he cried, pretending to take off
+his gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect
+self-possession, previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. â€œNow
+mind you don't sit there, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ he continued, raising a
+warning finger. A little motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis,
+with his mincing ways, was transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy
+and self-conscious in the presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy
+politeness to get him a chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very
+one on which the man had placed his hat. â€œNow, now, now, what are you
+about?â€--once more Garrick was the amanuensis. â€œDid not I warn you to
+be careful about that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it?
+Sir, that excuse is a mere quibble--a mere quibble. This must not occur
+again, or I shall be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then,
+my good sir? Now to business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man
+to make me a cup of chocolate--with milk, sir--plenty of milk, and two
+lumps of sugar--plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a
+patriot--none of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think
+on't, your laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for
+me; and mind you tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in
+itâ€--this shouted half-way out of the door through which he had shown
+Goldsmith hurrying with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate.
+Then came the monologue of the amanuensis strolling about the room,
+passing his sneering remarks at the furniture--opening a letter which
+had just come by post, and reading it _sotto voce_. It was supposed to
+be from Filby, the tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform
+in which Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the
+Haymarket would be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith
+had made up his mind as to the exact orders which he meant to
+wear, ending with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and
+discrimination in choosing a costume which was so well adapted to
+his physique, and a humble suggestion that it should be worn upon the
+occasion of the first performance of the new comedy, when the writer
+hoped no objection would be raised to the hanging of a board in front of
+the author's box with â€œMade by Filbyâ€ printed on it.
+
+Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain
+words--giving an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here
+and there, and finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a
+postscript alluding to the length of time that had passed since the
+writer had received a payment on account, could not have been surpassed.
+The effect of the comedy upon the people in the room was immeasurably
+heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick,
+as the amanuensis, immediately walked to him gravely with the scrap of
+paper which had done duty as the letter, in his hand, asking him if what
+was written there in black and white about the field-marshal's uniform
+was correct, and if he meant to agree to Filby's request to wear it on
+the first night of the comedy.
+
+Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
+entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
+of the scene, saying-â€œWhy, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
+more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful
+issue a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager
+of a playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why
+should not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?â€
+
+The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew
+that Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment,
+and would not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In
+an instant, however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious
+amanuensis, and became David Garrick, crying--
+
+â€œNay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to
+reply to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of
+your experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
+nature.â€
+
+Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated
+at the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much
+what might follow.
+
+At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
+the room.
+
+â€œCome, sir,â€ said the amanuensis, â€œwe have no time to waste over empty
+civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we
+cannot keep the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the
+booksellers, 'tis the world we think of. What is this?â€--picking up an
+imaginary paper--â€œ'The derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed
+the ingeniousness of many able writers, but there can be no doubt in
+the mind of any one who has seen that noble creature, as I have, in
+its native woods, careering nimbly from branch to branch of the largest
+trees in search of the butterflies, which form its sole food, that
+the name elephant is but a corruption of elegant, the movements of the
+animal being as singularly graceful as its shape is in accordance with
+all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your
+style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' should be himself
+both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon should himself
+be a buffoon.â€
+
+In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
+leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis
+as to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer
+and warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
+Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
+imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
+the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked--
+
+â€œThe impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis!
+Lord! what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to
+dictate to his amanuensis?â€
+
+Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house,
+around the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household
+in roars of laughter--as one delightful member of the household has
+recorded--over his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of
+Dr. Johnson.
+
+â€œAnd all this,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œcame out of the paltry story which I
+told him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment
+he sat down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I
+knew he saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea
+and send him away.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+Goldsmith was delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from
+care. He had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear
+that she was unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry
+a mood as he had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at
+dinner, and he was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the
+mysterious mood that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
+
+She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
+him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though
+she said that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the
+intention of the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go
+together to the theatre and demand its immediate production on the
+finest scale possible.
+
+â€œThere's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
+Colman in that respect,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œOnly to-day, when I ventured
+to talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not
+his intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be
+played for longer than a small portion of one evening.â€
+
+â€œThe monster!â€ cried the girl. â€œI should like to talk to him as I
+feel about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will
+tolerate his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs
+some one to be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him
+how contemptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him.
+The occasion is one that demands the powers of a man who has a whole
+dictionary at his back--yes, Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten
+that if he does not behave handsomely he will, in his next edition of
+the Dictionary, define a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps
+an author in suspense for months, and then produces his comedy so
+ungenerously as to make its failure a certainty. But, no, your play
+will be the greater success on account of its having to overcome all the
+obstacles which Mr. Colman has placed in its way.â€
+
+â€œI know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be
+the greatest success of the century,â€ said he.
+
+â€œAnd so it will be--oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will--oh, we
+shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
+and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
+upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.â€
+
+â€œYou are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to
+the remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
+suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
+upon an ill-treated author.â€
+
+â€œI will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
+one of the two enterprises--the first being the changing of the mistakes
+of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the changing of
+the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager--ay, and of an
+author as well.â€
+
+â€œAdmirably spoke!â€ cried the author. â€œI have a mind to let the name 'The
+Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.â€
+
+â€œNo, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,â€ said she.
+â€œOh, do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot
+hit upon a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath
+of laurel.â€ Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not
+far away, had put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a
+word or two of the girl's sentence.
+
+â€œI presume that you are still discussing the great title question,â€ said
+he. â€œYou need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
+Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?â€
+
+â€œNay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
+Knight!'â€ said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
+not like too many people to hear him make one.
+
+â€œ'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get
+a better,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œI have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
+Horneck to discover the better one.â€
+
+â€œNay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
+and damn the play,â€ said Reynolds. â€œI have given it its proper name,
+and if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
+reprobation of all honest folk who detest an _alias_.â€
+
+â€œThen that name shall stand,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œI give you my word, Sir
+Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have
+it damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in
+England.â€
+
+â€œThat is very well said, indeed,â€ remarked Sir Joshua. â€œIt gives
+evidence of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all
+should respect.â€
+
+Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely,
+for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase,
+but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of
+laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he
+was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
+
+Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
+question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
+story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
+not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
+
+A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner--his name was Colonel
+Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck--took
+up the question quite seriously.
+
+â€œFor my part,â€ he said, â€œI admit frankly that I have never heard the
+story of Grouse in the gun-room.â€
+
+â€œIs it possible, sir?â€ cried Garrick. â€œWhat, you mean to say that you
+are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who
+asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was
+locked--that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?â€
+
+â€œNo, sir,â€ cried Colonel Gwyn. â€œI had no idea that the story was a
+familiar one. It seems interesting, too.â€
+
+â€œOh, 't is amazingly interesting,â€ said Garrick. â€œBut you are an
+army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the
+mess-table.â€
+
+â€œI protest, sir,â€ said Colonel Gwyn, â€œI know so little about it that
+I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog--I have myself known of
+sporting dogs called Grouse.â€
+
+â€œOh, Colonel, you surprise me,â€ cried Garrick. â€œOuld Grouse a dog! Pray
+do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man,
+and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr.
+Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death
+severely.â€
+
+â€œThen he is dead?â€ said Gwyn. â€œThat, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
+the narrative.â€
+
+â€œA particularly pathetic interest, sir,â€ said Garrick, shaking his head.
+â€œI was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that
+that dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us--that the gunroom door
+is now open, but that within there is silence--no sound of the dear old
+feet that were wont to patter and potter--you will pardon my emotion,
+madamâ€--He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
+became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured
+to assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology,
+did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now
+without seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had
+too high an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face
+perfectly grave, while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to
+suppress came from the napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti
+said something in Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the
+melancholy nature of the party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin,
+saying--
+
+â€œ'T is selfish to repine, and he himself--dear old soul!--would be the
+last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in the
+gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
+I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
+delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
+known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had
+no particular character in the neighbourhood.â€
+
+â€œOh, Grouse was a poacher, then,â€ said the Colonel.
+
+â€œWell, if the truth must be told--but no, the man is dead and gone now,â€
+ cried Garrick, â€œand it is more generous only to remember, as we all
+do, the nimbleness of his wit--the genial mirth which ran through the
+gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
+is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse
+or two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
+thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
+comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
+afraid to joke, sir, and----â€
+
+â€œBut so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
+read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
+actually narrated, but only hinted at,â€ said Gwyn.
+
+â€œThat makes little matter, sir,â€ said Garrick. â€œThe untold story of Ould
+Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
+year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.â€
+
+â€œAt any rate, Colonel Gwyn,â€ said Mrs. Bunbury, â€œafter the pains which
+Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of
+the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.â€
+ Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled.
+
+â€œI protest, madam,â€ said he, â€œthat up to the present--ah! I fear that
+the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to
+be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind
+you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----â€
+
+This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with
+laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel
+Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and
+then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never
+quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household
+where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the
+ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with
+a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be
+merry.
+
+â€œColonel Gwyn,â€ said Garrick, â€œthese gentlemen seem to have their own
+reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate
+when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive
+they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
+sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
+the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
+don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
+some years.â€
+
+He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
+in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
+the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
+
+When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
+embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who
+was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends
+every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which
+chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of
+port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom
+he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward
+regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written
+for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very
+effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a
+single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick
+were indignant.
+
+â€œYou would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,â€ said
+the latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the
+play to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
+
+â€œAh, Davy, my friend,â€ Goldsmith replied, â€œI feel more at my ease in
+reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst--or the best. If
+the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
+for the next year or two.â€
+
+In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
+entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
+room.
+
+Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
+and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting
+long sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was
+supposed to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment
+has survived, and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with
+Garrick repeating the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous
+change of expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with
+Goldsmith burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly
+amusing gestures the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed
+that Sir Joshua's guests were convulsed.
+
+After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
+playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
+did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines
+after the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous
+than that of the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an
+affecting passage from Addison's â€œCato,â€ Goldsmith began to sing
+the song which he had been compelled to omit from the part of Miss
+Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course
+Garrick's gestures during the delivery of the song were marvellously
+ingenious, and an additional element of attraction was introduced by
+Dr. Burney, who hastily seated himself at the pianoforte and interwove a
+medley accompaniment, introducing all the airs then popular, but without
+prejudice to the harmonies of the accompaniment.
+
+Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
+marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
+caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees--he begged the
+lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was accustomed
+to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica shook her
+head.
+
+â€œPray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,â€ said Sir Joshua to
+the Jessamy Bride. â€œEntreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
+hearing her sing.â€
+
+Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
+Angelica.
+
+â€œOh, Madame Angel, live forever!â€ she cried. â€œWill your Majesty
+condescend to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned
+to captivate our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to
+conquer our savage hearts by the exercise of another?â€
+
+A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
+thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
+springing to his feet.
+
+â€œBy the Lord, I've got it!â€ shouted Goldsmith. â€œThe Jessamy Bride has
+given it to me, as I knew she would--the title of my comedy--she has
+just said it: '_She Stoops to Conquer_.'â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+As a matter of course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith
+communicated it to him the next day; but the latter was firm on this
+particular point. He had given the play its name, he said, and he would
+not alter it now on any consideration.
+
+Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play
+gave him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret
+at not being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he
+believed the manager would play to perfection.
+
+But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the
+whole Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his
+customary emphasis, that no better title than â€œShe Stoops to Conquerâ€
+ could be found for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and
+the rehearsal was proceeded with.
+
+â€œNay, sir,â€ cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
+in order to go upon the stage, â€œNay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
+must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we
+may be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
+filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?â€
+
+â€œI will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,â€ said Miss
+Horneck--Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
+topics of the hour. â€œI believe that I know so much of the dialogue as
+will enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but
+to a whole archipelago of wit.â€
+
+â€œOtaheite is a name of good omen,â€ said Cradock. â€œIt is suggestive of
+palms, and '_palmam qui meruit ferat._'â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Johnson, â€œyou should know better than to quote Latin in the
+presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
+it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
+is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
+playgoers.â€
+
+â€œOh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,â€ laughed
+Cradock. â€œOtherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal,
+and Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
+critics.â€
+
+Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
+Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
+opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
+his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
+critics.
+
+Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
+servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
+outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
+broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed
+and applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons--especially the
+satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists--but it was the
+drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of Miss
+Horneck--
+
+â€œPray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?â€
+
+When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
+Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much
+amazed as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage
+out of compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority
+regarding the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in
+the estimation of his company, remarked--
+
+â€œYour friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
+generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
+playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
+your wit.â€
+
+â€œI don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent
+the instruction of Dr. Johnson,â€ said Goldsmith quietly.
+
+The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed
+it during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it
+became understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit
+their regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been
+originally cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the
+prologue, which Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told
+Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or two to Woodward.
+
+The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
+Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
+threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
+thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
+epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
+declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
+herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
+ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
+were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject;
+but Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
+epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding
+the first performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was
+eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley.
+
+â€œIt seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an
+epilogue which will never be spoke,â€ sneered Colman when the last
+difficulties had been smoothed over.
+
+Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
+consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
+Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
+of the play--when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
+niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
+either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
+almost caused him to break down.
+
+Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
+She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
+hesitate for a moment.
+
+â€œI am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,â€ she said; â€œmy dress
+would be ruined.â€
+
+He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
+
+â€œWhy, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour
+of the play,â€ she cried. â€œOh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their
+dusters, and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one
+of the candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years
+contained such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr.
+Col-man for a curmudgeon.â€
+
+â€œYou did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,â€
+ said Goldsmith. â€œOh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and
+I only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.â€
+
+â€œIt is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
+play, sir,â€ said Johnson. â€œThe credit of your friends, who insisted on
+Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.â€
+
+â€œAnd above all,â€ said Reynolds pleasantly, â€œthe play must be a success
+in order to put Colman in the wrong.â€
+
+â€œThat is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
+important to us all,â€ said Mary. â€œIt would never do for Colman to be in
+the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
+saved by Monday night.â€
+
+â€œI wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,â€ said
+Goldsmith. â€œI am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a
+sense of my own unworthiness.â€
+
+â€œYou will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,â€ cried
+Johnson. â€œYour true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
+hear your play.â€
+
+â€œI always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
+when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care
+to send a guinea in advance,â€ said Goldsmith, and every one present knew
+that he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by
+Johnson on the day that â€œThe Vicar of Wakefieldâ€ was sold.
+
+â€œAnd now,â€ said Reynolds, â€œI have to prove how certain we are of the
+future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday
+previous to the performance.â€
+
+â€œCommonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
+success of the play,â€ said Johnson. â€œTo proffer such an invitation would
+be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public
+had attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who
+know your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that
+our esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday
+night, sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour
+to have you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with
+us.â€
+
+â€œYou not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what
+you mean better,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œA compliment is doubly a compliment
+coming from Dr. Johnson.â€
+
+He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
+walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter
+of a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character
+of Young Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had
+sufficiently recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how
+remarkable a character he had created.
+
+On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the
+St. James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found
+the author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
+salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered
+with silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any
+mistake on this point.
+
+â€œHeavens!â€ cried the visitor. â€œHave you forgot that you cannot wear
+colours?â€
+
+â€œWhy not?â€ asked Goldsmith. â€œBecause Woodward is to appear in mourning
+to speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy
+should also be in black?â€
+
+â€œNay,â€ said Steevens, â€œthat is not the reason. How is it possible that
+you forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat
+of yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in
+front of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you
+hope that the King will command a performance.â€
+
+Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
+garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
+dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
+before throwing it over the back of a chair.
+
+â€œIt was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,â€
+ said he. â€œI would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.â€
+
+He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with
+his friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
+Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
+assembled.
+
+It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook
+hands twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the
+King of Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for
+regret with him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He
+expressed a hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have
+so depressing an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their
+enjoyment of his comedy.
+
+Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did
+not think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would
+be quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
+frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
+all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose
+name they had probably never heard.
+
+Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
+the best, but still....
+
+Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
+Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
+heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
+merriment.
+
+The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
+concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
+become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
+of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the
+clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time
+to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
+
+Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds
+that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his
+nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken
+at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took
+place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave
+all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to
+him--not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity
+College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with
+him.
+
+While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
+theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
+had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
+to have the omission repaired without delay.
+
+He never returned.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter
+from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was
+having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house,
+the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in
+the direction of Pall Mall.
+
+â€œPsha! sir,â€ said Johnson to Burke, â€œDr. Goldsmith is little better than
+a fool.â€ Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
+
+â€œYes,â€ said Burke, â€œDr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
+ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
+let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say
+the best comedy of a century.â€
+
+â€œI suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the
+playhouse?â€ said Richard Burke.
+
+â€œIt is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
+concerned,â€ said Steevens. â€œI think that the best course we can adopt
+is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
+looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
+Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
+burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.â€
+
+â€œYou think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
+playhouse, sir,â€ said Johnson.
+
+â€œIf I know anything of him, sir,â€ said Steevens, â€œthe playhouse is just
+the place which he would most persistently avoid.â€ There was a long
+pause before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
+
+â€œSir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.â€
+
+â€œThat is very kind of you, sir,â€ replied Steevens. â€œBut you may rest
+assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.â€
+
+While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
+hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
+Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting
+alone in some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable
+failure of his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled
+him to hold out against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced,
+suffer a relapse when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and
+his naturally sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his
+life give place to a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him
+to put in an appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his
+friends. Steevens actually made up his mind that if he failed to find
+Goldsmith during the next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage
+on the Edgware road.
+
+He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house--from Jack's, in Dean
+street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster--but he failed to discover his
+friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this way; and all
+this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse--except
+the one box that held Cumberland and his friends--were greeting the
+brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
+contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
+authors had witnessed.
+
+The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens
+have imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous
+figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with
+a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and
+as phrase after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and
+vivified with numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken,
+he seems to shake the theatre with his laughter.
+
+Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
+of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two
+notable figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
+frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
+
+Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
+Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the
+most notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
+occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
+laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
+she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
+Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
+Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
+lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
+every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
+
+Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, â€œlooking glum,â€ as one
+witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
+having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth
+the resentment of the pit.
+
+In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
+years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's â€œGood-Natured Manâ€ at â€œthe other
+house,â€ sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
+â€œOssian.â€ He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
+an impostor.
+
+The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
+younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
+for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from
+the pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact
+that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his
+eyes fixed upon her--earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his
+_fiancÃ©e_ are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important
+box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may
+be gratified by beholding her. It does not so much matter about her
+husband, who once thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a
+concern whose operations represented the potentialities of wealth
+beyond the dreams of avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the
+Gunnings when she first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever
+recorded to the eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll,
+mindful of that trick which the cleverness of her mother turned to so
+good account, does not condescend to notice from her box, where she sits
+with Lady Betty Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though
+she is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising
+between the acts.
+
+What a play! What spectators!
+
+We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought
+to those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with
+delight at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the
+little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
+
+Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality
+upon their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
+biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
+down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
+
+And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
+nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in
+St. James's Park.
+
+Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching
+for him.
+
+â€œDon't speak, man, for God's sake,â€ cried Oliver. â€œ'Tis not so dark but
+that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
+the comedy is ended--that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in the
+middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is ended.â€
+
+â€œNot I,â€ said Steevens. â€œI have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
+what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at
+the coffee house?â€
+
+â€œI don't know what you speak of,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œBut I beg of you to
+hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play--don't fear to
+tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly twenty
+years; I am not easily dismayed.â€
+
+â€œMy dear friend,â€ said Steevens, â€œI have no intention of going to
+the playhouse unless you are in my company--I promised so much to Dr.
+Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
+yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
+sir?â€
+
+â€œWhat do you mean by that?â€
+
+â€œI mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise
+on the stage that you, and you only, can decide--are you willing to
+allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman,
+who is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
+prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great
+man, too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I
+am convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?â€
+
+â€œIt shall not--it shall not!â€ cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
+â€œI'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I
+have something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in
+this battle have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my
+friend--I'll go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to
+avert disaster.â€
+
+They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
+obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
+Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of
+the play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence
+to insist on a scene being omitted--or, perhaps, a whole act; and
+nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
+
+When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his
+head out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the
+playhouse--that his worst fears were realized.
+
+â€œNonsense!â€ cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other
+window. â€œThe people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental
+to any performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on
+their boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy
+has yet to be damned.â€
+
+When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage
+door, looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as
+if to see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the
+back of the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick,
+in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had
+driven her forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was
+within twenty yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights
+were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have
+failed to recognise the familiar features of the scene. The next moment
+there came a hiss--a solitary hiss from the boxes.
+
+â€œWhat's that, Mr. Colman?â€ whispered the excited author.
+
+â€œPsha! sir,â€ said Colman brutally. â€œWhy trouble yourself about a squib
+when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?â€
+
+â€œThat's a lie,â€ said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
+Mr. Hardcastle. â€œ'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
+assured from the first.â€
+
+â€œBy God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
+while I live!â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever
+uttered. Goldsmith was soon made aware of this. The laughter that
+followed Tony Lumpkin's pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle
+was a highwayman was not the laugh of playgoers who have endured four
+acts of a dull play; it was the laugh of people who have been in a good
+humour for over two hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from
+their laughter that the people in every part of the house were following
+the comedy with extraordinary interest. Every point in the dialogue was
+effective--the exquisite complications, the broad fun, the innumerable
+touches of nature, all were appreciated by an audience whose expression
+of gratification fell little short of rapture.
+
+When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not
+return to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue
+was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
+
+As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of
+speaking to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits,
+and from them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the
+first scene to the one which was being represented, the performance had
+been a succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every
+member of the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and
+scenery familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary
+success of the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the
+offensive terms of the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the
+audience, several of the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and
+cheering for some time--so much Goldsmith learned little by little at
+intervals from the actors.
+
+â€œI swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
+word; he has treated me cruelly--more cruelly than he has any idea
+of,â€ said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. â€œBut as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
+anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes
+much to you, sir.â€
+
+â€œFaith then, sir,â€ cried Lewes, â€œI'll keep you to your word. My benefit
+will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
+Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œYou shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+And so he had.
+
+When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
+Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
+Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head,
+and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through
+half-closed eyes.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith,â€ she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility,
+â€œI hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
+foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray
+of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at
+having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
+sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I
+might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.â€
+
+â€œTaunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?â€ said he. â€œNay, I have a
+part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to
+accept it.â€
+
+â€œOh, sir, you are generosity itself!â€ cried the actress, offering him
+both her hands. â€œI shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
+Goldsmith.â€
+
+[Illustration: 0173]
+
+And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company
+and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
+congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
+had filled the theatre.
+
+â€œWe perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
+Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,â€ said he.
+â€œYou dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
+indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast.
+On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding
+modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make
+you a coxcomb.â€
+
+â€œOh, I hope not, sir,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œNo, you don't hope it, sir,â€
+ cried Johnson. â€œYou are thinking at this moment how much better you are
+than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal.â€
+
+â€œAnd he has a right to think so,â€ said Mrs. Bunbury. â€œCome, Dr.
+Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters.â€
+
+â€œCertainly, madam,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œWhere are they?â€
+
+â€œWell said!â€ cried Edmund Burke.
+
+â€œNay, sir,â€ said Johnson. â€œDr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough.
+We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
+garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.â€
+
+His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake
+on the walls.
+
+Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand.
+She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she
+was not mistaken.
+
+For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit
+and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in
+the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived
+the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly
+imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the
+points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian
+into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the
+background with the Bunburys.
+
+So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in
+uniform had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind
+Mr. Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner,
+saying a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action,
+though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the
+girl, and perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes
+were turned upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her
+heart.
+
+He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out
+her inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
+people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing
+was paying no attention to her.
+
+When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought
+it advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
+
+â€œPsha! Dr. Goldsmith,â€ she cried. â€œWe have given you our ears for more
+than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.â€
+
+â€œI protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œYes, you
+were remarking that----â€
+
+â€œThat an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be
+compared to a boy who has robbed an orchard,â€ said the lady.
+
+â€œTrue--very true, madam,â€ said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
+involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
+beside her. She was not smiling.
+
+â€œYes, 'tis true; but why?â€ cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
+did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
+
+â€œAh, yes; that's just it--why?â€ said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
+from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and
+Henry Bunbury were standing.
+
+â€œWhy?â€ said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. â€œWhy? Why is an Irishman who has become
+suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because
+his booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in
+his pockets what he is not entitled to.â€
+
+She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
+did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
+successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
+attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
+gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
+more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
+
+â€œYou will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?â€ said Mr. Thrale.
+
+â€œNay, sir!â€ cried Bunbury; â€œmine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
+some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.â€
+
+â€œWhat did I say, Goldy?â€ cried Johnson. â€œWas it not that, after the
+presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?â€
+
+â€œWell, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
+of them I accepted some days ago,â€ said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
+hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
+conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
+
+But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
+laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of
+the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
+involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious
+to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this
+form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that
+refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
+Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he â€œtalked like
+poor Poll.â€ He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely
+because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
+couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
+
+Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
+thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
+expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
+given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons
+around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which
+makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who â€œtalked
+like poor Pollâ€ was the man who, even before he had done anything in
+literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop
+Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and
+a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious
+Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to
+great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
+
+While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that
+the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs.
+Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying
+to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his
+adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying--
+
+â€œHave no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.â€
+
+â€œI shall take good care that you don't, sir,â€ said she.
+
+â€œDo not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!â€ he cried, bowing
+as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he
+suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. â€œWhy, if
+I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman
+in uniform who was speaking with you just now,â€ said he. â€œI fancy I have
+met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.â€
+
+â€œHis name is Jackson,â€ she replied. â€œYes, Captain Jackson, though the
+Lord only knows what he is captain of.â€
+
+â€œI have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,â€ said Goldsmith.
+â€œ'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by
+professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.â€
+
+When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
+affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the
+occasion, she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in
+their coach--her mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
+
+The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
+produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
+eaten no dinner--Johnson and his friends had been by no means reticent
+on the subject of the dinner--he was without an appetite for the
+delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
+in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
+endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
+almost speechless the whole evening.
+
+â€œAh,â€ said she, â€œI perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been
+quite obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with
+us at Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a
+little comedy may become a great tragedy.â€
+
+Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
+play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
+Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as
+he could without being rude.
+
+He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick
+Court. But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
+
+All his life he had been looking forward to this night--the night
+that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him
+an incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his
+period. And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with
+destiny was within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever
+felt in his garret.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+What did it all mean?
+
+That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
+refer to the reception given to â€œShe Stoops to Conquer,â€ which had
+placed him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to
+the strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
+
+The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had
+been speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
+reputation--he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
+reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
+room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
+glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the
+eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs.
+Woffington, showed that he was a person of no position in society. This
+conclusion to which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no
+persons of any distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the
+playhouse had shown that they were acquainted with him--no one person
+save only Mary Horneck.
+
+Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and
+Mrs. Bulk-ley.
+
+This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have
+been incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had
+invariably shunned in society those persons--women as well as men--who
+had shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested
+the man--he was popular enough at that period--who had allowed
+innuendoes to do duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman--she
+is popular enough now--who had laughed at and made light of the
+innuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
+
+And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
+fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
+The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands
+with the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for
+her own ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary
+Horneck stood in a very different position from that occupied by the
+Duchess. While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the
+lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from
+the actresses.
+
+And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one
+of these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor--a man
+who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
+
+What could this curious incident mean?
+
+The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
+the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
+had arrived--not a post had been missed--from persons who professed the
+most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to borrow from
+him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom he had
+rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
+consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would
+continue his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so
+marked a way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their
+letters lay unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he
+sent his guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That
+was how he contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had
+earned since leaving his garret.)
+
+His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
+left his chambers.
+
+He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
+no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed
+to notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain
+Jackson--he would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared
+to him more than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to
+another girl all that he had noticed, he would have said that such a
+matter required no explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young
+girls with men of the stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck,
+however, the matter was not so easily explained. The shrug and
+the raising of the eyebrows were singularly inappropriate to any
+consideration of an incident in which she was concerned.
+
+He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
+success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several
+of the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on
+terms of the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a
+cordiality, the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces.
+Among them was one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had
+early found a friend in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this
+early friendship of his.
+
+Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
+word, and whose wife was his laundress--not wholly above suspicion as
+regards her honesty--stammered his congratulations, and received the
+crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he
+had always suspected--that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
+world for men who have become successful.
+
+Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
+that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
+another hour would pass.
+
+He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
+alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
+time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of
+such intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to
+inquire if Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to
+ear as he admitted the visitor.
+
+â€œI hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,â€ he said,
+his grin expanding genially.
+
+â€œAh! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?â€ said Goldsmith.
+â€œYou had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?â€
+
+â€œI thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the
+table--and Mr. Marlow's man, sir--as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what
+more you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says
+he quite cool-like and satisfied--and it's the gentleman's own private
+house, after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh
+till he thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then
+sent us off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some
+fools about us said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr.
+Northcote--Sir Joshua's young man, sir--he up and says that nature isn't
+always genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth--I beg
+your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
+couldn't ha' done worse than me--talking so familiar-like, instead of
+showing you up.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œthe patron has the privilege of addressing
+his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
+George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer;
+and, to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for
+my benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.â€
+
+â€œOh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,â€ whispered the man, for he had led
+the way to the drawingroom door. â€œI hope I've not been too bold, sir. If
+I told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
+without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls
+this year, sir.â€
+
+In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
+
+She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
+that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
+smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
+ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
+sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them
+that touched him deeply.
+
+â€œYou will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
+honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,â€ she said,
+giving him her hand. â€œBut it was impossible--oh, quite impossible, for
+me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
+how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear
+friend.â€
+
+â€œIt was pitiful, indeed, dear child,â€ said he. â€œI was looking forward to
+that night also--I don't know for how many years--all my life, it seems
+to me.â€
+
+â€œNever mind!â€ she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. â€œNever
+mind! your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you
+now; every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.â€
+
+â€œThere is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,â€ said
+Goldsmith. â€œBut you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
+single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
+miserable.â€
+
+â€œI know it,â€ she said, giving him her hand once more. â€œI know it, and
+knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.â€
+
+â€œWhat is the matter, Mary?â€ he asked her after a pause. â€œOnce before I
+begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
+able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man
+of many resources.â€
+
+â€œI cannot tell you,â€ she said slowly, but with great emphasis. â€œThere
+are some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree
+that a woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with
+another--either with a sister or with a brother--even so good a friend
+as Oliver Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œThat such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,â€ said
+he. â€œI cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its
+origin to me.â€
+
+â€œAh, I see everything but too plainly,â€ she cried, throwing herself down
+on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. â€œWhy, all my
+misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
+Oh, I have said too much,â€ she cried piteously. She had sprung to her
+feet and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. â€œPray forget
+what I have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say;
+oh, pray go away--go away and leave me alone with my sorrow--it is my
+own--no one has a right to it but myself.â€
+
+There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
+little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
+
+â€œNo, I will not go away from you, my poor child,â€ said he. â€œYou shall
+tell me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room
+last night has to do with your sorrow.â€
+
+She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a
+curious look of cunning in her eyes--a look that made him shudder, so
+foreign was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
+
+â€œA man? Did I speak to a man?â€ she said slowly, affecting an endeavour
+to recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. â€œOh, yes, I
+suppose I spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded
+it was! And it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked
+in their paint!--almost as terrible as a lady of quality!â€
+
+â€œPoor child!â€ said he. â€œMy heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
+everything from me you have told me all--all except--listen to me, Mary.
+Nothing that I can hear--nothing that you can tell me--will cause me to
+think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to make me
+aware that that man--Captain Jackson, he calls himself----â€
+
+â€œHow did you find out his name?â€ she said in a whisper. â€œI did not tell
+you his name even at the Pantheon.â€
+
+â€œNo, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
+why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
+as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
+rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?â€
+
+â€œHe is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet----â€
+
+â€œHow has he got you in his power--that is what you are going to tell
+me.â€
+
+â€œNo, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not
+know me, or you would not ask me to tell you.â€
+
+â€œWhat would you have me think, child?â€
+
+â€œThink the worst--the worst that your kind heart can think--only leave
+me--leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I may soon
+die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'â€
+
+â€œI cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything
+ill of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have
+written so much as I have written about men and women without being able
+to know when a woman is altogether good--a man altogether bad? I know
+you, my dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him?
+Think of the friends you have.â€
+
+â€œIt is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but
+if they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
+loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
+fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?â€
+
+â€œFor God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.â€
+
+â€œIt is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch
+who stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being
+thrust out behind to push her over.â€
+
+She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
+thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
+
+â€œThat shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind
+you, there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from
+slipping. There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice,
+or else those who hold them out to you will go over the brink with
+you. Ah, my dear, dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In
+another year--perhaps in another month--you will wonder how you could
+ever have taken so gloomy a view of the present hour.â€
+
+A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained
+there, however. Then she shook her head, saying--
+
+â€œAlas! Alas!â€
+
+She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his
+own, laying his other caressingly on her head.
+
+â€œYou are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,â€ said he. â€œYou fill
+with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that
+it would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my
+dying could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What
+I do say is that I should like to live for you--to live to see happiness
+once again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing--you will
+not give me a chance of helping you.â€
+
+She shook her head sadly.
+
+â€œI dare not--I dare not,â€ she said. â€œI dare not run the chance of
+forfeiting your regard forever.â€
+
+â€œGood-bye,â€ he said after a pause.
+
+He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
+and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
+
+â€œMary,â€ he said, â€œI will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
+beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again--that
+you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
+company of such a man--talking to him as I saw you last night--what
+would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
+construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
+dear?â€
+
+â€œAlas! alas!â€ she cried piteously. â€œI cannot make you such a promise.
+You will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my
+own free will?â€
+
+â€œWhat, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
+you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!â€
+
+â€œThat is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
+power over me--he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot speak
+to you more! Leave me--leave me! I have been a fool and I must pay the
+penalty of my folly.â€ Before he could make a reply, the door was opened
+and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
+sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
+
+â€œNonsense, dear Mamma,â€ cried Little Comedy. â€œWhat Mary needs is some
+one who will raise her spirits--Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I
+am sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor?
+Nay, you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain
+that you would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but
+I protest it would seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your
+attention. He doesn't look particularly like our agreeable Rattle at
+the present moment, does he, Mamma? And it was the same at supper
+last night. It might have been fancied that he was celebrating a great
+failure instead of a huge success.â€
+
+For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
+the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the
+author some account of what the friends whom she had met that day
+said of the piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a
+perpetually sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her
+gaiety was out of tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the
+first breathing space that the girl permitted him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+He felt that the result of his interview with Mary was to render more
+mysterious than ever the question which he had hoped to solve.
+
+He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
+had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd
+enough to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed
+account of his interview with the girl--a detailed account of his
+observation of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the
+Pantheon, then in the green room of Covent Garden--would have no trouble
+whatever in accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could
+see the shrugs of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed
+to be vastly grieved.
+
+Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all
+womankind together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one
+woman to be swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind
+generally.
+
+But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe
+that she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think
+anything evil regarding her.
+
+â€œShe is not as others,â€ was the phrase that was in his mind--the thought
+that was in his heart.
+
+He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance
+that when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not
+as other women are.
+
+He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that
+when a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from
+other women, he loves that woman.
+
+He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out
+the heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that
+had occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in
+the same apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that
+the killing of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question
+which was puzzling him.
+
+After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he
+went to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of
+the author's nights for â€œShe Stoops to Conquer.â€ Baretti was a
+well known personage in the best literary society in London, having
+consolidated his reputation by the publication of his English and
+Italian dictionary. He had been Johnson's friend since his first exile
+from Italy, and it was through his influence Baretti, on the formation
+of the Royal Academy, had been appointed Secretary for Foreign
+Correspondence. To Johnson also he owed the more remunerative
+appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. He had frequently dined
+with Goldsmith at his chambers.
+
+Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
+author of the play upon his success.
+
+â€œIf one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it
+creates in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,â€ said the
+Italian.
+
+â€œYes,â€ said Goldsmith quickly, â€œthat is just what I wish to have a word
+with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
+should be.â€
+
+â€œWhat,â€ cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who
+had certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. â€œWhat, do you
+mean to fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be
+your weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen
+you should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty
+certain of victory.â€
+
+â€œAh, yes; but there are cases--well, one never knows what may happen,
+and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can
+do a little sword play--enough to enable me to face a moderately good
+antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
+in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.â€
+
+â€œHow did you retort?â€
+
+â€œWell, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised
+as gentlemen.â€
+
+â€œBacchus! An effective retort! And then----â€
+
+â€œThen I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
+making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout
+of swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
+compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
+any first-rate master of the art in London?â€
+
+The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
+
+â€œYou would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you
+into a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.â€
+
+â€œBetter make it five years.â€
+
+â€œFive years?â€
+
+â€œMy dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
+express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be
+made a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell
+you that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front
+place among swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so
+short-sighted I could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I
+shall never kill a man.â€
+
+He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
+them.
+
+â€œI have made up my mind to have some lessons,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œand I
+know there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.â€
+
+â€œPsha!â€ said Baretti. â€œThere are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
+are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
+teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
+you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
+such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
+fiber than yourself.â€
+
+â€œThere are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men--nay,
+even an Irishman--to show himself adroit with a sword,â€ said Goldsmith;
+â€œand so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services towards
+this end.â€
+
+He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
+
+â€œYou will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no
+further than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular
+wish to place myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,â€ said
+he. â€œI fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a
+fencing master.â€
+
+â€œI shall keep it a secret,â€ laughed Baretti; â€œbut mind, sir, when you
+run your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the
+court as a witness as to your pacific character.â€
+
+(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called
+as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with
+the murder of a man.)
+
+He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had
+taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own
+nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel
+with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him
+through a vital part.
+
+He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
+containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon
+Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic
+of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and
+so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
+express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
+posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
+care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement
+with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
+scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
+the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
+lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
+
+If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
+enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many
+months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his
+triumph in another direction.
+
+After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
+several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with
+him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
+
+He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all
+clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was
+unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had
+received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
+
+He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
+was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
+
+â€œYou were talking about me just before I entered,â€ said he: â€œI always
+know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now,
+may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to
+me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I
+hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all
+that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own
+reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?â€
+
+Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
+fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
+which he said--
+
+â€œYou may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
+Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends.â€
+
+â€œPsha, sir!â€ cried Goldsmith, â€œdon't I know that already? Were you not
+all my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
+overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
+bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?â€
+
+â€œGoldsmith,â€ said Steevens, â€œwe received a copy of the _London Packet_
+half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
+attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.â€
+
+â€œAt the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
+assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
+is none other than myself,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œIt is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,â€ said Steevens. â€œIt
+is the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.â€
+
+â€œDo not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œYou
+know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once
+I made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
+caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that
+it is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where
+is the _Packet?_â€
+
+â€œThere is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,â€ said Cradock.
+â€œTake my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise
+nature of that scoundrel's slanders.â€
+
+â€œNay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to
+sting me,â€ replied Goldsmith. â€œAnd so, sir, let me have the _Packet_,
+and you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
+Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
+detraction.â€
+
+â€œNay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
+garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,â€ said Steevens.
+
+â€œCome, sirs, I insist,â€ cried Goldsmith. â€œWhy do I waste time with you?â€
+ he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. â€œI waste time
+here when I can read the _Packet_ in the bar.â€
+
+â€œHold, sir,â€ said Burke. â€œHere is the thing. If you will read it, you
+would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched
+forth to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the
+paper and here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English
+writers--the truest of English poets--the best of Englishmen.â€
+
+â€œYou overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick
+flings himself upon me?â€
+
+He took the _Packet_. It opened automatically, where an imaginary letter
+to himself, signed â€œTom Tickle,â€ appeared.
+
+He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
+nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
+from it--he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing--but
+suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
+crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
+flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the
+room with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword
+and placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a
+word to any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane
+only.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+Kenrick's article in the _London Packet_ remains to this day as the
+vilest example of scurrility published under the form of criticism. All
+the venom that can be engendered by envy and malice appears in every
+line of it. It contains no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains
+no clever phrase. It is the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the
+demon of jealousy. The note of the Gadarene herd sounds through it,
+strident and strenuous. It exists as the worst outcome of the period
+when every garret scribbler emulated â€œJunius,â€ both as regards style and
+method, but only succeeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead
+of the thunder of the unknown master of vituperation.
+
+Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt;
+but when he came to that vile passage--â€œFor hours the _great_ Goldsmith
+will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
+pier-glass. Was but the lovely H------k as much enamoured, you would not
+sigh, my gentle swainâ€--his hands tore the paper in fury.
+
+He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did
+not know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him
+aware of the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He
+did not mind any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have
+the name that he most cherished of all names associated with his in an
+insult that seemed to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was
+more than he could bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind
+him and had struck from thence the one who had been kindest to him of
+all the people in the world.
+
+There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
+There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him
+and the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck
+in the face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to
+whom he had been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would
+undoubtedly feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself
+was to blame for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt
+that if the attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have
+escaped. Yes, that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over
+him to her.
+
+His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
+upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his
+sword he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his
+hands.
+
+And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
+assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink
+from running him through the body with his sword.
+
+On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
+counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew
+that he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a
+corner; he felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was
+made up as to what he should do, and all that he now feared was that
+some circumstance might prevent his realising his intention.
+
+He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans,
+the publisher of the _London Packet_. He arrived almost breathless at
+the place--it was in Little Queen street--and entered the shop demanding
+to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. Evans, the
+publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and hearing
+a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
+Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was
+in the house.
+
+â€œI require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon
+me which appeared in the _Packet_ of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!â€ said
+the visitor.
+
+The shopkeeper smiled.
+
+â€œDoes anything appear about you in the _Packet_, sir?â€ he said,
+over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
+
+â€œYou are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!â€ cried Goldsmith,
+stung by the supercilious smile of the man; â€œyou are the publisher of
+this gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote
+it struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.â€
+
+He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with
+his cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
+opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a
+small wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance,
+and had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and
+all the noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his
+paymaster. It was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back
+from the cane of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a
+missile to fling at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a
+table and hurled it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it
+struck Evans on the chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over
+him. This Kenrick perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small
+shop chairs and rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled;
+but, before he could carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop
+from the street, and, flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught
+Goldsmith, who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried him into a
+hackney-coach, which drove away.
+
+The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
+room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became
+uneasy regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving
+the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent
+the assault which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the
+person of Kenrick.
+
+He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of
+the occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his
+conduct. A lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when
+delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain
+Higgins's counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
+
+â€œDon't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have
+abstained from doing,â€ cried the still breathless man. â€œI did what my
+manhood prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done
+yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans--it was
+that reptile Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to
+shelter him, what was left to me, I ask you, sir?â€
+
+â€œYou were a fool, Oliver,â€ said his countryman; â€œyou made a great
+mistake. Can't you see that you should never go about such things
+single-handed? You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who
+would not hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why
+the devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when
+you left the tavern?â€
+
+â€œBecause I didn't know myself what was on my mind,â€ replied Goldsmith.
+â€œAnd, besides,â€ he added, â€œI'm not the man to carry bruisers about with
+me to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day.
+I have taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it.
+Kenrick won't attack me again so long as I am alive.â€
+
+He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
+Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
+which he was a master.
+
+When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
+Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
+Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
+like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
+that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies
+a lesson.
+
+But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
+insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
+been less gracious to him--if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
+example, had been accustomed to treat him--regarding him and his defects
+merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have escaped
+all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause of her
+being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
+
+But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
+forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
+think about.
+
+The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that
+he had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
+years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
+despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
+that could not be surmounted.
+
+He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her
+forgiveness for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be
+responsible. He could not, he added, expect that in the future it would
+be allowed to him to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and
+her family as had been permitted to him in the past.
+
+Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
+when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
+which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only
+had seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent
+Garden, and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had
+originated with that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if
+he was justified in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not
+asked him to be her champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it
+was a very poor champion that he would have made; but still he knew more
+of her grief than any one else, and he believed he might be able to help
+her.
+
+He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
+
+â€œI will not leave her,â€ he cried. â€œWhatever may happen--whatever blame
+people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave her
+until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.â€
+
+He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain
+Horneck.
+
+For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother
+had no reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and
+Kenrick. But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation
+passed away.
+
+â€œHa, my little hero!â€ Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
+threshold. â€œWhat is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what
+are things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
+booksellers?â€
+
+â€œYou have heard of it?â€ said Oliver. â€œYou have heard of the quarrel, but
+you cannot have heard of the reason for it!â€
+
+â€œWhat, there is something behind the _London Packet_, after all?â€ cried
+Captain Horneck.
+
+â€œSomething behind it--something behind that slander--the mention of your
+sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?â€
+
+â€œMy dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists
+between my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as
+this--a strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as
+you are concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?â€
+
+Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which
+he was holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the
+words never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of
+his own, and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped
+it, and burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
+
+Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
+affected.
+
+â€œCome, come, old friend,â€ he said at last, placing his hand
+affectionately on Goldsmith's shoulder. â€œCome, come; this will not do.
+There is nothing to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little
+aware of your own position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck
+family regard your friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good
+heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid
+for immortality through our names being associated with yours? Who in a
+hundred years--in fifty years--would know anything of the Horneck
+family if it were not for their association with you? The name of Oliver
+Goldsmith will live so long as there is life in English letters, and
+when your name is spoken the name of your friends the Hornecks will not
+be forgotten.â€
+
+He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
+chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+The next day the news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by
+Goldsmith in respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the
+literary circle of which Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling
+was one of regret that Kenrick had not received the beating instead of
+Evans. Of course, Johnson, who had threatened two writers with an oak
+stick, shook his head--and his body as well--in grave disapproval of
+Goldsmith's use of his cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes
+were of the opinion that a cane had never been more appropriately used.
+
+What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands
+of pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
+afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
+which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
+Colman's management.
+
+Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
+had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl
+of indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period--some
+in the pay of the government others of the opposition--solely by
+stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person
+of the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in
+the form of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded
+Junius.
+
+The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
+public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest
+in the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling
+audience. When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the _Daily
+Advertiser_--surely the manliest manifesto ever printed--the howls
+became attenuated, and shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted,
+even by Dr. Johnson--and so emphatically, too, that his biographer
+could not avoid recording his judgment--that Goldsmith had increased his
+reputation by the incident.
+
+(Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account
+of this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
+received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
+
+For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
+Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
+search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
+him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel
+when he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
+
+But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
+of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
+found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
+responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith,â€ said Johnson, after he had made some of those
+grotesque movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably
+accompanied--â€œDr. Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years,
+sir.â€
+
+â€œThat fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,â€ said
+Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
+that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
+come rather sooner.
+
+â€œIf our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
+to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,â€ said Johnson.
+
+â€œYes, sir,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œyou were right in assuming that you could
+say nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a
+fool--at many times--in many ways.â€
+
+â€œI suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
+and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
+my suspicion.â€
+
+â€œIf a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he
+do after having seen me?â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith,â€ resumed Johnson, â€œit was, believe me, sir, a great pain
+to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of
+your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.â€
+
+â€œWhat do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now
+what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose
+for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who
+could resist Filby's flatteries?â€
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Johnson, â€œyou gave me permission several years ago to read
+any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.â€
+
+â€œAnd the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably
+been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect
+for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you
+suggested?â€
+
+â€œIt was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
+waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,â€
+ said Johnson sternly.
+
+Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
+
+â€œI forget now what work was last under my hand,â€ said he; â€œbut whatever
+it was, sir----â€
+
+â€œI have it here, sir,â€ said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
+noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
+laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived
+that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the
+Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had
+them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would
+be the result of sending them to her.
+
+He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
+friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
+matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
+
+â€œOh, those verses, sir,â€ he stammered; â€œthey are poor things. You will,
+I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they
+resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my
+man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the
+cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----â€
+
+â€œThey are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man
+of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the
+happiness of others.â€
+
+â€œI protest, sir, I scarcely understand----â€
+
+â€œYour confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
+character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
+heart speaks.â€
+
+â€œGoldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that
+may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your
+heart throbs in every line.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise
+the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more
+happy than I fancied.â€
+
+â€œSir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.â€
+
+â€œSir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have
+spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote
+those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that
+came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?â€
+
+â€œMy poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
+did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.â€
+
+â€œA blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been
+the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few
+consolations.â€
+
+â€œSir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
+as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
+Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
+family have extended to you.â€
+
+â€œI have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
+What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
+remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the
+indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship?
+Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?â€
+
+â€œMy poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes,
+and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to
+know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even
+though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she
+will not be free from unhappiness.â€
+
+â€œShe need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens
+all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it
+for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear
+friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a
+battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
+come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
+it to flight before it prove your ruin.â€
+
+â€œEnemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there
+is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you
+call it our enemy?â€
+
+â€œI call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œWhy mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from
+other men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for
+evermore from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he
+has proved to the world that he is most capable of all mankind of
+appreciating tenderness and grace? What trick of nature is this? What
+paradox for men to vex their souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from
+men, evermore looking on happiness through another man's eyes? If you
+answer 'yes,' then I say that men who are not poets should go down on
+their knees and thank Heaven that they are not poets. Happy it is for
+mankind that Heaven has laid on few men the curse of being poets. For
+myself, I feel that I would rather be a man for an hour than a poet for
+all time.â€
+
+â€œCome, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us
+look at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate
+enough to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be
+brought to think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish
+enough to regard their kindness to you--their acceptance of you as a
+friend--as encouragement in your mad aspirations.â€
+
+â€œYou have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.â€
+
+â€œI have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
+only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
+not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you
+as a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to
+her? Answer me that question, sir.â€
+
+But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
+hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
+
+â€œYou cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,â€ resumed Johnson. â€œI
+will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
+only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but
+I ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on
+your side as ridiculous--nay, worse--a gross affront.â€
+
+Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
+resumed his discourse.
+
+â€œThe question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
+desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends,
+and of forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your
+infatuation?â€
+
+Goldsmith started up.
+
+â€œSay no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,â€ he cried almost
+piteously. â€œAm I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
+hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
+the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
+which I wrote--I could not help writing them--but she does not know that
+they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from me. My
+history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover--a blank--a blank.â€
+
+â€œMy poor friend,â€ said Johnson after a pause--he had laid his hand
+upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
+table--â€œMy poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups which
+are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I have
+drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
+others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means
+to have double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself
+before now worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have
+faced life, by your independence of the patronage of the great. You
+dedicated 'The Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me.
+You did not hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to
+offer you money for the prostitution of the talents which God has given
+you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect--you have the respect of every
+good man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your
+detractors who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would
+give them an opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will
+not do anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and
+show all those who are your friends that their friendship for you is
+well founded. I am assured that I can trust you, sir.â€
+
+Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+When his visitor had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and
+gave way to the bitter reflections of the hour.
+
+He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
+which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception--to his
+hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion
+might be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of
+vain dreams that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his
+straightforwardness there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that
+made any appeal from his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in
+the utterances of his phrases when forcing his contentions upon any
+audience; but Goldsmith knew that he only spoke strongly because he felt
+strongly.
+
+Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson
+had said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake
+the sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
+content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
+Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
+house--a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting his
+father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
+Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were
+to present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
+
+It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his
+hearing to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions.
+The tragedy of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their
+prospects in the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he
+felt, the most cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who
+make music of the passions of men--who have surrounded the passion
+of love with a glorifying halo--should be doomed to spend their lives
+looking on at the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of
+the music which the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy
+of life, and Goldsmith had often found himself face to face with it,
+feeling himself to be one of those with whom destiny is only on jesting
+terms.
+
+Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
+Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
+that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only
+of all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his
+cause, he would be regarded--and rightly, too--as both presumptuous and
+ridiculous.
+
+He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
+letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking
+to themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to
+look forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
+contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
+poet for the loss of home--the grateful companionship of a wife--the
+babble of children--all that his fellow-men associated with the gladness
+and glory of life?
+
+He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
+surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
+such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation--he had
+sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness
+of having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
+envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
+sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval
+of his friends.
+
+And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He
+had sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his
+ills during the past few years had departed from him. He would never
+see Mary Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the
+burden of his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide
+by it.
+
+He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
+resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
+one consolation of his life.
+
+In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt
+down and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the
+manuscript into it between the bars when the light that it made fell
+upon one of the lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he
+had read the remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a
+sigh, he hastily thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little
+blaze had fallen again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could
+raise it by a breath or two, his servant entered the room. He started to
+his feet.
+
+â€œA letter for you, sir,â€ said John Eyles. â€œIt came by a messenger lad.â€
+
+â€œFetch a candle, John,â€ said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too
+dark for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on
+the seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
+
+By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines
+that the letter contained--
+
+_Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
+only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if
+not, then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride._
+
+He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
+He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
+to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
+that he was about to stand face to face with her.
+
+He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
+small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
+of â€œShe Stoops to Conquer.â€ Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
+cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
+walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
+between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and
+her sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put
+her hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
+
+â€œI knew you would come,â€ she said. â€œI knew that I could trust you.â€
+
+â€œYou may trust me, indeed,â€ he said. He held her hand in his own,
+looking into her pale face and sunken eyes. â€œI knew the time would come
+when you would tell me all that there is to be told,â€ he continued.
+â€œWhether I can help you or not, you will find yourself better for having
+told me.â€
+
+She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
+was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up,
+and, after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the
+mantelpiece, leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into
+the smouldering fire in the grate.
+
+He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
+heart.
+
+â€œWhat am I to tell you--what am I to tell you?â€ she cried at last,
+resuming her pacing of the floor.
+
+He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes.
+She went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking
+with vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the
+sconces. Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a
+great effort she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil
+when she spoke, seating herself.
+
+â€œYou were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of
+that man,â€ she said. â€œYou alone were observant. Did you also see him
+call me to his side in the green room at the playhouse?â€
+
+â€œI saw you in the act of speaking to him there--he calls himself
+Jackson--Captain Jackson,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œYou saved me from him once!â€ she cried. â€œYou saved me from becoming
+his--body and soul.â€
+
+â€œNo,â€ he said; â€œI have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
+me to do so.â€
+
+â€œI tell you if it had not been for you--for the book which you wrote, I
+should be to-day a miserable castaway.â€
+
+He looked puzzled.
+
+â€œI cannot quite understand,â€ said he. â€œI gave you a copy of 'The Vicar
+of Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
+complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which
+I had presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of
+reading it.â€
+
+â€œIt was that which saved me,â€ she cried. â€œOh, what fools girls are! They
+are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
+child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of
+men--some men--so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge
+of womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told
+all that we should guard against?â€
+
+She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
+
+He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying--
+
+â€œI cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
+Jessamy Bride.â€
+
+She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
+
+â€œThen you will err,â€ she said. â€œYou will have to think ill of me. Thank
+God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
+from all--to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
+I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
+village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
+received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and
+feted in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love
+with him, and I--innocent fool that I was--considered myself the most
+favoured creature in the world because he made love to me. Any day we
+failed to meet I wrote him a letter--a foolish letter such as a
+school miss might write--full of protestations of undying affection.
+I sometimes wrote two of these letters in the day. More than a month
+passed in this foolishness, and then it came to my uncle's ears that we
+had meetings. He forbade my continuing to see a man of whom no one knew
+anything definite, but about whom he was having strict inquiries made. I
+wrote to the man to this effect, and I received a reply persuading me
+to have one more meeting with him. I was so infatuated that I met him
+secretly, and then in impassioned strains he implored me to make
+a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When he had been
+fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies had been
+active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, and he
+should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I consented
+to leave my uncle's house by his side.â€
+
+â€œBut you cannot have done so.â€
+
+â€œYou saved me,â€ she cried. â€œI had been reading your book, and, by God's
+mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him
+I came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With
+the suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The
+scales fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to
+Damascus, only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited
+me. I knew that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a
+single hour--thanks to the genius that wrote that book--my love for that
+man, or what I fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet
+him. I returned to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote
+to me reproaching me for disappointing him; and the very next day my
+uncle's suspicions regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted
+in proof positive of the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself
+Captain Jackson, He had left the army in America with a stain on his
+character, and it was known that since his return to England at least
+two young women had been led into the trap which he laid for me.â€
+
+â€œThank God you were saved, my child,â€ said Goldsmith, as she paused,
+overcome with emotion. â€œBut being saved, my dear, you have no further
+reason to fear that man.â€
+
+â€œThat was my belief, too,â€ said she. â€œBut alas! it was a delusion. So
+soon as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in
+his true colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I
+had been foolish enough to write to him, to my friends--he was even
+scoundrel enough to point out that I had in my innocence written certain
+passages which were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of
+guilt--nay, his letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had
+been guilty, so that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood.
+What was left for me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to
+me those letters. I asked him how he could think it consistent with his
+honour to retain them and to hold such an infamous threat over my head.
+Alas! he soon gave me to understand that I had but placed myself more
+deeply in his power.â€
+
+â€œThe scoundrel!â€
+
+â€œOh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
+meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.â€
+
+â€œAnd 'twas then you thanked me for the book.â€
+
+â€œI had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing
+that I had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France
+together! But then--ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me--I
+cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
+rings I am in trepidation.â€
+
+â€œGreat Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
+account?â€ cried Goldsmith.
+
+â€œIs there not sufficient reason for my misery?â€ she asked. â€œWhat did he
+say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me
+a fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
+letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who
+had written them.â€
+
+â€œAnd his terms?â€ asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
+
+â€œHis terms? I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you. The very thought that
+I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
+such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.â€
+
+â€œBy God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!â€ cried Goldsmith, â€œfor I
+shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.â€
+
+â€œNo--no!â€ she said, laying a hand upon his arm. â€œNo friend of mine must
+suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother for
+fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
+plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
+would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
+that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
+being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
+determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope--the forlorn
+hope--that you might be able to help me. Tell me--tell me, my dear
+friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that of which
+poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'â€
+
+â€œGuilt? Who talks of guilt?â€ said he. â€œOh, my poor innocent child, I
+knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought
+of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted
+foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your
+own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any
+monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against
+this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of
+escape for you.â€
+
+â€œAh, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to
+myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what
+direction lies my hope of escape?â€
+
+He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said--
+
+â€œ'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
+invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it
+is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one
+can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real
+life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts
+of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by
+halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from
+you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity
+as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as
+Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be
+saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you
+out of your present difficulty.â€
+
+â€œYou give me hope,â€ she said. â€œYes--a little hope. But you must promise
+me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how
+brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday
+when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place
+yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause
+it to spring.â€
+
+â€œI feel now that I was foolish,â€ said he humbly; â€œI ran the chance of
+forfeiting your friendship.â€
+
+â€œOh, no, it was not so bad as that,â€ she said. â€œBut in this matter of
+mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save
+me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man
+on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what
+my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that
+if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
+arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.â€
+
+â€œYou have spoken truly,â€ said he. â€œYou are wiser than I have ever been.
+But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing
+that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be
+saved, whatever may happen.â€
+
+He took her hand and kissed it fondly. â€œYou shall be saved,â€ he
+repeated.
+
+â€œIf not----â€ said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
+
+â€œNo--no,â€ he whispered. â€œI have given you my promise. You must give me
+yours. You will do nothing impious.â€
+
+She gave a wan smile.
+
+â€œI am a girl,â€ she said. â€œMy courage is as water. I promise you I will
+trust you, with all my heart--all my heart.â€
+
+â€œI shall not fail you--Heaven shall not fail you,â€ said he, going to the
+door.
+
+He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
+white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
+more pallid!
+
+He bowed at the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none
+of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as
+the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company.
+He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he
+had been elected only a few days before the production of â€œShe Stoops to
+Conquer,â€ and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club
+would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard
+Burke was wittiest.
+
+While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
+the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
+assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
+attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
+Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
+town were talking.
+
+The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
+smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
+the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty
+of the press as that of which--according to the writer--the ingenious
+Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the
+room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
+worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
+with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
+
+He knew perfectly well--had he not good reason to know?--that the man
+who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
+nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
+notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
+and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the
+fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more
+eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day.
+That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of
+Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted,
+and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all
+that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius
+one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions--all they
+required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
+
+No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
+Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money
+that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called
+himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there
+would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people
+were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any
+one--especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been
+breathed--the result of the publication of the letters would mean
+practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
+
+Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
+at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
+regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
+the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in
+such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did,
+that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was
+not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
+possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should
+find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and
+he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was
+situated would be to forfeit their respect forever.
+
+She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and
+he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her
+sake.
+
+He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
+in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon--how often his
+friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
+not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some
+occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also
+remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned
+out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon.
+
+He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
+
+He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
+(which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
+shrewdness).
+
+How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required
+it, cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly
+wisdom? By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the
+world?
+
+He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
+reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
+waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
+short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
+not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly
+felt no vexation at being made so easy a victim of--he was accustomed to
+that position.
+
+When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between
+the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred
+at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning,
+coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast
+aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all,
+he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his
+property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary
+Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he
+had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of
+that which he had admitted to be foolishness.
+
+Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
+dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
+reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the
+truth, she would understand.
+
+And that time did come.
+
+In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to
+get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
+attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
+for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully
+aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of
+a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the
+discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
+
+It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
+would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
+affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
+defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
+
+That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the
+woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was
+accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should
+have considerable difficulty in finding her.
+
+He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
+question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
+knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to
+do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and
+he liked her.
+
+He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made
+it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
+while.
+
+He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became
+impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington
+until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced
+a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as
+Colonel Gwyn.
+
+Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
+recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at
+the Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit
+to Brick Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted
+Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be one of the most natural
+occurrences in the world for him to appear at that particular moment.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith,â€ said the visitor when he had seated himself, â€œyou
+have no doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of
+calling upon you without first communicating with you.â€
+
+â€œNot at all, sir,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œ'Tis a great compliment you offer to
+me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.â€
+
+â€œYou are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
+have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.â€
+
+â€œOh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
+generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.â€
+
+And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
+so successfully caricatured.
+
+â€œNay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The
+fact is, sir, that I--I--i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
+how it is I appear before you in this fashion.â€
+
+â€œYou do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You
+are a friend of my best friend--Sir Joshua Reynolds.â€
+
+â€œYes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
+Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem
+of--of--well, of all the members of the Horneck family.â€
+
+It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way
+his visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what
+reply to make to him.
+
+â€œI perceive that you are surprised, sir.â€ said Gwyn.
+
+â€œNo, no--not at all--that is--no, not greatly surprised--only--well,
+sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
+yourself, a soldier,â€ stammered Goldsmith.
+
+â€œI have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past
+week or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ said Gwyn; â€œbut upon no
+occasion have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me
+she was by no means well.â€
+
+â€œAnd they told you the truth, sir,â€ said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
+
+â€œYou know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
+they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
+confess a headache was not specified.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination.
+But why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel
+Gwyn?â€
+
+Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
+
+â€œI thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking
+a liberty,â€ he said somewhat awkwardly.
+
+â€œWhy should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?â€ asked Goldsmith.
+
+â€œWell, Dr. Goldsmith, you see--sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend
+of the lady's--I perceived long ago--nay, it is well known that she
+regards you with great affection as a--no, not as a father--no, as--as
+an elder brother, that is it--yes, as an elder brother; and therefore
+I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be
+quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate--as I am sure
+you could understand that any man must--before declaring myself to her.
+Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to
+be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of
+the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank
+with me, sir.â€
+
+Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel
+Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat
+upright on his chair--a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some
+people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat
+inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that
+they were the manners of a gentleman.
+
+Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
+Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
+
+He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last
+he gave a little start.
+
+â€œYou should not have come to me, sir,â€ he said slowly.
+
+â€œI felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,â€ said Gwyn.
+
+â€œOn the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
+confidence. But--ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady
+would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?â€
+
+â€œI thought it possible that she--Miss Horneck--might have let you know.
+You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she
+might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
+Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of--well, a sort of vested
+interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.â€
+
+â€œYes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate
+them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become
+accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the
+children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if
+they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose,
+that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers,
+which is quite apart from the world of letters.â€
+
+Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
+difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the
+exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted
+as much.
+
+â€œI protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,â€ he said. â€œBut for that
+matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
+plain to you.â€
+
+â€œOh, yes,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œI think I gathered from your words all that
+you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
+subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
+lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
+chances of success.â€
+
+â€œHow admirably you put the matter!â€ said Gwyn. â€œAnd I fancied you did
+not apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?â€
+
+â€œI cannot tell,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œMiss Horneck has never told me that
+she loved any man.â€
+
+â€œThen I have still a chance?â€
+
+â€œNay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments
+to their fathers--no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
+consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
+advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself
+if you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to
+become attached. Add to the effect of your personality--which I think is
+great, sir--the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you have
+won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether your
+suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.â€
+
+â€œYou flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
+some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
+Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
+that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.â€
+
+â€œYou have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œI think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the
+man exist who would be worthy of her love?â€
+
+â€œHe does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
+some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
+is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
+
+â€œIt is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
+consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr.
+Goldsmith--not as men go--there is in my lifetime nothing that I have
+cause to be ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness,
+her purity, her tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own
+presumption in aspiring to win her. You think me presumptuous in this
+matter, I am convinced, sir.â€
+
+â€œI do--I do. I know Mary Horneck.â€
+
+â€œI give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with
+me in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me
+to thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me
+away without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that
+I have your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
+happiness.â€
+
+â€œColonel Gwyn, my wishes--my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may
+be happy.â€
+
+â€œAnd I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.â€
+
+Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to
+him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men
+who were understood to be admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made
+humourous verses on some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic
+illustrations, and Mary and her sister had had their laugh. He could not
+even now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more
+eligible suitor than the majority whom he had met from time to time at
+the Hornecks' house. He knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the
+girl had no thoughts to give to love and suitors. If Gwyn were to go
+to her immediately and offer himself as a suitor he would meet with a
+disappointment.
+
+Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who
+had just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be
+exultant at the thought that it was he--he--Oliver Goldsmith--who had
+been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret--with the duty of saving
+her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
+
+Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
+enterprise had fallen.
+
+He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
+position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
+rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
+instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
+hand of the maiden?
+
+For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate
+all his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the
+struggle had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had
+become the most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor
+at the Royal Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most
+eminent men of the period. And then, although he was plain of face and
+awkward in manner--nearly as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as
+Johnson--he had been appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in
+England. He felt that he had reason to exult.
+
+But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with
+Colonel Gwyn--he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel
+Gwyn. What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in
+preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a
+mirror in order to learn what chance he would have of being accepted
+as the lover of a lovely girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to
+himself?
+
+He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he
+had--a glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
+
+He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from
+complete despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted
+with the task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
+destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
+too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
+him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
+
+He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
+evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
+Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his
+play--in which she did not appear--was being acted on the stage.
+
+He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that
+his design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should
+pursue in regard to the actress--how far he would be safe in confiding
+in her--was frustrated.
+
+The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
+with him--well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make
+a quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such
+a disaster. Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in
+Boswell's eyes he could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of
+a second person.
+
+â€œPsha! Sir,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œyou know as little of Dr. Johnson as you
+do of the Irish nation and their characteristics.â€
+
+â€œPerhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,â€ said
+Boswell. â€œBut now all is over; he will never see me again.â€
+
+â€œNay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
+order to give you a chance of knowing him better?â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œFor the life of me I cannot see how that could be,â€ cried Boswell after
+a contemplative pause.
+
+â€œWhy, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
+consciousness of his generosity.â€
+
+â€œWhat, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
+again?â€
+
+â€œNo, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
+feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
+secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
+talking together.â€
+
+â€œWhat does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?â€
+
+â€œNot much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
+biographer.â€
+
+Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which
+the Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
+
+â€œIs it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
+Goldsmith?â€ he cried anxiously.
+
+â€œI will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,â€ replied Goldsmith, with
+an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
+that Shakespeare was pompous.
+
+â€œNow you are imitating him,â€ said Boswell. â€œBut I perceive that he has
+told you of our quarrel--our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
+sir.â€
+
+â€œThrough me, sir?â€
+
+â€œThrough the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
+Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no
+one of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has
+lately been mimicking the Dean--yes, down to his very words, at the
+Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
+acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
+upbraided me for half an hour.â€
+
+â€œTo whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?â€
+
+â€œTo no human being, sir.â€
+
+â€œOh, come now, you must have given it to some one.â€
+
+â€œTo no one, sir--that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly have
+had the story.â€
+
+â€œAh, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
+expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
+perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail
+to make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
+Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
+accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
+Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
+in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.â€
+
+â€œAh, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
+friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
+being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
+that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
+order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?â€
+
+â€œSir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
+biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick
+and choose the incidents with which he has to deal--that he may, if he
+please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his
+hero or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you
+frankly that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are
+mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I
+insist on your writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the
+very words that passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and
+you will also furnish me with a list of the persons--if you have not
+sufficient paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream
+at the stationer's at the corner--to whom you gave an account of the
+humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship
+with me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do
+not seek to avoid so obvious a duty.â€
+
+Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam
+of a smile on his face.
+
+He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a
+word.
+
+â€œThank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,â€ muttered Goldsmith.
+â€œIf I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
+hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.â€
+
+(The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
+him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained
+his forgiveness. â€œYou were right, sir,â€ the letter concluded. â€œDr.
+Johnson has still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.â€)
+
+But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to
+the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long
+practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give
+him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It
+was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
+not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
+his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
+
+The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
+which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
+only of â€œShe Stoops to Conquerâ€ had been reached, and as she did not
+appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
+piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town
+by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady
+of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
+a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
+loose about the neck and shoulders.
+
+â€œHa, my little hero,â€ cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
+his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then
+to Mrs. Abington. â€œHa, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last?
+Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all
+a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There
+was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œThe fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
+madam,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œNot if he could avoid it, I am certain,â€ said she. â€œFaith, sir,
+you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the
+playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about
+you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them
+all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it
+was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making
+an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional
+channel.â€
+
+â€œIf all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
+Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œThough, for
+that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
+before me in that dress--ay, or any other.â€
+
+â€œOh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
+compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus,â€ and she made an exquisite
+courtesy. â€œTalk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are
+as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?â€
+
+â€œI trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am
+extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most
+accomplished should be moved,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œYou have only to give me your word that you have written as good a
+comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than
+that of Miss Hardcastle.â€
+
+â€œI have the design of one in my head, madam.â€
+
+â€œThen, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
+head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
+great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
+you have begun the comedy, sir?â€
+
+â€œI cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
+air. I want your assistance in that direction.â€
+
+â€œWhat! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
+Goldsmith?â€
+
+â€œPsha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic
+as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you
+give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?â€
+
+â€œWith all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
+Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œI need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
+have to tell you.â€
+
+â€œOh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.â€
+
+â€œHow shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?â€
+
+â€œFrequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
+him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his
+family--a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your
+face suggested.â€
+
+â€œI have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for
+help.â€
+
+â€œThen you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
+think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
+the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light--which I take to be
+the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman--he is too powerful
+for me, I frankly confess.â€
+
+â€œMine is a male fiend.â€
+
+â€œNot the manager of a theatre--another form of the same hue?â€
+
+â€œNay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.â€
+
+â€œAh, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.â€
+
+â€œIf I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
+greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to
+coffee house repeating it.â€
+
+â€œPray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.â€
+
+â€œHow could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was
+more than you could cope with?â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+And now, sir, to face the particulars--to proceed from the fancy
+embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact--who or what is the
+aggressive demon that you want exorcised?â€
+
+â€œHis name is Jackson--he calls himself Captain Jackson,â€ replied Oliver.
+He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's
+story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this
+point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
+any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
+had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
+
+â€œJackson--Captain Jackson!â€ cried the actress. â€œWhy, Dr. Goldsmith, this
+is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely,
+sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a
+battering-ram to overturn a house of cards--one does not requisition a
+park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.â€
+
+â€œNay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of
+the power of a piece of ordnance,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œThe truth is, madam,
+that in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.â€
+
+â€œIf you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
+you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
+doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.â€
+
+â€œI'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
+there is a lady in the question.â€
+
+â€œOh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
+waiting for the lady.â€
+
+â€œShe is the most charming of her sex, madam.â€
+
+â€œI never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may
+be taken for granted.â€
+
+â€œUnhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.â€
+
+â€œI wonder in what part of the world she lived--certainly not in London.â€
+
+â€œStaying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared
+upon the scene----â€
+
+â€œAh! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
+the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
+even though the serpent be slaughtered.â€
+
+â€œPardon me, Mrs. Abingtonâ€--Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely--â€œpardon
+me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
+has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.â€
+
+In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
+of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let
+it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
+taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America;
+and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to
+him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them
+the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
+
+â€œThe lady is prostrated with grief,â€ he said, concluding his story. â€œThe
+very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
+killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
+knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.â€
+
+â€œ'Tis a sad story indeed,â€ said Mrs. Abington. â€œThe man is as bad as
+bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
+Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
+meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
+the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
+been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
+possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know
+that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of
+Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of
+guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?â€
+
+â€œThat was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
+think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,â€ said
+Goldsmith.
+
+â€œPsha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not
+in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,â€
+ cried the lady. â€œGo to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in
+a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego
+the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the
+coins.â€
+
+â€œYou may be right,â€ said he. â€œBut whence are the guineas to come, pray?â€
+
+â€œSurely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a
+couple of hundred pounds.â€
+
+â€œNay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends!
+She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she
+had written letters of affection to such a man.â€
+
+â€œShe must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.â€
+
+â€œIf she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have
+allowed herself to be imposed on by a stranger?â€
+
+â€œAlas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
+who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
+your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return
+to the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters?
+How do you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?â€
+
+â€œWhy, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
+conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
+It occurred to me that perhaps--it might be possible--in short, Mrs.
+Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel could
+be entrapped.â€
+
+â€œYou compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary
+men--and of wary--is what nature and art have fitted me for--nature and
+practice?â€
+
+â€œI cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear
+madam. But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady
+with whom I am acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest
+intelligence. That is why you are our greatest actress. The highest
+intelligence is valueless on the stage unless it is associated with a
+heart that beats in sympathy with the sorrow and becomes exultant with
+the joy of others. That is why I regard myself as more than fortunate in
+having your promise to accept a part in my next comedy.â€
+
+Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
+author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him
+out of his difficulty.
+
+â€œI can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,â€ said
+the actress. â€œYes, in spite of your being--being--ah--innocent--a poet,
+and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, Dr.
+Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to--to--well, shall
+we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?â€
+
+â€œThat is the position I long for, dear madam.â€
+
+â€œYes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know
+you, Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or
+two--that will give both of us a chance of still further considering the
+possibility of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe
+it was the lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were
+doubtless for running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his
+throat without the delay of a moment.â€
+
+â€œYour judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.â€
+
+â€œAh, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
+about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
+'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?â€
+
+â€œThose are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite
+perceive their bearing.â€
+
+â€œOh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their
+little step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir,
+I perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress
+for my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used
+to term 'ructions.'â€
+
+She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
+before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
+effective kiss.
+
+He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for
+he was not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had
+departed without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would
+have regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however,
+that clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt
+that it was a pleasure to do anything for such a man--especially as he
+was a writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she
+could so interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be
+the most notable success of the season.
+
+As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
+progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
+feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not
+been at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting
+with Mrs. Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs.
+Abington were associated.
+
+The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
+consolidated by a â€œcommandâ€ performance at which the whole of his
+Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because
+it meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
+sentimentalists who were still harping upon the â€œlowâ€ elements of
+certain scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good
+augury. He felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan
+by which he should be able to get possession of the letters.
+
+When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
+not been unmindful of his interests.
+
+â€œThe fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
+yesterday,â€ said she, â€œbut I tolerated him--nay, I encouraged him--not
+for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me,
+but for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking
+fool of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly
+makes a fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of
+herself.â€
+
+â€œAlas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
+Mrs. Abing ton,â€ said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
+laughter.
+
+â€œYou have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ she
+said. â€œBut to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for
+I have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably
+the most effective.â€
+
+â€œYou have found that by your experience of traps?â€ said Goldsmith. â€œThe
+smile is the silken net?â€
+
+â€œEven so,â€ said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. â€œAh,
+Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.â€
+
+â€œAlas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
+but at me.â€
+
+â€œThank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being
+smiled at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response
+to the encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my
+private address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when
+the fly begins to lure on the spider.â€
+
+â€œ'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not--to the fly.â€
+
+â€œAy, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass.
+Sir, to be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private
+address, but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next
+Thursday night.â€
+
+â€œHeavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
+behalf----â€
+
+â€œIs sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that
+I am only interested in my sister-fly--would she be angry if she were to
+hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?â€
+
+There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
+upon Goldsmith's ear.
+
+â€œMadam,â€ said he, â€œshe is a Christian woman.â€
+
+â€œAh, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ said the actress, â€œa very small amount of Christian
+charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman.
+Let that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on
+Thursday night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round
+the corner, and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you
+to appear boldly, as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my
+hospitality. You must come into the room when we have begun, carrying
+with you a roll of manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene
+of your new comedy, upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.â€
+
+â€œI shall not fail to recollect,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œWhy, 'tis like the
+argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
+elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.â€
+
+â€œNay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,â€ said the lady. â€œI think I
+know the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama
+of mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which
+you will not be able to play to perfection.â€
+
+â€œYou are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
+When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I
+trust, ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the
+pleasure of your society for even an hour.â€
+
+â€œI will ask you to join us at the table, and then--well, then I have
+a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
+friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known
+all his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters
+of his.â€
+
+Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
+possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity--the fact
+being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
+Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
+romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
+formed the basis of more than one comedy--he had a notion that if these
+comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
+been so clearly defined.
+
+She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
+
+â€œWhat, sir!â€ she cried. â€œDo you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity
+of my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt--not at
+scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.â€
+
+â€œI would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
+play, dear lady,â€ said he. â€œBut then, you see, it would be in my power
+to make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the
+right moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that
+was necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes
+quite hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most
+ordinary precepts of art.â€
+
+â€œPsha! sir,â€ said the actress. â€œNothing in this world is certain. I am
+a poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my
+life. At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully
+arranged plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the
+slovenliness of the actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain
+dialogue, yet in the end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama
+out of the ruins of our schemes than we originally designed. So, in this
+case, sir, I am not without hope that even though our gentleman's lips
+remain sealed--nay, even though our gentleman remain sober--a great
+calamity--we may still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep
+your ears open and I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if
+between us we cannot get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.â€
+
+â€œI place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,â€ said Oliver; â€œand I
+can only repeat what you have said so well--namely, that even the most
+clumsy of our schemes--which this one of yours certainly is not--may
+become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
+that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you
+on Thursday evening.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+Goldsmith for the next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a
+consciousness of having wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon
+Mrs. Abington and discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing
+the purpose which he had at heart; for he could not but perceive how
+shallow was the scheme which she had devised for the undoing of Mary
+Horneck's enemy. He felt that it would, after all, have been better for
+him to place himself in the hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had
+promised to find out for him, and to do his best to run the scoundrel
+through the body, than to waste his time listening to the crude scheme
+concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imitation of some third-class
+playwright.
+
+He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
+scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to
+join her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent
+his exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan
+for obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
+seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when
+he had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
+which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident
+to effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had
+suggested the possibility of such an accident taking place--in fact, she
+seemed to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than
+upon the ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think
+that she was right in this respect. He had a considerable experience
+of life and its vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a
+jesting mood the most judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be
+overturned by an accident apparently no less trivial than the raising of
+a hand, the fluttering of a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
+
+He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and
+a vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
+causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he
+met a young woman who changed--for a time--all his ideas of the sex. As
+he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
+Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
+factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
+accident is only another form of despair.
+
+In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he
+met Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an
+Italian fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
+
+â€œWhat!â€ cried Baretti. â€œHave you another affair on your hands in
+addition to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You
+do not need to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.â€
+
+â€œI do not look forward to fighting booksellers,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œThey
+have stepped between me and starvation more than once.â€
+
+â€œWould any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
+to make money by his philanthropy?â€ asked Baretti in his usual cynical
+way.
+
+â€œI cannot say,â€ replied Goldsmith. â€œI don't think that I can lay claim
+to the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
+rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.â€
+
+â€œ'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
+mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
+swordsman in Europe,â€ said Baretti.
+
+â€œDo so, my friend,â€ said Goldsmith; â€œand when I succeed in killing a
+critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as
+a memento.â€
+
+â€œI shall look for them--yes, in five years, for it will certainly take
+that time to make you expert with a sword,â€ said the Italian. â€œAnd,
+meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
+fighter as Kenrick.â€
+
+â€œIn such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
+may take a fancy to have.â€
+
+â€œAnd I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
+martyr--a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other unclean
+beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
+within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
+should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
+as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not
+want a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear
+one of our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.â€
+
+â€œAnd who may that friend be?â€
+
+â€œYou should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
+with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?â€
+
+â€œNot I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?â€
+
+â€œWhat then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the
+little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur.
+Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than--than----â€
+
+â€œA lioness robbed of her whelps?â€
+
+â€œWell, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is
+the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that
+you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer;
+and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit
+into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles--reminiscent of
+his native land--ever since.â€
+
+Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
+Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
+Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
+evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
+the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time,
+his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
+flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
+every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
+said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit
+who had shouted: â€œStick to the coo, mon!â€ On the whole, Garrick said, he
+thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
+many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion--whatever it might
+be worth--that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most
+successful in attempting.
+
+Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
+accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
+believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
+
+He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
+inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper,
+and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme
+which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of
+inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he
+was in the habit of keeping the letters.
+
+â€œThese fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,â€
+ said she; â€œand I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may
+become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously.
+If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
+farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.â€
+
+â€œWhat then is to be gained by our supping with him?â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œWhy, you are brought into contact with him,â€ she replied. â€œYou will
+then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take
+him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great?
+heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak--one
+cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
+and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
+fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting
+the letters into your pocket.â€
+
+â€œI'll hope for better luck than that,â€ said Oliver.
+
+â€œOh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,â€ said she. â€œBut good
+luck is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
+cleverest people.â€
+
+â€œThat is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,â€
+ said Goldsmith. â€œBut I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs.
+Abington as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.â€
+
+â€œAh, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,â€ said she.
+
+â€œMadam,â€ said he, â€œI am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
+your advice and reserve my compliments to you for--well, no, not a
+month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done
+very well.â€
+
+As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
+that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
+alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of
+an adroit scoundrel. He had heard--nay, he had written--of the wiles of
+women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of testing a
+woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his estimate
+of their value.
+
+It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare
+tavern at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll
+of manuscript in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the
+waiter to inform the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was
+very fluent up to this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave
+when he found himself face to face with the man who had made the life of
+Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered if he would be able to restrain his
+impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat.
+
+When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington
+that she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended
+the stairs to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved
+himself to play a part, and he was convinced that the rÃ´le was not
+beyond his powers.
+
+Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her
+chair laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her
+_vis-Ã -vis_, for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting
+upon it and one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the
+points of his narrative.
+
+When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly,
+pleasantly, but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the
+story which Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with
+his fingers still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most
+inopportune entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other
+is in the act of telling a story to an appreciative audience--say, a
+beautiful actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be
+seen to the greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb
+and flow of that roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate
+wimplings, rising and falling between the porcelain of her throat and
+the curve of the ivory of her shoulders.
+
+The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition
+of Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs.
+Abington's tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned
+his head round as the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward
+the table, bowing profusely--rather too profusely for the part he was
+playing, the artistic perception of the actress told her.
+
+â€œHa, my little author!â€ cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
+patron.
+
+â€œYou are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers--the best time
+for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.â€
+
+â€œAh, sir,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œwe poor devils are forced to wait upon the
+convenience of our betters.â€
+
+â€œStrike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
+convenience in an ante-room--ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that the
+scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets write
+best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.â€
+
+â€œFor shame, Captain!â€ cried Mrs Abington. â€œDr. Goldsmith is a man as
+well as a poet. He has broken heads before now.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself
+back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had
+advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of
+the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady
+perceived.
+
+â€œFaith, my dear,â€ laughed the Captain, â€œI would fain believe that he is
+a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head
+broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I
+swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is
+accustomed to spread terror around.â€
+
+â€œSome poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,â€ said Mrs.
+Abington.
+
+â€œNay, my dear madam,â€ cried her _vis-Ã -vis_, â€œyou must pardon me for
+saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
+exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known
+kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a
+poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would
+overcome a sound head.â€
+
+â€œI meant nothing like that, Captain,â€ said Mrs. Abington. Then she
+turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript.
+â€œCome, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ she cried, â€œseat yourself by me, and partake of
+supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play
+which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped.â€
+
+â€œNay, madam,â€ stuttered Goldsmith; â€œI have already had my humble meal;
+still----â€
+
+He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
+hoarse laugh, crying--
+
+â€œHa, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
+by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
+himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the
+romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a
+party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable
+kill-joy?â€
+
+â€œYou wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,â€ said the actress in
+smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view
+of the poet's weakness. â€œYou wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of
+parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long;
+will you, Dr. Goldsmith?â€
+
+She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast
+at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own
+part he was acting to perfection the rÃ´le of the hack author who was
+patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in
+a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's
+cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to
+seating himself.
+
+â€œMadam, I am your servant,â€ he murmured; â€œSir, I am your most obedient
+to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such
+distinguished company.â€
+
+â€œAnd so you should, sir,â€ cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
+about, laying a fresh plate and glass, â€œso you should. Your grand
+patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you
+from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely
+to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity,
+General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I
+had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking
+me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the
+General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his
+dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn
+upon him.â€
+
+â€œAh, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,â€ said Mrs. Abington.
+â€œBut I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being
+drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.â€
+
+â€œIf you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
+swear,â€ cried the Captain bowing over the table.
+
+â€œGood,â€ she said. â€œAnd so I call upon you to drink to his health--a
+bumper, sir, a bumper!â€
+
+The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With
+an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained
+it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
+Goldsmith.
+
+â€œHang him!â€ he cried, when he had wiped his lips, â€œI bear Goldsmith no
+malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
+shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge
+after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health
+of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show
+does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous
+to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.â€
+
+â€œNay, Captain,â€ said the lady, â€œI'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain
+from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many
+healths during the day, sir.â€
+
+â€œWhat mean you by that, madam?â€ he cried. â€œDo you suggest that I cannot
+carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
+gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that
+you would have a chance of offering.â€
+
+â€œNay, nay, sir! I meant not that,â€ said the actress hastily. â€œI will
+prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr.
+Goldsmith's new comedy.â€
+
+â€œNow you are very much my dear,â€ said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
+decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. â€œYes,
+your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam,
+shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American
+rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be
+said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his
+name is--George Washingtonâ€--he had considerable difficulty over the
+name--â€œis accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not
+men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his
+Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what
+the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to
+the health of Colonel Washington!â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,â€ said Mrs.
+Abington, rising. â€œ'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place;
+and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform.â€
+
+â€œThe devil take the King's uniform!â€ shouted the man. â€œThe devils of
+rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell
+you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
+drank----â€ Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and
+seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his
+cloak.
+
+â€œHold, sir,â€ cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
+upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. â€œHold, sir, I
+perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured
+by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success
+to the cause that will triumph in America.â€ Jackson, who was standing at
+the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
+half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
+him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
+
+â€œIt sounds all right,â€ he muttered as if he were trying to convince
+himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. â€œIt sounds all
+right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
+little poet,â€ he continued. â€œI'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
+sir--drink to the success of the cause in America.â€ Goldsmith got upon
+his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine.
+
+â€œSuccess to it!â€ he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his
+third tumbler of brandy.
+
+â€œHark ye, my little poet!â€ whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
+across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not
+returned to her place. â€œHark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a
+general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned
+me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from
+Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was
+mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you!
+If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to
+pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis,
+let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was
+ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the
+Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a
+man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy----
+Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the
+colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who
+would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's
+the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't
+everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got
+letters--letters----â€
+
+â€œYes, yes, you have letters--where?â€ cried Goldsmith, in the
+confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
+
+The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and
+then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
+half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
+chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
+
+â€œLetters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own
+matter--a secret,â€ he murmured in vague tones. â€œThe government would
+give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon
+itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary
+and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'â€--he pronounced the word â€œSecraryâ€--â€œ'I
+know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are
+the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir,
+my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the
+lady?â€
+
+He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
+well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
+
+â€œI'm here,â€ cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
+which Jackson's coat was thrown. â€œI am here, sir; but I protest I shall
+not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.â€
+
+â€œTreason, madam? Who talks of treason?â€ cried the man with a lurch
+forward and a wave of the hand. â€œMadam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I
+wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that
+it contains--all that----â€
+
+His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
+his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face;
+he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness
+that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the
+cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining
+until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the
+pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively
+into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was
+another packet.
+
+Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over
+her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that
+Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as â€œMiss Prue.â€
+ She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed
+coarsely, saying huskily--
+
+â€œA handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of
+my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my
+charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll
+challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up
+your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call
+you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only
+knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the
+truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may
+be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!â€
+
+Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
+remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
+man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass
+before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand
+on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring--
+
+â€œDrink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
+Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
+table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.â€
+
+He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had
+entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his
+chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
+
+[Illustration: 0315]
+
+â€œThat is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,â€ she cried,
+standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
+hand. â€œYou drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
+Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of
+my room, sir!â€
+
+She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought
+it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
+watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
+stupour, his jaw fallen.
+
+Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
+
+â€œCall a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,â€ said the actress,
+pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated.
+
+â€œA coach? Certainly, madam,â€ said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
+
+â€œDr. Goldsmith,â€ resumed Mrs. Abington, â€œmay I beg of you to have the
+goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
+hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have
+a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is
+Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.â€
+
+* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
+watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from
+uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to
+Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set
+herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet
+which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket
+of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great
+difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the
+coach.
+
+â€œThey're full of their whimsies, these wenches,â€ were the first words
+spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in
+his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. â€œWhat did I
+say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel
+hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour.
+What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley?
+Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged
+his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac
+flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few
+stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been
+their darling always.â€ Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but
+husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and
+he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the
+high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter
+re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at
+the door of the tavern.
+
+At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
+it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
+the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord
+and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson.
+He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed
+him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord
+and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such
+persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith
+reached the street.
+
+â€œHold on, sir,â€ he cried, â€œI am accompanying that gentleman to his
+lodging.â€
+
+â€œNay, Doctor,â€ whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, â€œthe
+fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach
+the Strand.â€
+
+â€œNevertheless, I will go, my friend,â€ said Oliver. â€œThe lady has laid it
+upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.â€
+
+He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the
+man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the
+cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours
+rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the
+starting coach made no impression upon him.
+
+Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
+arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
+he must act at once.
+
+He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
+detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All
+he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the
+pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
+
+The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted
+his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his
+breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened
+himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite
+unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him.
+
+â€œDear madam, you do me great honour,â€ he said, and then gave a little
+hiccupping laugh. â€œGreat honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me
+all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give
+you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold
+the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to
+put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to
+a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever
+except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
+shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned,
+my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her
+own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer,
+in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents,
+for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the
+pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of
+accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend!
+and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars
+for them.â€
+
+Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
+man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
+
+Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he
+referred to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel
+had not only tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been
+endeavouring to sell the secrets of the King's forces to the American
+rebels. Goldsmith had, however, no doubt that the letters which he was
+desirous of getting into his hands were those which the man had within
+his waistcoat. His belief in this direction did not, however, assist him
+to devise a plan for transferring the letters from the place where they
+reposed to his own pocket.
+
+The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
+Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of
+the brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his
+fingers remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would
+be quite impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith
+could not claim to be, to open the garment.
+
+He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
+packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet
+that it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont
+Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any
+more attempts to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake,
+and Goldsmith knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough
+to cope with three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
+
+Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit
+so broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
+entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
+Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest
+did not end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide
+awake, and he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he
+spoke that he showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very
+far from sober.
+
+â€œGood Lord!â€ he cried, â€œhow do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
+be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me--grossly
+insulted me--turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, you
+rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you to
+look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for you.
+Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?â€
+
+Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might
+not be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward
+attempt to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration
+of the question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open
+the door. He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the
+coach on to the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on
+its leathern straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the
+turnstile. At the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance
+to the court, almost coming in collision with Jackson.
+
+â€œYou cursed, clumsy lout!â€ shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round
+as the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the
+other.
+
+â€œYou low ruffian!â€ he said. â€œYou cheated me last night, and left me
+to sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been
+waiting for you. Take that, you scoundrel--and that--and that----â€
+
+He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
+forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
+fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
+street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
+
+Goldsmith shouted out, â€œFollow him--follow the murderer!â€ pointing
+wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
+
+In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
+pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
+hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the
+body in order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more
+adroitness than was necessary--for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp
+all the street was in darkness--slipped the wallet into his other hand
+and then under his coat.
+
+A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
+had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had
+been run through with a sword.
+
+â€œIt was a knock-down blow,â€ said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
+prostrate man; â€œand being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great
+harm has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a
+beer barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
+recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.â€
+
+He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
+almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
+sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
+meant by choking him.
+
+A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith
+picked up his hat and straightened his sword, saying--
+
+â€œGentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his
+physician in that way has small need of his services. I thought the
+fellow might be seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point
+recently; and so good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he
+relapse. By a casual savour of him I should say that he is not used to
+water.â€
+
+He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple,
+and as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on
+completely recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned
+him, would miss his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was
+greatly relieved when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the
+head porter, and he paid the driver with a liberality that called down
+upon him a torrent of thanks.
+
+As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
+cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no
+doubt that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands
+of his dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him--had
+alone trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
+
+He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
+room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
+wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
+and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
+chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
+taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of
+Mrs. Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that
+they were the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
+
+He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He
+was utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
+occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought.
+He could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers,
+covered with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own
+desk before starting for the tavern.
+
+What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
+the wallet?
+
+Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
+hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
+
+He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
+over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
+which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
+Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
+until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which
+he transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had
+had no time--at least, so Goldsmith thought--to put the sham act of the
+play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
+unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
+in the wallet?
+
+Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
+greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
+craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
+of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected
+Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the
+expense of the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on,
+and had fooled them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying
+that they were entrapping him.
+
+Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
+he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he
+was showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
+shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
+he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
+happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
+doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made
+by Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
+
+How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the
+length of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy
+that when they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on
+any subject. But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin
+to act, she had failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to
+place himself in her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
+
+He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
+would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
+consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
+to get the better.
+
+What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary,
+and tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him.
+She should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would
+have been ready to help her and capable of helping her--some man with a
+knowledge of men--some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver of
+fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. Nothing
+was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve
+success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
+
+He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a
+house of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his
+life, whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze
+that had swept down upon it.
+
+He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
+cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
+than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
+already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
+prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great
+a mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never
+have made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he
+said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious
+generosity of the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity
+that had led him to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was
+utterly unsuited; and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him
+in the reflection that his awakening had come before it was too late. He
+had not been led away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She
+had been saved the unhappiness which that confession would bring to
+a nature so full of feeling as hers. And he had been saved the
+mortification of the thought that he had caused her pain.
+
+The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees
+of the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had
+passed before he fell asleep.
+
+He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he
+found that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the
+letters which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with
+but a languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
+bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith
+had promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged
+the loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently,
+from its shape and bulk, a manuscript--one of the many which were
+submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned
+it over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
+convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
+perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
+accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
+
+He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when
+at the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The
+instant he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that
+the parcel contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's
+handwriting to a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire
+village where she had been staying the previous summer.
+
+On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
+Mrs. Abing ton--the spelling as well as the writing was hers--
+
+â€œ'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few
+feathers pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in
+the capp of dear Dr. Goldsmith.â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+He was so greatly amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the
+scattered letters on the table in front of him. He was even more amazed
+at finding them there than he had been the night before at not finding
+them in the wallet which he had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He
+thought he had arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to how he had
+come to find within the wallet the sheets of manuscript which he had had
+in his hand on entering the supper room; but how was he to account for
+the appearance of the letters in this parcel which he had received from
+Mrs. Abington?
+
+So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth--to
+appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his
+table. But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and
+happiness to Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy.
+She was saved. He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and
+who had the means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had
+caused him to go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing
+the task with which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been
+mistaken in applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish
+scheme of a pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken
+when she had singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most
+women would have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rÃ´le of a
+knight-errant.
+
+His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
+despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
+knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
+morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him;
+but now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him--his
+imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
+happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to
+Mary and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
+Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
+Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
+
+He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of
+his formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest,
+but it was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion
+so delicate an enterprise as that which he--Goldsmith--had accomplished.
+Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. Abington to help
+him, and that was just where he would have made a huge mistake. Any man
+who thought to get the better of the devil without the aid of a woman
+was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of this as he
+stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been when he
+had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The previous
+half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
+Providence and the world.
+
+When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate
+some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
+obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
+thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
+the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to
+be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have
+felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it,
+substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his
+entrance to the supper-room.
+
+The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that
+the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
+recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair
+with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
+treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to
+turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had
+been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her
+glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as
+Mrs. Baddeley!
+
+He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
+particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
+acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
+the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
+perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
+the letters beyond the man's hands.
+
+Once again he laughed, saying out loud--
+
+â€œAh, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a
+devil!â€
+
+Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was
+at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
+letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself
+in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
+consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face
+would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
+would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
+that she was safe.
+
+That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
+bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on
+her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
+laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would
+be happy through witnessing her happiness.
+
+He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for
+the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his
+servant announced two visitors.
+
+Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered.
+The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a
+compatriot of his own, named Nicolo.
+
+â€œI have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in
+my hands,â€ said Baretti. â€œMy friend Nicolo is a master of the art
+of fencing as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the
+impression, singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than
+once during your wanderings in Tuscany.â€
+
+â€œAnd now I am sure of it,â€ said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
+spoke French rather better than English. â€œYes, I was a student at
+Pisa when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in
+recognising him.â€
+
+â€œAnd I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,â€
+ said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; â€œI cannot, however, recall the
+circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
+memory, sir?â€
+
+â€œThere was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,â€ said Signor
+Nicolo.
+
+â€œI recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,â€
+ said Goldsmith quickly. â€œYou were one of the orators--quite reckless, if
+you will permit me to say so much.â€
+
+The man smiled somewhat grimly.
+
+â€œIf he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,â€
+ said Baretti. â€œLike myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
+climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
+government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back
+again.â€
+
+â€œIt brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor
+Nicolo,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œYes, though your Excellency had not so much of
+a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
+now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,â€ said the man
+with another grim smile.
+
+â€œYou are not quite right, my friend,â€ laughed Goldsmith; â€œfor if my
+memory serves me--and it does so usually on the matter of dress--I had
+no coat whatsoever to my back--that was of no importance in Pisa, where
+the air was full of patriotism.â€
+
+â€œThe most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,â€ said
+Baretti. â€œThere is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We
+are examples--Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a
+brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy
+Englishman--and there are a good number of them, too--into an expert
+swordsman in twelve lessons--yes, if the pupil will but practise
+sufficiently afterwards.â€
+
+â€œWe need not talk of business just now,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œI insist on
+my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
+'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
+excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.â€
+
+He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple
+of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to
+him--very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not
+have remained.
+
+The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
+heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
+room.
+
+â€œI have found you, you rascal!â€ he shouted, swaggering across the room
+to where Goldsmith was seated. â€œNow, my good fellow, I give you just
+one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my
+pocket last night.â€
+
+â€œAnd I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken
+blackguard,â€ said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo,
+who was in the act of rising. â€œCome, sir,â€ he continued, â€œI submitted
+to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I
+promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your
+carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils.â€
+
+Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
+gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
+cowardly to attack.
+
+â€œYou cur!â€ he said through his set teeth. â€œI don't know what prevents me
+from running you through the body.â€
+
+â€œDo you not? I do,â€ said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of
+wine off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
+
+â€œCome, sir,â€ said the bully after a pause; â€œI don't wish to go to Sir
+John Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property,
+but, by the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will
+not spare you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an
+hour has passed.â€
+
+â€œGo to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American
+spy, is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith
+has at hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest
+scoundrels,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
+second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons.
+The bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
+
+â€œMy little poet,â€ he said in a mocking voice, â€œyou fancy that because
+you have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you
+for your information that I have something in my possession that I can
+use as I meant to use the letters.â€
+
+â€œAnd I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall
+kill you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!â€ cried Goldsmith,
+leaping up.
+
+There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
+the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him
+behind a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
+
+â€œPardon me, sir,â€ said he, bowing to Jackson, â€œbut we cannot permit you
+to stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend
+and I regard as a grave affront to us.â€
+
+â€œThen let one of you draw!â€ shouted the man. â€œI see that you are
+Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
+sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,â€ said Baretti.
+â€œI do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a
+weaker man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a
+ruffian as you undoubtedly are.â€
+
+He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter
+had whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti,
+putting quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when
+Baretti had turned partly round.
+
+â€œBriccone! assassin!â€ hissed Baretti. â€œYou saw that he meant to kill me,
+Nicolo,â€ he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
+
+â€œHe shall pay for it,â€ whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
+foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
+of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
+
+â€œDon't kill him, friend Nicolo,â€ he cried. â€œWe used to enjoy a sausage
+or two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
+without absolutely killing the beast.â€
+
+The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
+
+Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
+laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian--it was not
+melodious--acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, trying to
+beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single inch.
+He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His expression
+resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has airily
+offered to play with him opens the game.
+
+After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to
+attack, Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
+
+â€œTake a chair, sir,â€ said Baretti, grinning. â€œYou will have need of one
+before my friend has finished with you.â€
+
+Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
+before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt
+him now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the
+man breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
+Italian.
+
+Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
+no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but
+his antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard
+breathing was a contrast to the only other sound in the room--the
+grating of steel against steel.
+
+Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed
+gradually to vanish. He became more than serious--surely his expression
+was one of apprehension.
+
+Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as
+one of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
+shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
+doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge
+of the other man.
+
+It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as
+he pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in
+touching Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once,
+and now it was plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was
+breathing hard, and the look of apprehension on his face had increased
+until it had actually become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to
+perceive this, and malignant triumph was in every feature of his face.
+Any one could see that he felt confident of tiring out the visibly
+fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with staring eyes, once again clutched
+Baretti.
+
+Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
+and forehead in smiles.
+
+â€œI should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,â€
+ said he.
+
+In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
+paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
+head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying
+behind it like the little pennon on a lance.
+
+â€œHeavens!â€ whispered Goldsmith.
+
+â€œAh, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,â€ said Baretti. â€œFor
+God's sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that
+last was like a bullet.â€
+
+Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat
+from which it was torn.
+
+And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
+face.
+
+â€œThat is his fun,â€ said Baretti. â€œOh, body of Bacchus! A great
+humourist!â€
+
+The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
+in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
+
+The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but
+his antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed
+him round the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing
+heavily, but apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his
+sword into his left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
+
+Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
+They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
+meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
+Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
+dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
+Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
+result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
+
+And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
+man's pocket fell on the floor.
+
+With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
+The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining
+by a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo
+had spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single
+flash. Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they
+were the batch of letters which he had received in the course of his
+traffic with the American rebels.
+
+â€œCome, Sandrino,â€ said Baretti, affecting to yawn. â€œFinish the rascal
+off, and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us.
+Come, sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has
+kept us from our wine too long already.â€
+
+With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
+sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
+over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
+the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with
+an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
+thoroughly exhausted.
+
+[Illustration: 0349]
+
+Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
+the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
+guard.
+
+â€œJohn,â€ shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
+witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
+exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) â€œJohn, give that
+man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked
+out of my house.â€ When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to
+the half-naked panting man. â€œYou are possibly the most contemptible
+bully and coward alive,â€ said he. â€œYou did not hesitate to try and
+accomplish the ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here
+with intent to murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your
+clutches. If I let you go now, it is because I know that in these
+letters, which I mean to keep, I have such evidence against you as will
+hang you whenever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to use it if
+you are in this country at the end of two days. Now, leave this house,
+and thank my servant for giving you his coat, and this gentlemanâ€--he
+pointed to Nicolo--â€œfor such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you
+never before received.â€
+
+The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which
+John Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
+
+â€œYou contemptible cur!â€ he said, â€œI have not yet done with you. You have
+now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of
+them passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in
+pretty high places, let me tell you.â€
+
+â€œI do not doubt it,â€ said Baretti. â€œThe gallows is a high enough place
+for you and your friends.â€
+
+The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
+
+â€œLook to yourself, you foreign hound!â€ he said, his face becoming livid,
+and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare
+as before. â€œLook to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to
+be made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!â€
+
+â€œTurn that rascal into the street, John,â€ cried Goldsmith, and John
+bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
+flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
+powers--not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, but
+one which he was certain was more English in its style.
+
+â€œNo one shall lay a hand on me,â€ said Jackson. â€œDo you fancy that I am
+anxious to remain in such a company?â€
+
+â€œCome, sir; you are in my charge, now,â€ said John, hustling him to the
+door. â€œCome--out with you--sharp!â€
+
+In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
+and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put
+on the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him
+walk in the direction of the Temple lodge.
+
+Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
+prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
+on his wall.
+
+â€œYou came at an opportune moment, my friend,â€ said he. â€œYou have not
+only saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never
+have known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of
+your art.â€
+
+â€œThe best swordsman is the best patriot,â€ said Baretti.
+
+â€œThat is why so many of your countrymen live in England,â€ said
+Goldsmith.
+
+â€œAlas! yes,â€ said Nicolo. â€œHappily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
+or you would not be able to live in England.â€
+
+â€œI am not an Englishman,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œI am an Irish patriot, and
+therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it
+is not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than
+to starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
+dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
+Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor
+an hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects
+of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it
+will take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the
+fragments of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr.
+Johnson's friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.â€
+
+â€œPatchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,â€
+ said Baretti. â€œTouching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
+engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.â€
+
+â€œHe has taken part in one engagement, at least,â€ said Goldsmith,
+
+â€œAnd I am now at your service,â€ said the fencing-master.
+
+They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his
+pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his
+desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and
+Anchor in an hour.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before
+known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All
+the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary
+exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with
+him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more
+than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance,
+Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing
+hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and
+allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded
+as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
+amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did
+not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon
+Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt
+which he owed to Jackson.
+
+And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life
+in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world
+the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that
+every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
+realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
+cheeks change to red once more.
+
+It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to
+Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him
+this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
+
+â€œI think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
+Goldsmith,â€ said the lady. â€œI believe that she was more than a little
+disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.â€
+
+â€œWas she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?â€ he asked. This
+fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was
+very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise
+on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in
+his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of
+his success.
+
+â€œShe seemed very anxious to see you,â€ said Mrs. Horneck. â€œI fear, dear
+Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
+sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
+secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
+Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly,
+girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
+neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
+with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely
+she has got over that foolishness!â€
+
+â€œAh, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
+foolishness,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œYou may take my word for it that when she
+sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.â€
+
+â€œI do hope so,â€ said Mrs. Horneck. â€œYes, you could always contrive to
+make her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared
+that that disgraceful letter in the _Packet_ had affected you. That was
+why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
+nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.â€
+
+â€œThat was very kind of you, my dear madam,â€ said he; â€œbut I have seen
+Mary since that thing appeared.â€
+
+â€œTo be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?â€
+
+â€œVery ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance
+that when I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to
+recovery. You have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor
+of medicine, and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in
+this direction may amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself
+have. Still, I think you will say something in my favour when you see
+Mary's condition begin to improve from the moment we have a little chat
+together.â€
+
+â€œThat is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr.
+Goldsmith. Your chat with her will do more for her than all the
+medicine the most skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very
+inopportune time for her to fall sick.â€
+
+â€œI think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?â€
+
+â€œWell, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
+steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
+attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.â€
+
+â€œThe gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.â€
+
+He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
+
+â€œAh, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman
+was drawn toward her?â€ said the lady smiling.
+
+â€œI have every reason to believe in his sincerity,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œAnd
+you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she
+would have listened to his proposals, madam?â€
+
+â€œWhy should she not have done so, sir?â€ said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+â€œWhy not, indeed?â€
+
+â€œColonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,â€ said she. â€œHe is,
+to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.â€
+
+â€œYou think so--you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing in
+such a case?â€ said Oliver, rather eagerly.
+
+â€œHow could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?â€ cried Mrs.
+Horneck. â€œWhoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
+am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
+my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
+After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty--thirty-seven,
+I believe--but he does not look more than thirty-five.â€
+
+â€œNo one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
+you give emphasis, madam,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œAnd you think that Mary will
+see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?â€
+
+â€œI hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
+so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,â€ said the lady.
+â€œThat is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring
+back the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly
+attracted to her.â€
+
+â€œI understand--I understand.â€
+
+He spoke slowly, gravely.
+
+â€œI knew you would help us,â€ said Mrs. Horneck, â€œand so I hope that you
+will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
+Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
+passed.â€
+
+Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
+him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks--not for him, but
+for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days,
+the hours of thought--all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
+facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
+his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
+sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being
+for evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
+possession as her love.
+
+That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
+yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said--
+
+â€œEven so; I am satisfied--I am satisfied.â€
+
+It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and
+Goldsmith persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he
+succeeded in doing so, for he had felt it was quite possible that
+Baretti might inquire of him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to
+Brick Court, and he could not well explain to the Italian the nature of
+the enterprise which he had so successfully carried out by the aid
+of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. Abington into
+his confidence, and quite another to confide in Baretti. He was
+discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, while the
+secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it would be by
+no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some people might
+laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that which was
+generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and Baretti
+a man.
+
+He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn
+all about Jackson--that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
+become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
+for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes.
+He was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
+prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
+
+Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
+regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
+the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
+conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
+declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
+man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
+out--
+
+â€œSir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am
+glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to
+make him certain you had stolen it from me.â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,â€ said
+Goldsmith.
+
+â€œSir,â€ said Dr. Johnson, â€œI did not say that it was good enough to have
+been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
+foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person,
+Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly,
+that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of
+stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which
+when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir,
+are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?â€
+
+â€œSir, I am more than satisfied,â€ said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the
+cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face.
+This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
+
+After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
+to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington
+for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped
+to do.
+
+He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
+costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the
+less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee,
+holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to
+speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she
+was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew,
+were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
+
+â€œWell, my poet,â€ she said at last, â€œhave you need of my services to
+banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?â€
+
+â€œI was right,â€ he managed to say after another pause, â€œyes, I knew I was
+not mistaken in you, my dear lady.â€
+
+â€œYes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest
+demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,â€ said
+she. â€œWell, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful
+compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her
+champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our
+friend in the hackney coach.â€
+
+â€œNay,â€ he cried, â€œit is you who have not yet told me by what means
+you became possessed of the letters which I wanted--by what magic you
+substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
+into the supper room.â€
+
+â€œPsha, sir!â€ said she, â€œ'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered
+from a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair,
+that he had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He
+gave me a hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is
+not to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every
+document on which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty
+naturally received a great shock when he offered to drink to the
+American rebels, and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or
+so sufficed me to discover the wallet with the letters; but then I
+was at my wits' end to find something to occupy their place in the
+receptacle. Happily my eye caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay
+in your hat on the floor beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick
+was played. I had a sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep
+me hoping all the night that you would be able to get possession of the
+wallet, believing it contained the letters for which you were in search.
+Lord, sir! I tried to picture your face when you drew out your own
+papers.â€ The actress lay back on her couch and roared with laughter,
+Goldsmith joining in quite pleasantly.
+
+â€œAh!â€ he said; â€œI can fancy that I see at this moment the expression
+which my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
+humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but
+he paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
+termed his property.â€
+
+â€œOh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?â€
+
+At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
+Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
+
+â€œBy my faith, sir!â€ she cried; â€œI would give ten guineas to have been
+there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,â€ she added a moment afterwards,
+â€œyou will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the
+town.â€
+
+â€œNay, my dear,â€ said he. â€œIt was Baretti whom he threatened as he left
+my room--not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
+as would hang him.â€
+
+â€œWhy, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon
+your life?â€ cried the actress. â€œHe may try to kill Baretti on a point
+of sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a
+matter of business.â€
+
+â€œFaith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
+something in what you say,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œSo I will e'en take a
+hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
+the very door of my chambers.â€
+
+â€œDo so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have
+yet to write for me in a comedy.â€
+
+â€œI swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my
+dear friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.â€
+
+â€œAh! was the lady so grateful as all that?â€ cried the actress, looking
+at him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua
+Reynolds could not quite translate to show the next century what manner
+of woman was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young
+wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country
+girl's smile of Mrs. Abington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was
+alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be
+waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any
+adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel
+of letters and set himself to peruse their contents.
+
+He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was
+sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
+perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
+rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
+themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which
+he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
+Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead
+of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to
+England as a suspected traitor.
+
+As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
+indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
+obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
+certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
+country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
+him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
+Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
+course.
+
+Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he
+ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have
+been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his
+honesty.
+
+He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour
+which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies
+of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself
+to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly
+weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the
+tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a
+woman, and therefore all the more to be loved.
+
+It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
+Hornecks.
+
+He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
+There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he
+would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock
+dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably
+be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with
+the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due
+precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be
+induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point
+in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's
+counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give
+the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might
+be.
+
+It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention
+in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not
+return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the
+Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
+
+He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
+communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not
+having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
+
+â€œYou would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,â€ said
+Reynolds. â€œI think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if
+only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has
+promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well.â€
+
+Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in
+front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far,
+however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was
+engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly
+fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic
+style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the
+habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a
+painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from
+her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical
+traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman
+toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to
+be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.
+
+All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
+eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
+adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
+suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
+faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
+eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
+
+â€œWhat, sir!â€ cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
+anchor, and pursing out his lips, â€œwould you contend that a member
+of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day
+clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?â€
+
+â€œWhy, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,â€ replied
+Goldsmith.
+
+Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
+to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
+than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
+phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
+
+â€œSir,â€ he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, â€œthere is a very
+flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even
+depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted
+position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what
+would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after
+what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the
+advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in
+English.â€
+
+â€œAnd why not, sir?â€ said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added,
+â€œFor my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
+Westminster Abbey written in English.â€
+
+Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to
+her--Angelica Kauffman.
+
+After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
+door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
+went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
+lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
+detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
+Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
+reason of his absence from the meeting.
+
+When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
+as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
+wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
+him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
+hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
+The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
+
+â€œIf that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,â€ said
+Goldsmith.
+
+In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
+the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out
+so as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
+
+â€œA dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
+men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
+been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding
+in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no
+time coming to you.â€
+
+â€œMerciful heaven!â€ cried Goldsmith. â€œI was waiting for Baretti in order
+to warn him.â€
+
+â€œYou could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack
+as was made upon him,â€ said Steevens. â€œIt seems that the fellow whom
+Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable
+gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated
+what his name was.â€
+
+â€œAnd what was his name?â€ asked Reynolds.
+
+â€œRichard Jackson,â€ replied Steevens. â€œOf course we never heard the name
+before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.â€
+
+â€œThe world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,â€ said Goldsmith.
+
+â€œUndoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
+should a jury find him guilty,â€ said Steevens. â€œWe must make an effort
+to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to
+speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They
+carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to
+go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr.
+Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John
+Fielding at Bow street in the morning.â€
+
+â€œThat we shall,â€ said Sir Joshua. â€œHe shall have the best legal advice
+available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him
+that he may depend on our help, such as it is.â€
+
+The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
+waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
+custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but
+they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have,
+and also to carry back to them his reply.
+
+Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an
+account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could
+not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They,
+however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the
+help of all his friends in his emergency.
+
+Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected,
+and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from
+reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
+and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
+the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in
+the surgeon's hands.
+
+Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
+meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through
+the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two
+men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with
+heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his
+sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself
+with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him,
+as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article
+of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great
+mischance he must have severed an artery.
+
+The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
+friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held
+a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being
+tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to
+England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months,
+and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house
+in Whetstone Park.
+
+â€œSo far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence,
+it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,â€ said
+Goldsmith.
+
+â€œIf the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the
+gentleman,â€ said the Bow street runner. â€œBut I fancy the judge will tell
+them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of
+its rogues.â€
+
+Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
+view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid
+of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having
+parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy.
+He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of
+his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked
+himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no
+concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted
+with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never
+forgive himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+After a very restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that
+Johnson had already gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house
+Goldsmith learned that Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's;
+so it was plain that Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting
+about helping him. They all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and
+Goldsmith found that Burke had already instructed a lawyer on behalf of
+Baretti. His tender heart was greatly moved at the sight of Baretti
+when the latter was brought into court, and placed in the dock, with a
+constable on each side. But the prisoner himself appeared to be quite
+collected, and seemed proud of the group of notable persons who had come
+to show their friendship for him. He smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith,
+and, when the witnesses were being examined, polished the glasses of his
+spectacles with the greatest composure. He appeared to be confident that
+Sir John Fielding would allow him to go free when evidence was given
+that Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad character, and he seemed
+greatly surprised when the magistrate announced that he was returning
+him for trial at the next sessions.
+
+Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the
+prisoner in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request
+was granted.
+
+He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on
+this melancholy drive, saying--
+
+â€œMy dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
+this.â€
+
+â€œPsha, sir!â€ said Baretti. â€œ'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
+country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment.
+In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
+ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
+protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
+violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
+accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried
+for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice
+in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!â€
+
+â€œDo not be alarmed,â€ said Goldsmith. â€œWhen you appear before a judge and
+jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
+being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?â€
+
+â€œI can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
+responsible for this _contretemps_,â€ said Baretti. â€œBut I cannot forgive
+that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed
+to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
+considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
+whom I killed should be regarded sacred--as sacred as though he were an
+Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?â€
+
+â€œYou will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,â€
+ said Goldsmith. â€œIt is quite impossible that you could be convicted--oh,
+quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and
+Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.â€
+
+But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
+railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
+Newgate.
+
+It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone
+in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house
+in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been
+uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to
+see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress
+of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the
+conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in
+respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for
+him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as
+he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy
+Bride.
+
+Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
+signs of recent tears were visible on it.
+
+â€œDear Dr. Goldsmith,â€ she said, â€œI am in deep distress about Mary.â€
+
+â€œHow so, madam?â€ he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
+him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
+point of death?
+
+â€œShe returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
+when she left town,â€ said Mrs. Horneck. â€œBut who could fancy that her
+condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as
+was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor
+Baretti?â€
+
+â€œIt prostrated her?â€
+
+â€œWhy, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
+printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he
+read out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair
+to the floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her
+friends, instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.â€
+
+â€œAnd now?â€
+
+â€œNow she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming
+with strange impatience--I told her that you had been here yesterday and
+also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
+from her faint--accusing herself of bringing her friends into trouble,
+but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come--why does he not come
+to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
+Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her
+in this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
+acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
+the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition
+is the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to
+call to-day.â€
+
+â€œNever mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,â€ said Goldsmith, â€œWill
+you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
+am confident that I can restore her to health?â€
+
+â€œAh, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!--ah, if you only could! But alas,
+alas!â€
+
+He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
+interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of
+sobbing within the room came to his ears.
+
+â€œNow, my dear child,â€ said her mother with an affectation of
+cheerfulness, â€œyou see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come
+to his Jessamy Bride.â€
+
+The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
+pathetically how weak she was.
+
+â€œAh, he is come he is come!â€ she cried. â€œLeave him with me, mother; he
+has much to tell me.â€
+
+â€œYes.â€ said he; â€œI have much.â€
+
+Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
+
+She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
+spasmodically in both her own--he felt how they were trembling-as she
+cried--
+
+â€œThe terrible thing that has happened! He is dead--you know it, of
+course? Oh, it is terrible--terrible! But the letters!--they will be
+found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be impossible
+to keep my secret longer. Will his friends--he had evil friends, I
+know--will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face that
+you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be undone--undone.â€
+
+â€œMy dear,â€ he said, â€œyou might be able to bear the worst news that I
+could bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?â€
+
+â€œThe best! Ah, what is the best?â€
+
+â€œIt is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
+child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.â€
+
+She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
+more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to
+speak, but failing to utter a single word.
+
+He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet
+of her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for
+certainly a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only
+gaze mutely at the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the
+truth upon her meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not
+now be overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
+
+Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
+her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
+Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed--not hysterically,
+but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an effort and
+walked across the room to the window that looked upon the street. He
+followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she turned round
+with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long was it since
+he had heard her laugh in that way?
+
+She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for
+her cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June,
+and her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
+
+â€œAh,â€ she cried, putting out both her hands to him. â€œAh, I knew that I
+was right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew
+that you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to
+me for evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like
+you, dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that--so good, so true,
+so full of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the
+greatest and best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear,
+dear friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted--a friend who would be
+ready to die for his friend. Gratitude--you do not want gratitude. It is
+well that you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you
+for what you have done? You have saved me from death--from worse than
+death--and I know that the thought that you have done so will be your
+greatest reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel
+that I live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me
+out of the deep waters--the waters that had well-nigh closed over my
+head.â€
+
+He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon
+him. His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him;
+but he felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since
+he had lived to see--even through the dimness of tears--so sweet a
+face looking into his own with eyes full of the light of--was it the
+gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
+
+He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the
+small hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the
+tendrils of a climbing flower.
+
+â€œHave you nothing to say to me--no word to give me at this moment?â€ she
+asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her fingers
+seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
+
+â€œWhat word?â€ said he. â€œAh, my child, what word should come from such
+a man as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete
+happiness as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in
+words. You have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my
+life. You have understood me--you alone, and that to such as I means
+happiness.â€
+
+She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had
+flung them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the
+direction of the window.
+
+â€œYou talk of my understanding you,â€ she said in a voice that had a sob
+in it. â€œYes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a
+man's nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy
+of a thought?â€
+
+He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with
+a sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
+locked the fingers of both together.
+
+Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
+the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in
+the throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman
+well enough to have no thought of himself--no thought except for her
+happiness.
+
+â€œNo,â€ he said at last. â€œNo, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say
+to you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
+himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
+happy--watching your happiness--in silence. Perhaps I may understand
+you--I may understand something of the thought which gratitude suggests
+to you.â€
+
+â€œAh, gratitude!â€ said she in a tone that was sad even in its
+scornfulness. She had not turned her head toward him.
+
+â€œYes, I may understand something of your nature--the sweetest, the
+tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself
+better, and I know in what direction lies my happiness--in what
+direction lies your happiness.â€
+
+â€œAh! are you sure that they are two--that they are separate?â€ said she.
+And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his face.
+
+There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
+still held them behind him. At last he said slowly--
+
+â€œI am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were
+a chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to
+look on happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there
+is more happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not
+speak--for God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which
+are trembling on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.â€
+
+She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she
+turned away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears,
+with her face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
+
+After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
+
+She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
+hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice--
+
+â€œYou are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that
+word; but I can never--never cease to think of you as the best--the
+noblest--the truest of men. You have been my best friend--my only
+friend--and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by a
+woman.â€
+
+He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
+
+A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
+
+â€œOh, mother, mother!â€ cried the girl, starting up, â€œI knew that I was
+right--I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
+new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more--that
+I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!â€
+
+â€œWhy, what a transformation there is already!â€ said her mother. â€œAh, Dr.
+Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!â€
+
+â€œFriend--friend!â€ she said slowly, almost gravely. â€œYes, he was always
+my friend, and he will be so forever--my friend--our friend.â€
+
+â€œAlways, always,â€ said Mrs. Horneck. â€œI am doubly glad to find that you
+have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
+just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
+May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
+seeing you?â€
+
+â€œNo, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,â€ cried the girl. â€œSend him
+away--send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one but
+our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do for
+me that I should wish to see him?â€
+
+â€œMy dear Mary----â€
+
+â€œSend him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
+sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has
+not yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing
+together as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am
+myself again.â€
+
+â€œI will not do anything against your inclinations, child,â€ said Mrs.
+Horneck. â€œI will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.â€
+
+â€œDo, dear mother,â€ cried the girl, laughing. â€œSay next week, or next
+year, sweetest of mothers, or--best of all--say that he had better come
+by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by and
+by is easily said.'â€
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+As he went to his chambers to dress before going to dine with the
+Dillys in the Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years.
+He had seen the light return to the face that he loved more than all
+the faces in the world, and he had been strong enough to put aside the
+temptation to hear her confess that she returned the love which he bore
+her, but which he had never confessed to her. He felt happy to know that
+the friendship which had been so great a consolation to him for several
+years--the friendship for the family who had been so good and so
+considerate to him--was the same now as it had always been. He felt
+happy in the reflection that he had spoken no word that would tend to
+jeopardise that friendship. He had seen enough of the world to be made
+aware of the fact that there is no more potent destroyer of friendship
+than love. He had put aside the temptation to speak a word of love; nay,
+he had prevented her from speaking what he believed would be a word of
+love, although the speaking of that word would have been the sweetest
+sound that had ever fallen upon his ears.
+
+And that was how he came to feel happy.
+
+And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he
+found a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had
+dedicated to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy.
+He added poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly
+interpreted--verses pulsating with the love that was in his
+heart--verses which Mary Horneck could not fail to interpret aright
+should they ever come before her eyes.
+
+â€œBut they shall never come before her eyes,â€ he said. â€œAh, never--never!
+It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.â€
+
+And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day
+she might read those verses of his--yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
+that day was far off or nigh.
+
+When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house,
+he had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did
+not, however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to
+entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's
+killing of Jackson as an accident.
+
+After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be
+well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be
+to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the
+threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it
+might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck.
+But Burke, after hearing the story--no mention of the name of Mary
+Horneck being made by Goldsmith--came to the conclusion that it would be
+unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part
+of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer--as,
+indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity
+on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered
+that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was
+most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal.
+If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently
+as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did,
+Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance
+of obtaining a verdict.
+
+The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of
+the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine
+nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's
+safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated
+trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this
+matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion
+of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of
+Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by
+the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of
+Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against
+a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an
+offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony,
+would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for
+stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the
+result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and
+yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against
+a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but
+commendable.
+
+Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson
+was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For
+all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable
+country--which, however, he found preferable to his own--he ridiculed
+the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered
+it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that,
+however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the
+likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such
+an excursion.
+
+He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
+Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty
+with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent
+authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition
+of the sage.
+
+It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
+of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste
+as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
+Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that
+if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat
+his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we
+know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the
+idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record
+of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably
+deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to
+silence.
+
+But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be--however
+insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may--according to Johnson--have been,
+there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
+until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
+Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained
+an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined
+to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit
+for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
+
+Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
+was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians,
+they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought
+by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had
+attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems
+rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law
+permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
+
+Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
+joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which
+was felt--or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
+simulated--by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
+the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
+circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had
+not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance
+that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the
+counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old
+Bailey.
+
+When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
+had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
+was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
+Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
+trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works
+which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
+addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of
+his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
+
+He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times
+to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
+friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in
+her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the
+fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too
+busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's
+country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in
+their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their
+practical jests.
+
+He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of
+the pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he
+would see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
+constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both
+of them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure
+that he would be as strong a second time.
+
+This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged--this constant endeavour
+to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life endurable to
+him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, when a coach
+drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had passed, and Mrs.
+Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the change which was
+apparent in his appearance.
+
+â€œGood heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!â€ she cried when she entered his little
+parlour, â€œyou are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
+was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
+you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
+despairing.â€
+
+â€œNay, my dear madam,â€ he said. â€œI am only suffering from a slight attack
+of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
+assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to
+give me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught
+sight of you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a
+moment; I feared that--ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.â€
+
+â€œHowever shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked
+as I was when you appeared before me,â€ said the lady. â€œWhy, dear sir,
+you are killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one
+here to give you the attention which your condition requires.â€
+
+â€œWhat, madam! Am not I a physician myself?â€ said the Doctor, making a
+pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
+
+â€œAh, sir! every moment I am more shocked,â€ said she. â€œI will take you in
+hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now
+I will beg of you to go thither in your own.â€
+
+â€œTo Barton? Oh, my dear madam----â€
+
+â€œNay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
+should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
+interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others
+than to help yourself.â€
+
+â€œHow is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?â€
+
+â€œAh! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
+who could be of the same help to us as you.â€
+
+â€œThere is no one who would be more willing, madam.â€
+
+â€œYou have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that
+mysterious indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced
+that it was you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.â€
+
+â€œAh! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again
+in need of my help.â€
+
+â€œIt is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
+you are interested in her future--in the happiness which we all are
+anxious to secure for her.â€
+
+â€œHappiness? What happiness, dear madam?â€
+
+â€œI will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family--nay, I can
+talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.â€
+
+â€œYou have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.â€
+
+â€œAnd you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day.
+I know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
+Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.â€
+
+â€œNo; she has not told me that.â€
+
+He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
+emotion which he felt.
+
+â€œIt is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally
+settled, and so not worthy of another thought,â€ said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+â€œFinally settled?â€ repeated Goldsmith. â€œThen she has accepted Colonel
+Gwyn's proposal?â€
+
+â€œOn the contrary, sir, she rejected it,â€ said the mother.
+
+He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
+one of gladness?
+
+â€œYes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,â€ said
+the lady. â€œColonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character
+is irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
+convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him--and
+yet she sends him away from her.â€
+
+â€œThat is possibly because she knows her own mind--her own heart, I
+should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.â€
+
+â€œAlas! she is but a girl.â€
+
+â€œNay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives
+is worthy of her.â€
+
+â€œThat may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
+rigidly on that assumption--an assumption which would condemn her to
+live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to
+take a practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely
+concerns the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you
+take a great interest.â€
+
+â€œI would do anything for her happiness.â€
+
+â€œI know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards
+you with the greatest respect and esteem--nay, if I may say it, with
+affection as well.â€
+
+â€œAh! affection--affection for me?â€
+
+â€œYou know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
+for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to
+yield to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit.
+Mary is there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence
+with her on behalf of Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œWhat! I, madam?â€
+
+â€œHas my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell
+you, my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
+yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for
+no one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
+convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion
+while turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
+influence, will you not, dear friend?â€
+
+â€œI must have time to think--to think. How can I answer you at once in
+this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.â€
+
+He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
+looking into the empty grate.
+
+â€œYou are wrong,â€ she said in a low tone. â€œYou are wrong; I know what is
+in your thoughts--in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
+would stand on a different footing in respect to you.â€
+
+â€œAh! a different footing!â€
+
+â€œI think that you are in error in that respect,â€ said the lady.
+â€œMarriage is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is
+not Katherine the same to you now as she was before she married Charles
+Bunbury?â€
+
+He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew
+of what was in his heart!
+
+â€œAh, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,â€ said he.
+
+â€œAnd your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,â€ said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+â€œBut where lies the need for her to marry at once?â€ he inquired. â€œIf she
+were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
+not marry at once; but if she does not love him----â€
+
+â€œWho can say that she does not love him?â€ cried the lady. â€œOh, my dear
+Dr. Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world
+of whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir,
+I was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When
+I married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
+disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
+for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
+woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing
+a just opinion on the subject.â€
+
+â€œI think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.â€
+
+â€œAlas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous
+of seeing her married to a good man--a man with whom her future
+happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend;
+alas! that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates
+her life and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is
+ruled by her heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what
+her uncle, with whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her
+meeting a certain man there--my brother did not make me acquainted with
+his name--and being so carried away with some plausible story he told
+that she actually fancied herself in love with him--actually, until my
+brother, learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop
+to an affair that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her
+heart----â€
+
+â€œYes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.â€
+
+â€œThat is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
+some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
+the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
+fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
+desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?â€
+
+There was a long pause before he said--
+
+â€œMadam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to
+point out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œI knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,â€ cried the
+mother, catching his hand and pressing it. â€œBut I would ask of you not
+to put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl
+with a heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
+direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to
+the ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.â€
+
+â€œYou are a woman.â€
+
+â€œI am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts--her longings--her
+hopes--and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart--ah, Dr.
+Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
+life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?--
+
+               'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
+
+               And finds too late. . .'
+
+To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
+poor Olivia!â€ He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
+in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying--
+
+â€œI will go to her.â€
+
+â€œYou will be saving her--ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,â€
+ cried Mrs. Horneck.
+
+He started slightly.
+
+â€œSaving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?â€
+
+â€œI tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and
+saw you,â€ she replied. â€œYou are ill, sir; you are very ill, and
+the change to the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been
+neglecting yourself--yes, and some one who will nurse you back to life.
+Oh, Barton is the place for you!â€
+
+â€œThere is no place I should like better to die at,â€ said he.
+
+â€œTo die at?â€ she said. â€œNonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
+still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
+you.â€
+
+â€œYour daughter Mary is there,â€ said he.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+He wrote that very evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure,
+one of his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had
+resolved to yield gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant
+to leave for Barton the next day. When that letter was written he gave
+himself up to his thoughts.
+
+All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between
+her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making
+it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought
+himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he,
+Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her
+sister--with the affection which exists between good friends.
+
+While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
+he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
+heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
+had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
+and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
+what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He
+knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done
+that day, she would have told him that she loved him.
+
+Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
+follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
+mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
+led in the future?
+
+Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was
+to be found only in marriage--marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
+undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit
+to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
+undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
+good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
+and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the
+dangers which surrounded her.
+
+Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He
+would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word
+duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his
+argument, tend to frustrate his intention.
+
+He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed,
+and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his
+visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought
+before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a
+moment's consideration.
+
+She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where
+the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was
+even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance.
+While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with
+pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward
+him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself
+painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement
+both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law.
+
+She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
+
+â€œGood Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?â€ he cried. â€œWhy,
+you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?â€
+
+Mary only shook her head.
+
+â€œI have been ill,â€ said Oliver. â€œBut I am better already, having seen
+you both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she
+ready to give me another lesson in loo?â€
+
+â€œShe will give you what you need most, you may be certain,â€ said
+Bunbury, while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. â€œOh! yes; we
+will take care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,â€ he
+continued. â€œYes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are!
+But we'll build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you
+and such as you, my friend.â€
+
+â€œI tell you I am better already,â€ cried Goldsmith; and then, as the
+chaise drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her
+face had become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him;
+she was not even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and
+the ploughed fields.
+
+Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
+uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
+which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton;
+but though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the
+chaise arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her
+guest at the great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the
+depressing effect of her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not
+betray the shock which she experienced on observing how greatly changed
+was her friend since he had been with her and her sister at Ranelagh.
+She met him with a laugh and a cry of â€œYou have never come to us without
+your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, you will e'en have to go back
+for it.â€
+
+The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
+last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
+at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
+vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
+became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for
+his friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
+harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
+Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
+his visit to the house he loved. He felt better--better than he had been
+for months.
+
+In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
+her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
+after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
+imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
+his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily
+the manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of
+the scene, especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she
+declared she had good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so
+greatly as to cause him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea,
+when he had meant to talk about love.
+
+She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much
+character into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to
+imitate, she never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating
+person would be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily
+than Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
+
+Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into
+the already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected
+to understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his
+rejection. A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary,
+and of course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely
+appropriate to Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and
+good-humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done in the
+house which humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done
+in the house which had ever been so delightful to at least one of the
+guests.
+
+He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
+fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
+incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
+extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat
+as the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day
+treated before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
+
+And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to
+him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her
+future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think
+what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only
+by her own sympathetic heart.
+
+He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
+Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
+laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
+of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no
+doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of
+gravity.
+
+The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
+afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with
+Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new
+covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of
+the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and
+jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with
+bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling,
+Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
+
+â€œWhat a housewife we have become!â€ he cried. â€œQuite right, my dear; the
+head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.â€
+
+Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
+the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
+
+â€œI am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,â€ said he, â€œthat I do not enter into the
+spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
+husband.â€
+
+â€œ'Tis foolish on their part,â€ said she. â€œBut Little Comedy is ever on
+the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active
+abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle
+threadbare by now.â€
+
+â€œColonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,â€
+ said he.
+
+â€œIndeed, I agree with you,â€ she cried. â€œI agree with you heartily. I do
+not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
+flattered by his attention?â€
+
+â€œNo--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
+man from the Prince down--or should I say up?â€ he replied.
+
+â€œ'Twould be treason to say so,â€ she laughed. â€œWell, let poor Colonel
+Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way
+of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
+valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never
+saved a poor woman a day's work.â€
+
+â€œI do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,â€ said he quietly. â€œOn the
+contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him.â€
+
+â€œAh, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,â€ said she,
+continuing her work.
+
+â€œMary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,â€
+ said he.
+
+â€œOnly of late!â€ she cried. â€œAh! I flattered myself that I had some of
+your thoughts long ago as well.â€
+
+â€œI have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
+latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.â€ She ceased her work
+and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and
+went to her side.
+
+â€œMy sweet Jessamy Bride,â€ said he, â€œI have thought of your future with
+great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father
+might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent
+upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares.â€
+
+â€œI know that,â€ she quietly said. â€œAh, you know that I have had some
+experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame
+would have been mine!â€
+
+â€œDear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
+affair,â€ said he. â€œIt was your tender heart that led you astray at
+first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But
+alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for
+you.â€
+
+â€œNay; it can become as steel upon occasions,â€ said she. â€œDid not I send
+Colonel Gwyn away from me?â€
+
+â€œYou were wrong to do so, my Mary,â€ he said. â€œColonel Gwyn is a good
+man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able
+to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own
+heart may lead you again as it led you before.â€
+
+â€œYou have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?â€ said she.
+
+â€œYes,â€ he replied. â€œI believe him to be a good man. I believe that as
+his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a
+girl as you in the world.â€
+
+â€œAh! my dear friend,â€ she cried. â€œI have seen enough of the world to
+know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from
+the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only
+begin to beset her on that day?â€
+
+â€œOften--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least,
+not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œEven if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly
+man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
+standpoint of her matchmaking mother.â€
+
+â€œNay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
+way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think
+of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of
+all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
+position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have
+seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.â€
+
+â€œAnd yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?â€
+
+â€œYes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your
+happiness--yes, happiness in the future.â€
+
+â€œSurely no man ever had so good a heart as you!â€ she cried. â€œYou are
+ready to sacrifice yourself--I mean you are ready to forego all the
+pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
+the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
+happiness--or what you fancy will be happiness.â€
+
+â€œI am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.â€
+
+â€œI do,â€ she said after a pause. â€œI do, because I know what it would mean
+to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
+marry Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œNay--nay--do not speak so definitely,â€ he said.
+
+â€œI will speak definitely,â€ she cried. â€œYes, the time is come for me to
+speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of
+being happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else
+with all my heart, I dare not--oh! I dare not even entertain the thought
+of marrying Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œYou love some one else?â€ he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment
+there went through his mind the thought--
+
+â€œ_Her heart has led her astray once again._'â€
+
+â€œI love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,â€ she cried;
+â€œI love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
+world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
+heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.â€
+
+Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
+in a hushed voice--
+
+â€œAh, child--child--spare me that pain--let me go from you.â€
+
+â€œNot till you hear me,â€ she said. â€œAh! cannot you perceive that I love
+you--only you, Oliver Goldsmith?â€
+
+â€œHush--for God's sake!â€ he cried.
+
+â€œI will not hush,â€ she said. â€œI will speak for love's sake--for the sake
+of that love which I bear you--for the sake of that love which I know
+you return.â€
+
+â€œAlas--alas!â€
+
+â€œI know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her
+love for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before
+heaven would be in my keeping silence--in marrying a man I do not love.
+Ah! I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood
+your nature--so sweet--so simple--so great--so true. I thought last year
+when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling which I had for
+you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to know the truth.â€
+
+He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper--
+
+â€œStop--stop--for God's sake, stop! I--I--do not love you.â€
+
+She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
+died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes
+fixed upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
+
+â€œYou do not love me?â€ she said in a slow whisper. â€œWill you say those
+words again with your eyes looking into mine?â€
+
+â€œDo not humiliate me further,â€ he said. â€œHave some pity upon me.â€
+
+â€œNo--no; pity is not for me,â€ she said. â€œIf you spoke the truth when you
+said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not love
+me.â€
+
+â€œYou say you know me,â€ he cried, â€œand yet you think it possible that
+I could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and
+sympathetic heart has made for your own undoing. Look there--there--into
+that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.â€
+
+He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
+exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
+and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark--a
+figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
+
+â€œLook at that ludicrous contrast, my child,â€ he said, â€œand you will see
+what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which
+have been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the
+pain they gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in
+the future? Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who
+have been kinder than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune
+that could befall them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I
+could be so base.â€
+
+â€œI will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
+worthy of being loved of all men in the world,â€ said she. â€œAh, sir,
+cannot you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my
+affection for you?â€
+
+â€œMary--Mary--this is madness!â€
+
+â€œListen to me,â€ she said. â€œI feel that you return my affection; but I
+will put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that
+you do not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+There was another pause before he said--
+
+â€œHave I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
+ordeal? Let me go--let me go.â€
+
+â€œNot until you answer me--not until I have proved you. Look into my
+eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
+now.â€
+
+â€œAh, dear child----â€
+
+â€œYou cannot speak those words.â€ There was another long silence. The
+terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
+are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
+maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
+whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
+before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
+expectation.
+
+He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
+way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
+said slowly--
+
+â€œIt is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.â€
+
+â€œThat is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!â€
+
+She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
+
+He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
+the room--out of the house.
+
+In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much
+of the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
+impulse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became
+alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went
+out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
+
+Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
+still-room, he inquired.
+
+She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell.
+
+â€œI am afraid that his running away was due to me,â€ she said. â€œIf so, I
+shall never forgive myself.â€
+
+â€œWhat can be your meaning, my dear?â€ he inquired. â€œI thought that you
+and he had always been the closest friends.â€
+
+â€œIf we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,â€ said
+she. â€œYou know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance
+of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and
+begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the
+proposal of Colonel Gwyn.â€
+
+â€œI heard nothing of that,â€ said he, with a look of astonishment. â€œAnd so
+I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
+said something that offended him.â€
+
+She held down her head.
+
+â€œYou should be ashamed of yourself,â€ said he â€œHave you not seen long ago
+that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?â€
+
+â€œI am ashamed of myself,â€ said she. â€œI shall never forgive myself for my
+harshness.â€
+
+â€œThat will not bring him back,â€ said her brother-in-law. â€œOh! it is
+always the best of friends who part in this fashion.â€
+
+Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
+so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
+felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
+induce him to return.
+
+But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
+back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
+face was very grave.
+
+â€œI saw the poor fellow,â€ he said. â€œI found him at his chambers in Brick
+Court. He is very ill indeed.â€
+
+â€œWhat, too ill to be moved?â€ she cried. He shook his head.
+
+â€œFar too ill to be moved,â€ he said. â€œI never saw a man in worse
+condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks
+before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love
+to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he
+says.â€
+
+â€œHis rudeness! his rudeness!â€ said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
+tears. â€œOh, my poor friend--my poor friend!â€ She did not tell her sister
+all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious
+to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen
+him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had
+promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to
+the country.
+
+The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the
+postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a
+letter from the doctor.
+
+No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
+Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
+
+When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
+sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand--poems addressed to her--the
+love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
+hopeless years.
+
+She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
+
+She started up, crying--
+
+â€œAh! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me--he loves me as I love him--only
+his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love--he loves me,
+and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
+sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself--nay, he has sacrificed
+himself for me--for me!â€
+
+She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
+
+â€œMy dear--dear sister,â€ said Katherine, â€œis it possible that
+you--you----â€
+
+â€œThat I loved him, do you ask?â€ cried Mary, raising her head. â€œYes, I
+loved him--I love him still--I shall never love any one else, and I am
+going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good--God will be good. My
+love shall live until I go to him.â€
+
+â€œMy poor child!â€ said her sister. â€œI could never have guessed your
+secret. Come away. We will go to him together.â€
+
+They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
+together to Brick Court.
+
+A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
+Abington.
+
+â€œDo not tell me that I am too late--for God's sake say that he still
+lives!â€ cried Mary.
+
+The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
+
+She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at
+the girl, and the girl understood.
+
+She threw herself into her sister's arms.
+
+â€œHe is dead!â€ she cried. â€œBut, thank God, he did not die without knowing
+that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.â€
+
+â€œThat surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
+Presence,â€ said Mrs. Abington. â€œAh, my child, I am a wicked woman, but
+I know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the
+thought of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever
+lived. Ah, there was none like him--a man of such sweet simplicity
+that every word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his
+works; you and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not
+less than those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the
+Son who on earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.â€
+
+Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
+
+She went with her sister among the weeping men and women--he had been a
+friend to all--up the stairs and into the darkened room.
+
+She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51951 ***
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-      The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
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-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Jessamy Bride
-
-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951]
-Last Updated: March 13, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-    <div style="height: 8em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h1>
-      THE JESSAMY BRIDE
-    </h1>
-    <h2>
-      By Frank Frankfort Moore
-    </h2>
-    <h4>
-      Author Of &ldquo;The Impudent Comedian,&rdquo; Etc.
-    </h4>
-    <h3>
-      With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
-    </h3>
-    <h4>
-      New York
-    </h4>
-    <h4>
-      Duffield &amp; Company
-    </h4>
-    <h3>
-      1906
-    </h3>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <h3>
-      THE JESSAMY BRIDE
-    </h3>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <b>CONTENTS</b>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER I.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir,&rdquo; said Dr.
-      Johnson, &ldquo;we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are a company of
-      intelligent men&mdash;although I allow that we should have difficulty in
-      proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down with a
-      Scotchman&mdash;and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
-      intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
-      ignorance and maintained by sophistry.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even the
-      most intelligent of men&mdash;whom I take to be myself&mdash;is interfered
-      with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
-      another.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
-      Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced&mdash;with some
-      care&mdash;that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile
-      in the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
-      faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
-      conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, and
-      the latter&mdash;as Burke perceived in a moment&mdash;was solemn in
-      mimicry of Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on
-      his chair and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell
-      turned an eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so
-      that he might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon
-      Garrick's face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right
-      hand that he put behind his ear.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
-      Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious and
-      unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their heads in
-      the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces were identical
-      as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who is greatly
-      grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures worked by the
-      same machinery, they turned their heads again toward Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;your endeavour to evade the consequences of
-      maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching upon
-      mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
-      intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I cannot
-      permit to pass unrebuked.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; cried Boswell, eagerly, &ldquo;I cannot believe that Dr. Goldsmith's
-      intention was so monstrous.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
-      positive proof that the contrary is the case,&rdquo; roared Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Men have been hanged on less,&rdquo; remarked Burke. &ldquo;But, to return to the
-      original matter, I should like to know upon what facts&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art would
-      indeed be a departure,&rdquo; said Goldsmith solemnly. &ldquo;I cannot countenance a
-      proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
-      you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?&rdquo; said
-      Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so&mdash;that's not just
-      the same thing,&rdquo; laughed Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
-      imagination,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;That is the most satisfactory arrangement.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, for the author,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Some time ago it was the book which
-      was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;These sallies are all very well in their way,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;but their
-      brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that Dr.
-      Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
-      included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses no
-      more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with the
-      exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
-      statesman&mdash;another branch of the same profession&mdash;and therefore
-      we are vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,&rdquo; said
-      Johnson. &ldquo;It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence&mdash;nay, even
-      to Boswell's&mdash;that acting is a trick, not a profession&mdash;a
-      diversion, not an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended
-      to the contrary.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It must only have been in sport, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell mildly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,&rdquo; cried Johnson, &ldquo;but he
-      has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
-      having you as his advocate.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce an
-      opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. &ldquo;His fine sense of humour&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
-      return from Corsica?&rdquo; shouted Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,&rdquo; said Garrick,
-      &ldquo;but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of a
-      wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied by Mr.
-      Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as outcasts
-      because we happen to be actors?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,&rdquo; cried Johnson. &ldquo;And good enough for
-      you too, you rascal!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
-      become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who have
-      relations in the church, to make such an assertion,&rdquo; said Johnson sternly.
-      &ldquo;What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in your
-      estimation?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither could
-      the stage look for another Garrick?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street delighted
-      the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,&rdquo; cried Johnson; and when he
-      perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay back in his
-      chair and roared with laughter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Reynolds took snuff.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the puppets&mdash;I
-      heard him myself,&rdquo; said Boswell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
-      that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,&rdquo; said
-      Burke. &ldquo;You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. Boswell. But
-      to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; surely, Dr. Johnson,
-      you will allow that an actor of genius is at least on a level with a
-      musician of genius.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
-      satisfy you,&rdquo; replied Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that of
-      Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,&rdquo; said Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and Piozzi
-      the ill luck to be an Italian,&rdquo; replied Johnson. &ldquo;Sir, 't is no use
-      affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the arts.
-      I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that you
-      actually believe what your words would imply.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,&rdquo; said Goldsmith: &ldquo;whether you will
-      have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, just as
-      there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really interesting
-      to me personally,&rdquo; said Garrick, rising; &ldquo;but the fact is that I rashly
-      made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for perhaps twenty
-      minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some agreement on a
-      matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. Burke and
-      myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal education
-      in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I can
-      bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The dog is well enough,&rdquo; said Johnson; &ldquo;but he has need to be kept in his
-      place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him in
-      his place he will tolerate as he does mine.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith.
-      &ldquo;Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
-      as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
-      we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Dr. Johnson, &ldquo;your question is as ridiculous as anything you
-      have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say a
-      good deal.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his attempts
-      to shine,&rdquo; whispered Boswell to Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice heard
-      in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,&rdquo; said Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?&rdquo; asked Boswell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A Niagara?&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it in
-      his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a Niagara
-      is.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
-      undertone. &ldquo;Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER II.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he conversation
-      took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the Strand, where the party
-      had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as good company as usual. There
-      was a general feeling that he had rarely insulted Boswell so frequently in
-      the course of a single evening&mdash;but then, Boswell had rarely so laid
-      himself open to insult as he had upon this evening&mdash;and when he had
-      finished with the Scotchman, he turned his attention to Garrick, the
-      opportunity being afforded him by Oliver Goldsmith, who had been unguarded
-      enough to say a word or two regarding that which he termed &ldquo;the art of
-      acting.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,&rdquo; cried the great dictator. &ldquo;Who
-      gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
-      acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler who
-      kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. Madame
-      Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight rope,
-      will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter&mdash;nay, every poodle that
-      dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission of
-      acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as Johnson
-      asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; it was in
-      vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included among the
-      arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the standing of
-      artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose that the
-      tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their claims to be on a
-      level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of humanity. Dr.
-      Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to him most
-      courteously by his friends.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told Burke
-      he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was thoroughly
-      Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and eminently
-      capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements of a
-      clubable man.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
-      in reducing the others of the party to silence&mdash;all except Boswell,
-      who, as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point
-      of theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
-      he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
-      successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
-      distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what Dr.
-      Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray, sir,&rdquo; said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
-      ear-trumpet and his oracle&mdash;his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet
-      was as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. &ldquo;Pray, sir, is there any
-      evidence among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of
-      man was imperishable?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, &ldquo;there is evidence that the
-      ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a <i>memento mori</i>
-      at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, sir?&rdquo; said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such an
-      object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to accept
-      the offer of a dinner,&rdquo; said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest manner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. He
-      felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,&rdquo; he murmured, but in no
-      deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every one
-      present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was necessary
-      for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he was the
-      recipient.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, Goldy,&rdquo; cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, &ldquo;you must not
-      be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
-      better of you in the argument.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Argument, sir?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I protest that I was not aware that any
-      argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
-      argument, Doctor.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. Boswell,
-      sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, with a twinkle.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
-      the wolf,&rdquo; muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
-      for his Animated Nature.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
-      to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
-      to obtain permission to join the party.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?&rdquo; said Goldsmith,
-      who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell, &ldquo;you have told us more than once that you had a
-      cousin who was a dignitary of the church.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Have I, indeed?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Then I suppose, if I said so, this must
-      be the very man. A Dean, is he?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common room
-      of a tavern,&rdquo; said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any sudden
-      addition to his audience of an evening. &ldquo;If your relation were an
-      Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
-      the order to show him into this room.&rdquo; Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
-      He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone told
-      the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face undoubtedly
-      wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any of his friends,
-      before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and somewhat undersized
-      clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands and apron of a
-      dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect carriage that
-      gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was white, but his
-      eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in one eye.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. It
-      contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table twenty
-      minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, perceived
-      in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to that with which
-      Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A little jerk which the
-      visitor gave in raising his head was laughably like a motion made by
-      Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, &ldquo;I entreat of you
-      to be seated.&rdquo; His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
-      although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made an
-      attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have regarded
-      him as sincere. &ldquo;Nay, gentlemen, I insist,&rdquo; continued the stranger; &ldquo;you
-      embarrass me with your courtesy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you will not find that any company over which I have
-      the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, with a
-      deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
-      of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. &ldquo;Ah! I do not need to ask which of
-      this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly&mdash;I beg your pardon,
-      Oliver&mdash;ah, old times&mdash;old times!&rdquo; He had caught Goldsmith's
-      hands in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
-      Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of a
-      smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long silence
-      that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an element of
-      pathos.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
-      all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was now
-      worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I ask your pardon, sir,&rdquo; he said, gravely, &ldquo;but&mdash;sir, I am a painter&mdash;my
-      name is Reynolds&mdash;and&mdash;well, sir, the family resemblance between
-      you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith&mdash;a resemblance that perhaps
-      only a painter's eye could detect&mdash;seemed to me so extraordinary as
-      you stood together, that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,&rdquo; cried the visitor. &ldquo;My cousin
-      Oliver and I have not met for&mdash;how many years is it, Nolly? Not
-      eleven&mdash;no, it cannot be eleven&mdash;and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir,&rdquo; said Oliver, &ldquo;time is fugitive&mdash;very fugitive.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He shook his head sadly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
-      wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,&rdquo; said the stranger.
-      &ldquo;But you must present me to your friends, Noll&mdash;Oliver, I mean. You,
-      sir&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Reynolds&mdash;&ldquo;have told me your name. Am I
-      fortunate enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there
-      can be no doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am
-      your servant. And you, sir&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Burke&mdash;&ldquo;I seem to have
-      seen your face somewhere&mdash;it is strangely familiar&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
-      recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of pride,
-      as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The clergyman made
-      precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying&mdash;&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty&mdash;the friend of the
-      people?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The same, sir,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
-      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then he is my friend also,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;Sir, to be in a position
-      to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You do me great honor, sir,&rdquo; said Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
-      Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so far
-      neglected.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mr. Burke, you are our countryman&mdash;Oliver's and mine&mdash;and I
-      know you are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have
-      a talk with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;With all my power, sir,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Give me your hand again, sir. Mrs.
-      Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an honour upon
-      the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
-      you work with your arm that way?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,&rdquo; said Oliver.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;They can wait,&rdquo; cried Mr. Dean. &ldquo;They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
-      Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
-      mortified at what I have said.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;This is Mr. Boswell, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell&mdash;of where, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell, of&mdash;of Scotland, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. Your
-      clergymen might be better employed, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Boswell, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you ever
-      visit your country again&mdash;a remote possibility, from all that I can
-      learn of your countrymen.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-       began Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, you would condone his offence?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;The fact of your having
-      a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still sadly lax
-      in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
-      bowing profoundly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I have long desired to meet you, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am your servant, Mr. Dean,&rdquo; said Johnson, towering above him as he got&mdash;somewhat
-      awkwardly&mdash;upon his feet. &ldquo;No gentleman of your cloth, sir&mdash;leaving
-      aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in the church to
-      which you have attained&mdash;fails to obtain my respect.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am glad of that, sir,&rdquo; said the Dean. &ldquo;It shows that you, though a
-      Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal on behalf
-      of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not disposed to
-      relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration for the
-      church.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
-      &ldquo;Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. I am
-      not a Non-conformist&mdash;on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
-      quarter.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke to a
-      subordinate. &ldquo;Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened country
-      and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you in the
-      company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe that you were
-      the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of conscience. I regret
-      that I was mistaken.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, in great consternation&mdash;for Johnson was
-      rendered speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked,
-      instead of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. &ldquo;Sir, this is
-      the great Dr. Johnson&mdash;nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
-      weak,&rdquo; said the clergyman, smiling. &ldquo;Well, well, we will take the honest
-      gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one sense:
-      he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one scale. To
-      such greatness we would do well to bow.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Heavens, sir!&rdquo; said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in it.
-      &ldquo;Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;I am but a country parson. I cannot be
-      expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
-      Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;ah!
-      you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though I doubt not you
-      are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you written that
-      entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence of such gentlemen
-      as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and&mdash;I add with pride&mdash;Oliver
-      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,&rdquo; muttered Boswell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And he has doubtless greatness enough&mdash;avoirdupois&mdash;to serve
-      for both! Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to
-      speak for himself, tell me what he has written.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
-      Corsica,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy altitude
-      in literature?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are surely jesting, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The world is familiar with
-      Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no need
-      for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the work
-      appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0037.jpg" alt="0037 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up a
-      volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown and
-      Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his wont,
-      until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
-      with greater tenderness,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;I would fain hope that the
-      purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the work of
-      others. When did he bring out his dictionary?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Eighteen years ago,&rdquo; said Oliver.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And what books has he written within the intervening years?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
-      our authors.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
-      eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, cousin,
-      have written many works that the world would not willingly be without; and
-      I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable list; but your
-      friend&mdash;oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!&mdash;he is no true worker
-      in literature, or he would&mdash;nay, he could not, have remained idle all
-      these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not use his
-      pen?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He has a pension from the King, sir,&rdquo; stuttered Oliver. &ldquo;I tell you, sir,
-      he is the most learned man in Europe.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His is a sad case,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;To refrain from administering to
-      him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious duty.&rdquo; He
-      took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. Goldsmith fell into
-      a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke and
-      Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. &ldquo;Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said the
-      stranger, &ldquo;I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to urge upon you to
-      amend your way of life.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; shouted Johnson, &ldquo;if you were not a clergyman I would say that you
-      were a very impertinent fellow!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience&mdash;if you have
-      one&mdash;tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure
-      the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
-      room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
-      acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
-      have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
-      friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
-      friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
-      though they are workers&mdash;not without honour&mdash;at that profession
-      of letters which you despise&mdash;nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you
-      did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your
-      life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that
-      a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
-      of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson,
-      if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be
-      regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners
-      at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ
-      from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness
-      and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray
-      you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen,
-      Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He made a general bow&mdash;an awkward bow&mdash;and walked with some
-      dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the
-      room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER III.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he had
-      disappeared, the room was very silent.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
-      buried in his hands, started up, crying out, &ldquo;'Rasse-las, Prince of
-      Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he published
-      'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?&rdquo; He ran to the door and opened it,
-      calling downstairs: &ldquo;'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!&rdquo; &ldquo;Rasselas, Prince of
-      Abyssinia'!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; came the roar of Dr. Johnson. &ldquo;Close that door and return to your
-      chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
-      which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
-      decently.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith shut the door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I did you a gross injustice, sir,&rdquo; said he, returning slowly to the
-      table. &ldquo;I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book since
-      your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the moment I
-      forgot your 'Rasselas.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force of
-      your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;If I am
-      suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
-      volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
-      industry.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Those who know you, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;do not need any evidence of
-      your industry. As for that man&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Let the man alone, sir,&rdquo; thundered Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?&rdquo; said Boswell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next to
-      a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; and,
-      in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, no, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell. &ldquo;We deny your generous plea of justification.
-      Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written even within the
-      year.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the&mdash;well, the less I think of
-      them, if you will allow me the paradox,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;Sir, the man is
-      right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my
-      compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can forgive
-      him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my Dictionary.
-      Pray what is his name, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His name, sir, his name?&rdquo; faltered Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,&rdquo; said Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His name, sir, is&mdash;is&mdash;God help me, sir, I know not what is his
-      name.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell tells
-      me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did so in a
-      spirit of boasting, you erred.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
-      in a low tone:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,&rdquo; cried Boswell. &ldquo;You boasted of
-      him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Burke with a smile.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
-      nature are maintained when one hears his voice,&rdquo; remarked Goldsmith in a
-      low tone.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,&rdquo; said Reynolds as the door was opened and
-      Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced to
-      the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. &ldquo;Mr.
-      Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Whatever he may be on some other points,&rdquo; remarked Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
-      you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May I
-      inquire the reason of the difference?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You may not, sir!&rdquo; shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
-      acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that it
-      would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he knew
-      that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick were to
-      hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene for the
-      entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had heard more
-      than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield had created by
-      his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, played an important
-      part. He had been congratulating himself upon the fortunate absence of the
-      actor during the visit of the clergyman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,&rdquo; he repeated, as Garrick looked
-      with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Boswell, &ldquo;my veracity is called in question.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
-      that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?&rdquo; cried Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, one question,&rdquo; said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
-      &ldquo;Mr. Garrick&mdash;have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for
-      a relative?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, no, sir,&rdquo; replied Garrick; &ldquo;but I heard him say that he had a
-      brother who deserved to be a Dean.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And so I had,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
-      poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
-      concerned,&rdquo; said Johnson; &ldquo;but it seemed to me that some of the man's
-      gestures&mdash;nay, some of the tones of his voice as well&mdash;resembled
-      those of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table
-      noticed the similarity to which I allude.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I certainly noticed it,&rdquo; cried Boswell eagerly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your evidence is not admissible, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;What does Sir
-      Joshua Reynolds say?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, &ldquo;I
-      confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
-      regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
-      was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But if not, sir, how can you account for&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Be silent, sir,&rdquo; he thundered. &ldquo;If you have left your manners in Scotland
-      in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for the gift
-      was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country in that
-      respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken touching
-      this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in the light of
-      a personal affront.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the past
-      half-hour than any of this company.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, Davy,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
-      dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, sir,
-      and of what nature was your diversion?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;I have been with a poet.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;So have we, sir&mdash;with the greatest poet alive&mdash;the author of
-      'The Deserted Village'&mdash;and yet you enter to find us immoderately
-      glum,&rdquo; said Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he
-      did not regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he
-      quite believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
-      relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Mine
-      was only a sort of poet.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?&rdquo; asked Boswell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,&rdquo; replied
-      Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
-      for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who was
-      anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just written.
-      The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house in the
-      Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was short,
-      it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated by
-      Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman&mdash;he wore
-      the bands and apron of a Dean,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;not seeming to notice the
-      little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
-      grasped me by the arm,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;doubtless recognising me from my
-      portraits&mdash;for he said he had never seen me act&mdash;and then began
-      an harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
-      that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction than my
-      neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, gentlemen,
-      he took it quite as a family grievance.&rdquo; Suddenly he paused, and looked
-      around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest were grave. A
-      thought seemed to strike the narrator. &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is not
-      possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, the Dean,
-      regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'tis an extraordinary
-      coincidence that I should have encountered him&mdash;unless&mdash;good
-      heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here when I had thrown him
-      off?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried Oliver, &ldquo;I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no Dean,
-      entered this room!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court on
-      your return,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Oh, yes, Doctor!&mdash;a small man with the
-      family bow of the Goldsmiths&mdash;something like this.&rdquo; He gave a comical
-      reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of mine,&rdquo;
-       protested Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And let that be the end of the matter,&rdquo; declared Johnson, with no lack of
-      decisiveness in his voice.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman again,&rdquo;
-       laughed Garrick. &ldquo;I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was endeavouring
-      to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version of 'The Deserted
-      Village'&mdash;he said he had the version at his lodging, and meant to
-      read it to his cousin&mdash;I ask your pardon, sir, but he said 'cousin.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, let us have no more of this&mdash;cousin or no cousin,&rdquo; roared
-      Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is my prayer, sir&mdash;I utter it with all my heart and soul,&rdquo; said
-      Garrick. &ldquo;It was about my poet I meant to speak&mdash;my poet and his
-      play. What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as
-      the subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme of
-      theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that scoundrel
-      Foote,&rdquo; said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite himself again,
-      and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with that finality which
-      carried conviction with it&mdash;yes, to James Boswell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details of
-      his interview with the poet who&mdash;according to his account&mdash;had
-      designed the drama of &ldquo;Otaheite&rdquo; in order to afford Garrick an opportunity
-      of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in feathers, and
-      beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while he delivered a
-      series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to Mars, Vulcan and
-      Diana.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;My poet
-      explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to his
-      advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; and
-      when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite could
-      know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea Islanders
-      were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights in the Pagan
-      mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that the Romans should
-      claim a monopoly of Diana.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's contention
-      was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief to his mind to
-      have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the argument, though
-      he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in the poet's argument.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
-      question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
-      of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
-      mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
-      hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
-      force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
-      originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
-      tragedy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson apart&mdash;greatly
-      to the pique of Boswell&mdash;and said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
-      will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
-      you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You deserve no favour, Goldy,&rdquo; said Johnson, laying his hand on the
-      little man's shoulder, &ldquo;and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants you
-      one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your debtor.
-      Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting you a
-      favour.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You say everything better than any living man, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith.
-      &ldquo;How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
-      suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am anxious
-      to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I have
-      written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;we have been good friends for several
-      years now.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Undoubtedly, sir&mdash;long before you became recognised as the most
-      melodious of our poets&mdash;the most diverting of our play-writers. I
-      wrote the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for
-      your second&mdash;nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and
-      if it be damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my
-      tragedy of 'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr.
-      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
-      his eyes and his voice as he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your generosity overpowers me, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER IV.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>oswell, who was
-      standing to one side watching&mdash;-his eyes full of curiosity and his
-      ears strained to catch by chance a word&mdash;the little scene that was
-      being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care that Johnson should
-      be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's house necessitated a
-      walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; but this was nothing to
-      Boswell, who had every confidence in his own capability to extract from
-      his great patron some account of the secrets which had been exchanged in
-      the corner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object&mdash;nay,
-      when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
-      Johnson turned upon him, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell you
-      that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, woman
-      or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be a
-      friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, who had
-      every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by you,
-      sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
-      good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month of
-      inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during the
-      summer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
-      Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house in
-      Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through Goldsmith's,
-      and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was very eloquent in
-      his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, he said, in spite of
-      the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an impostor calling himself
-      his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to receive the dedication of the
-      new comedy. Burke, who understood the temperament of his countryman, felt
-      that he himself might surpass in eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he
-      took for his text the magnanimity of the author of &ldquo;The Good Natured Man.&rdquo;
-       He, however, refrained from the attempt to prove to his companion that
-      there were other ways by which a man could gain a reputation for
-      generosity than by permitting the most distinguished writer of the age to
-      dedicate a comedy to him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
-      quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds was
-      as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at a corner
-      so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of ear-shot, he laid
-      his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
-      friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy&mdash;the
-      greatest genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy,
-      and there never will be another such.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon his
-      face, every gesture that he made corresponding. &ldquo;Sir, I protest that you
-      are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, but
-      as for the rascality&mdash;well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both a
-      great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
-      example, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
-      device as that bow which you made, Davy,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;It presented
-      before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths&mdash;all made in the same
-      fashion as our friend on in front, and all striving&mdash;-and not
-      unsuccessfully, either&mdash;to maintain the family tradition of the
-      Goldsmith bow. And then your imitation of your imitation of the same
-      movement&mdash;how did we contain ourselves&mdash;Burke and I?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?&rdquo; said Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I'm convinced that he did.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
-      tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
-      certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to him
-      and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson and
-      never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
-      David.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, my
-      friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
-      Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are others
-      who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man to offer
-      an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
-      attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
-      man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow a bad
-      word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole dozen
-      could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our friend Mr.
-      Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of generosity
-      because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at them, but
-      preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I would
-      rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of a dozen
-      yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such as Bunbury. On
-      the same principle, I have no particular liking to be preserved to make
-      sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that literary three-decker,
-      Johnson.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
-      schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up my
-      mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an actor being
-      a degrading-one&mdash;about an actor being on the level with a fiddler&mdash;nay,
-      one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old schoolmaster a
-      more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it is probable that
-      he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain truths which were
-      told to him by the Dean.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
-      Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled by
-      that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
-      characteristics of the Goldsmith family.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour&mdash;declaring that he had
-      never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
-      magnanimous, David&mdash;as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an
-      arm, plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a
-      grain or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I
-      have seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
-      commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
-      force the immorality of the whole proceeding.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
-      and Burke&mdash;the former still talking eagerly&mdash;having waited for
-      them to come up.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Reynolds, &ldquo;you have all gone out of your accustomed way
-      to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
-      refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
-      opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
-      Betty Hamilton.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;<i>O matre pulchra filia pulchrior</i>&rdquo; said Goldsmith; but there was not
-      much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been the
-      loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
-      Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
-      servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out by
-      the servant.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I have to entreat your forgiveness
-      for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
-      absence.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;I
-      cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
-      picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made a
-      point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside when
-      she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
-      to your Lordship's eye,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,&rdquo; said the young man, but
-      with no great show of ardour. &ldquo;It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also a
-      beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side of
-      the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick&mdash;two birds with the one stone, you
-      know?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;True, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,&rdquo; said the young man.
-      &ldquo;Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at the
-      Pantheon to-night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is it not a mask?&rdquo; said Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, finer sport even than that,&rdquo; laughed the youth. &ldquo;We are going to do
-      more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in twenty
-      years, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?&rdquo; inquired Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,&rdquo;
-       cried Lord Stanley. &ldquo;Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
-      acquainted with them?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have often longed for that privilege,&rdquo; said Lord Stanley, bowing in
-      reply to the salutation of the others. &ldquo;Mr. Burke's speech on the Marriage
-      Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always been my
-      favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, Dr.
-      Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
-      distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
-      invite you all to the Pantheon&mdash;here are tickets to the show. You
-      will give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night
-      when Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas, my Lord,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;that privilege will be in the hands of Mr.
-      Col-man.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
-      you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to act
-      my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with an
-      air of mystery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What does he mean?&rdquo; asked Reynolds.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is what I have been asking myself,&rdquo; replied Garrick. &ldquo;By heavens, I
-      have it!&rdquo; he cried after a pause of a few moments. &ldquo;I have heard rumours
-      of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers of the
-      Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of Vauxhall
-      and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the entrance
-      of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the leader of the
-      scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also one of the plot. Let
-      us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss being-present for the
-      world.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am not so eager,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;I have my work to engage me early
-      in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to be
-      on foot.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have not, thank heaven!&rdquo; cried Garrick; &ldquo;nor has Dr. Goldsmith, I'll
-      swear. As for Burke&mdash;well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
-      seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;We need a frolic,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;God knows we had a dull enough
-      dinner at the Crown and Anchor.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;An Irishman and a frolic are like&mdash;well, let us say like Lady Betty
-      and your macaw, Sir Joshua,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;They go together very
-      naturally.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER V.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir Joshua entered
-      his house, and the others hastened northward to the Oxford road, where the
-      Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a year for the entertainment
-      of the fashionable world&mdash;a more fashionable world, it was hoped,
-      than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. From a
-      hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and fashion sought their
-      entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly Rooms when the weather
-      failed to allow of their meeting at the two great public gardens. But as
-      the government of the majority of these places invariably became lax&mdash;there
-      was only one Beau Nash who had the cleverness to perceive that an
-      autocracy was the only possible form of government for such assemblies&mdash;the
-      committee of the Pantheon determined to frame so strict a code of rules,
-      bearing upon the admission of visitors, as should, they believed, prevent
-      the place from falling to the low level of the gardens.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
-      there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
-      excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
-      maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
-      most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed to
-      enter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions as
-      eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
-      sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going to
-      those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such persons
-      understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be optimists in
-      regard to the question of the possibility of combining Puritanism and
-      promiscuous entertainments terminating long after midnight. They hailed
-      the arrival of the time when innocent recreation would not be incompatible
-      with the display of the richest dresses or the most sumptuous figures.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
-      the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
-      best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
-      the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
-      published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
-      artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility of
-      actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually scandalous.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
-      declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
-      resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
-      affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying out
-      of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make the
-      management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in endeavouring
-      to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the thoroughfare
-      was then called, the result of this meeting was making itself felt. The
-      road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for something unusual to
-      occur, though of what form it was to assume no one seemed to be aware. The
-      crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They cheered heartily every coach
-      that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed ladies to the Pantheon and to
-      other and less public entertainments. They waved their hats over the
-      chairs which, similarly burdened, went swinging along between the bearers,
-      footmen walking on each side and link-boys running in advance, the glare
-      of their torches giving additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows
-      who had the chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an
-      officer of the Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and
-      occasionally a jostling match took place between some supercilious young
-      beau and the apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force
-      his way. More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of
-      the lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
-      next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
-      with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
-      Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, drew
-      his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the crowd.
-      It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a space
-      was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was thrown
-      to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy dropped
-      upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the crowd
-      cheered and jeered in turn.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
-      frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
-      dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
-      use both.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, all
-      the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, and
-      there was a cry of, &ldquo;Here they come&mdash;here she comes&mdash;a cheer for
-      Mrs. Baddeley!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;O Lord,&rdquo; cried Garrick, &ldquo;they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
-      Baddeley for their experiment!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-      &ldquo;They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. Baddeley.
-      There are many gradations in colour between black and white.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But not between black and White's,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;This notion is well
-      worthy of the wit of White's.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,&rdquo; said
-      Garrick. &ldquo;But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
-      cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene as
-      this,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week after
-      to-night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;By my soul!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;she looks as if she would give double that
-      sum to be safe at home in bed.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
-      the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
-      through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance in
-      front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold and
-      silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
-      gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, and
-      they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one side was
-      the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. Hanger,
-      equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was immediately
-      behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of the lady's
-      escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was seated,
-      smiling&mdash;&mdash;&ldquo;Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,&rdquo; Burke
-      remarked.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;she was always the better actress. I am
-      fortunate in having her in my new comedy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,&rdquo; said
-      Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
-      several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
-      the Duchesses,&rdquo; said Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
-      sway,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
-      will emancipate him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If so he is in error,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;The Duchess of Argyll will never let
-      him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady Betty.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Till then, do you say?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Faith, sir, if he fancies he
-      will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had a
-      very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady is
-      most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
-      Reynolds.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to Lady
-      Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be a <i>fait
-      accompli</i>; but there were rumours that the young man had of late been
-      making an effort to release himself&mdash;that it was only with difficulty
-      the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon her daughter,
-      whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
-      crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
-      friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
-      dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
-      gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
-      plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
-      that a voice cried&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow them
-      to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!&rdquo; The discordant
-      note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment a seasonable
-      one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up a
-      shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a Methodist
-      service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with which the
-      early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another direction a
-      ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as well as men; but
-      above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the preacher was heard.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;By my soul,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;that effect is strikingly dramatic. I should
-      like to find some one who would give me a play with such a scene.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in the
-      act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned suddenly
-      round.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I'll take your order, sir,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Only you will have to pay me
-      handsomely.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
-      escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?&rdquo; said Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,&rdquo; cried Captain Horneck&mdash;Goldsmith's
-      &ldquo;Captain in lace.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
-      would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to my
-      Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
-      happen.&rdquo; Then he turned to Goldsmith. &ldquo;Come along, Nolly, my friend,&rdquo; he
-      cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; &ldquo;if you want a scene for your new
-      comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not wearing the
-      peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to be resisted,
-      whatever you wear.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. &ldquo;I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
-      stop at the porch of the Pantheon.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;As a matter of course you will come,&rdquo; said young Horneck. &ldquo;Let us hasten
-      out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin to
-      preach!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
-      arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as they
-      could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his companion,
-      that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but for the fact
-      that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord Albemarle, and that
-      his mother had entreated him not to do anything that might jeopardise the
-      match.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,&rdquo; said Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
-      means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
-      would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that his
-      act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,&rdquo; said the Captain.
-      &ldquo;Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
-      But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty and
-      the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,&rdquo; said Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER VI.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party found, on
-      approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being under the guidance of
-      Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have had considerable
-      difficulty getting near the porch of the building, where the crowds were
-      most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed his way quite
-      good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the people, and was
-      followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little way behind. But as
-      soon as the latter couple came within the light of the hundred lamps which
-      hung around the porch, they were recognised and cheered by the crowd, who
-      made a passage for them to the entrance just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was
-      set down.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed in
-      front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a line on
-      each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped out&mdash;she
-      could not be persuaded to do so for some time&mdash;and walked between the
-      ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered the points of
-      their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy than they would
-      have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at that period were
-      doing their best to obtain some recognition.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the &ldquo;business&rdquo; of the part which she had to
-      play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding herself
-      confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick standing at one
-      side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he bowed with exquisite
-      irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit was too much for her.
-      Forgetting that she was playing the part of a <i>grande dame</i>, she
-      turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her hands&mdash;one
-      holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan&mdash;crying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's the
-      prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,&rdquo; said Garrick
-      gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
-      porch.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
-      serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
-      collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
-      side of the lady.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
-      What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
-      visitor?&rdquo; he shouted to the liveried porter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,&rdquo;
-       replied the man.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,&rdquo; said the young
-      gentleman. &ldquo;Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,&rdquo; replied the man.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Mr. Hanger,&rdquo; replied the frightened actress, &ldquo;I wish not to be the
-      cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, &ldquo;I know that it is not your
-      will that we should come in active contest with the representatives of
-      authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that our
-      honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?&rdquo; When the cries
-      of assent came to an end he continued, &ldquo;Then, sirs, the responsibility for
-      bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords to the front! You will
-      touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. Should a constable assault
-      any of this company you will run him through without mercy. Now,
-      gentlemen.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and in
-      that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
-      moments stood irresolute, but then&mdash;the points of a dozen swords were
-      within a yard of their breasts&mdash;lowered their staves and slipped
-      quietly aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt
-      to withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
-      went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from the
-      thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort walked
-      through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being sheathed
-      at the entrance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
-      rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
-      of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to look
-      scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave the
-      assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose first
-      husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively plain, in
-      spite of their masks of paint and powder.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of her
-      daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
-      twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess of
-      Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of a
-      body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
-      anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had no
-      touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her complexion,
-      and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add to their
-      silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the cold
-      whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. The
-      solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that she made
-      with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that lovely
-      woman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
-      small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
-      Duchess's elegance and distinction.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at the
-      lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her body
-      guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, they
-      exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess even
-      smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster shrugged
-      her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a Frenchwoman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
-      also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
-      her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
-      frightened away.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Captain Horneck had gone up to his <i>fiancee</i>.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You were not in that creature's train, I hope,&rdquo; said the lady.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I? Dear child, for what do you take me?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No, I certainly was
-      not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
-      you the impropriety,&rdquo; said she.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      (She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than a
-      year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and now
-      returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where Mrs.
-      Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Lord Conway, &ldquo;these gentlemen are anxious to offer you their
-      sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and to
-      express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour them by
-      your patronage.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the management,
-      with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling actress.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,&rdquo; said Lord Stanley. &ldquo;She agreed
-      to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She can take very good care of herself,&rdquo; said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
-      curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to underrate
-      the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to divide the
-      honours attached to her position with another woman, much less with one
-      who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. &ldquo;Mrs. Abington is
-      a little timid, my Lord,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;she may not find herself quite
-      at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, to be sure; but for
-      my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better taste.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was conveyed
-      to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of the honours
-      which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, and when this
-      news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through the porch to
-      the side of her sister actress.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll and
-      Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two actresses,
-      offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them frequently at
-      the assemblies in the rotunda.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
-      condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
-      their shoulders once more.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
-      disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew that
-      the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the Duchess's
-      daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity of mothers
-      with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible suitors were
-      growing scarce?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played under
-      his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, and he was
-      compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more highly
-      finished exhibition of this form of art.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
-      Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
-      liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to remain
-      in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious to see
-      what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and his
-      friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the part of
-      the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, he heard a
-      merry voice behind him saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the Pantheon?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; cried another voice, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing of
-      a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
-      century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on the
-      Oxford road.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
-      handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride&mdash;and my sweet Little Comedy!&rdquo; he cried, as
-      the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act of
-      making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
-      Katherine&mdash;the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. &ldquo;Mrs. Horneck, madam,
-      I am your servant&mdash;and don't I look your servant, too,&rdquo; he added,
-      remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You look always the same good friend,&rdquo; said the lady.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; laughed Mrs. Bunbury, &ldquo;if he were your servant he would take care,
-      for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it is not
-      that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something gorgeous.
-      What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      (His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
-      Bun-burys.)
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
-      company, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. &ldquo;But a
-      peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
-      to-night.&rdquo; He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses and
-      their admirers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The air is tainted,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, solemnly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. &ldquo;'T is as you
-      say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I said not so, madam,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. &ldquo;As amusing&mdash;-amusing&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,&rdquo;
-       protested Little Comedy. &ldquo;Were they not, Mary?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, undoubtedly those were his words&mdash;only he did not utter them,&rdquo;
-       replied the Jessamy Bride.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
-      witnesses!&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I could deny nothing to two such faces,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;even though one
-      of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius weeping
-      over the Pantheon.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
-      it?&rdquo; she inquired, with her chin in the air.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,&rdquo; cried the young
-      lady.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,&rdquo; said Oliver.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,&rdquo; remarked
-      Mary.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the Pantheon
-      without the knowledge of his biographer,&rdquo; cried her sister, with an air of
-      worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well qualified to be an
-      exponent.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to the
-      Royal Academy of Arts,&rdquo; said a lady who had come up with Burke at that
-      moment&mdash;a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
-      movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith bowed low&mdash;again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
-      Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
-      unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,&rdquo; Goldsmith began, but seeing the
-      ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and the
-      compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
-      Goldsmith?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thrale.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
-      declining to argue out the matter with you,&rdquo; said the Professor of Ancient
-      History.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
-      quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed in
-      her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention to the
-      words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, moreover,
-      declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in accepting her
-      patronage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms&mdash;most
-      of which had been said at least once before&mdash;at the expense of the
-      Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
-      busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
-      injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her <i>jeux d'esprit</i>,
-      she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the benefit
-      of her remarks.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, pointing
-      out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, suddenly turning
-      in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing behind her mother, the
-      jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the expression of dismay&mdash;worse
-      than dismay&mdash;which was on the girl's face as she gazed across the
-      rotunda.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER VII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith followed
-      the direction of her eyes and saw that their object was a man in the
-      uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. Abingdon. He was a
-      showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence of some dissipated
-      years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his bearing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and
-      gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant&mdash;only for an
-      instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
-      the girl across the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
-      white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after the
-      lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy of
-      feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been a
-      witness of a <i>rencontre</i> which evidently was painful to her; but he
-      spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely noticeable
-      imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; and, professing
-      himself woefully ignorant as to the <i>personnel</i> of the majority of
-      the people who were present, inquired first what was the name of a
-      gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently interested
-      ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that elaborate bow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, but
-      after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have never seen him before,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don't think he can be any one
-      in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually nobodies&mdash;until
-      we come to know them.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is quite reasonable,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It is a distinction to become your
-      friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor at
-      the Academy are forgotten.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
-      attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Heavens, child!&rdquo; she whispered to her, &ldquo;what is the matter with you?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What should be the matter with me?&rdquo; said Mary. &ldquo;What, except&mdash;oh,
-      this place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
-      well ventilated at all times!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,&rdquo; said
-      Bunbury.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
-      moment,&rdquo; said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. &ldquo;For heaven's
-      sake don't stare so, child,&rdquo; she added to her sister, making a pitiful
-      attempt to laugh.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But, my dear&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by
-      Mary.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I will not have our mother alarmed, and&mdash;well,
-      every one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the
-      faintness has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's
-      company? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a
-      fuss. Lend me your arm, if you please.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;With all pleasure in life,&rdquo; cried Oliver.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
-      greatly she was trembling.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister and
-      Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
-      immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
-      who had bowed to her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Take me
-      somewhere&mdash;some place away from here&mdash;any place away from here.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one sconce
-      with wax candles was alight.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why should you tremble, my dear girl?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What is there to be
-      afraid of? I am your friend&mdash;you know that I would die to save you
-      from the least trouble.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I am in no trouble&mdash;only
-      for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you did not come in
-      the bloom-tinted coat after all.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was broken
-      only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's song&mdash;the
-      hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the rotunda and
-      around the galleries.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend&mdash;I wonder
-      what you think of your Jessamy Bride.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,&rdquo; said he tenderly. &ldquo;But
-      if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may be able
-      to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a moment. Why,
-      what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry in France
-      together?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;nothing has happened&mdash;I give you my word upon it,&rdquo; she
-      said. &ldquo;Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
-      frightened&mdash;no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting,
-      have not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could
-      not understand&mdash;psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr.
-      Goldsmith; girls are foolish creatures.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?&rdquo; said
-      he. &ldquo;Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? Think if
-      it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs are
-      concerned, but I feel that for others&mdash;for you, my dear&mdash;ah,
-      child, don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
-      poignancy is blunted?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have never had consolation except from you,&rdquo; said the girl. &ldquo;But this&mdash;this&mdash;oh,
-      my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's soul to enable you to
-      write those lines&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      And finds too late. . . '?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to his
-      forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked slowly
-      away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than a dozen
-      steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of indecision,
-      hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;it is only a woman who can think everything that is evil
-      about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their own
-      destruction, but by women.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Let us go away,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am sick of this place. There is no corner
-      of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever any
-      singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! I would pay
-      fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her efforts.&rdquo; Her laugh
-      had a shrill note that caused it to sound very pitiful to the man who
-      heard it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
-      standing with Burke and her son.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,&rdquo; said Mrs.
-      Horneck. &ldquo;We have been entranced with its melody.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, no; I have missed no note of it&mdash;no note. Was there ever
-      anything so delicious&mdash;so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went
-      homeward, mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!&rdquo; said
-      Burke. &ldquo;It is the young miss in these days who insists on her mother's
-      keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mary was always a wise little person,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Wise? Oh, let us go home!&rdquo; said the girl wearily.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,&rdquo; said her
-      mother.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the janitor
-      to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
-      lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
-      girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
-      hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went out into
-      the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While Goldsmith was
-      in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was furtively glancing
-      around, and before she had got into a position for seating herself by the
-      side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so clumsy a way that several of
-      the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, bowing awkwardly, and, to crown
-      his stupidity, he turned round so rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran
-      violently full-tilt against a gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to
-      the side of the chariot as if to take leave of the ladies.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
-      staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
-      the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, was
-      barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his awkwardness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Curse you for a lout!&rdquo; cried the officer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Look you, sir!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have offered you my humblest apologies for
-      the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to say
-      as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir&mdash;Oliver
-      Goldsmith&mdash;and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that
-      we are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
-      may be.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
-      cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, shouted
-      &ldquo;Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke forever!&rdquo; For
-      both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as they were in
-      society.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
-      in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
-      stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. Then
-      he turned to his opponent, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you can
-      let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Or if it suits you better, sir,&rdquo; said another gentleman coming to
-      Goldsmith's side, &ldquo;you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
-      Clare.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, &ldquo;I have no quarrel
-      with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in the heat
-      of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman might not
-      make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I have the
-      honour to wish your Lordship good-night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He bowed and made his exit.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER VIII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Goldsmith
-      reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting him a letter from
-      Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let him know that Woodward
-      and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his comedy which had been in
-      rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, felt they were right in doing
-      so, as the failure of the piece was so inevitable. He hoped that Dr.
-      Goldsmith would be discreet enough to sanction its withdrawal while its
-      withdrawal was still possible.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He read this letter&mdash;one of several which he had received from Colman
-      during the week prophesying disaster&mdash;without impatience, and threw
-      it aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save
-      the expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
-      his lines&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      &ldquo;When lovely woman stoops to folly,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      And finds too late....&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Too late&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had
-      broken, as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had
-      broken, when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is
-      enshrined for all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress
-      of tears. It would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in
-      her eyes. Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl who
-      had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other human
-      being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had shown
-      themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing himself on
-      the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when Little Comedy
-      married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him which had begun at
-      Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he spent at the
-      Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his life.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his &ldquo;Jessamy
-      Bride,&rdquo; drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt from
-      the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature&mdash;that in
-      her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy which he
-      sought. More than once she had proved to him that she recognised the
-      greatness of his nature&mdash;his simplicity, his generosity, the
-      tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his trustfulness,
-      that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his intolerance of
-      hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was the note of the
-      most successful productions of the day. Above all, he felt that she
-      recognised his true attitude in relation to English literature. If he was
-      compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order to earn his daily
-      bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English literature. How
-      nobly he discharged this debt his &ldquo;Traveller,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield,&rdquo;
-       &ldquo;The Deserted Village,&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Good Natured Man&rdquo; testified at intervals.
-      He felt that he was the truest poet, the sincerest dramatist, of the
-      period, and he never allowed the work which he was compelled to do for the
-      booksellers to turn him aside from his high aims.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood what
-      his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of the world.
-      She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she understood him
-      and sympathised with him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
-      her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
-      time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
-      her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
-      how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a long
-      visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look of
-      gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her with
-      a letter. &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield&rdquo; was the book, and she had said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You can never, never know what it has been to me&mdash;what it has done
-      for me.&rdquo; Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude&mdash;of
-      affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes had
-      overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not be
-      easily severed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0105.jpg" alt="0105 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0105.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
-      song.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What was he to think of her?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, on
-      glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
-      changed from one of merriment to one of despair&mdash;the despair of a
-      bird that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What was he to think of her?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of her,
-      but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
-      certain, brought about her change of mood.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
-      guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
-      going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
-      means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep the
-      man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
-      rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary it had
-      proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the girls, and
-      he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to regard the
-      occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run the man
-      through some vital part.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the very
-      sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, and his
-      too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number of answers
-      to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no ill of her.
-      He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly good. He felt
-      that her concern was on account of some one else who might be in the power
-      of that man. He knew how generous she was&mdash;how sympathetic. He had
-      told her some of his own troubles, and though he did so lightly, as was
-      his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing of them. Might it not
-      then be that the trouble which affected her was not her own, but
-      another's?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
-      incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow whose
-      appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had escaped
-      with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an ordinary
-      shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how he had
-      declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a man he would
-      have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but design, and would
-      have been ready to fight.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of the
-      man would be a step in the right direction.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the morning
-      that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which contained some
-      unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the details of the news,
-      but he was certain that on receiving it he had a definite idea that it was
-      unpleasant. When he now read Colman's letter for the second time he found
-      that his recollection of his first impression was not at fault. It was
-      just his luck: no man was in the habit of writing more joyous letters or
-      receiving more depressing than Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
-      mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
-      to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
-      could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
-      dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
-      stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
-      interests to be connected with a failure.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
-      not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?&rdquo; he said.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It might be in respect to most plays, sir,&rdquo; replied Colman; &ldquo;but in
-      regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
-      anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
-      this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shall try to bear both with fortitude,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quietly, though
-      he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his gratuitous
-      predictions of failure&mdash;predictions which from the first his attitude
-      in regard to the play had contributed to realise. &ldquo;I should like to have a
-      talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,&rdquo; he added.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;They are in the green room,&rdquo; said the manager. &ldquo;I must say that I was in
-      hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work would
-      enable you to see your way to withdraw it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I decline to withdraw it, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have been a manager now for some years,&rdquo; said Colman, &ldquo;and, speaking
-      from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
-      hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
-      complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that was
-      ever wrote.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
-      appreciate,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
-      what the people want nowadays is a novelty?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of yours
-      is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's the
-      novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, sir, the
-      bringing on of that vulgar young boor&mdash;what's the fellow's name?&mdash;Lumpkin,
-      in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the refinement and
-      sensibility of the period&mdash;the fellow who talks of his bear only
-      dancing to the genteelest of tunes&mdash;all this, Dr. Goldsmith, I pledge
-      you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an early fall of
-      the curtain.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;An early fall of the curtain?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
-      beyond that of your pothouse to be set.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not a
-      pothouse.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
-      apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
-      through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
-      Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Of <i>your</i> play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
-      share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
-      having anything to do with its production.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
-      respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
-      with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's office
-      and went to the green room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER IX.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he attitude of
-      Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping with the traditions of
-      the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it so contrary to the
-      traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like the rest of his
-      profession&mdash;not even excepting Garrick&mdash;possessed only a small
-      amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented to
-      them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his own
-      acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted blank
-      verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional lines,
-      with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack of human
-      nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and he could see
-      no reason why he should substitute for them anything more natural. He had
-      no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure a comedy founded
-      upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious sentimentality of an
-      artificial age.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had produced &ldquo;The Good Natured Man&rdquo; some years before, and had made
-      money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who had
-      condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that play were
-      still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
-      characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but actually
-      intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named provisionally
-      &ldquo;The Mistakes of a Night,&rdquo; he at first declined to have anything to do
-      with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential friends&mdash;friends
-      who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised his genius when he
-      was living in a garret and before he had written anything beyond a few
-      desultory essays&mdash;and they brought all their influence to bear upon
-      the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the comedy, but laid it aside for
-      several months, and only grudgingly, at last, consented to put it in
-      rehearsal.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best to
-      depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging his
-      shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant to allow
-      certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written them.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
-      than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
-      soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
-      half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young Marlow,
-      threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was serious in
-      his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment Goldsmith
-      assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract with the
-      manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same contract
-      by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was handed
-      over to Lee Lewes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
-      the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
-      chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
-      manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
-      possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
-      to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
-      provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
-      encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
-      regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said he
-      was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up their
-      parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
-      rehearsing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
-      conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He knew
-      that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could not doubt
-      what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round and go back
-      to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw the play. The
-      temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of determination which
-      had carried him through many difficulties&mdash;that spirit which Reynolds
-      appreciated and had embodied in his portrait&mdash;came to his aid. He
-      walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with both Woodward and
-      Mrs. Abington.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
-      Colman,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but I am sure that you have not taken this serious step
-      without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. Colman will
-      be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an agreement with me
-      to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he will therefore
-      sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick will, I hope, honour
-      me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. Bulk-ley that of Miss
-      Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the rehearsal.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
-      the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and who
-      had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now began
-      to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had been a
-      fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched garret knew
-      what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate to kick
-      downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him employment as
-      a libeller.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to him&mdash;&ldquo;Sir,
-      you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will not be my
-      fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. You have been
-      badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your ill-treatment nobly.
-      For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to appear in your piece.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
-      ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
-      gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to assert
-      that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I shall regard
-      as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has passed I know
-      that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection of the
-      opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the success of
-      this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
-      circumstances incidental to its birth.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly that
-      he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: they
-      reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, caused
-      them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,&rdquo; said Shuter, who
-      was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Lord,
-      sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident was to
-      happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned to a
-      certainty.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
-      Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
-      influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
-      acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith that
-      none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet the
-      members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption that
-      its failure was inevitable.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
-      since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers to
-      dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at a
-      wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
-      during the greater part of the night.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her eyes
-      at the same moment had yet to be explained.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his elbow resting
-      on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After half-an-hour's thought
-      his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. Picking one up with a
-      sigh, he began to write.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Verse after verse appeared upon the paper&mdash;the love-song of a man who
-      feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
-      consolation in life is love.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again rested
-      his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he had written.
-      His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected sincerity when
-      every one around him was engaged in composing verses which were regarded
-      worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were artificial.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
-      Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would she
-      be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
-      delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
-      known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
-      enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
-      feeling?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?&rdquo; he muttered.
-      &ldquo;Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is the
-      chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should he
-      himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life that the
-      man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to live in
-      loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was struck blind&mdash;a
-      great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from love receives no pity&mdash;no
-      pity on earth&mdash;no pity in heaven.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for an
-      hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper which he
-      had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. He did not
-      tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand to the desk
-      and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making the torn edge
-      rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of a woman whose
-      lover was beside her&mdash;that was what the quivering motion suggested to
-      the poet who watched it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!&rdquo; he said.
-      &ldquo;Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
-      where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
-      men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
-      that friendship could afford him no solace.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
-      giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER X.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or the next two
-      days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes in his play as were
-      suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. The alterations were not
-      radical, but he felt that they would be improvements, and his judgment was
-      rarely at fault. Moreover, he was quick to perceive in what direction the
-      strong points and the weak points of the various members of the company
-      lay, and he had no hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them
-      a better chance of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman
-      called the &ldquo;pot-house scene&rdquo; would he change, not a word of the scene
-      where the farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow
-      to be omitted.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
-      to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee house
-      talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the fate that
-      was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he not adopted
-      this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become aware, as
-      they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. When it was
-      produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the manager up to
-      ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a new set of
-      lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some of
-      them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
-      hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he might
-      not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not possibly
-      be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a pity, one
-      of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be so easily
-      avoided?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
-      or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written it,
-      he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the medium of
-      these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the verdict of the
-      playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on those scenes so
-      early in the play was that the playgoers might know not to expect a
-      sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a natural school of
-      comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of the manners of the
-      day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only the broadest and
-      heartiest fun.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If the scenes are ungenteel,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it is because nature is made up
-      of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
-      interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
-      when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a greater
-      favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest gentleman who
-      ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely on the ear of a
-      boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not interfere with his
-      romping.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
-      on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when he
-      did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from his
-      over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others&mdash;a disability
-      which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
-      consequence, delightfully fluent.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
-      he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that the
-      Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some degree of
-      apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might think he
-      looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he was by her
-      side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. The words
-      still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it would pain her
-      to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite content that matters
-      should remain as they were. Whatever the words might have meant, it was
-      impossible that they could mean anything that might cause him to think of
-      her with less reverence and affection.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to find
-      out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom there
-      came to his ears the sound of laughter&mdash;such laughter as caused him
-      to remark to the servant&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
-      sir,&rdquo; replied Ralph.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
-      entertaining them,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
-      entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
-      keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits of
-      laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
-      amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him much
-      manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
-      imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
-      details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
-      entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
-      laboriously at his &ldquo;Animated Nature.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Good morning, sir, good morning,&rdquo; he cried, pretending to take off his
-      gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect self-possession,
-      previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. &ldquo;Now mind you don't sit
-      there, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; he continued, raising a warning finger. A little
-      motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, with his mincing ways, was
-      transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy and self-conscious in the
-      presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy politeness to get him a
-      chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very one on which the man had
-      placed his hat. &ldquo;Now, now, now, what are you about?&rdquo;&mdash;once more
-      Garrick was the amanuensis. &ldquo;Did not I warn you to be careful about that
-      chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? Sir, that excuse is a
-      mere quibble&mdash;a mere quibble. This must not occur again, or I shall
-      be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, my good sir? Now to
-      business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man to make me a cup of
-      chocolate&mdash;with milk, sir&mdash;plenty of milk, and two lumps of
-      sugar&mdash;plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a patriot&mdash;none
-      of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think on't, your
-      laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for me; and mind you
-      tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in it&rdquo;&mdash;this shouted
-      half-way out of the door through which he had shown Goldsmith hurrying
-      with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. Then came the monologue
-      of the amanuensis strolling about the room, passing his sneering remarks
-      at the furniture&mdash;opening a letter which had just come by post, and
-      reading it <i>sotto voce</i>. It was supposed to be from Filby, the
-      tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform in which Dr.
-      Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the Haymarket would
-      be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith had made up his
-      mind as to the exact orders which he meant to wear, ending with a
-      compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and discrimination in choosing
-      a costume which was so well adapted to his physique, and a humble
-      suggestion that it should be worn upon the occasion of the first
-      performance of the new comedy, when the writer hoped no objection would be
-      raised to the hanging of a board in front of the author's box with &ldquo;Made
-      by Filby&rdquo; printed on it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain words&mdash;giving
-      an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here and there, and
-      finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a postscript alluding to
-      the length of time that had passed since the writer had received a payment
-      on account, could not have been surpassed. The effect of the comedy upon
-      the people in the room was immeasurably heightened by the entrance of
-      Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, as the amanuensis, immediately
-      walked to him gravely with the scrap of paper which had done duty as the
-      letter, in his hand, asking him if what was written there in black and
-      white about the field-marshal's uniform was correct, and if he meant to
-      agree to Filby's request to wear it on the first night of the comedy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
-      entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
-      of the scene, saying-&ldquo;Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
-      more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful issue
-      a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager of a
-      playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why should
-      not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew that
-      Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, and would
-      not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In an instant,
-      however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious amanuensis, and
-      became David Garrick, crying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to reply
-      to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of your
-      experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
-      nature.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated at
-      the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much what
-      might follow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
-      the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the amanuensis, &ldquo;we have no time to waste over empty
-      civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we cannot keep
-      the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the booksellers, 'tis
-      the world we think of. What is this?&rdquo;&mdash;picking up an imaginary paper&mdash;&ldquo;'The
-      derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed the ingeniousness of many
-      able writers, but there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who has
-      seen that noble creature, as I have, in its native woods, careering nimbly
-      from branch to branch of the largest trees in search of the butterflies,
-      which form its sole food, that the name elephant is but a corruption of
-      elegant, the movements of the animal being as singularly graceful as its
-      shape is in accordance with all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is
-      mighty fine, but your style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature'
-      should be himself both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon
-      should himself be a buffoon.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
-      leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis as
-      to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer and
-      warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
-      Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
-      imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
-      the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! Lord!
-      what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to dictate
-      to his amanuensis?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, around
-      the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household in roars
-      of laughter&mdash;as one delightful member of the household has recorded&mdash;over
-      his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of Dr. Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And all this,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;came out of the paltry story which I told
-      him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment he sat
-      down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I knew he
-      saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea and send
-      him away.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XI.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith was
-      delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from care. He had
-      gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear that she was
-      unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry a mood as he
-      had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at dinner, and he
-      was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the mysterious mood
-      that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
-      him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though she said
-      that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the intention of
-      the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go together to the
-      theatre and demand its immediate production on the finest scale possible.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
-      Colman in that respect,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Only to-day, when I ventured to
-      talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not his
-      intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be played
-      for longer than a small portion of one evening.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The monster!&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;I should like to talk to him as I feel
-      about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will tolerate
-      his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs some one to
-      be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him how contemptible he
-      is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. The occasion is one that
-      demands the powers of a man who has a whole dictionary at his back&mdash;yes,
-      Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten that if he does not behave
-      handsomely he will, in his next edition of the Dictionary, define a
-      scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps an author in suspense for
-      months, and then produces his comedy so ungenerously as to make its
-      failure a certainty. But, no, your play will be the greater success on
-      account of its having to overcome all the obstacles which Mr. Colman has
-      placed in its way.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be the
-      greatest success of the century,&rdquo; said he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And so it will be&mdash;oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will&mdash;oh,
-      we shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
-      and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
-      upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to the
-      remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
-      suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
-      upon an ill-treated author.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
-      one of the two enterprises&mdash;the first being the changing of the
-      mistakes of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the
-      changing of the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager&mdash;ay,
-      and of an author as well.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Admirably spoke!&rdquo; cried the author. &ldquo;I have a mind to let the name 'The
-      Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Oh,
-      do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot hit upon
-      a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath of laurel.&rdquo;
-       Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not far away, had
-      put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a word or two of
-      the girl's sentence.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,&rdquo; said
-      he. &ldquo;You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
-      Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
-      Knight!'&rdquo; said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
-      not like too many people to hear him make one.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get a
-      better,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
-      Horneck to discover the better one.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
-      and damn the play,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;I have given it its proper name, and
-      if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
-      reprobation of all honest folk who detest an <i>alias</i>.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then that name shall stand,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I give you my word, Sir
-      Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have it
-      damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in England.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is very well said, indeed,&rdquo; remarked Sir Joshua. &ldquo;It gives evidence
-      of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all should respect.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for
-      she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, but from the
-      other end of the table there came quite an outburst of laughter. Garrick
-      sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was telling an
-      imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
-      question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
-      story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
-      not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner&mdash;his name was Colonel
-      Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck&mdash;took
-      up the question quite seriously.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I admit frankly that I have never heard the story
-      of Grouse in the gun-room.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is it possible, sir?&rdquo; cried Garrick. &ldquo;What, you mean to say that you are
-      not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who asked
-      him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was locked&mdash;that
-      about every gun having a lock, and so forth?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; cried Colonel Gwyn. &ldquo;I had no idea that the story was a
-      familiar one. It seems interesting, too.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;But you are an army man,
-      Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the mess-table.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I protest, sir,&rdquo; said Colonel Gwyn, &ldquo;I know so little about it that I
-      fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog&mdash;I have myself known of
-      sporting dogs called Grouse.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,&rdquo; cried Garrick. &ldquo;Ould Grouse a dog! Pray do
-      not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, and would
-      feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. Goldsmith was
-      an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death severely.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then he is dead?&rdquo; said Gwyn. &ldquo;That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
-      the narrative.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A particularly pathetic interest, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, shaking his head.
-      &ldquo;I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that that
-      dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us&mdash;that the gunroom door is
-      now open, but that within there is silence&mdash;no sound of the dear old
-      feet that were wont to patter and potter&mdash;you will pardon my emotion,
-      madam&rdquo;&mdash;He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
-      became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured to
-      assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, did him
-      honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now without
-      seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had too high
-      an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face perfectly grave,
-      while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to suppress came from the
-      napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti said something in
-      Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the melancholy nature of the
-      party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'T is selfish to repine, and he himself&mdash;dear old soul!&mdash;would
-      be the last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in
-      the gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
-      I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
-      delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
-      known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had no
-      particular character in the neighbourhood.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,&rdquo; said the Colonel.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, if the truth must be told&mdash;but no, the man is dead and gone
-      now,&rdquo; cried Garrick, &ldquo;and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
-      do, the nimbleness of his wit&mdash;the genial mirth which ran through the
-      gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
-      is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse or
-      two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
-      thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
-      comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
-      afraid to joke, sir, and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
-      read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
-      actually narrated, but only hinted at,&rdquo; said Gwyn.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That makes little matter, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;The untold story of Ould
-      Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
-      year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury, &ldquo;after the pains which Mr.
-      Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of the
-      story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.&rdquo; Colonel
-      Gwyn looked puzzled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I protest, madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that up to the present&mdash;ah! I fear that
-      the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to be
-      led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind you&mdash;I
-      fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with laughter,
-      which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was
-      taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and then at Little
-      Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make out what
-      was going on around her in that strange household where she had been
-      thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the ultra-grave Garrick, and
-      then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of assuring him that
-      she understood perfectly how he came to be merry.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;these gentlemen seem to have their own
-      reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate when
-      to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet&mdash;ah, I perceive
-      they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
-      sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
-      the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
-      don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
-      some years.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
-      in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
-      the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
-      embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who was
-      hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends every
-      evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which chanced to be
-      broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of port-glasses at his end
-      of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom he cheered by telling him
-      that he had already given a lesson to Woodward regarding the speaking of
-      the prologue which he, Garrick, had written for the comedy. He said he
-      believed Woodward would repeat the lines very effectively. When Goldsmith
-      mentioned that Colman declined to have a single scene painted for the
-      production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were indignant.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,&rdquo; said the
-      latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the play
-      to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, Davy, my friend,&rdquo; Goldsmith replied, &ldquo;I feel more at my ease in
-      reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst&mdash;or the best.
-      If the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
-      for the next year or two.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
-      entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
-      room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
-      and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting long
-      sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was supposed
-      to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment has survived,
-      and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with Garrick repeating
-      the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous change of
-      expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with Goldsmith
-      burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly amusing gestures
-      the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed that Sir Joshua's
-      guests were convulsed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
-      playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
-      did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines after
-      the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous than that of
-      the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an affecting passage
-      from Addison's &ldquo;Cato,&rdquo; Goldsmith began to sing the song which he had been
-      compelled to omit from the part of Miss Hardcastle, owing to Mrs.
-      Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course Garrick's gestures during the
-      delivery of the song were marvellously ingenious, and an additional
-      element of attraction was introduced by Dr. Burney, who hastily seated
-      himself at the pianoforte and interwove a medley accompaniment,
-      introducing all the airs then popular, but without prejudice to the
-      harmonies of the accompaniment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
-      marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
-      caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees&mdash;he begged
-      the lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was
-      accustomed to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica
-      shook her head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua to the
-      Jessamy Bride. &ldquo;Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
-      hearing her sing.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
-      Angelica.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Will your Majesty condescend
-      to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned to captivate
-      our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to conquer our
-      savage hearts by the exercise of another?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
-      thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
-      springing to his feet.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;By the Lord, I've got it!&rdquo; shouted Goldsmith. &ldquo;The Jessamy Bride has
-      given it to me, as I knew she would&mdash;the title of my comedy&mdash;she
-      has just said it: '<i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s a matter of
-      course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith communicated it to
-      him the next day; but the latter was firm on this particular point. He had
-      given the play its name, he said, and he would not alter it now on any
-      consideration.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play gave
-      him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret at not
-      being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he believed
-      the manager would play to perfection.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the whole
-      Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his customary
-      emphasis, that no better title than &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer&rdquo; could be found
-      for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and the rehearsal was
-      proceeded with.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
-      in order to go upon the stage, &ldquo;Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
-      must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we may
-      be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
-      filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said Miss
-      Horneck&mdash;Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
-      topics of the hour. &ldquo;I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as will
-      enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but to a
-      whole archipelago of wit.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Otaheite is a name of good omen,&rdquo; said Cradock. &ldquo;It is suggestive of
-      palms, and '<i>palmam qui meruit ferat.</i>'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you should know better than to quote Latin in the
-      presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
-      it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
-      is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
-      playgoers.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,&rdquo; laughed
-      Cradock. &ldquo;Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, and
-      Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
-      critics.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
-      Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
-      opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
-      his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
-      critics.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
-      servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
-      outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
-      broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed and
-      applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons&mdash;especially the
-      satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists&mdash;but it was
-      the drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of
-      Miss Horneck&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
-      Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much amazed
-      as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage out of
-      compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority regarding
-      the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in the estimation
-      of his company, remarked&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
-      generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
-      playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
-      your wit.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent the
-      instruction of Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quietly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed it
-      during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it became
-      understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit their
-      regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been originally
-      cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the prologue, which
-      Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told Goldsmith, he had
-      already given a hint or two to Woodward.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
-      Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
-      threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
-      thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
-      epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
-      declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
-      herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
-      ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
-      were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; but
-      Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
-      epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding the first
-      performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was eventually spoken
-      by Mrs. Bulkley.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an epilogue
-      which will never be spoke,&rdquo; sneered Colman when the last difficulties had
-      been smoothed over.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
-      consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
-      Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
-      of the play&mdash;when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
-      niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
-      either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
-      almost caused him to break down.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
-      She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
-      hesitate for a moment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;my dress
-      would be ruined.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour of
-      the play,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their dusters,
-      and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one of the
-      candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years contained
-      such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. Col-man for a
-      curmudgeon.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,&rdquo;
-       said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and I
-      only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
-      play, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;The credit of your friends, who insisted on
-      Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And above all,&rdquo; said Reynolds pleasantly, &ldquo;the play must be a success in
-      order to put Colman in the wrong.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
-      important to us all,&rdquo; said Mary. &ldquo;It would never do for Colman to be in
-      the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
-      saved by Monday night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. &ldquo;I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a sense
-      of my own unworthiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,&rdquo; cried
-      Johnson. &ldquo;Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
-      hear your play.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
-      when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care to
-      send a guinea in advance,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, and every one present knew that
-      he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by Johnson on
-      the day that &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield&rdquo; was sold.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Reynolds, &ldquo;I have to prove how certain we are of the
-      future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday previous
-      to the performance.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
-      success of the play,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;To proffer such an invitation would
-      be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public had
-      attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who know
-      your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that our
-      esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday night,
-      sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour to have
-      you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with us.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what you
-      mean better,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;A compliment is doubly a compliment coming
-      from Dr. Johnson.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
-      walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter of
-      a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character of Young
-      Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had sufficiently
-      recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how remarkable a
-      character he had created.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the St.
-      James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found the
-      author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
-      salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered with
-      silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any mistake
-      on this point.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; cried the visitor. &ldquo;Have you forgot that you cannot wear
-      colours?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith. &ldquo;Because Woodward is to appear in mourning to
-      speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy should
-      also be in black?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;that is not the reason. How is it possible that you
-      forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat of
-      yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in front
-      of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you hope
-      that the King will command a performance.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
-      garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
-      dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
-      before throwing it over the back of a chair.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,&rdquo; said
-      he. &ldquo;I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with his
-      friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
-      Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
-      assembled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook hands
-      twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the King of
-      Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for regret with
-      him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He expressed a
-      hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have so depressing
-      an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their enjoyment of his
-      comedy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did not
-      think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would be
-      quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
-      frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
-      all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose name
-      they had probably never heard.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
-      the best, but still....
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
-      Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
-      heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
-      merriment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
-      concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
-      become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
-      of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the clock
-      and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time to allow
-      of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds that
-      Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his nervousness,
-      began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken at Lord
-      Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took place daily
-      in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave all his
-      attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to him&mdash;not
-      even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity College to his
-      friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
-      theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
-      had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
-      to have the omission repaired without delay.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He never returned.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XIII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party remained
-      in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter from the bar was sent
-      for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was having his hat brushed,
-      that his party were ready to leave the house, the man stated that Dr.
-      Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall Mall.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said Johnson to Burke, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a
-      fool.&rdquo; Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Burke, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
-      ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
-      let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say the
-      best comedy of a century.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the playhouse?&rdquo;
-       said Richard Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
-      concerned,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;I think that the best course we can adopt is
-      for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
-      looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
-      Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
-      burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
-      playhouse, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If I know anything of him, sir,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;the playhouse is just
-      the place which he would most persistently avoid.&rdquo; There was a long pause
-      before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is very kind of you, sir,&rdquo; replied Steevens. &ldquo;But you may rest
-      assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
-      hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
-      Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting alone in
-      some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable failure of
-      his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled him to hold out
-      against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, suffer a relapse
-      when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and his naturally
-      sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his life give place to
-      a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him to put in an
-      appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his friends. Steevens
-      actually made up his mind that if he failed to find Goldsmith during the
-      next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage on the Edgware road.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house&mdash;from Jack's, in
-      Dean street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster&mdash;but he failed to
-      discover his friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this
-      way; and all this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse&mdash;except
-      the one box that held Cumberland and his friends&mdash;were greeting the
-      brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
-      contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
-      authors had witnessed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens have
-      imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous figure of
-      Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with a hand
-      behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and as phrase
-      after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and vivified with
-      numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, he seems to
-      shake the theatre with his laughter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
-      of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two notable
-      figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
-      frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
-      Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the most
-      notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
-      occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
-      laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
-      she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
-      Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
-      Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
-      lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
-      every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, &ldquo;looking glum,&rdquo; as one
-      witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
-      having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth the
-      resentment of the pit.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
-      years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's &ldquo;Good-Natured Man&rdquo; at &ldquo;the other
-      house,&rdquo; sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
-      &ldquo;Ossian.&rdquo; He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
-      an impostor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
-      younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
-      for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from the
-      pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact that
-      Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his eyes
-      fixed upon her&mdash;earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his <i>fiancÃ©e</i>
-      are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important box in the house
-      Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may be gratified by
-      beholding her. It does not so much matter about her husband, who once
-      thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a concern whose
-      operations represented the potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams of
-      avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the Gunnings when she
-      first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever recorded to the
-      eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, mindful of that trick
-      which the cleverness of her mother turned to so good account, does not
-      condescend to notice from her box, where she sits with Lady Betty
-      Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though she is acquainted
-      with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising between the acts.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What a play! What spectators!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought to
-      those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with delight
-      at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the little man
-      with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality upon
-      their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
-      biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
-      down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
-      nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in St.
-      James's Park.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching for
-      him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Don't speak, man, for God's sake,&rdquo; cried Oliver. &ldquo;'Tis not so dark but
-      that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
-      the comedy is ended&mdash;that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in
-      the middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is
-      ended.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not I,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
-      what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at the
-      coffee house?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I don't know what you speak of,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;But I beg of you to
-      hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play&mdash;don't fear
-      to tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly
-      twenty years; I am not easily dismayed.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;I have no intention of going to the
-      playhouse unless you are in my company&mdash;I promised so much to Dr.
-      Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
-      yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
-      sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise on
-      the stage that you, and you only, can decide&mdash;are you willing to
-      allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, who
-      is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
-      prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great man,
-      too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I am
-      convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It shall not&mdash;it shall not!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
-      &ldquo;I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I have
-      something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in this battle
-      have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my friend&mdash;I'll
-      go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to avert disaster.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
-      obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
-      Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of the
-      play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence to
-      insist on a scene being omitted&mdash;or, perhaps, a whole act; and
-      nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his head
-      out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the playhouse&mdash;that
-      his worst fears were realized.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other window.
-      &ldquo;The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental to any
-      performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on their
-      boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy has yet
-      to be damned.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage door,
-      looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as if to
-      see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the back of
-      the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, in the
-      part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had driven her
-      forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was within twenty
-      yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights were far too strong;
-      unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have failed to recognise
-      the familiar features of the scene. The next moment there came a hiss&mdash;a
-      solitary hiss from the boxes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What's that, Mr. Colman?&rdquo; whispered the excited author.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said Colman brutally. &ldquo;Why trouble yourself about a squib
-      when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That's a lie,&rdquo; said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
-      Mr. Hardcastle. &ldquo;'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
-      assured from the first.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
-      while I live!&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XIV.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a lie, and
-      surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever uttered. Goldsmith was
-      soon made aware of this. The laughter that followed Tony Lumpkin's
-      pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle was a highwayman was not the
-      laugh of playgoers who have endured four acts of a dull play; it was the
-      laugh of people who have been in a good humour for over two hours, and
-      Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from their laughter that the people in
-      every part of the house were following the comedy with extraordinary
-      interest. Every point in the dialogue was effective&mdash;the exquisite
-      complications, the broad fun, the innumerable touches of nature, all were
-      appreciated by an audience whose expression of gratification fell little
-      short of rapture.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not return
-      to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue was spoken
-      by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of speaking
-      to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, and from
-      them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the first scene
-      to the one which was being represented, the performance had been a
-      succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every member of
-      the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and scenery
-      familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary success of
-      the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the offensive terms of
-      the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the audience, several of
-      the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and cheering for some time&mdash;so
-      much Goldsmith learned little by little at intervals from the actors.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
-      word; he has treated me cruelly&mdash;more cruelly than he has any idea
-      of,&rdquo; said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. &ldquo;But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
-      anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes much
-      to you, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Faith then, sir,&rdquo; cried Lewes, &ldquo;I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
-      will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
-      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And so he had.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
-      Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
-      Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, and
-      affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through half-closed
-      eyes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, &ldquo;I
-      hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
-      foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you
-      not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having
-      resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
-      sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might
-      have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Nay, I have a
-      part in my mind for you already&mdash;that is, if you will be good enough
-      to accept it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!&rdquo; cried the actress, offering him both
-      her hands. &ldquo;I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
-      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0173.jpg" alt="0173 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company and
-      the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
-      congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
-      had filled the theatre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
-      Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You
-      dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
-      indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On
-      the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty
-      good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make you a
-      coxcomb.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, I hope not, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;No, you don't hope it, sir,&rdquo; cried
-      Johnson. &ldquo;You are thinking at this moment how much better you are than
-      your betters&mdash;I see it on your face, you rascal.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And he has a right to think so,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury. &ldquo;Come, Dr. Goldsmith,
-      speak up, say something insulting to your betters.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Certainly, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Where are they?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well said!&rdquo; cried Edmund Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. We
-      expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
-      garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake on
-      the walls.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. She
-      knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she was
-      not mistaken.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit and
-      gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in the
-      green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived the
-      moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly imagined was
-      an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the points in his
-      comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian into Reynolds's
-      ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the background with the
-      Bunburys.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in uniform
-      had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind Mr.
-      Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, saying
-      a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, though it
-      was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the girl, and
-      perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes were turned
-      upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her heart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out her
-      inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
-      people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing was
-      paying no attention to her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought it
-      advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;We have given you our ears for more
-      than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Yes, you
-      were remarking that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be compared
-      to a boy who has robbed an orchard,&rdquo; said the lady.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;True&mdash;very true, madam,&rdquo; said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
-      involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
-      beside her. She was not smiling.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, 'tis true; but why?&rdquo; cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
-      did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, yes; that's just it&mdash;why?&rdquo; said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
-      from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and Henry
-      Bunbury were standing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. &ldquo;Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
-      suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because his
-      booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in his
-      pockets what he is not entitled to.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
-      did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
-      successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
-      attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
-      gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
-      more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo; said Mr. Thrale.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir!&rdquo; cried Bunbury; &ldquo;mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
-      some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What did I say, Goldy?&rdquo; cried Johnson. &ldquo;Was it not that, after the
-      presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
-      of them I accepted some days ago,&rdquo; said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
-      hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
-      conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
-      laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of the
-      Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
-      involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious to
-      explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this form
-      of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that refers
-      to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
-      Garrick's lines in proof&mdash;proof positive, mind&mdash;that he &ldquo;talked
-      like poor Poll.&rdquo; He is the first man on record who has been condemned
-      solely because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
-      couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
-      thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
-      expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
-      given utterance to some delightful witticism&mdash;which the recording
-      demons around him delighted to turn against himself&mdash;was the
-      expression which makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The
-      man who &ldquo;talked like poor Poll&rdquo; was the man who, even before he had done
-      anything in literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by
-      Bishop Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase
-      and a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the
-      fastidious Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put
-      himself to great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the
-      man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. Abington,
-      had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying to supper had
-      left the room he remained for a few moments to make his adieux to the
-      players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shall take good care that you don't, sir,&rdquo; said she.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!&rdquo; he cried, bowing as
-      he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he suddenly
-      returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. &ldquo;Why, if I wasn't
-      going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman in uniform
-      who was speaking with you just now,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I fancy I have met him
-      somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His name is Jackson,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord
-      only knows what he is captain of.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis
-      as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by professing
-      to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
-      affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the occasion,
-      she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in their coach&mdash;her
-      mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
-      produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
-      eaten no dinner&mdash;Johnson and his friends had been by no means
-      reticent on the subject of the dinner&mdash;he was without an appetite for
-      the delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
-      in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
-      endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
-      almost speechless the whole evening.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been quite
-      obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with us at
-      Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a little
-      comedy may become a great tragedy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
-      play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
-      Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as he
-      could without being rude.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick Court.
-      But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All his life he had been looking forward to this night&mdash;the night
-      that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him an
-      incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his period.
-      And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with destiny was
-      within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever felt in his
-      garret.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XV.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat did it all
-      mean?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
-      refer to the reception given to &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer,&rdquo; which had placed
-      him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to the
-      strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had been
-      speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
-      reputation&mdash;he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
-      reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
-      room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
-      glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the eyes of
-      such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. Woffington,
-      showed that he was a person of no position in society. This conclusion to
-      which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no persons of any
-      distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the playhouse had
-      shown that they were acquainted with him&mdash;no one person save only
-      Mary Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and Mrs.
-      Bulk-ley.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have been
-      incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had invariably
-      shunned in society those persons&mdash;women as well as men&mdash;who had
-      shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested the man&mdash;he
-      was popular enough at that period&mdash;who had allowed innuendoes to do
-      duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman&mdash;she is popular
-      enough now&mdash;who had laughed at and made light of the innuendoes,
-      bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
-      fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
-      The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands with
-      the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for her own
-      ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary Horneck
-      stood in a very different position from that occupied by the Duchess.
-      While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the lead of any
-      leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from the actresses.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one of
-      these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor&mdash;a man
-      who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What could this curious incident mean?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
-      the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
-      had arrived&mdash;not a post had been missed&mdash;from persons who
-      professed the most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to
-      borrow from him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom
-      he had rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
-      consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would continue
-      his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so marked a
-      way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their letters lay
-      unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he sent his
-      guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That was how he
-      contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had earned since
-      leaving his garret.)
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
-      left his chambers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
-      no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed to
-      notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain Jackson&mdash;he
-      would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared to him more
-      than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to another girl all
-      that he had noticed, he would have said that such a matter required no
-      explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young girls with men of the
-      stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, however, the matter was
-      not so easily explained. The shrug and the raising of the eyebrows were
-      singularly inappropriate to any consideration of an incident in which she
-      was concerned.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
-      success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several of
-      the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on terms of
-      the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a cordiality,
-      the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. Among them was
-      one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had early found a friend
-      in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this early friendship of his.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
-      word, and whose wife was his laundress&mdash;not wholly above suspicion as
-      regards her honesty&mdash;stammered his congratulations, and received the
-      crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he had
-      always suspected&mdash;that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
-      world for men who have become successful.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
-      that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
-      another hour would pass.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
-      alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
-      time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of such
-      intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to inquire if
-      Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to ear as he
-      admitted the visitor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,&rdquo; he said,
-      his grin expanding genially.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-      &ldquo;You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the table&mdash;and
-      Mr. Marlow's man, sir&mdash;as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what more
-      you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says he quite
-      cool-like and satisfied&mdash;and it's the gentleman's own private house,
-      after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh till he
-      thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then sent us
-      off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some fools about us
-      said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. Northcote&mdash;Sir
-      Joshua's young man, sir&mdash;he up and says that nature isn't always
-      genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth&mdash;I beg
-      your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
-      couldn't ha' done worse than me&mdash;talking so familiar-like, instead of
-      showing you up.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;the patron has the privilege of addressing
-      his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
-      George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; and,
-      to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for my
-      benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,&rdquo; whispered the man, for he had led the
-      way to the drawingroom door. &ldquo;I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If I
-      told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
-      without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls this
-      year, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
-      that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
-      smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
-      ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
-      sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them that
-      touched him deeply.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
-      honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,&rdquo; she said,
-      giving him her hand. &ldquo;But it was impossible&mdash;oh, quite impossible,
-      for me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
-      how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear friend.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I was looking forward to
-      that night also&mdash;I don't know for how many years&mdash;all my life,
-      it seems to me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Never mind!&rdquo; she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. &ldquo;Never mind!
-      your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you now;
-      every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. &ldquo;But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
-      single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
-      miserable.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; she said, giving him her hand once more. &ldquo;I know it, and
-      knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What is the matter, Mary?&rdquo; he asked her after a pause. &ldquo;Once before I
-      begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
-      able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man of
-      many resources.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot tell you,&rdquo; she said slowly, but with great emphasis. &ldquo;There are
-      some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree that a
-      woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with another&mdash;either
-      with a sister or with a brother&mdash;even so good a friend as Oliver
-      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,&rdquo; said he.
-      &ldquo;I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its origin
-      to me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, I see everything but too plainly,&rdquo; she cried, throwing herself down
-      on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. &ldquo;Why, all my
-      misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
-      Oh, I have said too much,&rdquo; she cried piteously. She had sprung to her feet
-      and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. &ldquo;Pray forget what I
-      have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; oh, pray
-      go away&mdash;go away and leave me alone with my sorrow&mdash;it is my own&mdash;no
-      one has a right to it but myself.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
-      little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You shall tell
-      me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room last
-      night has to do with your sorrow.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a curious
-      look of cunning in her eyes&mdash;a look that made him shudder, so foreign
-      was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A man? Did I speak to a man?&rdquo; she said slowly, affecting an endeavour to
-      recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. &ldquo;Oh, yes, I suppose I
-      spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded it was! And
-      it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked in their paint!&mdash;almost
-      as terrible as a lady of quality!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Poor child!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
-      everything from me you have told me all&mdash;all except&mdash;listen to
-      me, Mary. Nothing that I can hear&mdash;nothing that you can tell me&mdash;will
-      cause me to think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to
-      make me aware that that man&mdash;Captain Jackson, he calls himself&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How did you find out his name?&rdquo; she said in a whisper. &ldquo;I did not tell
-      you his name even at the Pantheon.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
-      why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
-      as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
-      rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How has he got you in his power&mdash;that is what you are going to tell
-      me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not know
-      me, or you would not ask me to tell you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What would you have me think, child?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Think the worst&mdash;the worst that your kind heart can think&mdash;only
-      leave me&mdash;leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I
-      may soon die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything ill
-      of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have written so
-      much as I have written about men and women without being able to know when
-      a woman is altogether good&mdash;a man altogether bad? I know you, my
-      dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? Think of the
-      friends you have.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but if
-      they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
-      loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
-      fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch who
-      stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being thrust
-      out behind to push her over.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
-      thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind you,
-      there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from slipping.
-      There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, or else those
-      who hold them out to you will go over the brink with you. Ah, my dear,
-      dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In another year&mdash;perhaps
-      in another month&mdash;you will wonder how you could ever have taken so
-      gloomy a view of the present hour.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained there,
-      however. Then she shook her head, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! Alas!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his own,
-      laying his other caressingly on her head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You fill
-      with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that it
-      would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my dying
-      could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What I do say
-      is that I should like to live for you&mdash;to live to see happiness once
-      again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing&mdash;you will not
-      give me a chance of helping you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She shook her head sadly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I dare not&mdash;I dare not,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I dare not run the chance of
-      forfeiting your regard forever.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; he said after a pause.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
-      and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mary,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
-      beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again&mdash;that
-      you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
-      company of such a man&mdash;talking to him as I saw you last night&mdash;what
-      would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
-      construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
-      dear?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! alas!&rdquo; she cried piteously. &ldquo;I cannot make you such a promise. You
-      will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my own free
-      will?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
-      you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
-      power over me&mdash;he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot
-      speak to you more! Leave me&mdash;leave me! I have been a fool and I must
-      pay the penalty of my folly.&rdquo; Before he could make a reply, the door was
-      opened and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
-      sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear Mamma,&rdquo; cried Little Comedy. &ldquo;What Mary needs is some one
-      who will raise her spirits&mdash;Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I am
-      sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? Nay,
-      you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain that you
-      would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but I protest it would
-      seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your attention. He doesn't look
-      particularly like our agreeable Rattle at the present moment, does he,
-      Mamma? And it was the same at supper last night. It might have been
-      fancied that he was celebrating a great failure instead of a huge
-      success.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
-      the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the author
-      some account of what the friends whom she had met that day said of the
-      piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a perpetually
-      sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her gaiety was out of
-      tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the first breathing
-      space that the girl permitted him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XVI.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e felt that the
-      result of his interview with Mary was to render more mysterious than ever
-      the question which he had hoped to solve.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
-      had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd enough
-      to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed account
-      of his interview with the girl&mdash;a detailed account of his observation
-      of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the Pantheon, then
-      in the green room of Covent Garden&mdash;would have no trouble whatever in
-      accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could see the shrugs
-      of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed to be vastly
-      grieved.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all womankind
-      together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one woman to be
-      swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind generally.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe that
-      she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think anything
-      evil regarding her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She is not as others,&rdquo; was the phrase that was in his mind&mdash;the
-      thought that was in his heart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance that
-      when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not as other
-      women are.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that when
-      a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from other
-      women, he loves that woman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out the
-      heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that had
-      occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in the same
-      apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that the killing
-      of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question which was
-      puzzling him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he went
-      to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of the
-      author's nights for &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer.&rdquo; Baretti was a well known
-      personage in the best literary society in London, having consolidated his
-      reputation by the publication of his English and Italian dictionary. He
-      had been Johnson's friend since his first exile from Italy, and it was
-      through his influence Baretti, on the formation of the Royal Academy, had
-      been appointed Secretary for Foreign Correspondence. To Johnson also he
-      owed the more remunerative appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'.
-      He had frequently dined with Goldsmith at his chambers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
-      author of the play upon his success.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it creates
-      in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,&rdquo; said the Italian.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quickly, &ldquo;that is just what I wish to have a word
-      with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
-      should be.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What,&rdquo; cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who had
-      certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. &ldquo;What, do you mean to
-      fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be your
-      weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen you
-      should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty certain
-      of victory.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, yes; but there are cases&mdash;well, one never knows what may happen,
-      and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can do a
-      little sword play&mdash;enough to enable me to face a moderately good
-      antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
-      in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How did you retort?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised as
-      gentlemen.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Bacchus! An effective retort! And then&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
-      making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout of
-      swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
-      compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
-      any first-rate master of the art in London?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you into
-      a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Better make it five years.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Five years?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
-      express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be made
-      a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell you
-      that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front place among
-      swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so short-sighted I
-      could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I shall never kill a
-      man.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
-      them.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have made up my mind to have some lessons,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;and I know
-      there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha!&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
-      are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
-      teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
-      you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
-      such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
-      fiber than yourself.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men&mdash;nay,
-      even an Irishman&mdash;to show himself adroit with a sword,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith; &ldquo;and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services
-      towards this end.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no further
-      than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular wish to place
-      myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I fancy I can
-      see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a fencing master.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shall keep it a secret,&rdquo; laughed Baretti; &ldquo;but mind, sir, when you run
-      your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the court
-      as a witness as to your pacific character.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      (When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called as
-      a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with the
-      murder of a man.)
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had taken
-      at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own nature so
-      imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel with Captain
-      Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him through a vital
-      part.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
-      containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon Colman
-      for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic of the
-      town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and so
-      strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
-      express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
-      posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
-      care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement with
-      whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
-      scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
-      the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
-      lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
-      enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many months
-      of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his triumph in
-      another direction.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
-      several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with him
-      were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all clearly
-      ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was unaware; and
-      when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had received, the
-      uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
-      was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You were talking about me just before I entered,&rdquo; said he: &ldquo;I always know
-      on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, may I
-      ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to me in
-      your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I hold to
-      be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all that you can
-      tell&mdash;as simply as you can&mdash;without prejudice to your own
-      reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
-      fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
-      which he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You may trust&mdash;whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
-      Goldsmith&mdash;we are your unalterable friends.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;don't I know that already? Were you not all
-      my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
-      overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
-      bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;we received a copy of the <i>London Packet</i>
-      half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
-      attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
-      assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
-      is none other than myself,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;It is
-      the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;You
-      know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once I
-      made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
-      caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that it
-      is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where is
-      the <i>Packet?</i>&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,&rdquo; said Cradock. &ldquo;Take
-      my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise nature of
-      that scoundrel's slanders.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to sting
-      me,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith. &ldquo;And so, sir, let me have the <i>Packet</i>, and
-      you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
-      Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
-      detraction.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
-      garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,&rdquo; said Steevens.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, sirs, I insist,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;Why do I waste time with you?&rdquo;
-       he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. &ldquo;I waste time
-      here when I can read the <i>Packet</i> in the bar.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hold, sir,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
-      would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched forth
-      to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the paper and
-      here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English writers&mdash;the
-      truest of English poets&mdash;the best of Englishmen.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick flings
-      himself upon me?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He took the <i>Packet</i>. It opened automatically, where an imaginary
-      letter to himself, signed &ldquo;Tom Tickle,&rdquo; appeared.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
-      nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
-      from it&mdash;he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing&mdash;but
-      suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
-      crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
-      flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the room
-      with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword and
-      placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a word to
-      any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane only.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XVII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>enrick's article
-      in the <i>London Packet</i> remains to this day as the vilest example of
-      scurrility published under the form of criticism. All the venom that can
-      be engendered by envy and malice appears in every line of it. It contains
-      no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains no clever phrase. It is
-      the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the demon of jealousy. The note
-      of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, strident and strenuous. It exists
-      as the worst outcome of the period when every garret scribbler emulated
-      &ldquo;Junius,&rdquo; both as regards style and method, but only succeeded in
-      producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead of the thunder of the unknown
-      master of vituperation.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; but
-      when he came to that vile passage&mdash;&ldquo;For hours the <i>great</i>
-      Goldsmith will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
-      pier-glass. Was but the lovely H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;k as much enamoured,
-      you would not sigh, my gentle swain&rdquo;&mdash;his hands tore the paper in
-      fury.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did not
-      know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him aware of
-      the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He did not mind
-      any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have the name that he
-      most cherished of all names associated with his in an insult that seemed
-      to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was more than he could
-      bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind him and had struck
-      from thence the one who had been kindest to him of all the people in the
-      world.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
-      There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him and
-      the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck in the
-      face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to whom he had
-      been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would undoubtedly
-      feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself was to blame
-      for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt that if the
-      attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have escaped. Yes,
-      that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over him to her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
-      upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his sword
-      he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his hands.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
-      assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink from
-      running him through the body with his sword.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
-      counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew that
-      he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a corner; he
-      felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was made up as to
-      what he should do, and all that he now feared was that some circumstance
-      might prevent his realising his intention.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, the
-      publisher of the <i>London Packet</i>. He arrived almost breathless at the
-      place&mdash;it was in Little Queen street&mdash;and entered the shop
-      demanding to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises.
-      Evans, the publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and
-      hearing a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
-      Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was in
-      the house.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon me
-      which appeared in the <i>Packet</i> of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!&rdquo; said
-      the visitor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The shopkeeper smiled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Does anything appear about you in the <i>Packet</i>, sir?&rdquo; he said,
-      over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith,
-      stung by the supercilious smile of the man; &ldquo;you are the publisher of this
-      gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote it
-      struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with his
-      cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
-      opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a small
-      wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, and
-      had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and all the
-      noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his paymaster. It
-      was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back from the cane
-      of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a missile to fling
-      at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a table and hurled
-      it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it struck Evans on the
-      chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over him. This Kenrick
-      perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small shop chairs and
-      rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; but, before he could
-      carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop from the street, and,
-      flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught Goldsmith, who had risen,
-      by the shoulder and hurried him into a hackney-coach, which drove away.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
-      room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became uneasy
-      regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving the tavern,
-      had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent the assault which
-      he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the person of Kenrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of the
-      occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his conduct. A
-      lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when delivered in a
-      broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain Higgins's counsel
-      of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have abstained
-      from doing,&rdquo; cried the still breathless man. &ldquo;I did what my manhood
-      prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done yourself, my
-      friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans&mdash;it was that reptile
-      Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to shelter him,
-      what was left to me, I ask you, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You were a fool, Oliver,&rdquo; said his countryman; &ldquo;you made a great mistake.
-      Can't you see that you should never go about such things single-handed?
-      You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who would not
-      hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why the devil,
-      sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when you left the
-      tavern?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith.
-      &ldquo;And, besides,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with me
-      to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. I have
-      taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. Kenrick
-      won't attack me again so long as I am alive.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
-      Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
-      which he was a master.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
-      Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
-      Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
-      like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
-      that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies a
-      lesson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
-      insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
-      been less gracious to him&mdash;if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
-      example, had been accustomed to treat him&mdash;regarding him and his
-      defects merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have
-      escaped all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause
-      of her being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
-      forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
-      think about.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that he
-      had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
-      years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
-      despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
-      that could not be surmounted.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her forgiveness
-      for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be responsible. He
-      could not, he added, expect that in the future it would be allowed to him
-      to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and her family as had
-      been permitted to him in the past.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
-      when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
-      which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only had
-      seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent Garden,
-      and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had originated with
-      that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if he was justified
-      in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not asked him to be her
-      champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it was a very poor champion
-      that he would have made; but still he knew more of her grief than any one
-      else, and he believed he might be able to help her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will not leave her,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Whatever may happen&mdash;whatever
-      blame people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave
-      her until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother had no
-      reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and Kenrick.
-      But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation passed away.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ha, my little hero!&rdquo; Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
-      threshold. &ldquo;What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what are
-      things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
-      booksellers?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have heard of it?&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;You have heard of the quarrel, but
-      you cannot have heard of the reason for it!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, there is something behind the <i>London Packet</i>, after all?&rdquo;
-       cried Captain Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Something behind it&mdash;something behind that slander&mdash;the mention
-      of your sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists between
-      my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as this&mdash;a
-      strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as you are
-      concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which he was
-      holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the words
-      never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of his own,
-      and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped it, and
-      burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
-      affected.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, come, old friend,&rdquo; he said at last, placing his hand affectionately
-      on Goldsmith's shoulder. &ldquo;Come, come; this will not do. There is nothing
-      to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little aware of your own
-      position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck family regard your
-      friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good heavens, Dr. Goldsmith,
-      don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid for immortality through
-      our names being associated with yours? Who in a hundred years&mdash;in
-      fifty years&mdash;would know anything of the Horneck family if it were not
-      for their association with you? The name of Oliver Goldsmith will live so
-      long as there is life in English letters, and when your name is spoken the
-      name of your friends the Hornecks will not be forgotten.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
-      chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XVIII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day the
-      news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by Goldsmith in respect of
-      the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the literary circle of which
-      Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling was one of regret that
-      Kenrick had not received the beating instead of Evans. Of course, Johnson,
-      who had threatened two writers with an oak stick, shook his head&mdash;and
-      his body as well&mdash;in grave disapproval of Goldsmith's use of his
-      cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes were of the opinion that a
-      cane had never been more appropriately used.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands of
-      pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
-      afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
-      which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
-      Colman's management.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
-      had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl of
-      indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period&mdash;some
-      in the pay of the government others of the opposition&mdash;solely by
-      stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person of
-      the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in the form
-      of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded Junius.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
-      public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest in
-      the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling audience.
-      When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the <i>Daily Advertiser</i>&mdash;surely
-      the manliest manifesto ever printed&mdash;the howls became attenuated, and
-      shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, even by Dr. Johnson&mdash;and
-      so emphatically, too, that his biographer could not avoid recording his
-      judgment&mdash;that Goldsmith had increased his reputation by the
-      incident.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      (Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account of
-      this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
-      received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
-      Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
-      search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
-      him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel when
-      he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
-      of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
-      found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
-      responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson, after he had made some of those grotesque
-      movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably accompanied&mdash;&ldquo;Dr.
-      Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
-      that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
-      come rather sooner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
-      to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,&rdquo; said Johnson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you were right in assuming that you could say
-      nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a fool&mdash;at
-      many times&mdash;in many ways.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
-      and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
-      my suspicion.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he do
-      after having seen me?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; resumed Johnson, &ldquo;it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
-      to me to find, as I did in this room&mdash;on that desk&mdash;such
-      evidence of your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What do you mean, sir? My folly&mdash;evidence&mdash;on that desk? Ah, I
-      know now what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I
-      suppose for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas,
-      sir, who could resist Filby's flatteries?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you gave me permission several years ago to read any
-      manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been
-      advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect for your
-      criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you suggested?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
-      waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,&rdquo;
-       said Johnson sternly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I forget now what work was last under my hand,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but whatever it
-      was, sir&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have it here, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
-      noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
-      laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived that it
-      consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the Jessamy
-      Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had them before
-      him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would be the result
-      of sending them to her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
-      friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
-      matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, those verses, sir,&rdquo; he stammered; &ldquo;they are poor things. You will, I
-      fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they resemble
-      my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my man, but
-      Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the cost of
-      repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man of
-      determination with his own future&mdash;with his own happiness and the
-      happiness of others.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I protest, sir, I scarcely understand&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
-      character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
-      heart speaks.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that may
-      come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your heart
-      throbs in every line.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise the
-      feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more happy than
-      I fancied.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, I protest that I&mdash;that is&mdash;no, I shall protest nothing.
-      You have spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I
-      wrote those verses out of my own heart&mdash;God knows if they are the
-      first that came from my heart&mdash;I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed
-      to own it?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
-      did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been the
-      sweetest&mdash;the only consolation of a life that has known but few
-      consolations.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
-      as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
-      Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
-      family have extended to you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
-      What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
-      remain unspoken by either of us&mdash;what if I do love her? Where is the
-      indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? Does
-      one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself&mdash;yes,
-      and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to know&mdash;and,
-      indeed, I think she must&mdash;that she has been the cause, even though
-      the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she will not be
-      free from unhappiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens all
-      my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, if I know your character&mdash;and I believe I have known it
-      for some years&mdash;you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my
-      dear friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but
-      a battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
-      come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
-      it to flight before it prove your ruin.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there is of
-      beauty&mdash;everything there is of sweetness&mdash;in the life of man&mdash;you
-      call it our enemy?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I call it <i>your</i> enemy, Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from other
-      men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for evermore
-      from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he has proved to the
-      world that he is most capable of all mankind of appreciating tenderness
-      and grace? What trick of nature is this? What paradox for men to vex their
-      souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from men, evermore looking on
-      happiness through another man's eyes? If you answer 'yes,' then I say that
-      men who are not poets should go down on their knees and thank Heaven that
-      they are not poets. Happy it is for mankind that Heaven has laid on few
-      men the curse of being poets. For myself, I feel that I would rather be a
-      man for an hour than a poet for all time.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us look
-      at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate enough
-      to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be brought to
-      think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish enough to regard
-      their kindness to you&mdash;their acceptance of you as a friend&mdash;as
-      encouragement in your mad aspirations.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
-      only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
-      not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you as
-      a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to her?
-      Answer me that question, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
-      hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,&rdquo; resumed Johnson. &ldquo;I
-      will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
-      only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but I
-      ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on your
-      side as ridiculous&mdash;nay, worse&mdash;a gross affront.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
-      resumed his discourse.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
-      desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, and of
-      forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your infatuation?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith started up.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,&rdquo; he cried almost
-      piteously. &ldquo;Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
-      hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
-      the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
-      which I wrote&mdash;I could not help writing them&mdash;but she does not
-      know that they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it
-      from me. My history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover&mdash;a
-      blank&mdash;a blank.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My poor friend,&rdquo; said Johnson after a pause&mdash;he had laid his hand
-      upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
-      table&mdash;&ldquo;My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups
-      which are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I
-      have drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
-      others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means to have
-      double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself before now
-      worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have faced life,
-      by your independence of the patronage of the great. You dedicated 'The
-      Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. You did not
-      hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to offer you money
-      for the prostitution of the talents which God has given you. Dr.
-      Goldsmith, you have my respect&mdash;you have the respect of every good
-      man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your detractors
-      who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would give them an
-      opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will not do
-      anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and show all
-      those who are your friends that their friendship for you is well founded.
-      I am assured that I can trust you, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XIX.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his visitor
-      had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and gave way to the bitter
-      reflections of the hour.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
-      which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception&mdash;to his
-      hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion might
-      be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of vain dreams
-      that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his straightforwardness
-      there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that made any appeal from
-      his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in the utterances of his
-      phrases when forcing his contentions upon any audience; but Goldsmith knew
-      that he only spoke strongly because he felt strongly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson had
-      said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake the
-      sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
-      content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
-      Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
-      house&mdash;a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting
-      his father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
-      Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were to
-      present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his hearing
-      to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. The tragedy
-      of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their prospects in
-      the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he felt, the most
-      cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who make music of the
-      passions of men&mdash;who have surrounded the passion of love with a
-      glorifying halo&mdash;should be doomed to spend their lives looking on at
-      the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of the music which
-      the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy of life, and Goldsmith
-      had often found himself face to face with it, feeling himself to be one of
-      those with whom destiny is only on jesting terms.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
-      Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
-      that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only of
-      all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his cause,
-      he would be regarded&mdash;and rightly, too&mdash;as both presumptuous and
-      ridiculous.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
-      letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking to
-      themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to look
-      forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
-      contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
-      poet for the loss of home&mdash;the grateful companionship of a wife&mdash;the
-      babble of children&mdash;all that his fellow-men associated with the
-      gladness and glory of life?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
-      surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
-      such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation&mdash;he had
-      sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness of
-      having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
-      envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
-      sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval of
-      his friends.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He had
-      sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his ills
-      during the past few years had departed from him. He would never see Mary
-      Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the burden of
-      his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide by it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
-      resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
-      one consolation of his life.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt down
-      and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the manuscript
-      into it between the bars when the light that it made fell upon one of the
-      lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he had read the
-      remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a sigh, he hastily
-      thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little blaze had fallen
-      again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could raise it by a breath or
-      two, his servant entered the room. He started to his feet.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A letter for you, sir,&rdquo; said John Eyles. &ldquo;It came by a messenger lad.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Fetch a candle, John,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too dark
-      for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on the
-      seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines that
-      the letter contained&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <i>Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
-      only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if not,
-      then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride.</i>
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
-      He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
-      to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
-      that he was about to stand face to face with her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
-      small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
-      of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer.&rdquo; Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
-      cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
-      walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
-      between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and her
-      sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put her
-      hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I knew you would come,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I knew that I could trust you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You may trust me, indeed,&rdquo; he said. He held her hand in his own, looking
-      into her pale face and sunken eyes. &ldquo;I knew the time would come when you
-      would tell me all that there is to be told,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Whether I can
-      help you or not, you will find yourself better for having told me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
-      was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, and,
-      after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the mantelpiece,
-      leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into the smouldering
-      fire in the grate.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
-      heart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What am I to tell you&mdash;what am I to tell you?&rdquo; she cried at last,
-      resuming her pacing of the floor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. She
-      went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking with
-      vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the sconces.
-      Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a great effort
-      she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil when she spoke,
-      seating herself.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of that
-      man,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You alone were observant. Did you also see him call me to
-      his side in the green room at the playhouse?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I saw you in the act of speaking to him there&mdash;he calls himself
-      Jackson&mdash;Captain Jackson,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You saved me from him once!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You saved me from becoming his&mdash;body
-      and soul.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
-      me to do so.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I tell you if it had not been for you&mdash;for the book which you wrote,
-      I should be to-day a miserable castaway.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He looked puzzled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot quite understand,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar of
-      Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
-      complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which I had
-      presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of reading
-      it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It was that which saved me,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, what fools girls are! They
-      are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
-      child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of men&mdash;some
-      men&mdash;so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge of
-      womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told all
-      that we should guard against?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
-      Jessamy Bride.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then you will err,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You will have to think ill of me. Thank
-      God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
-      from all&mdash;to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
-      I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
-      village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
-      received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and feted
-      in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love with him, and I&mdash;innocent
-      fool that I was&mdash;considered myself the most favoured creature in the
-      world because he made love to me. Any day we failed to meet I wrote him a
-      letter&mdash;a foolish letter such as a school miss might write&mdash;full
-      of protestations of undying affection. I sometimes wrote two of these
-      letters in the day. More than a month passed in this foolishness, and then
-      it came to my uncle's ears that we had meetings. He forbade my continuing
-      to see a man of whom no one knew anything definite, but about whom he was
-      having strict inquiries made. I wrote to the man to this effect, and I
-      received a reply persuading me to have one more meeting with him. I was so
-      infatuated that I met him secretly, and then in impassioned strains he
-      implored me to make a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When
-      he had been fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies
-      had been active, and he feared that their malice would come between us,
-      and he should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I
-      consented to leave my uncle's house by his side.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But you cannot have done so.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You saved me,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I had been reading your book, and, by God's
-      mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him I
-      came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With the
-      suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The scales
-      fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to Damascus,
-      only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited me. I knew
-      that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a single hour&mdash;thanks
-      to the genius that wrote that book&mdash;my love for that man, or what I
-      fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet him. I returned
-      to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote to me reproaching me
-      for disappointing him; and the very next day my uncle's suspicions
-      regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted in proof positive of
-      the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself Captain Jackson, He had
-      left the army in America with a stain on his character, and it was known
-      that since his return to England at least two young women had been led
-      into the trap which he laid for me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Thank God you were saved, my child,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, as she paused,
-      overcome with emotion. &ldquo;But being saved, my dear, you have no further
-      reason to fear that man.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That was my belief, too,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But alas! it was a delusion. So soon
-      as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in his true
-      colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I had been foolish
-      enough to write to him, to my friends&mdash;he was even scoundrel enough
-      to point out that I had in my innocence written certain passages which
-      were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of guilt&mdash;nay, his
-      letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had been guilty, so
-      that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. What was left for
-      me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to me those letters. I
-      asked him how he could think it consistent with his honour to retain them
-      and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. Alas! he soon gave me to
-      understand that I had but placed myself more deeply in his power.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The scoundrel!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
-      meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing that I
-      had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France together!
-      But then&mdash;ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me&mdash;I
-      cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
-      rings I am in trepidation.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
-      account?&rdquo; cried Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;What did he
-      say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me a
-      fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
-      letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who had
-      written them.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And his terms?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His terms? I cannot tell you&mdash;I cannot tell you. The very thought
-      that I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
-      such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;for I
-      shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No&mdash;no!&rdquo; she said, laying a hand upon his arm. &ldquo;No friend of mine
-      must suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother
-      for fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
-      plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
-      would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
-      that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
-      being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
-      determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope&mdash;the
-      forlorn hope&mdash;that you might be able to help me. Tell me&mdash;tell
-      me, my dear friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that
-      of which poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Guilt? Who talks of guilt?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew
-      that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought of you
-      except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted foolishly;
-      you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your own pure
-      heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any monster. Dear
-      child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against this stroke of
-      fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of escape for you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to myself a
-      score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what direction
-      lies my hope of escape?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
-      invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it is
-      the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one can in
-      a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real life, my
-      dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts of fiction.
-      But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by halves. He
-      will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from you and then
-      permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity as that which
-      you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as Heaven directed my
-      pen to write that book in order that you might be saved from the fate of
-      my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you out of your present
-      difficulty.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You give me hope,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;a little hope. But you must
-      promise me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I
-      know how brave you are&mdash;my brother told me what prompt action you
-      took yesterday when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish
-      to place yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only
-      cause it to spring.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I feel now that I was foolish,&rdquo; said he humbly; &ldquo;I ran the chance of
-      forfeiting your friendship.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But in this matter of mine
-      I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save me, if
-      I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man on the
-      night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what my
-      feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that if you
-      had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
-      arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have spoken truly,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You are wiser than I have ever been.
-      But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing that
-      shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be saved,
-      whatever may happen.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He took her hand and kissed it fondly. &ldquo;You shall be saved,&rdquo; he repeated.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If not&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I have given you my promise. You must give
-      me yours. You will do nothing impious.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She gave a wan smile.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am a girl,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My courage is as water. I promise you I will
-      trust you, with all my heart&mdash;all my heart.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shall not fail you&mdash;Heaven shall not fail you,&rdquo; said he, going to
-      the door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
-      white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
-      more pallid!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He bowed at the door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XX.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e went for supper
-      to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none of his friends. He had
-      no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned Boswell
-      into ridicule to make sport for the company. He knew that Garrick would be
-      at the club in Gerrard street, to which he had been elected only a few
-      days before the production of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer,&rdquo; and it was not at
-      all unlikely that on this account the club would be a good deal livelier
-      than it usually was even when Richard Burke was wittiest.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
-      the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
-      assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
-      attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
-      Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
-      town were talking.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
-      smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
-      the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty of
-      the press as that of which&mdash;according to the writer&mdash;the
-      ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across
-      the room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
-      worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
-      with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He knew perfectly well&mdash;had he not good reason to know?&mdash;that
-      the man who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
-      nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
-      notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
-      and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the fact
-      that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more eagerly
-      read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. That was one
-      of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of Junius: the
-      appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, and there was no
-      lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that the public
-      demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius one of the conditions
-      of their acceptance of such compositions&mdash;all they required was that
-      the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
-      Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money that
-      he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called himself
-      Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there would be no
-      difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people were always much
-      more ready to believe evil than good regarding any one&mdash;especially a
-      young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been breathed&mdash;the
-      result of the publication of the letters would mean practically ruin to
-      the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
-      at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
-      regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
-      the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in such
-      matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, that
-      because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was not
-      sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
-      possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should find
-      it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and he believed,
-      with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was situated would be
-      to forfeit their respect forever.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and he
-      felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her sake.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
-      in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon&mdash;how often his
-      friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
-      not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some occasions
-      he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also remembered how, when
-      he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned out that he had never
-      been more clearly imposed upon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
-      (which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
-      shrewdness).
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required it,
-      cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly wisdom?
-      By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the world?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
-      reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
-      waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
-      short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
-      not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly felt
-      no vexation at being made so easy a victim of&mdash;he was accustomed to
-      that position.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between the
-      bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred at the
-      end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, coals, all
-      thoughts of guile&mdash;all his prospects of shrewdness were cast aside.
-      He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, he had no
-      right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his property. They
-      either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary Horneck, as&mdash;as
-      what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he had promised
-      Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of that which he
-      had admitted to be foolishness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
-      dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
-      reproach put those verses into the girl's hand&mdash;when, learning the
-      truth, she would understand.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And that time did come.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to get
-      possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
-      attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
-      for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully aware
-      that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of a criminal
-      prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the discovery of all
-      that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
-      would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
-      affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
-      defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the woman
-      to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was accustomed
-      to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should have
-      considerable difficulty in finding her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
-      question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
-      knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to do
-      so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and he
-      liked her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him&mdash;if he made
-      it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
-      while.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became impatient
-      at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington until the
-      evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced a visitor&mdash;one
-      with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as Colonel Gwyn.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
-      recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at the
-      Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit to Brick
-      Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted Colonel Gwyn
-      as if he considered it to be one of the most natural occurrences in the
-      world for him to appear at that particular moment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the visitor when he had seated himself, &ldquo;you have no
-      doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of calling
-      upon you without first communicating with you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not at all, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis a great compliment you offer to
-      me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
-      have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
-      generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
-      so successfully caricatured.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The fact
-      is, sir, that I&mdash;I&mdash;i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
-      how it is I appear before you in this fashion.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You are
-      a friend of my best friend&mdash;Sir Joshua Reynolds.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
-      Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem of&mdash;of&mdash;well,
-      of all the members of the Horneck family.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way his
-      visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what reply
-      to make to him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I perceive that you are surprised, sir.&rdquo; said Gwyn.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;not at all&mdash;that is&mdash;no, not greatly surprised&mdash;only&mdash;well,
-      sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
-      yourself, a soldier,&rdquo; stammered Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past week
-      or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Gwyn; &ldquo;but upon no occasion
-      have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me she was by
-      no means well.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And they told you the truth, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
-      they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
-      confess a headache was not specified.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. But
-      why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking a
-      liberty,&rdquo; he said somewhat awkwardly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see&mdash;sir, you are, I know, a favoured
-      friend of the lady's&mdash;I perceived long ago&mdash;nay, it is well
-      known that she regards you with great affection as a&mdash;no, not as a
-      father&mdash;no, as&mdash;as an elder brother, that is it&mdash;yes, as an
-      elder brother; and therefore I thought that I would venture to intrude
-      upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but
-      I hesitate&mdash;as I am sure you could understand that any man must&mdash;before
-      declaring myself to her. Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you
-      might not conceive it to be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to
-      ask you if you knew of the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope
-      you will be frank with me, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was
-      a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat upright on
-      his chair&mdash;a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some people, but
-      that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat inclined to be
-      pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that they were the
-      manners of a gentleman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
-      Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last he
-      gave a little start.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You should not have come to me, sir,&rdquo; he said slowly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,&rdquo; said Gwyn.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
-      confidence. But&mdash;ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a
-      lady would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I thought it possible that she&mdash;Miss Horneck&mdash;might have let
-      you know. You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so
-      she might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
-      Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of&mdash;well, a sort of
-      vested interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate them for
-      the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become accustomed. I
-      have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the children of their
-      happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if they were their own
-      offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, that poets become
-      sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, which is quite apart
-      from the world of letters.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
-      difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the exact
-      appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted as
-      much.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But for that
-      matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
-      plain to you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;I think I gathered from your words all that
-      you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
-      subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
-      lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
-      chances of success.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How admirably you put the matter!&rdquo; said Gwyn. &ldquo;And I fancied you did not
-      apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot tell,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Miss Horneck has never told me that she
-      loved any man.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then I have still a chance?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments to
-      their fathers&mdash;no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
-      consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
-      advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself if
-      you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to become
-      attached. Add to the effect of your personality&mdash;which I think is
-      great, sir&mdash;the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you
-      have won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether
-      your suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
-      some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
-      Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
-      that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the man
-      exist who would be worthy of her love?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
-      some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
-      is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
-      consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. Goldsmith&mdash;not
-      as men go&mdash;there is in my lifetime nothing that I have cause to be
-      ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, her purity, her
-      tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own presumption in aspiring
-      to win her. You think me presumptuous in this matter, I am convinced,
-      sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do&mdash;I do. I know Mary Horneck.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with me
-      in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me to
-      thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me away
-      without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that I have
-      your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
-      happiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn, my wishes&mdash;my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck
-      may be happy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXI.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever for a moment
-      had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men who were understood to be
-      admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made humourous verses on some of
-      them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic illustrations, and Mary and her
-      sister had had their laugh. He could not even now feel jealous of Colonel
-      Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more eligible suitor than the majority
-      whom he had met from time to time at the Hornecks' house. He knew that
-      since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the girl had no thoughts to give to love
-      and suitors. If Gwyn were to go to her immediately and offer himself as a
-      suitor he would meet with a disappointment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who had
-      just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be exultant
-      at the thought that it was he&mdash;he&mdash;Oliver Goldsmith&mdash;who
-      had been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret&mdash;with the duty of
-      saving her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
-      enterprise had fallen.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
-      position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
-      rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
-      instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
-      hand of the maiden?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate all
-      his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the struggle
-      had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had become the
-      most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor at the Royal
-      Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most eminent men of
-      the period. And then, although he was plain of face and awkward in manner&mdash;nearly
-      as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as Johnson&mdash;he had been
-      appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in England. He felt that he
-      had reason to exult.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with Colonel
-      Gwyn&mdash;he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel Gwyn.
-      What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in preference to
-      Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a mirror in order to
-      learn what chance he would have of being accepted as the lover of a lovely
-      girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to himself?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he had&mdash;a
-      glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from complete
-      despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted with the
-      task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
-      destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
-      too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
-      him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
-      evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
-      Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his play&mdash;in
-      which she did not appear&mdash;was being acted on the stage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that his
-      design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should pursue
-      in regard to the actress&mdash;how far he would be safe in confiding in
-      her&mdash;was frustrated.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
-      with him&mdash;well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make a
-      quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such a disaster.
-      Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in Boswell's eyes he
-      could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of a second person.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! Sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you do
-      of the Irish nation and their characteristics.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,&rdquo; said
-      Boswell. &ldquo;But now all is over; he will never see me again.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
-      order to give you a chance of knowing him better?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,&rdquo; cried Boswell after a
-      contemplative pause.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
-      consciousness of his generosity.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
-      again?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
-      feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
-      secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
-      talking together.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
-      biographer.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which the
-      Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
-      Goldsmith?&rdquo; he cried anxiously.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith, with
-      an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
-      that Shakespeare was pompous.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Now you are imitating him,&rdquo; said Boswell. &ldquo;But I perceive that he has
-      told you of our quarrel&mdash;our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
-      sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Through me, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
-      Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no one
-      of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has lately
-      been mimicking the Dean&mdash;yes, down to his very words, at the
-      Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
-      acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
-      upbraided me for half an hour.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;To no human being, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;To no one, sir&mdash;that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly
-      have had the story.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
-      expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
-      perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail to
-      make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
-      Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
-      accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
-      Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
-      in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
-      friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
-      being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
-      that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
-      order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
-      biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick and
-      choose the incidents with which he has to deal&mdash;that he may, if he
-      please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his hero
-      or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you frankly
-      that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are mischievous.
-      Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I insist on your
-      writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the very words that
-      passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and you will also
-      furnish me with a list of the persons&mdash;if you have not sufficient
-      paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream at the
-      stationer's at the corner&mdash;to whom you gave an account of the
-      humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship with
-      me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do not seek
-      to avoid so obvious a duty.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam of
-      a smile on his face.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a word.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,&rdquo; muttered Goldsmith. &ldquo;If
-      I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
-      hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      (The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
-      him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained his
-      forgiveness. &ldquo;You were right, sir,&rdquo; the letter concluded. &ldquo;Dr. Johnson has
-      still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.&rdquo;)
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to the
-      playhouse in order to consult with the lady who&mdash;through long
-      practice&mdash;was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to
-      give him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel.
-      It was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
-      not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
-      his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
-      which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
-      only of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer&rdquo; had been reached, and as she did not
-      appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
-      piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers&mdash;one which had taken the
-      town by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every
-      lady of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
-      a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
-      loose about the neck and shoulders.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ha, my little hero,&rdquo; cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
-      his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then to
-      Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? Oh,
-      lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all a-dying
-      of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There was a
-      rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
-      madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Faith, sir, you gave
-      him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I
-      give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr.
-      Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For
-      instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the
-      first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt
-      upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
-      Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Though, for
-      that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
-      before me in that dress&mdash;ay, or any other.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
-      compliment&mdash;I sink under it, sir&mdash;thus,&rdquo; and she made an
-      exquisite courtesy. &ldquo;Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses'
-      heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely
-      anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should
-      be moved,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy
-      as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of
-      Miss Hardcastle.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have the design of one in my head, madam.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
-      head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
-      great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
-      you have begun the comedy, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
-      air. I want your assistance in that direction.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
-      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic as
-      Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you give
-      me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
-      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
-      have to tell you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
-      him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his family&mdash;a
-      critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your face
-      suggested.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for help.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
-      think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
-      the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light&mdash;which I take to
-      be the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman&mdash;he is too
-      powerful for me, I frankly confess.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mine is a male fiend.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not the manager of a theatre&mdash;another form of the same hue?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
-      greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to coffee
-      house repeating it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was more
-      than you could cope with?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd now, sir, to
-      face the particulars&mdash;to proceed from the fancy embroidery of wit to
-      the solid fabric of fact&mdash;who or what is the aggressive demon that
-      you want exorcised?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His name is Jackson&mdash;he calls himself Captain Jackson,&rdquo; replied
-      Oliver. He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary
-      Horneck's story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of
-      this point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
-      any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
-      had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Jackson&mdash;Captain Jackson!&rdquo; cried the actress. &ldquo;Why, Dr. Goldsmith,
-      this is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy.
-      Surely, sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for
-      a battering-ram to overturn a house of cards&mdash;one does not
-      requisition a park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of the
-      power of a piece of ordnance,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The truth is, madam, that
-      in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
-      you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
-      doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
-      there is a lady in the question.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
-      waiting for the lady.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She is the most charming of her sex, madam.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may be
-      taken for granted.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I wonder in what part of the world she lived&mdash;certainly not in
-      London.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared upon
-      the scene&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
-      the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
-      even though the serpent be slaughtered.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pardon me, Mrs. Abington&rdquo;&mdash;Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely&mdash;&ldquo;pardon
-      me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
-      has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
-      of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let it
-      be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
-      taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; and
-      how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to him, but
-      had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them the
-      appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The lady is prostrated with grief,&rdquo; he said, concluding his story. &ldquo;The
-      very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
-      killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
-      knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis a sad story indeed,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;The man is as bad as bad
-      can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
-      Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
-      meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
-      the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
-      been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
-      possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know that all
-      the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of Scotland
-      'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of guineas, Dr.
-      Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
-      think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not in
-      the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,&rdquo;
-       cried the lady. &ldquo;Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in a
-      bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego the
-      dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the coins.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You may be right,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But whence are the guineas to come, pray?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a couple
-      of hundred pounds.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! She
-      would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she had
-      written letters of affection to such a man.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have allowed
-      herself to be imposed on by a stranger?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
-      who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
-      your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return to
-      the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? How do
-      you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
-      conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
-      It occurred to me that perhaps&mdash;it might be possible&mdash;in short,
-      Mrs. Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel
-      could be entrapped.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary men&mdash;and
-      of wary&mdash;is what nature and art have fitted me for&mdash;nature and
-      practice?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear madam.
-      But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady with whom I am
-      acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest intelligence. That
-      is why you are our greatest actress. The highest intelligence is valueless
-      on the stage unless it is associated with a heart that beats in sympathy
-      with the sorrow and becomes exultant with the joy of others. That is why I
-      regard myself as more than fortunate in having your promise to accept a
-      part in my next comedy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
-      author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him out
-      of his difficulty.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,&rdquo; said the
-      actress. &ldquo;Yes, in spite of your being&mdash;being&mdash;ah&mdash;innocent&mdash;a
-      poet, and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man,
-      Dr. Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to&mdash;to&mdash;well,
-      shall we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is the position I long for, dear madam.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know you,
-      Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or two&mdash;that
-      will give both of us a chance of still further considering the possibility
-      of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe it was the
-      lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were doubtless for
-      running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his throat without
-      the delay of a moment.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
-      about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
-      'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite perceive
-      their bearing.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their little
-      step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, I
-      perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress for
-      my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used to
-      term 'ructions.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
-      before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
-      effective kiss.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for he was
-      not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had departed
-      without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would have
-      regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, that
-      clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt that it
-      was a pleasure to do anything for such a man&mdash;especially as he was a
-      writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she could so
-      interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be the most
-      notable success of the season.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
-      progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
-      feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not been
-      at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting with Mrs.
-      Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. Abington were
-      associated.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
-      consolidated by a &ldquo;command&rdquo; performance at which the whole of his
-      Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because it
-      meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
-      sentimentalists who were still harping upon the &ldquo;low&rdquo; elements of certain
-      scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good augury. He
-      felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan by which he
-      should be able to get possession of the letters.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
-      not been unmindful of his interests.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
-      yesterday,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I tolerated him&mdash;nay, I encouraged him&mdash;not
-      for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, but
-      for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking fool
-      of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly makes a
-      fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of herself.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
-      Mrs. Abing ton,&rdquo; said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
-      laughter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she
-      said. &ldquo;But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for I
-      have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably the
-      most effective.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have found that by your experience of traps?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The
-      smile is the silken net?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Even so,&rdquo; said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. &ldquo;Ah,
-      Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
-      but at me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being smiled
-      at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response to the
-      encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my private
-      address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when the fly
-      begins to lure on the spider.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not&mdash;to the fly.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. Sir, to
-      be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private address,
-      but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next Thursday
-      night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
-      behalf&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that I
-      am only interested in my sister-fly&mdash;would she be angry if she were
-      to hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
-      upon Goldsmith's ear.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;she is a Christian woman.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the actress, &ldquo;a very small amount of Christian
-      charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. Let
-      that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on Thursday
-      night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round the corner,
-      and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you to appear boldly,
-      as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my hospitality. You must
-      come into the room when we have begun, carrying with you a roll of
-      manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene of your new comedy,
-      upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shall not fail to recollect,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Why, 'tis like the
-      argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
-      elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;I think I know
-      the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama of
-      mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which you
-      will not be able to play to perfection.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
-      When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I trust,
-      ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the pleasure of
-      your society for even an hour.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will ask you to join us at the table, and then&mdash;well, then I have
-      a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
-      friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known all
-      his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters of
-      his.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
-      possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity&mdash;the fact
-      being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
-      Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
-      romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
-      formed the basis of more than one comedy&mdash;he had a notion that if
-      these comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
-      been so clearly defined.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, sir!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity of
-      my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt&mdash;not at
-      scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
-      play, dear lady,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But then, you see, it would be in my power to
-      make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the right
-      moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that was
-      necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes quite
-      hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most ordinary
-      precepts of art.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said the actress. &ldquo;Nothing in this world is certain. I am a
-      poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my life.
-      At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully arranged
-      plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the slovenliness of the
-      actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain dialogue, yet in the
-      end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama out of the ruins of our
-      schemes than we originally designed. So, in this case, sir, I am not
-      without hope that even though our gentleman's lips remain sealed&mdash;nay,
-      even though our gentleman remain sober&mdash;a great calamity&mdash;we may
-      still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep your ears open and
-      I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if between us we cannot
-      get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,&rdquo; said Oliver; &ldquo;and I
-      can only repeat what you have said so well&mdash;namely, that even the
-      most clumsy of our schemes&mdash;which this one of yours certainly is not&mdash;may
-      become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
-      that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you on
-      Thursday evening.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXIII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith for the
-      next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a consciousness of having
-      wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon Mrs. Abington and
-      discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing the purpose which he
-      had at heart; for he could not but perceive how shallow was the scheme
-      which she had devised for the undoing of Mary Horneck's enemy. He felt
-      that it would, after all, have been better for him to place himself in the
-      hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had promised to find out for him,
-      and to do his best to run the scoundrel through the body, than to waste
-      his time listening to the crude scheme concocted by Mrs. Abington, in
-      close imitation of some third-class playwright.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
-      scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to join
-      her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent his
-      exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan for
-      obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
-      seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when he
-      had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
-      which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident to
-      effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had suggested
-      the possibility of such an accident taking place&mdash;in fact, she seemed
-      to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than upon the
-      ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think that she was
-      right in this respect. He had a considerable experience of life and its
-      vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a jesting mood the most
-      judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be overturned by an accident
-      apparently no less trivial than the raising of a hand, the fluttering of a
-      piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and a
-      vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
-      causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he met
-      a young woman who changed&mdash;for a time&mdash;all his ideas of the sex.
-      As he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
-      Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
-      factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
-      accident is only another form of despair.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he met
-      Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an Italian
-      fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; cried Baretti. &ldquo;Have you another affair on your hands in addition
-      to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You do not need
-      to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;They
-      have stepped between me and starvation more than once.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
-      to make money by his philanthropy?&rdquo; asked Baretti in his usual cynical
-      way.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I cannot say,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith. &ldquo;I don't think that I can lay claim to
-      the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
-      rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
-      mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
-      swordsman in Europe,&rdquo; said Baretti.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do so, my friend,&rdquo; said Goldsmith; &ldquo;and when I succeed in killing a
-      critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as a
-      memento.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I shall look for them&mdash;yes, in five years, for it will certainly
-      take that time to make you expert with a sword,&rdquo; said the Italian. &ldquo;And,
-      meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
-      fighter as Kenrick.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
-      may take a fancy to have.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
-      martyr&mdash;a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other
-      unclean beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
-      within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
-      should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
-      as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not want
-      a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear one of
-      our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And who may that friend be?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
-      with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the little
-      Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. Sir,
-      Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than&mdash;than&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A lioness robbed of her whelps?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is the
-      bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that you had
-      boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; and the
-      best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit into the
-      jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles&mdash;reminiscent of his
-      native land&mdash;ever since.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
-      Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
-      Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
-      evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
-      the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, his
-      first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
-      flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
-      every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
-      said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit who
-      had shouted: &ldquo;Stick to the coo, mon!&rdquo; On the whole, Garrick said, he
-      thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
-      many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion&mdash;whatever it
-      might be worth&mdash;that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was
-      most successful in attempting.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
-      accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
-      believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
-      inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, and
-      he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme which she
-      had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of inducing the
-      man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he was in the habit
-      of keeping the letters.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,&rdquo;
-       said she; &ldquo;and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may become
-      dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. If he
-      suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
-      farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What then is to be gained by our supping with him?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, you are brought into contact with him,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You will then
-      be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take him
-      unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? heavens,
-      sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak&mdash;one
-      cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
-      and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
-      fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting the
-      letters into your pocket.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I'll hope for better luck than that,&rdquo; said Oliver.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But good luck
-      is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
-      cleverest people.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. &ldquo;But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. Abington
-      as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,&rdquo; said she.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
-      your advice and reserve my compliments to you for&mdash;well, no, not a
-      month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done very
-      well.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
-      that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
-      alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of an
-      adroit scoundrel. He had heard&mdash;nay, he had written&mdash;of the
-      wiles of women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of
-      testing a woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his
-      estimate of their value.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare tavern
-      at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll of manuscript
-      in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the waiter to inform
-      the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was very fluent up to
-      this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave when he found himself
-      face to face with the man who had made the life of Mary Horneck miserable.
-      He wondered if he would be able to restrain his impulse to fly at the
-      scoundrel's throat.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington that
-      she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended the stairs
-      to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved himself to
-      play a part, and he was convinced that the rÃ´le was not beyond his powers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her chair
-      laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>,
-      for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting upon it and
-      one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the points of his
-      narrative.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, pleasantly,
-      but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the story which
-      Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with his fingers
-      still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most inopportune
-      entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other is in the act
-      of telling a story to an appreciative audience&mdash;say, a beautiful
-      actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be seen to the
-      greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb and flow of that
-      roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate wimplings, rising and
-      falling between the porcelain of her throat and the curve of the ivory of
-      her shoulders.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition of
-      Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. Abington's
-      tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned his head round as
-      the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward the table, bowing
-      profusely&mdash;rather too profusely for the part he was playing, the
-      artistic perception of the actress told her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ha, my little author!&rdquo; cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
-      patron.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers&mdash;the best
-      time for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
-      convenience of our betters.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
-      convenience in an ante-room&mdash;ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that
-      the scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets
-      write best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;For shame, Captain!&rdquo; cried Mrs Abington. &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is a man as well
-      as a poet. He has broken heads before now.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXIV.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Jackson
-      laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself back in his chair
-      and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had advanced to the side
-      of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of the bookseller's hack.
-      He played the part very indifferently, the lady perceived.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Faith, my dear,&rdquo; laughed the Captain, &ldquo;I would fain believe that he is a
-      terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head broke
-      by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I swear that I
-      never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is accustomed to
-      spread terror around.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, my dear madam,&rdquo; cried her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>, &ldquo;you must pardon me for
-      saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
-      exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known kitchen
-      principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a poet's pate,
-      being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would overcome a
-      sound head.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I meant nothing like that, Captain,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned
-      to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. &ldquo;Come, Dr.
-      Goldsmith,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;seat yourself by me, and partake of supper. I vow
-      that I will not even glance at that act of your new play which I perceive
-      you have brought to me, until we have supped.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, madam,&rdquo; stuttered Goldsmith; &ldquo;I have already had my humble meal;
-      still&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
-      hoarse laugh, crying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
-      by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
-      himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the romance
-      which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a party. Has he
-      never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable kill-joy?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,&rdquo; said the actress in smiling
-      remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view of the
-      poet's weakness. &ldquo;You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of parts. He
-      is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; will you, Dr.
-      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast at
-      him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own part
-      he was acting to perfection the rÃ´le of the hack author who was patronised
-      till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way
-      as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's cloak was
-      flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to seating
-      himself.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam, I am your servant,&rdquo; he murmured; &ldquo;Sir, I am your most obedient to
-      command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such distinguished
-      company.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And so you should, sir,&rdquo; cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
-      about, laying a fresh plate and glass, &ldquo;so you should. Your grand patrons,
-      my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you from
-      slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely to
-      feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, General
-      Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I had half a
-      mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking me over! May I
-      die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the General a lesson which
-      he would have remembered to his dying hour&mdash;his dying hour&mdash;that
-      is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn upon him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;But
-      I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being drawn on
-      his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
-      swear,&rdquo; cried the Captain bowing over the table.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And so I call upon you to drink to his health&mdash;a
-      bumper, sir, a bumper!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With an
-      air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained it
-      with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
-      Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hang him!&rdquo; he cried, when he had wiped his lips, &ldquo;I bear Goldsmith no
-      malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
-      shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge after
-      charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health of a little
-      man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show does his
-      bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous to my
-      heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Captain,&rdquo; said the lady, &ldquo;I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain from
-      challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many healths
-      during the day, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What mean you by that, madam?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Do you suggest that I cannot
-      carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
-      gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that you
-      would have a chance of offering.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,&rdquo; said the actress hastily. &ldquo;I will prove
-      to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. Goldsmith's
-      new comedy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Now you are very much my dear,&rdquo; said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
-      decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. &ldquo;Yes, your
-      confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, shall it
-      be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American rebels&mdash;curse
-      'em!&mdash;turn as green as their own coats&mdash;shall it be said that
-      Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel&mdash;Washington his name is&mdash;George
-      Washington&rdquo;&mdash;he had considerable difficulty over the name&mdash;&ldquo;is
-      accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men&mdash;not men, but
-      lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his Majesty's forces
-      into the Potomac'&mdash;shall it be said that&mdash;that&mdash;what the
-      devil was I about to say&mdash;shall it be said?&mdash;never mind&mdash;here's
-      to the health of Colonel Washington!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,&rdquo; said Mrs.
-      Abington, rising. &ldquo;'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; and,
-      sir, you still wear the King's uniform.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The devil take the King's uniform!&rdquo; shouted the man. &ldquo;The devils of
-      rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell you,
-      madam, that&mdash;nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
-      drank&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the
-      room and seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung
-      his cloak.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hold, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
-      upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. &ldquo;Hold, sir, I
-      perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured by
-      your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success to the
-      cause that will triumph in America.&rdquo; Jackson, who was standing at the
-      table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
-      half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
-      him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It sounds all right,&rdquo; he muttered as if he were trying to convince
-      himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. &ldquo;It sounds all
-      right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
-      little poet,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
-      sir&mdash;drink to the success of the cause in America.&rdquo; Goldsmith got
-      upon his feet and raised his glass&mdash;it contained only a light wine.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Success to it!&rdquo; he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his third
-      tumbler of brandy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hark ye, my little poet!&rdquo; whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
-      across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not returned
-      to her place. &ldquo;Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a general of
-      generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned me out of the
-      regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from Boston port, that
-      he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was mistaken, sir, and that
-      one of these days&mdash;&mdash;Mum's the word, mind you! If you open your
-      lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to pieces. I'll flay you
-      alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, let me tell you. What
-      message did he send me when he heard that I was ready to blow Cornwallis's
-      brains out and march my company across the Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to
-      man&mdash;though a poet isn't quite a man&mdash;but that's my generosity.
-      Said Washy&mdash;Washy&mdash;Wishy&mdash;Washy&mdash;&mdash; Washington:
-      'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the colonists,
-      Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who would make the
-      attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's the message I
-      got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't everybody. Mark me,
-      my friend&mdash;whatever your name is&mdash;I've got letters&mdash;letters&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, yes, you have letters&mdash;where?&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, in the
-      confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and then
-      across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
-      half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
-      chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Letters&mdash;oh, yes&mdash;plenty of letters&mdash;but where?&mdash;where?&mdash;that's
-      my own matter&mdash;a secret,&rdquo; he murmured in vague tones. &ldquo;The government
-      would give a guinea or two for my letters&mdash;one of them came from
-      Mount Vernon itself, Mr.&mdash;whatever your name maybe&mdash;and if you
-      went to Mr. Secretary and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'&rdquo;&mdash;he
-      pronounced the word &ldquo;Secrary&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;'I know that Dick Jackson is a
-      rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are the letters to prove it?' where
-      would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, my brains are not like
-      Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the lady?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
-      well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I'm here,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
-      which Jackson's coat was thrown. &ldquo;I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
-      not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?&rdquo; cried the man with a lurch forward
-      and a wave of the hand. &ldquo;Madam, I'm shocked&mdash;quite shocked! I wear
-      the King's coat, though that cloak is my own&mdash;my own, and all that it
-      contains&mdash;all that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
-      his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; he
-      saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness that
-      only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the cloak lay.
-      He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining until he
-      came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the pocket a
-      leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively into the
-      bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was another packet.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over her
-      chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that Sir
-      Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as &ldquo;Miss Prue.&rdquo; She gave
-      a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed coarsely,
-      saying huskily&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A handkerchief&mdash;I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket
-      of my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure&mdash;that's my motto. And now,
-      my charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for
-      I'll challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill
-      up your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.&mdash;Mr. Killjoy, we'll
-      call you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend
-      only knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that
-      the truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast&mdash;whatever it
-      may be&mdash;or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
-      remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
-      man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass before
-      Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand on the
-      table, into a standing attitude, murmuring&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
-      Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
-      table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He swallowed the contents of the tumbler&mdash;his fourth since he had
-      entered the room&mdash;and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into
-      his chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0315.jpg" alt="0315 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0315.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,&rdquo; she cried,
-      standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
-      hand. &ldquo;You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
-      Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of my
-      room, sir!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought it
-      down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
-      watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
-      stupour, his jaw fallen.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,&rdquo; said the actress,
-      pointing to the man who alone remained&mdash;for the best of reasons&mdash;seated.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A coach? Certainly, madam,&rdquo; said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; resumed Mrs. Abington, &ldquo;may I beg of you to have the
-      goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
-      hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have a wish
-      to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is Whetstone
-      Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      * She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
-      watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from uttering
-      a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to Goldsmith that
-      she was acting her part admirably&mdash;that she had set herself to give
-      him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet which she, as
-      well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket of his cloak to that
-      of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great difficulty in extracting
-      the bundle from the man's pocket when in the coach.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,&rdquo; were the first words
-      spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in his
-      repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. &ldquo;What did I say?&mdash;what
-      did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel hurt, sir,
-      more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. What's her name&mdash;I'm
-      not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? Anyhow, she insulted
-      me grossly&mdash;me, sir&mdash;me, an officer who has charged his
-      Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac flows
-      down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few stories
-      about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been their darling
-      always.&rdquo; Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but husky tone, for
-      the brandy had done its work very effectively, and he had now reached what
-      might be called&mdash;somewhat paradoxically&mdash;the high-water mark of
-      intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter re-entered the room to
-      announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at the door of the tavern.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
-      it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
-      the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord and
-      a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. He
-      made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed him
-      down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord and
-      his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such persons,
-      and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith reached the
-      street.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hold on, sir,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I am accompanying that gentleman to his
-      lodging.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, Doctor,&rdquo; whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, &ldquo;the
-      fellow is a brawler&mdash;he will involve you in a quarrel before you
-      reach the Strand.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;The lady has laid it
-      upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXV.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he instant he had
-      seated himself he found to his amazement that the man beside him was fast
-      asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the cushions one might have
-      fancied that he had been sleeping for hours rather than minutes, so
-      composed was he. Even the jolting of the starting coach made no impression
-      upon him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
-      arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
-      he must act at once.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
-      detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All he had
-      to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the pocket, and
-      then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted his
-      position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his breast
-      to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened himself in
-      some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite unaware of the
-      fact that some one was seated beside him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dear madam, you do me great honour,&rdquo; he said, and then gave a little
-      hiccupping laugh. &ldquo;Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me all
-      the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give you the
-      plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold the
-      documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to put pen
-      to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to a fool.
-      Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them&mdash;no price whatever
-      except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
-      shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, my
-      lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her own
-      letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, in case
-      of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, for I
-      know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the pocket of
-      my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em&mdash;in case of accidents,
-      Ned&mdash;to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! and
-      here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars for
-      them.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
-      man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he referred
-      to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel had not only
-      tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been endeavouring to sell
-      the secrets of the King's forces to the American rebels. Goldsmith had,
-      however, no doubt that the letters which he was desirous of getting into
-      his hands were those which the man had within his waistcoat. His belief in
-      this direction did not, however, assist him to devise a plan for
-      transferring the letters from the place where they reposed to his own
-      pocket.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
-      Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of the
-      brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his fingers
-      remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would be quite
-      impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith could not
-      claim to be, to open the garment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
-      packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet that
-      it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont Blanc, was
-      maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any more attempts
-      to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, and Goldsmith
-      knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough to cope with
-      three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit so
-      broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
-      entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
-      Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest did not
-      end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide awake, and
-      he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he spoke that he
-      showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very far from sober.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Good Lord!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
-      be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me&mdash;grossly
-      insulted me&mdash;turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too,
-      you rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you
-      to look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for
-      you. Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might not
-      be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward attempt
-      to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration of the
-      question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open the door.
-      He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the coach on to
-      the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on its leathern
-      straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the turnstile. At
-      the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance to the court,
-      almost coming in collision with Jackson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You cursed, clumsy lout!&rdquo; shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round as
-      the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the other.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You low ruffian!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You cheated me last night, and left me to
-      sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been waiting
-      for you. Take that, you scoundrel&mdash;and that&mdash;and that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
-      forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
-      fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
-      street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith shouted out, &ldquo;Follow him&mdash;follow the murderer!&rdquo; pointing
-      wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
-      pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
-      hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the body in
-      order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more adroitness
-      than was necessary&mdash;for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp all the
-      street was in darkness&mdash;slipped the wallet into his other hand and
-      then under his coat.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
-      had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had been
-      run through with a sword.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It was a knock-down blow,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
-      prostrate man; &ldquo;and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great harm
-      has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a beer
-      barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
-      recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
-      almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
-      sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
-      meant by choking him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith picked
-      up his hat and straightened his sword, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his physician
-      in that way has small need of his services. I thought the fellow might be
-      seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point recently; and so
-      good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he relapse. By a casual
-      savour of him I should say that he is not used to water.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, and
-      as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on completely
-      recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned him, would miss
-      his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was greatly relieved
-      when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the head porter, and he
-      paid the driver with a liberality that called down upon him a torrent of
-      thanks.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
-      cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no doubt
-      that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands of his
-      dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him&mdash;had alone
-      trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
-      room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
-      wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
-      and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
-      chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
-      taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of Mrs.
-      Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that they were
-      the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He was
-      utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
-      occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. He
-      could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, covered
-      with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own desk before
-      starting for the tavern.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
-      the wallet?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
-      hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
-      over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
-      which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
-      Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
-      until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which he
-      transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had had
-      no time&mdash;at least, so Goldsmith thought&mdash;to put the sham act of
-      the play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
-      unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
-      in the wallet?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
-      greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
-      craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
-      of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected Mrs.
-      Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the expense of
-      the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, and had fooled
-      them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying that they were
-      entrapping him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
-      he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he was
-      showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
-      shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
-      he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
-      happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
-      doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made by
-      Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the length
-      of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy that when
-      they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on any subject.
-      But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin to act, she had
-      failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to place himself in
-      her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
-      would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
-      consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
-      to get the better.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, and
-      tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. She
-      should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would have been
-      ready to help her and capable of helping her&mdash;some man with a
-      knowledge of men&mdash;some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver
-      of fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper.
-      Nothing was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn
-      achieve success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a house
-      of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his life,
-      whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze that
-      had swept down upon it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
-      cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
-      than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
-      already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
-      prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great a
-      mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never have
-      made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he said that
-      he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious generosity of
-      the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity that had led him
-      to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was utterly unsuited;
-      and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him in the reflection
-      that his awakening had come before it was too late. He had not been led
-      away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She had been saved the
-      unhappiness which that confession would bring to a nature so full of
-      feeling as hers. And he had been saved the mortification of the thought
-      that he had caused her pain.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees of
-      the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had passed
-      before he fell asleep.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he found
-      that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the letters
-      which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with but a
-      languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
-      bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith had
-      promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged the
-      loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, from
-      its shape and bulk, a manuscript&mdash;one of the many which were
-      submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned it
-      over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
-      convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
-      perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
-      accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when at
-      the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The instant
-      he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that the parcel
-      contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's handwriting to a
-      certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire village where she had
-      been staying the previous summer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
-      Mrs. Abing ton&mdash;the spelling as well as the writing was hers&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few feathers
-      pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in the capp of
-      dear Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXVI.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was so greatly
-      amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the scattered letters on the
-      table in front of him. He was even more amazed at finding them there than
-      he had been the night before at not finding them in the wallet which he
-      had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He thought he had arrived at a
-      satisfactory explanation as to how he had come to find within the wallet
-      the sheets of manuscript which he had had in his hand on entering the
-      supper room; but how was he to account for the appearance of the letters
-      in this parcel which he had received from Mrs. Abington?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth&mdash;to
-      appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his table.
-      But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and happiness to
-      Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. She was saved.
-      He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and who had the
-      means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had caused him to
-      go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing the task with
-      which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been mistaken in
-      applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish scheme of a
-      pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken when she had
-      singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most women would
-      have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rÃ´le of a knight-errant.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
-      despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
-      knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
-      morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; but
-      now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him&mdash;his
-      imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
-      happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to Mary
-      and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
-      Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
-      Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of his
-      formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, but it
-      was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion so
-      delicate an enterprise as that which he&mdash;Goldsmith&mdash;had
-      accomplished. Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs.
-      Abington to help him, and that was just where he would have made a huge
-      mistake. Any man who thought to get the better of the devil without the
-      aid of a woman was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of
-      this as he stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been
-      when he had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The
-      previous half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
-      Providence and the world.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate some
-      breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
-      obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
-      thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
-      the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to be
-      shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest&mdash;she must have felt
-      the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, substituting
-      for them the sham act of the play which excused his entrance to the
-      supper-room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that the
-      wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
-      recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair with
-      the cloak&mdash;much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
-      treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to turn
-      him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had been
-      to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her glass of
-      wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as Mrs.
-      Baddeley!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
-      particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
-      acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
-      the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
-      perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
-      the letters beyond the man's hands.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Once again he laughed, saying out loud&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, I was right&mdash;a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy
-      of a devil!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was at
-      hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
-      letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself in
-      connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
-      consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face would
-      lighten&mdash;how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
-      would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
-      that she was safe.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
-      bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on her
-      face&mdash;if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
-      laughter. And then&mdash;then she would be happy for evermore, and he
-      would be happy through witnessing her happiness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for the
-      letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his servant
-      announced two visitors.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. The
-      former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a compatriot
-      of his own, named Nicolo.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in my
-      hands,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;My friend Nicolo is a master of the art of fencing
-      as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the impression,
-      singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than once during
-      your wanderings in Tuscany.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And now I am sure of it,&rdquo; said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
-      spoke French rather better than English. &ldquo;Yes, I was a student at Pisa
-      when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in recognising
-      him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,&rdquo;
-       said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; &ldquo;I cannot, however, recall the
-      circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
-      memory, sir?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,&rdquo; said Signor
-      Nicolo.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,&rdquo;
-       said Goldsmith quickly. &ldquo;You were one of the orators&mdash;quite reckless,
-      if you will permit me to say so much.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The man smiled somewhat grimly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,&rdquo;
-       said Baretti. &ldquo;Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
-      climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
-      government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back again.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,&rdquo;
-       said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of a beard
-      and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
-      now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,&rdquo; said the man
-      with another grim smile.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are not quite right, my friend,&rdquo; laughed Goldsmith; &ldquo;for if my memory
-      serves me&mdash;and it does so usually on the matter of dress&mdash;I had
-      no coat whatsoever to my back&mdash;that was of no importance in Pisa,
-      where the air was full of patriotism.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,&rdquo; said
-      Baretti. &ldquo;There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We are
-      examples&mdash;Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a brewer's
-      daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy Englishman&mdash;and
-      there are a good number of them, too&mdash;into an expert swordsman in
-      twelve lessons&mdash;yes, if the pupil will but practise sufficiently
-      afterwards.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;We need not talk of business just now,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I insist on my
-      old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
-      'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
-      excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple of
-      bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to him&mdash;very
-      recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not have
-      remained.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
-      heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
-      room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have found you, you rascal!&rdquo; he shouted, swaggering across the room to
-      where Goldsmith was seated. &ldquo;Now, my good fellow, I give you just one
-      minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my pocket
-      last night.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken blackguard,&rdquo;
-       said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, who was in the
-      act of rising. &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;I submitted to your insults
-      last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I promise you that I
-      give you no such license in my own house. Take your carcase away, sir; my
-      friends have fastidious nostrils.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
-      gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
-      cowardly to attack.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You cur!&rdquo; he said through his set teeth. &ldquo;I don't know what prevents me
-      from running you through the body.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do you not? I do,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of wine
-      off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the bully after a pause; &ldquo;I don't wish to go to Sir John
-      Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, but, by
-      the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will not spare
-      you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an hour has
-      passed.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American spy,
-      is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith has at
-      hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest scoundrels,&rdquo;
-       said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
-      second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. The
-      bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My little poet,&rdquo; he said in a mocking voice, &ldquo;you fancy that because you
-      have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you for your
-      information that I have something in my possession that I can use as I
-      meant to use the letters.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall kill
-      you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, leaping
-      up.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
-      the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him behind
-      a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Pardon me, sir,&rdquo; said he, bowing to Jackson, &ldquo;but we cannot permit you to
-      stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend and
-      I regard as a grave affront to us.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Then let one of you draw!&rdquo; shouted the man. &ldquo;I see that you are
-      Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
-      sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;I
-      do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a weaker
-      man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a ruffian as
-      you undoubtedly are.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter had
-      whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, putting
-      quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when Baretti had
-      turned partly round.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Briccone! assassin!&rdquo; hissed Baretti. &ldquo;You saw that he meant to kill me,
-      Nicolo,&rdquo; he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He shall pay for it,&rdquo; whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
-      foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
-      of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;We used to enjoy a sausage or
-      two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
-      without absolutely killing the beast.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
-      laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian&mdash;it was
-      not melodious&mdash;acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo,
-      trying to beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single
-      inch. He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His
-      expression resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has
-      airily offered to play with him opens the game.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to attack,
-      Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Take a chair, sir,&rdquo; said Baretti, grinning. &ldquo;You will have need of one
-      before my friend has finished with you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
-      before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt him
-      now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the man
-      breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
-      Italian.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
-      no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but his
-      antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard breathing
-      was a contrast to the only other sound in the room&mdash;the grating of
-      steel against steel.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed gradually
-      to vanish. He became more than serious&mdash;surely his expression was one
-      of apprehension.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as one
-      of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
-      shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
-      doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge of
-      the other man.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as he
-      pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in touching
-      Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, and now it was
-      plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was breathing hard, and
-      the look of apprehension on his face had increased until it had actually
-      become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to perceive this, and malignant
-      triumph was in every feature of his face. Any one could see that he felt
-      confident of tiring out the visibly fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with
-      staring eyes, once again clutched Baretti.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
-      and forehead in smiles.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,&rdquo; said
-      he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
-      paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
-      head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying behind
-      it like the little pennon on a lance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; whispered Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;For God's
-      sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that last was
-      like a bullet.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat from
-      which it was torn.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
-      face.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is his fun,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;Oh, body of Bacchus! A great humourist!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
-      in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but his
-      antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed him round
-      the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing heavily, but
-      apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his sword into his
-      left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
-      They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
-      meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
-      Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
-      dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
-      Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
-      result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
-      man's pocket fell on the floor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
-      The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining by
-      a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo had
-      spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single flash.
-      Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they were the
-      batch of letters which he had received in the course of his traffic with
-      the American rebels.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, Sandrino,&rdquo; said Baretti, affecting to yawn. &ldquo;Finish the rascal off,
-      and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. Come,
-      sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has kept us
-      from our wine too long already.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
-      sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
-      over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
-      the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with an
-      oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
-      thoroughly exhausted.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0349.jpg" alt="0349 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0349.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
-      the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
-      guard.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;John,&rdquo; shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
-      witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
-      exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) &ldquo;John, give that
-      man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked out
-      of my house.&rdquo; When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to the
-      half-naked panting man. &ldquo;You are possibly the most contemptible bully and
-      coward alive,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You did not hesitate to try and accomplish the
-      ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here with intent to
-      murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your clutches. If I let
-      you go now, it is because I know that in these letters, which I mean to
-      keep, I have such evidence against you as will hang you whenever I see fit
-      to use it, and I promise you to use it if you are in this country at the
-      end of two days. Now, leave this house, and thank my servant for giving
-      you his coat, and this gentleman&rdquo;&mdash;he pointed to Nicolo&mdash;&ldquo;for
-      such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you never before received.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which John
-      Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You contemptible cur!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have not yet done with you. You have
-      now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of them
-      passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in pretty high
-      places, let me tell you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do not doubt it,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;The gallows is a high enough place for
-      you and your friends.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Look to yourself, you foreign hound!&rdquo; he said, his face becoming livid,
-      and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare as
-      before. &ldquo;Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to be
-      made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Turn that rascal into the street, John,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, and John
-      bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
-      flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
-      powers&mdash;not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian,
-      but one which he was certain was more English in its style.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No one shall lay a hand on me,&rdquo; said Jackson. &ldquo;Do you fancy that I am
-      anxious to remain in such a company?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,&rdquo; said John, hustling him to the
-      door. &ldquo;Come&mdash;out with you&mdash;sharp!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
-      and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put on
-      the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him walk
-      in the direction of the Temple lodge.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
-      prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
-      on his wall.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You came at an opportune moment, my friend,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You have not only
-      saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never have
-      known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of your
-      art.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The best swordsman is the best patriot,&rdquo; said Baretti.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! yes,&rdquo; said Nicolo. &ldquo;Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
-      or you would not be able to live in England.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am not an Englishman,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I am an Irish patriot, and
-      therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it is
-      not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than to
-      starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
-      dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
-      Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor an
-      hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects of
-      the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it will
-      take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the fragments
-      of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. Johnson's
-      friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,&rdquo; said
-      Baretti. &ldquo;Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
-      engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He has taken part in one engagement, at least,&rdquo; said Goldsmith,
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And I am now at your service,&rdquo; said the fencing-master.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his pocket&mdash;the
-      second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his desk&mdash;and,
-      parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and Anchor in an
-      hour.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXVII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was with a
-      feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before known, that
-      Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All the exhilaration
-      that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary exhibition of
-      adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with him. The
-      exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more than a
-      suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, Nicolo's
-      pretence of being overmatched early in the contest&mdash;breathing hard
-      and assuming a terrified expression&mdash;yielding his ground and allowing
-      his opponent almost to run him through&mdash;could only be regarded as
-      theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
-      amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not
-      prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith,
-      more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt which he owed
-      to Jackson.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life in
-      having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world the
-      terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that every
-      step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
-      realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
-      cheeks change to red once more.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to Barton
-      with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him this with
-      a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
-      Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;I believe that she was more than a little
-      disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?&rdquo; he asked. This fresh
-      proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was very
-      dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise on the
-      chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in his
-      ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of his
-      success.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She seemed very anxious to see you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;I fear, dear Dr.
-      Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
-      sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
-      secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
-      Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, girlish
-      fancy&mdash;my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
-      neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
-      with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely she
-      has got over that foolishness!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
-      foolishness,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;You may take my word for it that when she
-      sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do hope so,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;Yes, you could always contrive to make
-      her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared that
-      that disgraceful letter in the <i>Packet</i> had affected you. That was
-      why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
-      nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That was very kind of you, my dear madam,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but I have seen Mary
-      since that thing appeared.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance that when
-      I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to recovery. You
-      have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor of medicine,
-      and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in this direction may
-      amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself have. Still, I think
-      you will say something in my favour when you see Mary's condition begin to
-      improve from the moment we have a little chat together.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. Goldsmith.
-      Your chat with her will do more for her than all the medicine the most
-      skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very inopportune time for
-      her to fall sick.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
-      steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
-      attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman was
-      drawn toward her?&rdquo; said the lady smiling.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;And
-      you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she would
-      have listened to his proposals, madam?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why should she not have done so, sir?&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why not, indeed?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;He is,
-      to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You think so&mdash;you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing
-      in such a case?&rdquo; said Oliver, rather eagerly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?&rdquo; cried Mrs.
-      Horneck. &ldquo;Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
-      am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
-      my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
-      After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty&mdash;thirty-seven,
-      I believe&mdash;but he does not look more than thirty-five.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
-      you give emphasis, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;And you think that Mary will
-      see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
-      so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,&rdquo; said the lady.
-      &ldquo;That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring back
-      the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly attracted
-      to her.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I understand&mdash;I understand.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He spoke slowly, gravely.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I knew you would help us,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck, &ldquo;and so I hope that you
-      will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
-      Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
-      passed.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
-      him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks&mdash;not for him, but
-      for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, the
-      hours of thought&mdash;all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
-      facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
-      his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
-      sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being for
-      evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
-      possession as her love.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
-      yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Even so; I am satisfied&mdash;I am satisfied.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and Goldsmith
-      persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he succeeded in doing
-      so, for he had felt it was quite possible that Baretti might inquire of
-      him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to Brick Court, and he could
-      not well explain to the Italian the nature of the enterprise which he had
-      so successfully carried out by the aid of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing
-      to take Mrs. Abington into his confidence, and quite another to confide in
-      Baretti. He was discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that,
-      while the secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it
-      would be by no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some
-      people might laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that
-      which was generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and
-      Baretti a man.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn all
-      about Jackson&mdash;that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
-      become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
-      for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. He
-      was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
-      prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
-      regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
-      the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
-      conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
-      declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
-      man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
-      out&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here&mdash;and indeed, sir, I
-      am glad that he is not&mdash;he would say that your definition was so good
-      as to make him certain you had stolen it from me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Dr. Johnson, &ldquo;I did not say that it was good enough to have
-      been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
-      foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, Dr.
-      Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, that you
-      would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of stealing
-      from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which when it
-      comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, are you
-      satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir, I am more than satisfied,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning
-      master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. This was
-      a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
-      to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington for
-      managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped to
-      do.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
-      costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the less
-      subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, holding her
-      hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to speak, and she
-      knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she was quite
-      accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, were of
-      equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Well, my poet,&rdquo; she said at last, &ldquo;have you need of my services to banish
-      any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I was right,&rdquo; he managed to say after another pause, &ldquo;yes, I knew I was
-      not mistaken in you, my dear lady.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest demon
-      that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Well,
-      sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment&mdash;a more doubtful compliment
-      than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her champion. But you
-      have not told me of your adventurous journey with our friend in the
-      hackney coach.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is you who have not yet told me by what means you
-      became possessed of the letters which I wanted&mdash;by what magic you
-      substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
-      into the supper room.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered from
-      a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, that he
-      had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He gave me a
-      hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is not to be
-      trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every document on
-      which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty naturally
-      received a great shock when he offered to drink to the American rebels,
-      and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or so sufficed me to
-      discover the wallet with the letters; but then I was at my wits' end to
-      find something to occupy their place in the receptacle. Happily my eye
-      caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay in your hat on the floor
-      beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick was played. I had a
-      sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep me hoping all the
-      night that you would be able to get possession of the wallet, believing it
-      contained the letters for which you were in search. Lord, sir! I tried to
-      picture your face when you drew out your own papers.&rdquo; The actress lay back
-      on her couch and roared with laughter, Goldsmith joining in quite
-      pleasantly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression which
-      my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
-      humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but he
-      paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
-      termed his property.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
-      Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;By my faith, sir!&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;I would give ten guineas to have been
-      there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she added a moment afterwards, &ldquo;you
-      will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the town.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, my dear,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left my
-      room&mdash;not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
-      as would hang him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon your
-      life?&rdquo; cried the actress. &ldquo;He may try to kill Baretti on a point of
-      sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a matter
-      of business.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
-      something in what you say,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;So I will e'en take a
-      hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
-      the very door of my chambers.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have yet
-      to write for me in a comedy.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my dear
-      friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?&rdquo; cried the actress, looking at
-      him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua Reynolds
-      could not quite translate to show the next century what manner of woman
-      was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young wife of
-      the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country girl's
-      smile of Mrs. Abington.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXVIII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith kept his
-      word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was alert all the time he
-      was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be waiting to make an
-      attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any adventure, however,
-      and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel of letters and set
-      himself to peruse their contents.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had no need to read them all&mdash;the first that came to his hand was
-      sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
-      perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
-      rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
-      themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which he
-      had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
-      Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead of
-      merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to England as
-      a suspected traitor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
-      indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
-      obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
-      certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
-      country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
-      him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
-      Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
-      course.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he ask
-      himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have been so
-      blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his honesty.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour which
-      attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies of his
-      country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself to be, he
-      would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly weaknesses were
-      dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the tenderness of her
-      heart only made him feel that she was all the more a woman, and therefore
-      all the more to be loved.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
-      Hornecks.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
-      There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he would
-      attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner.
-      It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably be at the
-      meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with the dangerous
-      character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due precautions against
-      any attack that the desperate man might be induced to make upon him. No
-      doubt Baretti would make a good point in conversation with his friends of
-      the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution to any one; but the
-      latter was determined to give the Italian his advice on this matter,
-      whatever the consequences might be.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention in
-      full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not return
-      from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the Academy
-      Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
-      communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not having
-      a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,&rdquo; said Reynolds.
-      &ldquo;I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if only to
-      apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has promised to
-      come, and I have secured Johnson as well.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in front,
-      he followed with Reynolds some distance behind&mdash;not so far, however,
-      as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was engaged in a
-      discourse with his sweet companion&mdash;he was particularly fond of such
-      companionship&mdash;on the dignity inseparable from a classic style in
-      painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the habiliments of
-      their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who required
-      any considerable amount of remonstrance from her preceptors to keep her
-      feet from straying in regard to classical traditions. The artist who gave
-      the purest Greek features and the Roman toga alike to the Prodigal Son and
-      King Edward III could not be said to be capable of greatly erring from Dr.
-      Johnson's precepts.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
-      eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
-      adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
-      suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
-      faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
-      eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, sir!&rdquo; cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
-      anchor, and pursing out his lips, &ldquo;would you contend that a member of
-      Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day clothes&mdash;that
-      the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,&rdquo; replied
-      Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
-      to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
-      than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
-      phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, &ldquo;there is a very flagrant
-      example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even depicted in
-      his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted position, is
-      not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what would he be if
-      shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after what you call the
-      natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the advisability of the
-      epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in English.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And why not, sir?&rdquo; said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, &ldquo;For
-      my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
-      Westminster Abbey written in English.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Every one laughed, including&mdash;when the bull had been explained to her&mdash;Angelica
-      Kauffman.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
-      door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
-      went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
-      lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
-      detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
-      Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
-      reason of his absence from the meeting.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
-      as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
-      wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
-      him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
-      hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
-      The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
-      the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out so
-      as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
-      men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
-      been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding in
-      the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no time
-      coming to you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Merciful heaven!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;I was waiting for Baretti in order to
-      warn him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack as
-      was made upon him,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;It seems that the fellow whom Baretti
-      was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable gang well
-      known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated what his
-      name was.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And what was his name?&rdquo; asked Reynolds.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Richard Jackson,&rdquo; replied Steevens. &ldquo;Of course we never heard the name
-      before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
-      should a jury find him guilty,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;We must make an effort to
-      avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to speak
-      to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They carried
-      my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to go without
-      delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. Garrick. He
-      hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John Fielding at Bow
-      street in the morning.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That we shall,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;He shall have the best legal advice
-      available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him that
-      he may depend on our help, such as it is.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
-      waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
-      custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but they
-      offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, and
-      also to carry back to them his reply.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an account
-      of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could not induce the
-      constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, however, bore in
-      his message to the effect that he might depend on the help of all his
-      friends in his emergency.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, and
-      they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd&mdash;afar from
-      reputable crowd&mdash;so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
-      and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
-      the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in the
-      surgeon's hands.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
-      meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through the
-      Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two men rushed
-      out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with heavy sticks.
-      One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his sword, but he
-      succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself with the small
-      fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, as was the custom
-      in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article of diet, he had
-      undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great mischance he must have
-      severed an artery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
-      friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held a
-      commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being tried
-      by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to England by
-      Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, and had
-      recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house in
-      Whetstone Park.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, it seems
-      to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the gentleman,&rdquo;
-       said the Bow street runner. &ldquo;But I fancy the judge will tell them that
-      it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of its rogues.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
-      view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid of
-      the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having parted
-      from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. He could not
-      help feeling that Baretti was the victim of his&mdash;Goldsmith's&mdash;want
-      of consideration. What right had he, he asked himself, to drag Baretti
-      into a matter in which the Italian had no concern? He felt that a man of
-      the world would certainly have acted with more discretion, and if anything
-      happened to Baretti he would never forgive himself.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXIX.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter a very
-      restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that Johnson had already
-      gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house Goldsmith learned that
-      Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; so it was plain that
-      Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting about helping him. They
-      all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and Goldsmith found that Burke had
-      already instructed a lawyer on behalf of Baretti. His tender heart was
-      greatly moved at the sight of Baretti when the latter was brought into
-      court, and placed in the dock, with a constable on each side. But the
-      prisoner himself appeared to be quite collected, and seemed proud of the
-      group of notable persons who had come to show their friendship for him. He
-      smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, and, when the witnesses were being
-      examined, polished the glasses of his spectacles with the greatest
-      composure. He appeared to be confident that Sir John Fielding would allow
-      him to go free when evidence was given that Jackson had been a man of
-      notoriously bad character, and he seemed greatly surprised when the
-      magistrate announced that he was returning him for trial at the next
-      sessions.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the prisoner
-      in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request was granted.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on this
-      melancholy drive, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
-      this.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
-      country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. In
-      what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
-      ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
-      protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
-      violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
-      accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried for
-      my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice in
-      this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do not be alarmed,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;When you appear before a judge and
-      jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
-      being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
-      responsible for this <i>contretemps</i>,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;But I cannot
-      forgive that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and
-      failed to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
-      considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
-      whom I killed should be regarded sacred&mdash;as sacred as though he were
-      an Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so
-      ridiculous?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,&rdquo; said
-      Goldsmith. &ldquo;It is quite impossible that you could be convicted&mdash;oh,
-      quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and Reynolds
-      and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
-      railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
-      Newgate.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone in the
-      coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house in
-      Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been uncertain
-      whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to see Mary
-      Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress of mind
-      from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the conclusion
-      that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in respect of the
-      man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for him, Goldsmith. Now,
-      however, that he had discharged his duty so far as he could in regard to
-      Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy Bride.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
-      signs of recent tears were visible on it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dear Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am in deep distress about Mary.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How so, madam?&rdquo; he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
-      him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
-      point of death?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
-      when she left town,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;But who could fancy that her
-      condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as was
-      brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor Baretti?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It prostrated her?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
-      printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he read
-      out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair to the
-      floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her friends,
-      instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And now?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming with
-      strange impatience&mdash;I told her that you had been here yesterday and
-      also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
-      from her faint&mdash;accusing herself of bringing her friends into
-      trouble, but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come&mdash;why does he
-      not come to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
-      Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her in
-      this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
-      acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
-      the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition is
-      the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to call
-      to-day.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;Will
-      you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
-      am confident that I can restore her to health?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!&mdash;ah, if you only could! But alas,
-      alas!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
-      interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of sobbing
-      within the room came to his ears.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Now, my dear child,&rdquo; said her mother with an affectation of cheerfulness,
-      &ldquo;you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come to his Jessamy
-      Bride.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
-      pathetically how weak she was.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, he is come he is come!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Leave him with me, mother; he has
-      much to tell me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;I have much.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
-      spasmodically in both her own&mdash;he felt how they were trembling-as she
-      cried&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead&mdash;you know it, of
-      course? Oh, it is terrible&mdash;terrible! But the letters!&mdash;they
-      will be found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be
-      impossible to keep my secret longer. Will his friends&mdash;he had evil
-      friends, I know&mdash;will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by
-      your face that you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be
-      undone&mdash;undone.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you might be able to bear the worst news that I could
-      bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;The best! Ah, what is the best?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
-      child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
-      more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to speak,
-      but failing to utter a single word.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet of
-      her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for certainly
-      a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only gaze mutely at
-      the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the truth upon her
-      meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not now be
-      overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
-      her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
-      Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed&mdash;not
-      hysterically, but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an
-      effort and walked across the room to the window that looked upon the
-      street. He followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she
-      turned round with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long
-      was it since he had heard her laugh in that way?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for her
-      cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, and
-      her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; she cried, putting out both her hands to him. &ldquo;Ah, I knew that I was
-      right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew that
-      you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to me for
-      evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like you, dear
-      Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that&mdash;so good, so true, so full
-      of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the greatest and
-      best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, dear friend! O,
-      you are a friend to be trusted&mdash;a friend who would be ready to die
-      for his friend. Gratitude&mdash;you do not want gratitude. It is well that
-      you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you for what
-      you have done? You have saved me from death&mdash;from worse than death&mdash;and
-      I know that the thought that you have done so will be your greatest
-      reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel that I
-      live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me out of the
-      deep waters&mdash;the waters that had well-nigh closed over my head.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon him.
-      His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; but he
-      felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since he had
-      lived to see&mdash;even through the dimness of tears&mdash;so sweet a face
-      looking into his own with eyes full of the light of&mdash;was it the
-      gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the small
-      hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the tendrils
-      of a climbing flower.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Have you nothing to say to me&mdash;no word to give me at this moment?&rdquo;
-       she asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her
-      fingers seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What word?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Ah, my child, what word should come from such a man
-      as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete happiness
-      as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in words. You
-      have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my life. You have
-      understood me&mdash;you alone, and that to such as I means happiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had flung
-      them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the direction of
-      the window.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You talk of my understanding you,&rdquo; she said in a voice that had a sob in
-      it. &ldquo;Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a man's
-      nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy of a
-      thought?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with a
-      sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
-      locked the fingers of both together.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
-      the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in the
-      throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman well enough
-      to have no thought of himself&mdash;no thought except for her happiness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said at last. &ldquo;No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say to
-      you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
-      himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
-      happy&mdash;watching your happiness&mdash;in silence. Perhaps I may
-      understand you&mdash;I may understand something of the thought which
-      gratitude suggests to you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, gratitude!&rdquo; said she in a tone that was sad even in its scornfulness.
-      She had not turned her head toward him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, I may understand something of your nature&mdash;the sweetest, the
-      tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself better,
-      and I know in what direction lies my happiness&mdash;in what direction
-      lies your happiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! are you sure that they are two&mdash;that they are separate?&rdquo; said
-      she. And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his
-      face.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
-      still held them behind him. At last he said slowly&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were a
-      chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to look on
-      happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there is more
-      happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not speak&mdash;for
-      God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which are trembling
-      on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she turned
-      away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, with her
-      face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
-      hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that word; but
-      I can never&mdash;never cease to think of you as the best&mdash;the
-      noblest&mdash;the truest of men. You have been my best friend&mdash;my
-      only friend&mdash;and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by
-      a woman.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Oh, mother, mother!&rdquo; cried the girl, starting up, &ldquo;I knew that I was
-      right&mdash;I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
-      new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more&mdash;that
-      I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Why, what a transformation there is already!&rdquo; said her mother. &ldquo;Ah, Dr.
-      Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend!&rdquo; she said slowly, almost gravely. &ldquo;Yes, he was
-      always my friend, and he will be so forever&mdash;my friend&mdash;our
-      friend.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Always, always,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;I am doubly glad to find that you
-      have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
-      just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
-      May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
-      seeing you?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;Send him
-      away&mdash;send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one
-      but our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do
-      for me that I should wish to see him?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear Mary&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
-      sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has not
-      yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing together
-      as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am myself
-      again.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,&rdquo; said Mrs.
-      Horneck. &ldquo;I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do, dear mother,&rdquo; cried the girl, laughing. &ldquo;Say next week, or next year,
-      sweetest of mothers, or&mdash;best of all&mdash;say that he had better
-      come by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by
-      and by is easily said.'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXX.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s he went to his
-      chambers to dress before going to dine with the Dillys in the Poultry,
-      Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. He had seen the light
-      return to the face that he loved more than all the faces in the world, and
-      he had been strong enough to put aside the temptation to hear her confess
-      that she returned the love which he bore her, but which he had never
-      confessed to her. He felt happy to know that the friendship which had been
-      so great a consolation to him for several years&mdash;the friendship for
-      the family who had been so good and so considerate to him&mdash;was the
-      same now as it had always been. He felt happy in the reflection that he
-      had spoken no word that would tend to jeopardise that friendship. He had
-      seen enough of the world to be made aware of the fact that there is no
-      more potent destroyer of friendship than love. He had put aside the
-      temptation to speak a word of love; nay, he had prevented her from
-      speaking what he believed would be a word of love, although the speaking
-      of that word would have been the sweetest sound that had ever fallen upon
-      his ears.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And that was how he came to feel happy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he found
-      a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had dedicated
-      to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. He added
-      poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly interpreted&mdash;verses
-      pulsating with the love that was in his heart&mdash;verses which Mary
-      Horneck could not fail to interpret aright should they ever come before
-      her eyes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But they shall never come before her eyes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ah, never&mdash;never!
-      It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day she
-      might read those verses of his&mdash;yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
-      that day was far off or nigh.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, he
-      had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did not,
-      however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to entertain
-      his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's killing of
-      Jackson as an accident.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be well
-      for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be to the
-      advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the threats
-      made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it might be
-      possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. But Burke,
-      after hearing the story&mdash;no mention of the name of Mary Horneck being
-      made by Goldsmith&mdash;came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to
-      introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part of the man
-      who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer&mdash;as, indeed,
-      they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity on
-      Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered that a
-      defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was most
-      likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. If it
-      could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently as some of
-      the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, Burke and his
-      legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining a
-      verdict.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of the
-      acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine nature
-      had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's safety, and any
-      one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated trial would
-      undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this matter was fully
-      justified. That there should have been any suggestion of premeditation in
-      the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of Baretti seems amazing
-      to a modern reader of the case as stated by the Crown. But as Edmund Burke
-      stated about that time in the House of Commons, England was a gigantic
-      shambles. The barest evidence against a prisoner was considered sufficient
-      to bring him to the gallows for an offence which nowadays, if proved
-      against him on unmistakable testimony, would only entail his incarceration
-      for a week. Women were hanged for stealing bread to keep their children
-      from that starvation which was the result of the kidnapping of their
-      husbands to serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the only influential
-      voice that was lifted up against a system in comparison with which slavery
-      was not only tolerable, but commendable.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson was
-      the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For all his
-      railing against the detestable laws of the detestable country&mdash;which,
-      however, he found preferable to his own&mdash;he ridiculed the possibility
-      of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered it within the
-      bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, however absurd was
-      the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the likelihood was that he
-      would experience the feelings incidental to such an excursion.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
-      Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty with
-      his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent authority of
-      Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition of the sage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
-      of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste as
-      well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
-      Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that if
-      one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat his
-      dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we know
-      something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the idiotic
-      insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record of
-      Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably deceived
-      no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to silence.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be&mdash;however
-      insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may&mdash;according to Johnson&mdash;have
-      been, there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
-      until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
-      Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained an
-      envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined to
-      mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit for
-      appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
-      was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, they
-      might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought by the
-      prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had attacked
-      him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a
-      strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law permitted
-      men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
-      joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which was
-      felt&mdash;or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
-      simulated&mdash;by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
-      the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
-      circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had not
-      been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance that he
-      would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the counsel, as
-      well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old Bailey.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
-      had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
-      was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
-      Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
-      trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works which
-      he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
-      addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of his
-      promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times to
-      see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
-      friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in her
-      usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the fun in
-      which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too busy to
-      reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's country house
-      wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in their pranks, and
-      to submit, as he did with such good will, to their practical jests.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of the
-      pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he would
-      see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
-      constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both of
-      them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure that he
-      would be as strong a second time.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged&mdash;this constant
-      endeavour to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life
-      endurable to him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that,
-      when a coach drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had
-      passed, and Mrs. Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the
-      change which was apparent in his appearance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!&rdquo; she cried when she entered his little
-      parlour, &ldquo;you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
-      was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
-      you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
-      despairing.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, my dear madam,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am only suffering from a slight attack
-      of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
-      assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to give
-      me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught sight of
-      you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a moment; I
-      feared that&mdash;ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked as
-      I was when you appeared before me,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;Why, dear sir, you are
-      killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one here to
-      give you the attention which your condition requires.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?&rdquo; said the Doctor, making a
-      pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I will take you in
-      hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now I
-      will beg of you to go thither in your own.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;To Barton? Oh, my dear madam&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
-      should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
-      interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others than
-      to help yourself.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
-      who could be of the same help to us as you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There is no one who would be more willing, madam.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that mysterious
-      indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced that it was
-      you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again in
-      need of my help.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
-      you are interested in her future&mdash;in the happiness which we all are
-      anxious to secure for her.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family&mdash;nay, I can
-      talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. I
-      know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
-      Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No; she has not told me that.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
-      emotion which he felt.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally settled,
-      and so not worthy of another thought,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Finally settled?&rdquo; repeated Goldsmith. &ldquo;Then she has accepted Colonel
-      Gwyn's proposal?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,&rdquo; said the mother.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
-      one of gladness?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,&rdquo; said
-      the lady. &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character is
-      irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
-      convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him&mdash;and
-      yet she sends him away from her.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is possibly because she knows her own mind&mdash;her own heart, I
-      should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! she is but a girl.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives is
-      worthy of her.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
-      rigidly on that assumption&mdash;an assumption which would condemn her to
-      live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to take a
-      practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely concerns
-      the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you take a
-      great interest.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I would do anything for her happiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards you
-      with the greatest respect and esteem&mdash;nay, if I may say it, with
-      affection as well.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! affection&mdash;affection for me?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
-      for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to yield
-      to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. Mary is
-      there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence with her on
-      behalf of Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What! I, madam?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell you,
-      my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
-      yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for no
-      one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
-      convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion while
-      turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
-      influence, will you not, dear friend?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I must have time to think&mdash;to think. How can I answer you at once in
-      this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
-      looking into the empty grate.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are wrong,&rdquo; she said in a low tone. &ldquo;You are wrong; I know what is in
-      your thoughts&mdash;in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
-      would stand on a different footing in respect to you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! a different footing!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think that you are in error in that respect,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;Marriage
-      is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is not Katherine
-      the same to you now as she was before she married Charles Bunbury?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew of
-      what was in his heart!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,&rdquo; said he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;But where lies the need for her to marry at once?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;If she
-      were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
-      not marry at once; but if she does not love him&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Who can say that she does not love him?&rdquo; cried the lady. &ldquo;Oh, my dear Dr.
-      Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world of
-      whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, I
-      was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When I
-      married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
-      disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
-      for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
-      woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing a
-      just opinion on the subject.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous of
-      seeing her married to a good man&mdash;a man with whom her future
-      happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; alas!
-      that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates her life
-      and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is ruled by her
-      heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what her uncle, with
-      whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her meeting a certain
-      man there&mdash;my brother did not make me acquainted with his name&mdash;and
-      being so carried away with some plausible story he told that she actually
-      fancied herself in love with him&mdash;actually, until my brother,
-      learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop to an affair
-      that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her heart&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
-      some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
-      the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
-      fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
-      desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      There was a long pause before he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to point
-      out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,&rdquo; cried the
-      mother, catching his hand and pressing it. &ldquo;But I would ask of you not to
-      put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl with a
-      heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
-      direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to the
-      ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You are a woman.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts&mdash;her longings&mdash;her
-      hopes&mdash;and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart&mdash;ah, Dr.
-      Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
-      life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      And finds too late. . .'
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
-      poor Olivia!&rdquo; He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
-      in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will go to her.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You will be saving her&mdash;ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,&rdquo;
-       cried Mrs. Horneck.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He started slightly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and saw
-      you,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and the change to
-      the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been neglecting yourself&mdash;yes,
-      and some one who will nurse you back to life. Oh, Barton is the place for
-      you!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;There is no place I should like better to die at,&rdquo; said he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;To die at?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
-      still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
-      you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Your daughter Mary is there,&rdquo; said he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXXI.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e wrote that very
-      evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, one of his merry
-      letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had resolved to yield
-      gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant to leave for Barton
-      the next day. When that letter was written he gave himself up to his
-      thoughts.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between her
-      and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making it
-      impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought himself
-      to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, Oliver
-      Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her sister&mdash;with
-      the affection which exists between good friends.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
-      he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
-      heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
-      had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
-      and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
-      what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He knew
-      that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done that
-      day, she would have told him that she loved him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
-      follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
-      mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
-      led in the future?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was to
-      be found only in marriage&mdash;marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
-      undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit to
-      himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
-      undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
-      good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
-      and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the dangers
-      which surrounded her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He would,
-      moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word duty, which
-      would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his argument, tend to
-      frustrate his intention.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, and
-      he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his visit
-      would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought before leaving
-      was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a moment's
-      consideration.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the
-      coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was even
-      more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. While
-      still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure the
-      instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward him, and
-      Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself painfully and
-      laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement both on her face
-      and on that of her brother-in-law.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Why,
-      you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary only shook her head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have been ill,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;But I am better already, having seen you
-      both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she ready
-      to give me another lesson in loo?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,&rdquo; said Bunbury,
-      while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. &ldquo;Oh! yes; we will take
-      care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,&rdquo; he continued.
-      &ldquo;Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! But we'll
-      build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you and such as
-      you, my friend.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I tell you I am better already,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith; and then, as the chaise
-      drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her face had
-      become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; she was not
-      even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and the ploughed
-      fields.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
-      uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
-      which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; but
-      though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the chaise
-      arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her guest at the
-      great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the depressing effect of
-      her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not betray the shock which she
-      experienced on observing how greatly changed was her friend since he had
-      been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. She met him with a laugh and a
-      cry of &ldquo;You have never come to us without your scratch-wig? If you have
-      forgot it, you will e'en have to go back for it.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
-      last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
-      at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
-      vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
-      became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for his
-      friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
-      harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
-      Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
-      his visit to the house he loved. He felt better&mdash;better than he had
-      been for months.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
-      her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
-      after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
-      imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
-      his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily the
-      manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of the scene,
-      especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she declared she had
-      good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so greatly as to cause
-      him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, when he had meant to talk
-      about love.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much character
-      into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to imitate, she
-      never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating person would
-      be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily than Goldsmith at
-      the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into the
-      already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected to
-      understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his rejection.
-      A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, and of
-      course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely appropriate to
-      Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and good-humoured mirth, the
-      hours passed as they had always done in the house which humoured mirth,
-      the hours passed as they had always done in the house which had ever been
-      so delightful to at least one of the guests.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
-      fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
-      incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
-      extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat as
-      the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day treated
-      before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to him&mdash;that
-      Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her future such
-      as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think what might be in
-      store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only by her own
-      sympathetic heart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
-      Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
-      laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
-      of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no doubt
-      that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of gravity.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
-      afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with Mary
-      in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new covers
-      on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the
-      many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and jars of
-      preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with bundles of
-      sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, Charles
-      Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What a housewife we have become!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Quite right, my dear; the
-      head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
-      the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that I do not enter into the
-      spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
-      husband.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Tis foolish on their part,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But Little Comedy is ever on the
-      watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active abettor of her
-      in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle threadbare by
-      now.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,&rdquo; said
-      he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Indeed, I agree with you,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I agree with you heartily. I do
-      not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
-      flattered by his attention?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No&mdash;no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
-      man from the Prince down&mdash;or should I say up?&rdquo; he replied.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;'Twould be treason to say so,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn
-      be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way of
-      treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
-      valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never saved
-      a poor woman a day's work.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,&rdquo; said he quietly. &ldquo;On the contrary,
-      I came down here specially to talk of him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,&rdquo; said she,
-      continuing her work.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,&rdquo;
-       said he.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Only of late!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of your
-      thoughts long ago as well.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
-      latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.&rdquo; She ceased her work and
-      looked towards him gratefully&mdash;attentively. He left his seat and went
-      to her side.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My sweet Jessamy Bride,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I have thought of your future with
-      great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as&mdash;as&mdash;perhaps a
-      father might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is
-      dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of
-      snares.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; she quietly said. &ldquo;Ah, you know that I have had some
-      experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame would
-      have been mine!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
-      affair,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It was your tender heart that led you astray at first,
-      and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But alas! 'tis
-      just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Did not I send
-      Colonel Gwyn away from me?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You were wrong to do so, my Mary,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a good man&mdash;he
-      is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able to shelter
-      you from all dangers&mdash;from the dangers into which your own heart may
-      lead you again as it led you before.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo; said she.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as his
-      wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a girl as
-      you in the world.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear friend,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I have seen enough of the world to know
-      that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from the day
-      she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only begin to
-      beset her on that day?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Often&mdash;often. But it would not be so with you, dear child&mdash;at
-      least, not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly man
-      all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
-      standpoint of her matchmaking mother.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
-      way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think of
-      you always as I think of you know&mdash;bound to no man&mdash;the dearest
-      of all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
-      position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have seen
-      that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your&mdash;your
-      happiness&mdash;yes, happiness in the future.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You are ready
-      to sacrifice yourself&mdash;I mean you are ready to forego all the
-      pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
-      the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
-      happiness&mdash;or what you fancy will be happiness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; she said after a pause. &ldquo;I do, because I know what it would mean
-      to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
-      marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;nay&mdash;do not speak so definitely,&rdquo; he said.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will speak definitely,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Yes, the time is come for me to
-      speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of being
-      happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else with all
-      my heart, I dare not&mdash;oh! I dare not even entertain the thought of
-      marrying Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You love some one else?&rdquo; he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment there
-      went through his mind the thought&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;<i>Her heart has led her astray once again.</i>'&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,&rdquo; she cried;
-      &ldquo;I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
-      world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
-      heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
-      in a hushed voice&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, child&mdash;child&mdash;spare me that pain&mdash;let me go from you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not till you hear me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Ah! cannot you perceive that I love you&mdash;only
-      you, Oliver Goldsmith?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Hush&mdash;for God's sake!&rdquo; he cried.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will not hush,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I will speak for love's sake&mdash;for the
-      sake of that love which I bear you&mdash;for the sake of that love which I
-      know you return.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Alas&mdash;alas!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her love
-      for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before heaven
-      would be in my keeping silence&mdash;in marrying a man I do not love. Ah!
-      I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood your
-      nature&mdash;so sweet&mdash;so simple&mdash;so great&mdash;so true. I
-      thought last year when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling
-      which I had for you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to
-      know the truth.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Stop&mdash;stop&mdash;for God's sake, stop! I&mdash;I&mdash;do not love
-      you.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
-      died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes fixed
-      upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You do not love me?&rdquo; she said in a slow whisper. &ldquo;Will you say those
-      words again with your eyes looking into mine?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do not humiliate me further,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have some pity upon me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;No&mdash;no; pity is not for me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If you spoke the truth when
-      you said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not
-      love me.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You say you know me,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;and yet you think it possible that I
-      could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and sympathetic
-      heart has made for your own undoing. Look there&mdash;there&mdash;into
-      that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
-      exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
-      and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark&mdash;a
-      figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and you will see
-      what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which have
-      been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the pain they
-      gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in the future?
-      Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who have been kinder
-      than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune that could befall
-      them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I could be so base.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
-      worthy of being loved of all men in the world,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Ah, sir, cannot
-      you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my affection
-      for you?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Mary&mdash;Mary&mdash;this is madness!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Listen to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I feel that you return my affection; but I will
-      put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that you do
-      not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      There was another pause before he said&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
-      ordeal? Let me go&mdash;let me go.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Not until you answer me&mdash;not until I have proved you. Look into my
-      eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
-      now.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah, dear child&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You cannot speak those words.&rdquo; There was another long silence. The
-      terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
-      are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
-      maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
-      whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
-      before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
-      expectation.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
-      way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
-      said slowly&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
-      the room&mdash;out of the house.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much of
-      the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
-      impulse.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      CHAPTER XXXII.
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he did not
-      return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became alarmed. He had
-      only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went out; he had left no
-      line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
-      still-room, he inquired.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She told him the truth&mdash;as much of the truth as she could tell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am afraid that his running away was due to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If so, I
-      shall never forgive myself.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What can be your meaning, my dear?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;I thought that you and
-      he had always been the closest friends.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,&rdquo; said
-      she. &ldquo;You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance of
-      Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and begged
-      of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the proposal of
-      Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I heard nothing of that,&rdquo; said he, with a look of astonishment. &ldquo;And so I
-      suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
-      said something that offended him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She held down her head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;You should be ashamed of yourself,&rdquo; said he &ldquo;Have you not seen long ago
-      that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I am ashamed of myself,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I shall never forgive myself for my
-      harshness.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That will not bring him back,&rdquo; said her brother-in-law. &ldquo;Oh! it is always
-      the best of friends who part in this fashion.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
-      so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
-      felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
-      induce him to return.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
-      back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
-      face was very grave.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;I saw the poor fellow,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I found him at his chambers in Brick
-      Court. He is very ill indeed.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;What, too ill to be moved?&rdquo; she cried. He shook his head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Far too ill to be moved,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never saw a man in worse condition.
-      He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks before now,
-      and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love to you and to
-      Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he says.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;His rudeness! his rudeness!&rdquo; said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
-      tears. &ldquo;Oh, my poor friend&mdash;my poor friend!&rdquo; She did not tell her
-      sister all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very
-      anxious to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had
-      seen him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him
-      had promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change
-      to the country.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the postboy's
-      horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a letter from the
-      doctor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
-      Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
-      sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand&mdash;poems addressed to her&mdash;the
-      love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
-      hopeless years.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She started up, crying&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me&mdash;he loves me as I love him&mdash;only
-      his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love&mdash;he loves
-      me, and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
-      sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself&mdash;nay, he has
-      sacrificed himself for me&mdash;for me!&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My dear&mdash;dear sister,&rdquo; said Katherine, &ldquo;is it possible that you&mdash;you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That I loved him, do you ask?&rdquo; cried Mary, raising her head. &ldquo;Yes, I
-      loved him&mdash;I love him still&mdash;I shall never love any one else,
-      and I am going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good&mdash;God will
-      be good. My love shall live until I go to him.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;My poor child!&rdquo; said her sister. &ldquo;I could never have guessed your secret.
-      Come away. We will go to him together.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
-      together to Brick Court.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
-      Abington.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;Do not tell me that I am too late&mdash;for God's sake say that he still
-      lives!&rdquo; cried Mary.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at the
-      girl, and the girl understood.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She threw herself into her sister's arms.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;He is dead!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
-      that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      &ldquo;That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
-      Presence,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but I
-      know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the thought
-      of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever lived. Ah,
-      there was none like him&mdash;a man of such sweet simplicity that every
-      word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his works; you
-      and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not less than
-      those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the Son who on
-      earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.&rdquo;
-     </p>
-    <p>
-      Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She went with her sister among the weeping men and women&mdash;he had been
-      a friend to all&mdash;up the stairs and into the darkened room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
-    </p>
-    <h3>
-      THE END.
-    </h3>
-    <div style="height: 6em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
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-</pre>
-
-  </body>
-</html>
+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+    <title>
+      The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+    </title>
+    <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    .indent5   { margin-left: 5%;}
+    .indent10  { margin-left: 10%;}
+    .indent15  { margin-left: 15%;}
+    .indent20  { margin-left: 20%;}
+    .indent30  { margin-left: 30%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em;
+                font-variant: normal; font-style: normal;
+                text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD;
+                border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;}
+    .side      { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em;
+               border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left;
+               text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;
+               font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;}
+    p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0}
+    span.dropcap         { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 }
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51951 ***</div>
+
+    <div style="height: 8em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      By Frank Frankfort Moore
+    </h2>
+    <h4>
+      Author Of &ldquo;The Impudent Comedian,&rdquo; Etc.
+    </h4>
+    <h3>
+      With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
+    </h3>
+    <h4>
+      New York
+    </h4>
+    <h4>
+      Duffield &amp; Company
+    </h4>
+    <h3>
+      1906
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <h3>
+      THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <b>CONTENTS</b>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir,&rdquo; said Dr.
+      Johnson, &ldquo;we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are a company of
+      intelligent men&mdash;although I allow that we should have difficulty in
+      proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down with a
+      Scotchman&mdash;and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
+      intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
+      ignorance and maintained by sophistry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even the
+      most intelligent of men&mdash;whom I take to be myself&mdash;is interfered
+      with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
+      another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
+      Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced&mdash;with some
+      care&mdash;that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile
+      in the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
+      faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
+      conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, and
+      the latter&mdash;as Burke perceived in a moment&mdash;was solemn in
+      mimicry of Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on
+      his chair and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell
+      turned an eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so
+      that he might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon
+      Garrick's face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right
+      hand that he put behind his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
+      Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious and
+      unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their heads in
+      the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces were identical
+      as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who is greatly
+      grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures worked by the
+      same machinery, they turned their heads again toward Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;your endeavour to evade the consequences of
+      maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching upon
+      mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
+      intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I cannot
+      permit to pass unrebuked.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; cried Boswell, eagerly, &ldquo;I cannot believe that Dr. Goldsmith's
+      intention was so monstrous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
+      positive proof that the contrary is the case,&rdquo; roared Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men have been hanged on less,&rdquo; remarked Burke. &ldquo;But, to return to the
+      original matter, I should like to know upon what facts&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art would
+      indeed be a departure,&rdquo; said Goldsmith solemnly. &ldquo;I cannot countenance a
+      proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
+      you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?&rdquo; said
+      Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so&mdash;that's not just
+      the same thing,&rdquo; laughed Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
+      imagination,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;That is the most satisfactory arrangement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, for the author,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Some time ago it was the book which
+      was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These sallies are all very well in their way,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;but their
+      brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that Dr.
+      Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
+      included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses no
+      more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with the
+      exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
+      statesman&mdash;another branch of the same profession&mdash;and therefore
+      we are vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,&rdquo; said
+      Johnson. &ldquo;It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence&mdash;nay, even
+      to Boswell's&mdash;that acting is a trick, not a profession&mdash;a
+      diversion, not an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended
+      to the contrary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must only have been in sport, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,&rdquo; cried Johnson, &ldquo;but he
+      has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
+      having you as his advocate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce an
+      opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;His fine sense of humour&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
+      return from Corsica?&rdquo; shouted Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,&rdquo; said Garrick,
+      &ldquo;but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of a
+      wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied by Mr.
+      Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as outcasts
+      because we happen to be actors?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,&rdquo; cried Johnson. &ldquo;And good enough for
+      you too, you rascal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
+      become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who have
+      relations in the church, to make such an assertion,&rdquo; said Johnson sternly.
+      &ldquo;What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in your
+      estimation?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither could
+      the stage look for another Garrick?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street delighted
+      the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,&rdquo; cried Johnson; and when he
+      perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay back in his
+      chair and roared with laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reynolds took snuff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the puppets&mdash;I
+      heard him myself,&rdquo; said Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
+      that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,&rdquo; said
+      Burke. &ldquo;You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. Boswell. But
+      to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; surely, Dr. Johnson,
+      you will allow that an actor of genius is at least on a level with a
+      musician of genius.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
+      satisfy you,&rdquo; replied Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that of
+      Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and Piozzi
+      the ill luck to be an Italian,&rdquo; replied Johnson. &ldquo;Sir, 't is no use
+      affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the arts.
+      I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that you
+      actually believe what your words would imply.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,&rdquo; said Goldsmith: &ldquo;whether you will
+      have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, just as
+      there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really interesting
+      to me personally,&rdquo; said Garrick, rising; &ldquo;but the fact is that I rashly
+      made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for perhaps twenty
+      minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some agreement on a
+      matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. Burke and
+      myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal education
+      in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I can
+      bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The dog is well enough,&rdquo; said Johnson; &ldquo;but he has need to be kept in his
+      place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him in
+      his place he will tolerate as he does mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
+      as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
+      we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Dr. Johnson, &ldquo;your question is as ridiculous as anything you
+      have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say a
+      good deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his attempts
+      to shine,&rdquo; whispered Boswell to Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice heard
+      in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?&rdquo; asked Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Niagara?&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it in
+      his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a Niagara
+      is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
+      undertone. &ldquo;Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he conversation
+      took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the Strand, where the party
+      had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as good company as usual. There
+      was a general feeling that he had rarely insulted Boswell so frequently in
+      the course of a single evening&mdash;but then, Boswell had rarely so laid
+      himself open to insult as he had upon this evening&mdash;and when he had
+      finished with the Scotchman, he turned his attention to Garrick, the
+      opportunity being afforded him by Oliver Goldsmith, who had been unguarded
+      enough to say a word or two regarding that which he termed &ldquo;the art of
+      acting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,&rdquo; cried the great dictator. &ldquo;Who
+      gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
+      acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler who
+      kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. Madame
+      Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight rope,
+      will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter&mdash;nay, every poodle that
+      dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission of
+      acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as Johnson
+      asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; it was in
+      vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included among the
+      arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the standing of
+      artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose that the
+      tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their claims to be on a
+      level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of humanity. Dr.
+      Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to him most
+      courteously by his friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told Burke
+      he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was thoroughly
+      Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and eminently
+      capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements of a
+      clubable man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
+      in reducing the others of the party to silence&mdash;all except Boswell,
+      who, as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point
+      of theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
+      he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
+      successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
+      distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what Dr.
+      Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, sir,&rdquo; said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
+      ear-trumpet and his oracle&mdash;his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet
+      was as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. &ldquo;Pray, sir, is there any
+      evidence among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of
+      man was imperishable?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, &ldquo;there is evidence that the
+      ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a <i>memento mori</i>
+      at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir?&rdquo; said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such an
+      object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to accept
+      the offer of a dinner,&rdquo; said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. He
+      felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,&rdquo; he murmured, but in no
+      deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every one
+      present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was necessary
+      for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he was the
+      recipient.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Goldy,&rdquo; cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, &ldquo;you must not
+      be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
+      better of you in the argument.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Argument, sir?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I protest that I was not aware that any
+      argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
+      argument, Doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. Boswell,
+      sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, with a twinkle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
+      the wolf,&rdquo; muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
+      for his Animated Nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
+      to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
+      to obtain permission to join the party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?&rdquo; said Goldsmith,
+      who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell, &ldquo;you have told us more than once that you had a
+      cousin who was a dignitary of the church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I, indeed?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Then I suppose, if I said so, this must
+      be the very man. A Dean, is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common room
+      of a tavern,&rdquo; said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any sudden
+      addition to his audience of an evening. &ldquo;If your relation were an
+      Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
+      the order to show him into this room.&rdquo; Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
+      He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone told
+      the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face undoubtedly
+      wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any of his friends,
+      before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and somewhat undersized
+      clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands and apron of a
+      dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect carriage that
+      gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was white, but his
+      eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in one eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. It
+      contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table twenty
+      minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, perceived
+      in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to that with which
+      Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A little jerk which the
+      visitor gave in raising his head was laughably like a motion made by
+      Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, &ldquo;I entreat of you
+      to be seated.&rdquo; His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
+      although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made an
+      attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have regarded
+      him as sincere. &ldquo;Nay, gentlemen, I insist,&rdquo; continued the stranger; &ldquo;you
+      embarrass me with your courtesy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you will not find that any company over which I have
+      the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, with a
+      deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
+      of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. &ldquo;Ah! I do not need to ask which of
+      this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly&mdash;I beg your pardon,
+      Oliver&mdash;ah, old times&mdash;old times!&rdquo; He had caught Goldsmith's
+      hands in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
+      Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of a
+      smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long silence
+      that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an element of
+      pathos.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
+      all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was now
+      worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ask your pardon, sir,&rdquo; he said, gravely, &ldquo;but&mdash;sir, I am a painter&mdash;my
+      name is Reynolds&mdash;and&mdash;well, sir, the family resemblance between
+      you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith&mdash;a resemblance that perhaps
+      only a painter's eye could detect&mdash;seemed to me so extraordinary as
+      you stood together, that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,&rdquo; cried the visitor. &ldquo;My cousin
+      Oliver and I have not met for&mdash;how many years is it, Nolly? Not
+      eleven&mdash;no, it cannot be eleven&mdash;and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir,&rdquo; said Oliver, &ldquo;time is fugitive&mdash;very fugitive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
+      wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,&rdquo; said the stranger.
+      &ldquo;But you must present me to your friends, Noll&mdash;Oliver, I mean. You,
+      sir&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Reynolds&mdash;&ldquo;have told me your name. Am I
+      fortunate enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there
+      can be no doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am
+      your servant. And you, sir&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Burke&mdash;&ldquo;I seem to have
+      seen your face somewhere&mdash;it is strangely familiar&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
+      recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of pride,
+      as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The clergyman made
+      precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty&mdash;the friend of the
+      people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same, sir,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he is my friend also,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;Sir, to be in a position
+      to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do me great honor, sir,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
+      Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so far
+      neglected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Burke, you are our countryman&mdash;Oliver's and mine&mdash;and I
+      know you are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have
+      a talk with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all my power, sir,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Give me your hand again, sir. Mrs.
+      Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an honour upon
+      the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
+      you work with your arm that way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They can wait,&rdquo; cried Mr. Dean. &ldquo;They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
+      Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
+      mortified at what I have said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is Mr. Boswell, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell&mdash;of where, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell, of&mdash;of Scotland, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. Your
+      clergymen might be better employed, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boswell, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you ever
+      visit your country again&mdash;a remote possibility, from all that I can
+      learn of your countrymen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+       began Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, you would condone his offence?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;The fact of your having
+      a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still sadly lax
+      in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
+      bowing profoundly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I have long desired to meet you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am your servant, Mr. Dean,&rdquo; said Johnson, towering above him as he got&mdash;somewhat
+      awkwardly&mdash;upon his feet. &ldquo;No gentleman of your cloth, sir&mdash;leaving
+      aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in the church to
+      which you have attained&mdash;fails to obtain my respect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad of that, sir,&rdquo; said the Dean. &ldquo;It shows that you, though a
+      Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal on behalf
+      of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not disposed to
+      relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration for the
+      church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
+      &ldquo;Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. I am
+      not a Non-conformist&mdash;on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
+      quarter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke to a
+      subordinate. &ldquo;Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened country
+      and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you in the
+      company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe that you were
+      the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of conscience. I regret
+      that I was mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, in great consternation&mdash;for Johnson was
+      rendered speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked,
+      instead of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. &ldquo;Sir, this is
+      the great Dr. Johnson&mdash;nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
+      weak,&rdquo; said the clergyman, smiling. &ldquo;Well, well, we will take the honest
+      gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one sense:
+      he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one scale. To
+      such greatness we would do well to bow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens, sir!&rdquo; said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in it.
+      &ldquo;Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;I am but a country parson. I cannot be
+      expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
+      Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;ah!
+      you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though I doubt not you
+      are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you written that
+      entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence of such gentlemen
+      as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and&mdash;I add with pride&mdash;Oliver
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,&rdquo; muttered Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he has doubtless greatness enough&mdash;avoirdupois&mdash;to serve
+      for both! Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to
+      speak for himself, tell me what he has written.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
+      Corsica,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy altitude
+      in literature?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are surely jesting, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The world is familiar with
+      Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no need
+      for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the work
+      appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0037.jpg" alt="0037 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up a
+      volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown and
+      Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his wont,
+      until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
+      with greater tenderness,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;I would fain hope that the
+      purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the work of
+      others. When did he bring out his dictionary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eighteen years ago,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what books has he written within the intervening years?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
+      our authors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
+      eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, cousin,
+      have written many works that the world would not willingly be without; and
+      I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable list; but your
+      friend&mdash;oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!&mdash;he is no true worker
+      in literature, or he would&mdash;nay, he could not, have remained idle all
+      these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not use his
+      pen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has a pension from the King, sir,&rdquo; stuttered Oliver. &ldquo;I tell you, sir,
+      he is the most learned man in Europe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His is a sad case,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;To refrain from administering to
+      him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious duty.&rdquo; He
+      took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. Goldsmith fell into
+      a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke and
+      Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. &ldquo;Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said the
+      stranger, &ldquo;I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to urge upon you to
+      amend your way of life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; shouted Johnson, &ldquo;if you were not a clergyman I would say that you
+      were a very impertinent fellow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience&mdash;if you have
+      one&mdash;tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure
+      the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
+      room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
+      acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
+      have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
+      friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
+      friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
+      though they are workers&mdash;not without honour&mdash;at that profession
+      of letters which you despise&mdash;nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you
+      did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your
+      life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that
+      a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
+      of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson,
+      if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be
+      regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners
+      at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ
+      from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness
+      and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray
+      you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen,
+      Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made a general bow&mdash;an awkward bow&mdash;and walked with some
+      dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he had
+      disappeared, the room was very silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
+      buried in his hands, started up, crying out, &ldquo;'Rasse-las, Prince of
+      Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he published
+      'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?&rdquo; He ran to the door and opened it,
+      calling downstairs: &ldquo;'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!&rdquo; &ldquo;Rasselas, Prince of
+      Abyssinia'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; came the roar of Dr. Johnson. &ldquo;Close that door and return to your
+      chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
+      which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
+      decently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith shut the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did you a gross injustice, sir,&rdquo; said he, returning slowly to the
+      table. &ldquo;I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book since
+      your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the moment I
+      forgot your 'Rasselas.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force of
+      your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;If I am
+      suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
+      volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
+      industry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those who know you, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;do not need any evidence of
+      your industry. As for that man&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let the man alone, sir,&rdquo; thundered Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?&rdquo; said Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next to
+      a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; and,
+      in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell. &ldquo;We deny your generous plea of justification.
+      Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written even within the
+      year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the&mdash;well, the less I think of
+      them, if you will allow me the paradox,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;Sir, the man is
+      right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my
+      compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can forgive
+      him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my Dictionary.
+      Pray what is his name, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name, sir, his name?&rdquo; faltered Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,&rdquo; said Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name, sir, is&mdash;is&mdash;God help me, sir, I know not what is his
+      name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell tells
+      me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did so in a
+      spirit of boasting, you erred.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
+      in a low tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,&rdquo; cried Boswell. &ldquo;You boasted of
+      him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Burke with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
+      nature are maintained when one hears his voice,&rdquo; remarked Goldsmith in a
+      low tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,&rdquo; said Reynolds as the door was opened and
+      Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced to
+      the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. &ldquo;Mr.
+      Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whatever he may be on some other points,&rdquo; remarked Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
+      you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May I
+      inquire the reason of the difference?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may not, sir!&rdquo; shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
+      acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that it
+      would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he knew
+      that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick were to
+      hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene for the
+      entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had heard more
+      than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield had created by
+      his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, played an important
+      part. He had been congratulating himself upon the fortunate absence of the
+      actor during the visit of the clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,&rdquo; he repeated, as Garrick looked
+      with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Boswell, &ldquo;my veracity is called in question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
+      that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?&rdquo; cried Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, one question,&rdquo; said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
+      &ldquo;Mr. Garrick&mdash;have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for
+      a relative?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, sir,&rdquo; replied Garrick; &ldquo;but I heard him say that he had a
+      brother who deserved to be a Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so I had,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
+      poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
+      concerned,&rdquo; said Johnson; &ldquo;but it seemed to me that some of the man's
+      gestures&mdash;nay, some of the tones of his voice as well&mdash;resembled
+      those of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table
+      noticed the similarity to which I allude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I certainly noticed it,&rdquo; cried Boswell eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your evidence is not admissible, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;What does Sir
+      Joshua Reynolds say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, &ldquo;I
+      confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
+      regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
+      was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if not, sir, how can you account for&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be silent, sir,&rdquo; he thundered. &ldquo;If you have left your manners in Scotland
+      in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for the gift
+      was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country in that
+      respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken touching
+      this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in the light of
+      a personal affront.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the past
+      half-hour than any of this company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Davy,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
+      dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, sir,
+      and of what nature was your diversion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;I have been with a poet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So have we, sir&mdash;with the greatest poet alive&mdash;the author of
+      'The Deserted Village'&mdash;and yet you enter to find us immoderately
+      glum,&rdquo; said Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he
+      did not regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he
+      quite believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
+      relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Mine
+      was only a sort of poet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?&rdquo; asked Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,&rdquo; replied
+      Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
+      for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who was
+      anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just written.
+      The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house in the
+      Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was short,
+      it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated by
+      Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman&mdash;he wore
+      the bands and apron of a Dean,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;not seeming to notice the
+      little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
+      grasped me by the arm,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;doubtless recognising me from my
+      portraits&mdash;for he said he had never seen me act&mdash;and then began
+      an harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
+      that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction than my
+      neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, gentlemen,
+      he took it quite as a family grievance.&rdquo; Suddenly he paused, and looked
+      around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest were grave. A
+      thought seemed to strike the narrator. &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is not
+      possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, the Dean,
+      regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'tis an extraordinary
+      coincidence that I should have encountered him&mdash;unless&mdash;good
+      heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here when I had thrown him
+      off?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried Oliver, &ldquo;I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no Dean,
+      entered this room!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court on
+      your return,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Oh, yes, Doctor!&mdash;a small man with the
+      family bow of the Goldsmiths&mdash;something like this.&rdquo; He gave a comical
+      reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of mine,&rdquo;
+       protested Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And let that be the end of the matter,&rdquo; declared Johnson, with no lack of
+      decisiveness in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman again,&rdquo;
+       laughed Garrick. &ldquo;I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was endeavouring
+      to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version of 'The Deserted
+      Village'&mdash;he said he had the version at his lodging, and meant to
+      read it to his cousin&mdash;I ask your pardon, sir, but he said 'cousin.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, let us have no more of this&mdash;cousin or no cousin,&rdquo; roared
+      Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is my prayer, sir&mdash;I utter it with all my heart and soul,&rdquo; said
+      Garrick. &ldquo;It was about my poet I meant to speak&mdash;my poet and his
+      play. What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as
+      the subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme of
+      theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that scoundrel
+      Foote,&rdquo; said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite himself again,
+      and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with that finality which
+      carried conviction with it&mdash;yes, to James Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details of
+      his interview with the poet who&mdash;according to his account&mdash;had
+      designed the drama of &ldquo;Otaheite&rdquo; in order to afford Garrick an opportunity
+      of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in feathers, and
+      beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while he delivered a
+      series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to Mars, Vulcan and
+      Diana.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;My poet
+      explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to his
+      advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; and
+      when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite could
+      know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea Islanders
+      were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights in the Pagan
+      mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that the Romans should
+      claim a monopoly of Diana.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's contention
+      was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief to his mind to
+      have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the argument, though
+      he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in the poet's argument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
+      question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
+      of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
+      mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
+      hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
+      force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
+      originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
+      tragedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson apart&mdash;greatly
+      to the pique of Boswell&mdash;and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
+      will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You deserve no favour, Goldy,&rdquo; said Johnson, laying his hand on the
+      little man's shoulder, &ldquo;and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants you
+      one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your debtor.
+      Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting you a
+      favour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say everything better than any living man, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
+      suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am anxious
+      to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I have
+      written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;we have been good friends for several
+      years now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Undoubtedly, sir&mdash;long before you became recognised as the most
+      melodious of our poets&mdash;the most diverting of our play-writers. I
+      wrote the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for
+      your second&mdash;nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and
+      if it be damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my
+      tragedy of 'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
+      his eyes and his voice as he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your generosity overpowers me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>oswell, who was
+      standing to one side watching&mdash;-his eyes full of curiosity and his
+      ears strained to catch by chance a word&mdash;the little scene that was
+      being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care that Johnson should
+      be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's house necessitated a
+      walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; but this was nothing to
+      Boswell, who had every confidence in his own capability to extract from
+      his great patron some account of the secrets which had been exchanged in
+      the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object&mdash;nay,
+      when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
+      Johnson turned upon him, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell you
+      that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, woman
+      or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be a
+      friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, who had
+      every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by you,
+      sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
+      good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month of
+      inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during the
+      summer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
+      Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house in
+      Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through Goldsmith's,
+      and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was very eloquent in
+      his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, he said, in spite of
+      the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an impostor calling himself
+      his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to receive the dedication of the
+      new comedy. Burke, who understood the temperament of his countryman, felt
+      that he himself might surpass in eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he
+      took for his text the magnanimity of the author of &ldquo;The Good Natured Man.&rdquo;
+       He, however, refrained from the attempt to prove to his companion that
+      there were other ways by which a man could gain a reputation for
+      generosity than by permitting the most distinguished writer of the age to
+      dedicate a comedy to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
+      quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds was
+      as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at a corner
+      so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of ear-shot, he laid
+      his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
+      friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy&mdash;the
+      greatest genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy,
+      and there never will be another such.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon his
+      face, every gesture that he made corresponding. &ldquo;Sir, I protest that you
+      are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, but
+      as for the rascality&mdash;well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both a
+      great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
+      example, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
+      device as that bow which you made, Davy,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;It presented
+      before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths&mdash;all made in the same
+      fashion as our friend on in front, and all striving&mdash;-and not
+      unsuccessfully, either&mdash;to maintain the family tradition of the
+      Goldsmith bow. And then your imitation of your imitation of the same
+      movement&mdash;how did we contain ourselves&mdash;Burke and I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm convinced that he did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
+      tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
+      certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to him
+      and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson and
+      never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
+      David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, my
+      friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
+      Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are others
+      who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man to offer
+      an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
+      attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
+      man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow a bad
+      word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole dozen
+      could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our friend Mr.
+      Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of generosity
+      because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at them, but
+      preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I would
+      rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of a dozen
+      yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such as Bunbury. On
+      the same principle, I have no particular liking to be preserved to make
+      sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that literary three-decker,
+      Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
+      schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up my
+      mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an actor being
+      a degrading-one&mdash;about an actor being on the level with a fiddler&mdash;nay,
+      one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old schoolmaster a
+      more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it is probable that
+      he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain truths which were
+      told to him by the Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
+      Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled by
+      that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
+      characteristics of the Goldsmith family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour&mdash;declaring that he had
+      never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
+      magnanimous, David&mdash;as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an
+      arm, plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a
+      grain or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I
+      have seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
+      commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
+      force the immorality of the whole proceeding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
+      and Burke&mdash;the former still talking eagerly&mdash;having waited for
+      them to come up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Reynolds, &ldquo;you have all gone out of your accustomed way
+      to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
+      refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
+      opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
+      Betty Hamilton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>O matre pulchra filia pulchrior</i>&rdquo; said Goldsmith; but there was not
+      much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been the
+      loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
+      Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
+      servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out by
+      the servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I have to entreat your forgiveness
+      for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
+      absence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;I
+      cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
+      picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made a
+      point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside when
+      she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
+      to your Lordship's eye,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,&rdquo; said the young man, but
+      with no great show of ardour. &ldquo;It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also a
+      beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side of
+      the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick&mdash;two birds with the one stone, you
+      know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,&rdquo; said the young man.
+      &ldquo;Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at the
+      Pantheon to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it not a mask?&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, finer sport even than that,&rdquo; laughed the youth. &ldquo;We are going to do
+      more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in twenty
+      years, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?&rdquo; inquired Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,&rdquo;
+       cried Lord Stanley. &ldquo;Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
+      acquainted with them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have often longed for that privilege,&rdquo; said Lord Stanley, bowing in
+      reply to the salutation of the others. &ldquo;Mr. Burke's speech on the Marriage
+      Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always been my
+      favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, Dr.
+      Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
+      distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
+      invite you all to the Pantheon&mdash;here are tickets to the show. You
+      will give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night
+      when Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, my Lord,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;that privilege will be in the hands of Mr.
+      Col-man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
+      you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to act
+      my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with an
+      air of mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does he mean?&rdquo; asked Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what I have been asking myself,&rdquo; replied Garrick. &ldquo;By heavens, I
+      have it!&rdquo; he cried after a pause of a few moments. &ldquo;I have heard rumours
+      of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers of the
+      Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of Vauxhall
+      and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the entrance
+      of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the leader of the
+      scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also one of the plot. Let
+      us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss being-present for the
+      world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not so eager,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;I have my work to engage me early
+      in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to be
+      on foot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not, thank heaven!&rdquo; cried Garrick; &ldquo;nor has Dr. Goldsmith, I'll
+      swear. As for Burke&mdash;well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
+      seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We need a frolic,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;God knows we had a dull enough
+      dinner at the Crown and Anchor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An Irishman and a frolic are like&mdash;well, let us say like Lady Betty
+      and your macaw, Sir Joshua,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;They go together very
+      naturally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir Joshua entered
+      his house, and the others hastened northward to the Oxford road, where the
+      Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a year for the entertainment
+      of the fashionable world&mdash;a more fashionable world, it was hoped,
+      than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. From a
+      hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and fashion sought their
+      entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly Rooms when the weather
+      failed to allow of their meeting at the two great public gardens. But as
+      the government of the majority of these places invariably became lax&mdash;there
+      was only one Beau Nash who had the cleverness to perceive that an
+      autocracy was the only possible form of government for such assemblies&mdash;the
+      committee of the Pantheon determined to frame so strict a code of rules,
+      bearing upon the admission of visitors, as should, they believed, prevent
+      the place from falling to the low level of the gardens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
+      there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
+      excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
+      maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
+      most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed to
+      enter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions as
+      eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
+      sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going to
+      those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such persons
+      understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be optimists in
+      regard to the question of the possibility of combining Puritanism and
+      promiscuous entertainments terminating long after midnight. They hailed
+      the arrival of the time when innocent recreation would not be incompatible
+      with the display of the richest dresses or the most sumptuous figures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
+      the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
+      best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
+      the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
+      published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
+      artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility of
+      actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually scandalous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
+      declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
+      resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
+      affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying out
+      of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make the
+      management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in endeavouring
+      to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the thoroughfare
+      was then called, the result of this meeting was making itself felt. The
+      road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for something unusual to
+      occur, though of what form it was to assume no one seemed to be aware. The
+      crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They cheered heartily every coach
+      that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed ladies to the Pantheon and to
+      other and less public entertainments. They waved their hats over the
+      chairs which, similarly burdened, went swinging along between the bearers,
+      footmen walking on each side and link-boys running in advance, the glare
+      of their torches giving additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows
+      who had the chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an
+      officer of the Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and
+      occasionally a jostling match took place between some supercilious young
+      beau and the apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force
+      his way. More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of
+      the lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
+      next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
+      with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
+      Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, drew
+      his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the crowd.
+      It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a space
+      was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was thrown
+      to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy dropped
+      upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the crowd
+      cheered and jeered in turn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
+      frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
+      dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
+      use both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, all
+      the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, and
+      there was a cry of, &ldquo;Here they come&mdash;here she comes&mdash;a cheer for
+      Mrs. Baddeley!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Lord,&rdquo; cried Garrick, &ldquo;they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
+      Baddeley for their experiment!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. Baddeley.
+      There are many gradations in colour between black and white.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But not between black and White's,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;This notion is well
+      worthy of the wit of White's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,&rdquo; said
+      Garrick. &ldquo;But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
+      cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene as
+      this,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week after
+      to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my soul!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;she looks as if she would give double that
+      sum to be safe at home in bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
+      the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
+      through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance in
+      front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold and
+      silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
+      gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, and
+      they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one side was
+      the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. Hanger,
+      equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was immediately
+      behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of the lady's
+      escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was seated,
+      smiling&mdash;&mdash;&ldquo;Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,&rdquo; Burke
+      remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;she was always the better actress. I am
+      fortunate in having her in my new comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,&rdquo; said
+      Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
+      several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
+      the Duchesses,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
+      sway,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
+      will emancipate him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so he is in error,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;The Duchess of Argyll will never let
+      him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady Betty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till then, do you say?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Faith, sir, if he fancies he
+      will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had a
+      very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady is
+      most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
+      Reynolds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to Lady
+      Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be a <i>fait
+      accompli</i>; but there were rumours that the young man had of late been
+      making an effort to release himself&mdash;that it was only with difficulty
+      the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon her daughter,
+      whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
+      crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
+      friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
+      dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
+      gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
+      plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
+      that a voice cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow them
+      to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!&rdquo; The discordant
+      note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment a seasonable
+      one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up a
+      shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a Methodist
+      service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with which the
+      early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another direction a
+      ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as well as men; but
+      above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the preacher was heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my soul,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;that effect is strikingly dramatic. I should
+      like to find some one who would give me a play with such a scene.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in the
+      act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned suddenly
+      round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll take your order, sir,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Only you will have to pay me
+      handsomely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
+      escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,&rdquo; cried Captain Horneck&mdash;Goldsmith's
+      &ldquo;Captain in lace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
+      would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to my
+      Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
+      happen.&rdquo; Then he turned to Goldsmith. &ldquo;Come along, Nolly, my friend,&rdquo; he
+      cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; &ldquo;if you want a scene for your new
+      comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not wearing the
+      peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to be resisted,
+      whatever you wear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
+      stop at the porch of the Pantheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a matter of course you will come,&rdquo; said young Horneck. &ldquo;Let us hasten
+      out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin to
+      preach!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
+      arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as they
+      could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his companion,
+      that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but for the fact
+      that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord Albemarle, and that
+      his mother had entreated him not to do anything that might jeopardise the
+      match.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
+      means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
+      would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that his
+      act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,&rdquo; said the Captain.
+      &ldquo;Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
+      But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty and
+      the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party found, on
+      approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being under the guidance of
+      Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have had considerable
+      difficulty getting near the porch of the building, where the crowds were
+      most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed his way quite
+      good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the people, and was
+      followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little way behind. But as
+      soon as the latter couple came within the light of the hundred lamps which
+      hung around the porch, they were recognised and cheered by the crowd, who
+      made a passage for them to the entrance just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was
+      set down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed in
+      front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a line on
+      each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped out&mdash;she
+      could not be persuaded to do so for some time&mdash;and walked between the
+      ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered the points of
+      their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy than they would
+      have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at that period were
+      doing their best to obtain some recognition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the &ldquo;business&rdquo; of the part which she had to
+      play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding herself
+      confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick standing at one
+      side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he bowed with exquisite
+      irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit was too much for her.
+      Forgetting that she was playing the part of a <i>grande dame</i>, she
+      turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her hands&mdash;one
+      holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan&mdash;crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's the
+      prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,&rdquo; said Garrick
+      gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
+      porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
+      serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
+      collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
+      side of the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
+      What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
+      visitor?&rdquo; he shouted to the liveried porter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,&rdquo;
+       replied the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,&rdquo; said the young
+      gentleman. &ldquo;Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,&rdquo; replied the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Mr. Hanger,&rdquo; replied the frightened actress, &ldquo;I wish not to be the
+      cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, &ldquo;I know that it is not your
+      will that we should come in active contest with the representatives of
+      authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that our
+      honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?&rdquo; When the cries
+      of assent came to an end he continued, &ldquo;Then, sirs, the responsibility for
+      bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords to the front! You will
+      touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. Should a constable assault
+      any of this company you will run him through without mercy. Now,
+      gentlemen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and in
+      that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
+      moments stood irresolute, but then&mdash;the points of a dozen swords were
+      within a yard of their breasts&mdash;lowered their staves and slipped
+      quietly aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt
+      to withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
+      went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from the
+      thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort walked
+      through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being sheathed
+      at the entrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
+      rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
+      of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to look
+      scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave the
+      assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose first
+      husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively plain, in
+      spite of their masks of paint and powder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of her
+      daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
+      twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess of
+      Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of a
+      body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
+      anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had no
+      touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her complexion,
+      and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add to their
+      silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the cold
+      whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. The
+      solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that she made
+      with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that lovely
+      woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
+      small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
+      Duchess's elegance and distinction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at the
+      lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her body
+      guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, they
+      exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess even
+      smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster shrugged
+      her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a Frenchwoman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
+      also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
+      her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
+      frightened away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Horneck had gone up to his <i>fiancee</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were not in that creature's train, I hope,&rdquo; said the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Dear child, for what do you take me?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No, I certainly was
+      not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
+      you the impropriety,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than a
+      year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and now
+      returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where Mrs.
+      Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Lord Conway, &ldquo;these gentlemen are anxious to offer you their
+      sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and to
+      express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour them by
+      your patronage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the management,
+      with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling actress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,&rdquo; said Lord Stanley. &ldquo;She agreed
+      to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She can take very good care of herself,&rdquo; said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
+      curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to underrate
+      the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to divide the
+      honours attached to her position with another woman, much less with one
+      who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. &ldquo;Mrs. Abington is
+      a little timid, my Lord,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;she may not find herself quite
+      at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, to be sure; but for
+      my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better taste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was conveyed
+      to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of the honours
+      which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, and when this
+      news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through the porch to
+      the side of her sister actress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll and
+      Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two actresses,
+      offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them frequently at
+      the assemblies in the rotunda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
+      condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
+      their shoulders once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
+      disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew that
+      the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the Duchess's
+      daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity of mothers
+      with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible suitors were
+      growing scarce?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played under
+      his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, and he was
+      compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more highly
+      finished exhibition of this form of art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
+      Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
+      liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to remain
+      in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious to see
+      what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and his
+      friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the part of
+      the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, he heard a
+      merry voice behind him saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the Pantheon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; cried another voice, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing of
+      a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
+      century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on the
+      Oxford road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
+      handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride&mdash;and my sweet Little Comedy!&rdquo; he cried, as
+      the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act of
+      making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
+      Katherine&mdash;the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. &ldquo;Mrs. Horneck, madam,
+      I am your servant&mdash;and don't I look your servant, too,&rdquo; he added,
+      remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You look always the same good friend,&rdquo; said the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; laughed Mrs. Bunbury, &ldquo;if he were your servant he would take care,
+      for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it is not
+      that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something gorgeous.
+      What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
+      Bun-burys.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
+      company, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. &ldquo;But a
+      peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
+      to-night.&rdquo; He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses and
+      their admirers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The air is tainted,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, solemnly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. &ldquo;'T is as you
+      say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said not so, madam,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. &ldquo;As amusing&mdash;-amusing&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,&rdquo;
+       protested Little Comedy. &ldquo;Were they not, Mary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, undoubtedly those were his words&mdash;only he did not utter them,&rdquo;
+       replied the Jessamy Bride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
+      witnesses!&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could deny nothing to two such faces,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;even though one
+      of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius weeping
+      over the Pantheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
+      it?&rdquo; she inquired, with her chin in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,&rdquo; cried the young
+      lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,&rdquo; remarked
+      Mary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the Pantheon
+      without the knowledge of his biographer,&rdquo; cried her sister, with an air of
+      worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well qualified to be an
+      exponent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to the
+      Royal Academy of Arts,&rdquo; said a lady who had come up with Burke at that
+      moment&mdash;a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
+      movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith bowed low&mdash;again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
+      Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
+      unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,&rdquo; Goldsmith began, but seeing the
+      ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and the
+      compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thrale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
+      declining to argue out the matter with you,&rdquo; said the Professor of Ancient
+      History.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
+      quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed in
+      her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention to the
+      words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, moreover,
+      declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in accepting her
+      patronage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms&mdash;most
+      of which had been said at least once before&mdash;at the expense of the
+      Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
+      busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
+      injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her <i>jeux d'esprit</i>,
+      she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the benefit
+      of her remarks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, pointing
+      out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, suddenly turning
+      in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing behind her mother, the
+      jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the expression of dismay&mdash;worse
+      than dismay&mdash;which was on the girl's face as she gazed across the
+      rotunda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith followed
+      the direction of her eyes and saw that their object was a man in the
+      uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. Abingdon. He was a
+      showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence of some dissipated
+      years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his bearing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and
+      gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant&mdash;only for an
+      instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
+      the girl across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
+      white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after the
+      lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy of
+      feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been a
+      witness of a <i>rencontre</i> which evidently was painful to her; but he
+      spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely noticeable
+      imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; and, professing
+      himself woefully ignorant as to the <i>personnel</i> of the majority of
+      the people who were present, inquired first what was the name of a
+      gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently interested
+      ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that elaborate bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, but
+      after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have never seen him before,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don't think he can be any one
+      in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually nobodies&mdash;until
+      we come to know them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is quite reasonable,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It is a distinction to become your
+      friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor at
+      the Academy are forgotten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
+      attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens, child!&rdquo; she whispered to her, &ldquo;what is the matter with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What should be the matter with me?&rdquo; said Mary. &ldquo;What, except&mdash;oh,
+      this place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
+      well ventilated at all times!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,&rdquo; said
+      Bunbury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
+      moment,&rdquo; said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. &ldquo;For heaven's
+      sake don't stare so, child,&rdquo; she added to her sister, making a pitiful
+      attempt to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by
+      Mary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I will not have our mother alarmed, and&mdash;well,
+      every one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the
+      faintness has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's
+      company? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a
+      fuss. Lend me your arm, if you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all pleasure in life,&rdquo; cried Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
+      greatly she was trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister and
+      Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
+      immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
+      who had bowed to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Take me
+      somewhere&mdash;some place away from here&mdash;any place away from here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one sconce
+      with wax candles was alight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you tremble, my dear girl?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What is there to be
+      afraid of? I am your friend&mdash;you know that I would die to save you
+      from the least trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I am in no trouble&mdash;only
+      for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you did not come in
+      the bloom-tinted coat after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was broken
+      only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's song&mdash;the
+      hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the rotunda and
+      around the galleries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend&mdash;I wonder
+      what you think of your Jessamy Bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,&rdquo; said he tenderly. &ldquo;But
+      if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may be able
+      to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a moment. Why,
+      what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry in France
+      together?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;nothing has happened&mdash;I give you my word upon it,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
+      frightened&mdash;no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting,
+      have not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could
+      not understand&mdash;psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith; girls are foolish creatures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?&rdquo; said
+      he. &ldquo;Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? Think if
+      it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs are
+      concerned, but I feel that for others&mdash;for you, my dear&mdash;ah,
+      child, don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
+      poignancy is blunted?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have never had consolation except from you,&rdquo; said the girl. &ldquo;But this&mdash;this&mdash;oh,
+      my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's soul to enable you to
+      write those lines&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      And finds too late. . . '?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to his
+      forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked slowly
+      away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than a dozen
+      steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of indecision,
+      hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;it is only a woman who can think everything that is evil
+      about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their own
+      destruction, but by women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go away,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am sick of this place. There is no corner
+      of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever any
+      singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! I would pay
+      fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her efforts.&rdquo; Her laugh
+      had a shrill note that caused it to sound very pitiful to the man who
+      heard it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
+      standing with Burke and her son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+      Horneck. &ldquo;We have been entranced with its melody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no; I have missed no note of it&mdash;no note. Was there ever
+      anything so delicious&mdash;so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went
+      homeward, mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!&rdquo; said
+      Burke. &ldquo;It is the young miss in these days who insists on her mother's
+      keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary was always a wise little person,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wise? Oh, let us go home!&rdquo; said the girl wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,&rdquo; said her
+      mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the janitor
+      to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
+      lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
+      girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
+      hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went out into
+      the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While Goldsmith was
+      in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was furtively glancing
+      around, and before she had got into a position for seating herself by the
+      side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so clumsy a way that several of
+      the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, bowing awkwardly, and, to crown
+      his stupidity, he turned round so rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran
+      violently full-tilt against a gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to
+      the side of the chariot as if to take leave of the ladies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
+      staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
+      the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, was
+      barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his awkwardness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse you for a lout!&rdquo; cried the officer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look you, sir!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have offered you my humblest apologies for
+      the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to say
+      as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir&mdash;Oliver
+      Goldsmith&mdash;and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that
+      we are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
+      may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
+      cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, shouted
+      &ldquo;Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke forever!&rdquo; For
+      both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as they were in
+      society.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
+      in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
+      stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. Then
+      he turned to his opponent, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you can
+      let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or if it suits you better, sir,&rdquo; said another gentleman coming to
+      Goldsmith's side, &ldquo;you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
+      Clare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, &ldquo;I have no quarrel
+      with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in the heat
+      of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman might not
+      make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I have the
+      honour to wish your Lordship good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed and made his exit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Goldsmith
+      reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting him a letter from
+      Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let him know that Woodward
+      and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his comedy which had been in
+      rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, felt they were right in doing
+      so, as the failure of the piece was so inevitable. He hoped that Dr.
+      Goldsmith would be discreet enough to sanction its withdrawal while its
+      withdrawal was still possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He read this letter&mdash;one of several which he had received from Colman
+      during the week prophesying disaster&mdash;without impatience, and threw
+      it aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save
+      the expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
+      his lines&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      &ldquo;When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      And finds too late....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too late&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had
+      broken, as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had
+      broken, when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is
+      enshrined for all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress
+      of tears. It would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in
+      her eyes. Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl who
+      had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other human
+      being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had shown
+      themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing himself on
+      the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when Little Comedy
+      married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him which had begun at
+      Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he spent at the
+      Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his &ldquo;Jessamy
+      Bride,&rdquo; drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt from
+      the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature&mdash;that in
+      her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy which he
+      sought. More than once she had proved to him that she recognised the
+      greatness of his nature&mdash;his simplicity, his generosity, the
+      tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his trustfulness,
+      that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his intolerance of
+      hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was the note of the
+      most successful productions of the day. Above all, he felt that she
+      recognised his true attitude in relation to English literature. If he was
+      compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order to earn his daily
+      bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English literature. How
+      nobly he discharged this debt his &ldquo;Traveller,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield,&rdquo;
+       &ldquo;The Deserted Village,&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Good Natured Man&rdquo; testified at intervals.
+      He felt that he was the truest poet, the sincerest dramatist, of the
+      period, and he never allowed the work which he was compelled to do for the
+      booksellers to turn him aside from his high aims.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood what
+      his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of the world.
+      She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she understood him
+      and sympathised with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
+      her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
+      time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
+      her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
+      how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a long
+      visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look of
+      gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her with
+      a letter. &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield&rdquo; was the book, and she had said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can never, never know what it has been to me&mdash;what it has done
+      for me.&rdquo; Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude&mdash;of
+      affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes had
+      overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not be
+      easily severed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0105.jpg" alt="0105 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0105.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
+      song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was he to think of her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, on
+      glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
+      changed from one of merriment to one of despair&mdash;the despair of a
+      bird that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was he to think of her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of her,
+      but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
+      certain, brought about her change of mood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
+      guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
+      going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
+      means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep the
+      man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
+      rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary it had
+      proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the girls, and
+      he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to regard the
+      occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run the man
+      through some vital part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the very
+      sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, and his
+      too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number of answers
+      to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no ill of her.
+      He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly good. He felt
+      that her concern was on account of some one else who might be in the power
+      of that man. He knew how generous she was&mdash;how sympathetic. He had
+      told her some of his own troubles, and though he did so lightly, as was
+      his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing of them. Might it not
+      then be that the trouble which affected her was not her own, but
+      another's?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
+      incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow whose
+      appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had escaped
+      with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an ordinary
+      shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how he had
+      declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a man he would
+      have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but design, and would
+      have been ready to fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of the
+      man would be a step in the right direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the morning
+      that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which contained some
+      unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the details of the news,
+      but he was certain that on receiving it he had a definite idea that it was
+      unpleasant. When he now read Colman's letter for the second time he found
+      that his recollection of his first impression was not at fault. It was
+      just his luck: no man was in the habit of writing more joyous letters or
+      receiving more depressing than Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
+      mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
+      to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
+      could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
+      dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
+      stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
+      interests to be connected with a failure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
+      not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It might be in respect to most plays, sir,&rdquo; replied Colman; &ldquo;but in
+      regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
+      anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
+      this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall try to bear both with fortitude,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quietly, though
+      he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his gratuitous
+      predictions of failure&mdash;predictions which from the first his attitude
+      in regard to the play had contributed to realise. &ldquo;I should like to have a
+      talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are in the green room,&rdquo; said the manager. &ldquo;I must say that I was in
+      hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work would
+      enable you to see your way to withdraw it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I decline to withdraw it, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been a manager now for some years,&rdquo; said Colman, &ldquo;and, speaking
+      from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
+      hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
+      complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that was
+      ever wrote.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
+      appreciate,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
+      what the people want nowadays is a novelty?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of yours
+      is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's the
+      novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, sir, the
+      bringing on of that vulgar young boor&mdash;what's the fellow's name?&mdash;Lumpkin,
+      in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the refinement and
+      sensibility of the period&mdash;the fellow who talks of his bear only
+      dancing to the genteelest of tunes&mdash;all this, Dr. Goldsmith, I pledge
+      you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an early fall of
+      the curtain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An early fall of the curtain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
+      beyond that of your pothouse to be set.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not a
+      pothouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
+      apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
+      through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
+      Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of <i>your</i> play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
+      share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
+      having anything to do with its production.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
+      respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
+      with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's office
+      and went to the green room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he attitude of
+      Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping with the traditions of
+      the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it so contrary to the
+      traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like the rest of his
+      profession&mdash;not even excepting Garrick&mdash;possessed only a small
+      amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented to
+      them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his own
+      acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted blank
+      verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional lines,
+      with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack of human
+      nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and he could see
+      no reason why he should substitute for them anything more natural. He had
+      no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure a comedy founded
+      upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious sentimentality of an
+      artificial age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had produced &ldquo;The Good Natured Man&rdquo; some years before, and had made
+      money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who had
+      condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that play were
+      still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
+      characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but actually
+      intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named provisionally
+      &ldquo;The Mistakes of a Night,&rdquo; he at first declined to have anything to do
+      with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential friends&mdash;friends
+      who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised his genius when he
+      was living in a garret and before he had written anything beyond a few
+      desultory essays&mdash;and they brought all their influence to bear upon
+      the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the comedy, but laid it aside for
+      several months, and only grudgingly, at last, consented to put it in
+      rehearsal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best to
+      depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging his
+      shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant to allow
+      certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
+      than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
+      soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
+      half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young Marlow,
+      threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was serious in
+      his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment Goldsmith
+      assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract with the
+      manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same contract
+      by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was handed
+      over to Lee Lewes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
+      the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
+      chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
+      manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
+      possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
+      to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
+      provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
+      encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
+      regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said he
+      was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up their
+      parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
+      rehearsing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
+      conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He knew
+      that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could not doubt
+      what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round and go back
+      to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw the play. The
+      temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of determination which
+      had carried him through many difficulties&mdash;that spirit which Reynolds
+      appreciated and had embodied in his portrait&mdash;came to his aid. He
+      walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with both Woodward and
+      Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
+      Colman,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but I am sure that you have not taken this serious step
+      without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. Colman will
+      be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an agreement with me
+      to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he will therefore
+      sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick will, I hope, honour
+      me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. Bulk-ley that of Miss
+      Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the rehearsal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
+      the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and who
+      had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now began
+      to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had been a
+      fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched garret knew
+      what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate to kick
+      downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him employment as
+      a libeller.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to him&mdash;&ldquo;Sir,
+      you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will not be my
+      fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. You have been
+      badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your ill-treatment nobly.
+      For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to appear in your piece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
+      ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
+      gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to assert
+      that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I shall regard
+      as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has passed I know
+      that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection of the
+      opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the success of
+      this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
+      circumstances incidental to its birth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly that
+      he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: they
+      reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, caused
+      them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,&rdquo; said Shuter, who
+      was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Lord,
+      sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident was to
+      happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned to a
+      certainty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
+      Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
+      influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
+      acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith that
+      none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet the
+      members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption that
+      its failure was inevitable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
+      since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers to
+      dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at a
+      wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
+      during the greater part of the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her eyes
+      at the same moment had yet to be explained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his elbow resting
+      on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After half-an-hour's thought
+      his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. Picking one up with a
+      sigh, he began to write.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verse after verse appeared upon the paper&mdash;the love-song of a man who
+      feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
+      consolation in life is love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again rested
+      his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he had written.
+      His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected sincerity when
+      every one around him was engaged in composing verses which were regarded
+      worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were artificial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
+      Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would she
+      be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
+      delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
+      known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
+      enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
+      feeling?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?&rdquo; he muttered.
+      &ldquo;Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is the
+      chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should he
+      himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life that the
+      man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to live in
+      loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was struck blind&mdash;a
+      great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from love receives no pity&mdash;no
+      pity on earth&mdash;no pity in heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for an
+      hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper which he
+      had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. He did not
+      tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand to the desk
+      and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making the torn edge
+      rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of a woman whose
+      lover was beside her&mdash;that was what the quivering motion suggested to
+      the poet who watched it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
+      where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
+      men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
+      that friendship could afford him no solace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
+      giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or the next two
+      days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes in his play as were
+      suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. The alterations were not
+      radical, but he felt that they would be improvements, and his judgment was
+      rarely at fault. Moreover, he was quick to perceive in what direction the
+      strong points and the weak points of the various members of the company
+      lay, and he had no hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them
+      a better chance of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman
+      called the &ldquo;pot-house scene&rdquo; would he change, not a word of the scene
+      where the farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow
+      to be omitted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
+      to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee house
+      talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the fate that
+      was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he not adopted
+      this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become aware, as
+      they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. When it was
+      produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the manager up to
+      ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a new set of
+      lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some of
+      them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
+      hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he might
+      not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not possibly
+      be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a pity, one
+      of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be so easily
+      avoided?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
+      or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written it,
+      he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the medium of
+      these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the verdict of the
+      playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on those scenes so
+      early in the play was that the playgoers might know not to expect a
+      sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a natural school of
+      comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of the manners of the
+      day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only the broadest and
+      heartiest fun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the scenes are ungenteel,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it is because nature is made up
+      of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
+      interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
+      when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a greater
+      favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest gentleman who
+      ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely on the ear of a
+      boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not interfere with his
+      romping.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
+      on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when he
+      did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from his
+      over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others&mdash;a disability
+      which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
+      consequence, delightfully fluent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
+      he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that the
+      Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some degree of
+      apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might think he
+      looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he was by her
+      side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. The words
+      still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it would pain her
+      to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite content that matters
+      should remain as they were. Whatever the words might have meant, it was
+      impossible that they could mean anything that might cause him to think of
+      her with less reverence and affection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to find
+      out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom there
+      came to his ears the sound of laughter&mdash;such laughter as caused him
+      to remark to the servant&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
+      sir,&rdquo; replied Ralph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
+      entertaining them,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
+      entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
+      keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits of
+      laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
+      amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him much
+      manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
+      imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
+      details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
+      entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
+      laboriously at his &ldquo;Animated Nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, sir, good morning,&rdquo; he cried, pretending to take off his
+      gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect self-possession,
+      previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. &ldquo;Now mind you don't sit
+      there, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; he continued, raising a warning finger. A little
+      motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, with his mincing ways, was
+      transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy and self-conscious in the
+      presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy politeness to get him a
+      chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very one on which the man had
+      placed his hat. &ldquo;Now, now, now, what are you about?&rdquo;&mdash;once more
+      Garrick was the amanuensis. &ldquo;Did not I warn you to be careful about that
+      chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? Sir, that excuse is a
+      mere quibble&mdash;a mere quibble. This must not occur again, or I shall
+      be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, my good sir? Now to
+      business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man to make me a cup of
+      chocolate&mdash;with milk, sir&mdash;plenty of milk, and two lumps of
+      sugar&mdash;plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a patriot&mdash;none
+      of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think on't, your
+      laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for me; and mind you
+      tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in it&rdquo;&mdash;this shouted
+      half-way out of the door through which he had shown Goldsmith hurrying
+      with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. Then came the monologue
+      of the amanuensis strolling about the room, passing his sneering remarks
+      at the furniture&mdash;opening a letter which had just come by post, and
+      reading it <i>sotto voce</i>. It was supposed to be from Filby, the
+      tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform in which Dr.
+      Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the Haymarket would
+      be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith had made up his
+      mind as to the exact orders which he meant to wear, ending with a
+      compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and discrimination in choosing
+      a costume which was so well adapted to his physique, and a humble
+      suggestion that it should be worn upon the occasion of the first
+      performance of the new comedy, when the writer hoped no objection would be
+      raised to the hanging of a board in front of the author's box with &ldquo;Made
+      by Filby&rdquo; printed on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain words&mdash;giving
+      an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here and there, and
+      finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a postscript alluding to
+      the length of time that had passed since the writer had received a payment
+      on account, could not have been surpassed. The effect of the comedy upon
+      the people in the room was immeasurably heightened by the entrance of
+      Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, as the amanuensis, immediately
+      walked to him gravely with the scrap of paper which had done duty as the
+      letter, in his hand, asking him if what was written there in black and
+      white about the field-marshal's uniform was correct, and if he meant to
+      agree to Filby's request to wear it on the first night of the comedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
+      entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
+      of the scene, saying-&ldquo;Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
+      more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful issue
+      a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager of a
+      playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why should
+      not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew that
+      Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, and would
+      not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In an instant,
+      however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious amanuensis, and
+      became David Garrick, crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to reply
+      to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of your
+      experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
+      nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated at
+      the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much what
+      might follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the amanuensis, &ldquo;we have no time to waste over empty
+      civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we cannot keep
+      the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the booksellers, 'tis
+      the world we think of. What is this?&rdquo;&mdash;picking up an imaginary paper&mdash;&ldquo;'The
+      derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed the ingeniousness of many
+      able writers, but there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who has
+      seen that noble creature, as I have, in its native woods, careering nimbly
+      from branch to branch of the largest trees in search of the butterflies,
+      which form its sole food, that the name elephant is but a corruption of
+      elegant, the movements of the animal being as singularly graceful as its
+      shape is in accordance with all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is
+      mighty fine, but your style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature'
+      should be himself both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon
+      should himself be a buffoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
+      leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis as
+      to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer and
+      warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
+      Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
+      imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
+      the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! Lord!
+      what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to dictate
+      to his amanuensis?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, around
+      the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household in roars
+      of laughter&mdash;as one delightful member of the household has recorded&mdash;over
+      his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of Dr. Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And all this,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;came out of the paltry story which I told
+      him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment he sat
+      down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I knew he
+      saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea and send
+      him away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith was
+      delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from care. He had
+      gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear that she was
+      unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry a mood as he
+      had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at dinner, and he
+      was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the mysterious mood
+      that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
+      him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though she said
+      that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the intention of
+      the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go together to the
+      theatre and demand its immediate production on the finest scale possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
+      Colman in that respect,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Only to-day, when I ventured to
+      talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not his
+      intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be played
+      for longer than a small portion of one evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monster!&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;I should like to talk to him as I feel
+      about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will tolerate
+      his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs some one to
+      be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him how contemptible he
+      is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. The occasion is one that
+      demands the powers of a man who has a whole dictionary at his back&mdash;yes,
+      Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten that if he does not behave
+      handsomely he will, in his next edition of the Dictionary, define a
+      scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps an author in suspense for
+      months, and then produces his comedy so ungenerously as to make its
+      failure a certainty. But, no, your play will be the greater success on
+      account of its having to overcome all the obstacles which Mr. Colman has
+      placed in its way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be the
+      greatest success of the century,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so it will be&mdash;oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will&mdash;oh,
+      we shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
+      and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
+      upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to the
+      remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
+      suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
+      upon an ill-treated author.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
+      one of the two enterprises&mdash;the first being the changing of the
+      mistakes of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the
+      changing of the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager&mdash;ay,
+      and of an author as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Admirably spoke!&rdquo; cried the author. &ldquo;I have a mind to let the name 'The
+      Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Oh,
+      do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot hit upon
+      a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath of laurel.&rdquo;
+       Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not far away, had
+      put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a word or two of
+      the girl's sentence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,&rdquo; said
+      he. &ldquo;You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
+      Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
+      Knight!'&rdquo; said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
+      not like too many people to hear him make one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get a
+      better,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
+      Horneck to discover the better one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
+      and damn the play,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;I have given it its proper name, and
+      if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
+      reprobation of all honest folk who detest an <i>alias</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then that name shall stand,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I give you my word, Sir
+      Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have it
+      damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is very well said, indeed,&rdquo; remarked Sir Joshua. &ldquo;It gives evidence
+      of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all should respect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for
+      she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, but from the
+      other end of the table there came quite an outburst of laughter. Garrick
+      sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was telling an
+      imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
+      question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
+      story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
+      not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner&mdash;his name was Colonel
+      Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck&mdash;took
+      up the question quite seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I admit frankly that I have never heard the story
+      of Grouse in the gun-room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it possible, sir?&rdquo; cried Garrick. &ldquo;What, you mean to say that you are
+      not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who asked
+      him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was locked&mdash;that
+      about every gun having a lock, and so forth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; cried Colonel Gwyn. &ldquo;I had no idea that the story was a
+      familiar one. It seems interesting, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;But you are an army man,
+      Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the mess-table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, sir,&rdquo; said Colonel Gwyn, &ldquo;I know so little about it that I
+      fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog&mdash;I have myself known of
+      sporting dogs called Grouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,&rdquo; cried Garrick. &ldquo;Ould Grouse a dog! Pray do
+      not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, and would
+      feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. Goldsmith was
+      an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death severely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he is dead?&rdquo; said Gwyn. &ldquo;That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
+      the narrative.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A particularly pathetic interest, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, shaking his head.
+      &ldquo;I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that that
+      dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us&mdash;that the gunroom door is
+      now open, but that within there is silence&mdash;no sound of the dear old
+      feet that were wont to patter and potter&mdash;you will pardon my emotion,
+      madam&rdquo;&mdash;He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
+      became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured to
+      assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, did him
+      honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now without
+      seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had too high
+      an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face perfectly grave,
+      while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to suppress came from the
+      napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti said something in
+      Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the melancholy nature of the
+      party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'T is selfish to repine, and he himself&mdash;dear old soul!&mdash;would
+      be the last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in
+      the gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
+      I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
+      delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
+      known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had no
+      particular character in the neighbourhood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,&rdquo; said the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if the truth must be told&mdash;but no, the man is dead and gone
+      now,&rdquo; cried Garrick, &ldquo;and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
+      do, the nimbleness of his wit&mdash;the genial mirth which ran through the
+      gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
+      is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse or
+      two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
+      thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
+      comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
+      afraid to joke, sir, and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
+      read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
+      actually narrated, but only hinted at,&rdquo; said Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That makes little matter, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;The untold story of Ould
+      Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
+      year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury, &ldquo;after the pains which Mr.
+      Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of the
+      story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.&rdquo; Colonel
+      Gwyn looked puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that up to the present&mdash;ah! I fear that
+      the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to be
+      led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind you&mdash;I
+      fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with laughter,
+      which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was
+      taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and then at Little
+      Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make out what
+      was going on around her in that strange household where she had been
+      thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the ultra-grave Garrick, and
+      then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of assuring him that
+      she understood perfectly how he came to be merry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;these gentlemen seem to have their own
+      reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate when
+      to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet&mdash;ah, I perceive
+      they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
+      sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
+      the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
+      don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
+      some years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
+      in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
+      the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
+      embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who was
+      hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends every
+      evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which chanced to be
+      broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of port-glasses at his end
+      of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom he cheered by telling him
+      that he had already given a lesson to Woodward regarding the speaking of
+      the prologue which he, Garrick, had written for the comedy. He said he
+      believed Woodward would repeat the lines very effectively. When Goldsmith
+      mentioned that Colman declined to have a single scene painted for the
+      production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,&rdquo; said the
+      latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the play
+      to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Davy, my friend,&rdquo; Goldsmith replied, &ldquo;I feel more at my ease in
+      reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst&mdash;or the best.
+      If the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
+      for the next year or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
+      entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
+      and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting long
+      sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was supposed
+      to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment has survived,
+      and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with Garrick repeating
+      the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous change of
+      expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with Goldsmith
+      burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly amusing gestures
+      the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed that Sir Joshua's
+      guests were convulsed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
+      playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
+      did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines after
+      the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous than that of
+      the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an affecting passage
+      from Addison's &ldquo;Cato,&rdquo; Goldsmith began to sing the song which he had been
+      compelled to omit from the part of Miss Hardcastle, owing to Mrs.
+      Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course Garrick's gestures during the
+      delivery of the song were marvellously ingenious, and an additional
+      element of attraction was introduced by Dr. Burney, who hastily seated
+      himself at the pianoforte and interwove a medley accompaniment,
+      introducing all the airs then popular, but without prejudice to the
+      harmonies of the accompaniment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
+      marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
+      caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees&mdash;he begged
+      the lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was
+      accustomed to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica
+      shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua to the
+      Jessamy Bride. &ldquo;Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
+      hearing her sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
+      Angelica.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Will your Majesty condescend
+      to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned to captivate
+      our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to conquer our
+      savage hearts by the exercise of another?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
+      thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
+      springing to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Lord, I've got it!&rdquo; shouted Goldsmith. &ldquo;The Jessamy Bride has
+      given it to me, as I knew she would&mdash;the title of my comedy&mdash;she
+      has just said it: '<i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s a matter of
+      course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith communicated it to
+      him the next day; but the latter was firm on this particular point. He had
+      given the play its name, he said, and he would not alter it now on any
+      consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play gave
+      him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret at not
+      being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he believed
+      the manager would play to perfection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the whole
+      Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his customary
+      emphasis, that no better title than &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer&rdquo; could be found
+      for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and the rehearsal was
+      proceeded with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
+      in order to go upon the stage, &ldquo;Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
+      must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we may
+      be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
+      filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said Miss
+      Horneck&mdash;Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
+      topics of the hour. &ldquo;I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as will
+      enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but to a
+      whole archipelago of wit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Otaheite is a name of good omen,&rdquo; said Cradock. &ldquo;It is suggestive of
+      palms, and '<i>palmam qui meruit ferat.</i>'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you should know better than to quote Latin in the
+      presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
+      it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
+      is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
+      playgoers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,&rdquo; laughed
+      Cradock. &ldquo;Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, and
+      Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
+      critics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
+      Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
+      opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
+      his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
+      critics.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
+      servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
+      outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
+      broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed and
+      applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons&mdash;especially the
+      satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists&mdash;but it was
+      the drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of
+      Miss Horneck&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
+      Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much amazed
+      as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage out of
+      compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority regarding
+      the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in the estimation
+      of his company, remarked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
+      generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
+      playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
+      your wit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent the
+      instruction of Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed it
+      during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it became
+      understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit their
+      regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been originally
+      cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the prologue, which
+      Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told Goldsmith, he had
+      already given a hint or two to Woodward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
+      Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
+      threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
+      thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
+      epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
+      declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
+      herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
+      ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
+      were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; but
+      Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
+      epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding the first
+      performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was eventually spoken
+      by Mrs. Bulkley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an epilogue
+      which will never be spoke,&rdquo; sneered Colman when the last difficulties had
+      been smoothed over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
+      consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
+      Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
+      of the play&mdash;when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
+      niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
+      either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
+      almost caused him to break down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
+      She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
+      hesitate for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;my dress
+      would be ruined.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour of
+      the play,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their dusters,
+      and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one of the
+      candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years contained
+      such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. Col-man for a
+      curmudgeon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and I
+      only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
+      play, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;The credit of your friends, who insisted on
+      Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And above all,&rdquo; said Reynolds pleasantly, &ldquo;the play must be a success in
+      order to put Colman in the wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
+      important to us all,&rdquo; said Mary. &ldquo;It would never do for Colman to be in
+      the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
+      saved by Monday night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a sense
+      of my own unworthiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,&rdquo; cried
+      Johnson. &ldquo;Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
+      hear your play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
+      when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care to
+      send a guinea in advance,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, and every one present knew that
+      he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by Johnson on
+      the day that &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield&rdquo; was sold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Reynolds, &ldquo;I have to prove how certain we are of the
+      future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday previous
+      to the performance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
+      success of the play,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;To proffer such an invitation would
+      be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public had
+      attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who know
+      your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that our
+      esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday night,
+      sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour to have
+      you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what you
+      mean better,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;A compliment is doubly a compliment coming
+      from Dr. Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
+      walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter of
+      a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character of Young
+      Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had sufficiently
+      recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how remarkable a
+      character he had created.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the St.
+      James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found the
+      author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
+      salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered with
+      silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any mistake
+      on this point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; cried the visitor. &ldquo;Have you forgot that you cannot wear
+      colours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith. &ldquo;Because Woodward is to appear in mourning to
+      speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy should
+      also be in black?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;that is not the reason. How is it possible that you
+      forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat of
+      yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in front
+      of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you hope
+      that the King will command a performance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
+      garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
+      dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
+      before throwing it over the back of a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,&rdquo; said
+      he. &ldquo;I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with his
+      friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
+      Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
+      assembled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook hands
+      twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the King of
+      Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for regret with
+      him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He expressed a
+      hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have so depressing
+      an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their enjoyment of his
+      comedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did not
+      think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would be
+      quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
+      frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
+      all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose name
+      they had probably never heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
+      the best, but still....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
+      Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
+      heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
+      merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
+      concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
+      become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
+      of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the clock
+      and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time to allow
+      of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds that
+      Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his nervousness,
+      began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken at Lord
+      Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took place daily
+      in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave all his
+      attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to him&mdash;not
+      even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity College to his
+      friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
+      theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
+      had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
+      to have the omission repaired without delay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He never returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party remained
+      in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter from the bar was sent
+      for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was having his hat brushed,
+      that his party were ready to leave the house, the man stated that Dr.
+      Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall Mall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said Johnson to Burke, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a
+      fool.&rdquo; Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Burke, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
+      ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
+      let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say the
+      best comedy of a century.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the playhouse?&rdquo;
+       said Richard Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
+      concerned,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;I think that the best course we can adopt is
+      for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
+      looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
+      Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
+      burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
+      playhouse, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I know anything of him, sir,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;the playhouse is just
+      the place which he would most persistently avoid.&rdquo; There was a long pause
+      before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is very kind of you, sir,&rdquo; replied Steevens. &ldquo;But you may rest
+      assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
+      hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
+      Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting alone in
+      some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable failure of
+      his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled him to hold out
+      against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, suffer a relapse
+      when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and his naturally
+      sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his life give place to
+      a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him to put in an
+      appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his friends. Steevens
+      actually made up his mind that if he failed to find Goldsmith during the
+      next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage on the Edgware road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house&mdash;from Jack's, in
+      Dean street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster&mdash;but he failed to
+      discover his friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this
+      way; and all this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse&mdash;except
+      the one box that held Cumberland and his friends&mdash;were greeting the
+      brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
+      contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
+      authors had witnessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens have
+      imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous figure of
+      Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with a hand
+      behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and as phrase
+      after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and vivified with
+      numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, he seems to
+      shake the theatre with his laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
+      of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two notable
+      figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
+      frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
+      Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the most
+      notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
+      occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
+      laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
+      she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
+      Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
+      Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
+      lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
+      every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, &ldquo;looking glum,&rdquo; as one
+      witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
+      having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth the
+      resentment of the pit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
+      years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's &ldquo;Good-Natured Man&rdquo; at &ldquo;the other
+      house,&rdquo; sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
+      &ldquo;Ossian.&rdquo; He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
+      an impostor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
+      younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
+      for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from the
+      pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact that
+      Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his eyes
+      fixed upon her&mdash;earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his <i>fiancÃ©e</i>
+      are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important box in the house
+      Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may be gratified by
+      beholding her. It does not so much matter about her husband, who once
+      thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a concern whose
+      operations represented the potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams of
+      avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the Gunnings when she
+      first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever recorded to the
+      eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, mindful of that trick
+      which the cleverness of her mother turned to so good account, does not
+      condescend to notice from her box, where she sits with Lady Betty
+      Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though she is acquainted
+      with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising between the acts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a play! What spectators!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought to
+      those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with delight
+      at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the little man
+      with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality upon
+      their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
+      biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
+      down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
+      nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in St.
+      James's Park.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching for
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't speak, man, for God's sake,&rdquo; cried Oliver. &ldquo;'Tis not so dark but
+      that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
+      the comedy is ended&mdash;that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in
+      the middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is
+      ended.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
+      what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at the
+      coffee house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know what you speak of,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;But I beg of you to
+      hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play&mdash;don't fear
+      to tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly
+      twenty years; I am not easily dismayed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;I have no intention of going to the
+      playhouse unless you are in my company&mdash;I promised so much to Dr.
+      Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
+      yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
+      sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise on
+      the stage that you, and you only, can decide&mdash;are you willing to
+      allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, who
+      is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
+      prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great man,
+      too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I am
+      convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall not&mdash;it shall not!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
+      &ldquo;I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I have
+      something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in this battle
+      have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my friend&mdash;I'll
+      go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to avert disaster.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
+      obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
+      Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of the
+      play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence to
+      insist on a scene being omitted&mdash;or, perhaps, a whole act; and
+      nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his head
+      out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the playhouse&mdash;that
+      his worst fears were realized.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other window.
+      &ldquo;The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental to any
+      performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on their
+      boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy has yet
+      to be damned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage door,
+      looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as if to
+      see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the back of
+      the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, in the
+      part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had driven her
+      forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was within twenty
+      yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights were far too strong;
+      unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have failed to recognise
+      the familiar features of the scene. The next moment there came a hiss&mdash;a
+      solitary hiss from the boxes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that, Mr. Colman?&rdquo; whispered the excited author.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said Colman brutally. &ldquo;Why trouble yourself about a squib
+      when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a lie,&rdquo; said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
+      Mr. Hardcastle. &ldquo;'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
+      assured from the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
+      while I live!&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a lie, and
+      surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever uttered. Goldsmith was
+      soon made aware of this. The laughter that followed Tony Lumpkin's
+      pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle was a highwayman was not the
+      laugh of playgoers who have endured four acts of a dull play; it was the
+      laugh of people who have been in a good humour for over two hours, and
+      Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from their laughter that the people in
+      every part of the house were following the comedy with extraordinary
+      interest. Every point in the dialogue was effective&mdash;the exquisite
+      complications, the broad fun, the innumerable touches of nature, all were
+      appreciated by an audience whose expression of gratification fell little
+      short of rapture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not return
+      to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue was spoken
+      by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of speaking
+      to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, and from
+      them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the first scene
+      to the one which was being represented, the performance had been a
+      succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every member of
+      the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and scenery
+      familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary success of
+      the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the offensive terms of
+      the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the audience, several of
+      the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and cheering for some time&mdash;so
+      much Goldsmith learned little by little at intervals from the actors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
+      word; he has treated me cruelly&mdash;more cruelly than he has any idea
+      of,&rdquo; said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. &ldquo;But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
+      anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes much
+      to you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith then, sir,&rdquo; cried Lewes, &ldquo;I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
+      will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so he had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
+      Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
+      Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, and
+      affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through half-closed
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, &ldquo;I
+      hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
+      foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you
+      not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having
+      resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
+      sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might
+      have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Nay, I have a
+      part in my mind for you already&mdash;that is, if you will be good enough
+      to accept it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!&rdquo; cried the actress, offering him both
+      her hands. &ldquo;I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0173.jpg" alt="0173 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company and
+      the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
+      congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
+      had filled the theatre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You
+      dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
+      indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On
+      the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty
+      good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make you a
+      coxcomb.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I hope not, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;No, you don't hope it, sir,&rdquo; cried
+      Johnson. &ldquo;You are thinking at this moment how much better you are than
+      your betters&mdash;I see it on your face, you rascal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he has a right to think so,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury. &ldquo;Come, Dr. Goldsmith,
+      speak up, say something insulting to your betters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Where are they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well said!&rdquo; cried Edmund Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. We
+      expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
+      garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake on
+      the walls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. She
+      knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she was
+      not mistaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit and
+      gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in the
+      green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived the
+      moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly imagined was
+      an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the points in his
+      comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian into Reynolds's
+      ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the background with the
+      Bunburys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in uniform
+      had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind Mr.
+      Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, saying
+      a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, though it
+      was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the girl, and
+      perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes were turned
+      upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out her
+      inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
+      people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing was
+      paying no attention to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought it
+      advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;We have given you our ears for more
+      than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Yes, you
+      were remarking that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be compared
+      to a boy who has robbed an orchard,&rdquo; said the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True&mdash;very true, madam,&rdquo; said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
+      involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
+      beside her. She was not smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, 'tis true; but why?&rdquo; cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
+      did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; that's just it&mdash;why?&rdquo; said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
+      from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and Henry
+      Bunbury were standing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. &ldquo;Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
+      suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because his
+      booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in his
+      pockets what he is not entitled to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
+      did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
+      successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
+      attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
+      gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
+      more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo; said Mr. Thrale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir!&rdquo; cried Bunbury; &ldquo;mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
+      some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did I say, Goldy?&rdquo; cried Johnson. &ldquo;Was it not that, after the
+      presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
+      of them I accepted some days ago,&rdquo; said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
+      hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
+      conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
+      laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of the
+      Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
+      involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious to
+      explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this form
+      of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that refers
+      to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
+      Garrick's lines in proof&mdash;proof positive, mind&mdash;that he &ldquo;talked
+      like poor Poll.&rdquo; He is the first man on record who has been condemned
+      solely because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
+      couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
+      thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
+      expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
+      given utterance to some delightful witticism&mdash;which the recording
+      demons around him delighted to turn against himself&mdash;was the
+      expression which makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The
+      man who &ldquo;talked like poor Poll&rdquo; was the man who, even before he had done
+      anything in literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by
+      Bishop Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase
+      and a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the
+      fastidious Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put
+      himself to great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the
+      man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. Abington,
+      had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying to supper had
+      left the room he remained for a few moments to make his adieux to the
+      players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall take good care that you don't, sir,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!&rdquo; he cried, bowing as
+      he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he suddenly
+      returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. &ldquo;Why, if I wasn't
+      going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman in uniform
+      who was speaking with you just now,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I fancy I have met him
+      somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name is Jackson,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord
+      only knows what he is captain of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis
+      as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by professing
+      to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
+      affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the occasion,
+      she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in their coach&mdash;her
+      mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
+      produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
+      eaten no dinner&mdash;Johnson and his friends had been by no means
+      reticent on the subject of the dinner&mdash;he was without an appetite for
+      the delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
+      in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
+      endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
+      almost speechless the whole evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been quite
+      obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with us at
+      Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a little
+      comedy may become a great tragedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
+      play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
+      Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as he
+      could without being rude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick Court.
+      But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All his life he had been looking forward to this night&mdash;the night
+      that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him an
+      incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his period.
+      And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with destiny was
+      within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever felt in his
+      garret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat did it all
+      mean?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
+      refer to the reception given to &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer,&rdquo; which had placed
+      him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to the
+      strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had been
+      speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
+      reputation&mdash;he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
+      reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
+      room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
+      glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the eyes of
+      such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. Woffington,
+      showed that he was a person of no position in society. This conclusion to
+      which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no persons of any
+      distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the playhouse had
+      shown that they were acquainted with him&mdash;no one person save only
+      Mary Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and Mrs.
+      Bulk-ley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have been
+      incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had invariably
+      shunned in society those persons&mdash;women as well as men&mdash;who had
+      shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested the man&mdash;he
+      was popular enough at that period&mdash;who had allowed innuendoes to do
+      duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman&mdash;she is popular
+      enough now&mdash;who had laughed at and made light of the innuendoes,
+      bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
+      fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
+      The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands with
+      the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for her own
+      ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary Horneck
+      stood in a very different position from that occupied by the Duchess.
+      While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the lead of any
+      leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from the actresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one of
+      these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor&mdash;a man
+      who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What could this curious incident mean?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
+      the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
+      had arrived&mdash;not a post had been missed&mdash;from persons who
+      professed the most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to
+      borrow from him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom
+      he had rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
+      consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would continue
+      his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so marked a
+      way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their letters lay
+      unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he sent his
+      guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That was how he
+      contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had earned since
+      leaving his garret.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
+      left his chambers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
+      no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed to
+      notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain Jackson&mdash;he
+      would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared to him more
+      than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to another girl all
+      that he had noticed, he would have said that such a matter required no
+      explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young girls with men of the
+      stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, however, the matter was
+      not so easily explained. The shrug and the raising of the eyebrows were
+      singularly inappropriate to any consideration of an incident in which she
+      was concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
+      success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several of
+      the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on terms of
+      the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a cordiality,
+      the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. Among them was
+      one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had early found a friend
+      in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this early friendship of his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
+      word, and whose wife was his laundress&mdash;not wholly above suspicion as
+      regards her honesty&mdash;stammered his congratulations, and received the
+      crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he had
+      always suspected&mdash;that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
+      world for men who have become successful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
+      that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
+      another hour would pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
+      alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
+      time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of such
+      intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to inquire if
+      Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to ear as he
+      admitted the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,&rdquo; he said,
+      his grin expanding genially.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the table&mdash;and
+      Mr. Marlow's man, sir&mdash;as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what more
+      you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says he quite
+      cool-like and satisfied&mdash;and it's the gentleman's own private house,
+      after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh till he
+      thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then sent us
+      off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some fools about us
+      said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. Northcote&mdash;Sir
+      Joshua's young man, sir&mdash;he up and says that nature isn't always
+      genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth&mdash;I beg
+      your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
+      couldn't ha' done worse than me&mdash;talking so familiar-like, instead of
+      showing you up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;the patron has the privilege of addressing
+      his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
+      George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; and,
+      to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for my
+      benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,&rdquo; whispered the man, for he had led the
+      way to the drawingroom door. &ldquo;I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If I
+      told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
+      without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls this
+      year, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
+      that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
+      smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
+      ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
+      sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them that
+      touched him deeply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
+      honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,&rdquo; she said,
+      giving him her hand. &ldquo;But it was impossible&mdash;oh, quite impossible,
+      for me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
+      how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I was looking forward to
+      that night also&mdash;I don't know for how many years&mdash;all my life,
+      it seems to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind!&rdquo; she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. &ldquo;Never mind!
+      your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you now;
+      every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
+      single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
+      miserable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; she said, giving him her hand once more. &ldquo;I know it, and
+      knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter, Mary?&rdquo; he asked her after a pause. &ldquo;Once before I
+      begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
+      able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man of
+      many resources.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot tell you,&rdquo; she said slowly, but with great emphasis. &ldquo;There are
+      some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree that a
+      woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with another&mdash;either
+      with a sister or with a brother&mdash;even so good a friend as Oliver
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,&rdquo; said he.
+      &ldquo;I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its origin
+      to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I see everything but too plainly,&rdquo; she cried, throwing herself down
+      on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. &ldquo;Why, all my
+      misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
+      Oh, I have said too much,&rdquo; she cried piteously. She had sprung to her feet
+      and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. &ldquo;Pray forget what I
+      have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; oh, pray
+      go away&mdash;go away and leave me alone with my sorrow&mdash;it is my own&mdash;no
+      one has a right to it but myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
+      little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You shall tell
+      me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room last
+      night has to do with your sorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a curious
+      look of cunning in her eyes&mdash;a look that made him shudder, so foreign
+      was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man? Did I speak to a man?&rdquo; she said slowly, affecting an endeavour to
+      recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. &ldquo;Oh, yes, I suppose I
+      spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded it was! And
+      it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked in their paint!&mdash;almost
+      as terrible as a lady of quality!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor child!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
+      everything from me you have told me all&mdash;all except&mdash;listen to
+      me, Mary. Nothing that I can hear&mdash;nothing that you can tell me&mdash;will
+      cause me to think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to
+      make me aware that that man&mdash;Captain Jackson, he calls himself&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you find out his name?&rdquo; she said in a whisper. &ldquo;I did not tell
+      you his name even at the Pantheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
+      why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
+      as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
+      rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How has he got you in his power&mdash;that is what you are going to tell
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not know
+      me, or you would not ask me to tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you have me think, child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think the worst&mdash;the worst that your kind heart can think&mdash;only
+      leave me&mdash;leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I
+      may soon die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything ill
+      of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have written so
+      much as I have written about men and women without being able to know when
+      a woman is altogether good&mdash;a man altogether bad? I know you, my
+      dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? Think of the
+      friends you have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but if
+      they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
+      loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
+      fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch who
+      stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being thrust
+      out behind to push her over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
+      thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind you,
+      there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from slipping.
+      There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, or else those
+      who hold them out to you will go over the brink with you. Ah, my dear,
+      dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In another year&mdash;perhaps
+      in another month&mdash;you will wonder how you could ever have taken so
+      gloomy a view of the present hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained there,
+      however. Then she shook her head, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! Alas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his own,
+      laying his other caressingly on her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You fill
+      with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that it
+      would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my dying
+      could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What I do say
+      is that I should like to live for you&mdash;to live to see happiness once
+      again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing&mdash;you will not
+      give me a chance of helping you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare not&mdash;I dare not,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I dare not run the chance of
+      forfeiting your regard forever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; he said after a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
+      and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
+      beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again&mdash;that
+      you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
+      company of such a man&mdash;talking to him as I saw you last night&mdash;what
+      would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
+      construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
+      dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas!&rdquo; she cried piteously. &ldquo;I cannot make you such a promise. You
+      will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my own free
+      will?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
+      you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
+      power over me&mdash;he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot
+      speak to you more! Leave me&mdash;leave me! I have been a fool and I must
+      pay the penalty of my folly.&rdquo; Before he could make a reply, the door was
+      opened and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
+      sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear Mamma,&rdquo; cried Little Comedy. &ldquo;What Mary needs is some one
+      who will raise her spirits&mdash;Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I am
+      sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? Nay,
+      you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain that you
+      would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but I protest it would
+      seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your attention. He doesn't look
+      particularly like our agreeable Rattle at the present moment, does he,
+      Mamma? And it was the same at supper last night. It might have been
+      fancied that he was celebrating a great failure instead of a huge
+      success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
+      the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the author
+      some account of what the friends whom she had met that day said of the
+      piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a perpetually
+      sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her gaiety was out of
+      tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the first breathing
+      space that the girl permitted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e felt that the
+      result of his interview with Mary was to render more mysterious than ever
+      the question which he had hoped to solve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
+      had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd enough
+      to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed account
+      of his interview with the girl&mdash;a detailed account of his observation
+      of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the Pantheon, then
+      in the green room of Covent Garden&mdash;would have no trouble whatever in
+      accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could see the shrugs
+      of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed to be vastly
+      grieved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all womankind
+      together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one woman to be
+      swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind generally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe that
+      she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think anything
+      evil regarding her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is not as others,&rdquo; was the phrase that was in his mind&mdash;the
+      thought that was in his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance that
+      when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not as other
+      women are.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that when
+      a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from other
+      women, he loves that woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out the
+      heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that had
+      occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in the same
+      apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that the killing
+      of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question which was
+      puzzling him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he went
+      to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of the
+      author's nights for &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer.&rdquo; Baretti was a well known
+      personage in the best literary society in London, having consolidated his
+      reputation by the publication of his English and Italian dictionary. He
+      had been Johnson's friend since his first exile from Italy, and it was
+      through his influence Baretti, on the formation of the Royal Academy, had
+      been appointed Secretary for Foreign Correspondence. To Johnson also he
+      owed the more remunerative appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'.
+      He had frequently dined with Goldsmith at his chambers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
+      author of the play upon his success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it creates
+      in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,&rdquo; said the Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quickly, &ldquo;that is just what I wish to have a word
+      with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
+      should be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What,&rdquo; cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who had
+      certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. &ldquo;What, do you mean to
+      fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be your
+      weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen you
+      should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty certain
+      of victory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; but there are cases&mdash;well, one never knows what may happen,
+      and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can do a
+      little sword play&mdash;enough to enable me to face a moderately good
+      antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
+      in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you retort?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised as
+      gentlemen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bacchus! An effective retort! And then&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
+      making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout of
+      swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
+      compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
+      any first-rate master of the art in London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you into
+      a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better make it five years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five years?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
+      express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be made
+      a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell you
+      that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front place among
+      swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so short-sighted I
+      could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I shall never kill a
+      man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have made up my mind to have some lessons,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;and I know
+      there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha!&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
+      are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
+      teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
+      you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
+      such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
+      fiber than yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men&mdash;nay,
+      even an Irishman&mdash;to show himself adroit with a sword,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith; &ldquo;and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services
+      towards this end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no further
+      than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular wish to place
+      myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I fancy I can
+      see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a fencing master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall keep it a secret,&rdquo; laughed Baretti; &ldquo;but mind, sir, when you run
+      your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the court
+      as a witness as to your pacific character.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called as
+      a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with the
+      murder of a man.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had taken
+      at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own nature so
+      imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel with Captain
+      Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him through a vital
+      part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
+      containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon Colman
+      for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic of the
+      town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and so
+      strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
+      express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
+      posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
+      care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement with
+      whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
+      scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
+      the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
+      lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
+      enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many months
+      of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his triumph in
+      another direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
+      several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with him
+      were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all clearly
+      ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was unaware; and
+      when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had received, the
+      uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
+      was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were talking about me just before I entered,&rdquo; said he: &ldquo;I always know
+      on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, may I
+      ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to me in
+      your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I hold to
+      be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all that you can
+      tell&mdash;as simply as you can&mdash;without prejudice to your own
+      reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
+      fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
+      which he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may trust&mdash;whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
+      Goldsmith&mdash;we are your unalterable friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;don't I know that already? Were you not all
+      my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
+      overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
+      bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;we received a copy of the <i>London Packet</i>
+      half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
+      attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
+      assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
+      is none other than myself,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;It is
+      the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;You
+      know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once I
+      made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
+      caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that it
+      is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where is
+      the <i>Packet?</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,&rdquo; said Cradock. &ldquo;Take
+      my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise nature of
+      that scoundrel's slanders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to sting
+      me,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith. &ldquo;And so, sir, let me have the <i>Packet</i>, and
+      you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
+      Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
+      detraction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
+      garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,&rdquo; said Steevens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sirs, I insist,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;Why do I waste time with you?&rdquo;
+       he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. &ldquo;I waste time
+      here when I can read the <i>Packet</i> in the bar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold, sir,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
+      would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched forth
+      to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the paper and
+      here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English writers&mdash;the
+      truest of English poets&mdash;the best of Englishmen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick flings
+      himself upon me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took the <i>Packet</i>. It opened automatically, where an imaginary
+      letter to himself, signed &ldquo;Tom Tickle,&rdquo; appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
+      nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
+      from it&mdash;he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing&mdash;but
+      suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
+      crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
+      flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the room
+      with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword and
+      placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a word to
+      any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane only.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>enrick's article
+      in the <i>London Packet</i> remains to this day as the vilest example of
+      scurrility published under the form of criticism. All the venom that can
+      be engendered by envy and malice appears in every line of it. It contains
+      no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains no clever phrase. It is
+      the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the demon of jealousy. The note
+      of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, strident and strenuous. It exists
+      as the worst outcome of the period when every garret scribbler emulated
+      &ldquo;Junius,&rdquo; both as regards style and method, but only succeeded in
+      producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead of the thunder of the unknown
+      master of vituperation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; but
+      when he came to that vile passage&mdash;&ldquo;For hours the <i>great</i>
+      Goldsmith will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
+      pier-glass. Was but the lovely H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;k as much enamoured,
+      you would not sigh, my gentle swain&rdquo;&mdash;his hands tore the paper in
+      fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did not
+      know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him aware of
+      the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He did not mind
+      any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have the name that he
+      most cherished of all names associated with his in an insult that seemed
+      to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was more than he could
+      bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind him and had struck
+      from thence the one who had been kindest to him of all the people in the
+      world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
+      There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him and
+      the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck in the
+      face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to whom he had
+      been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would undoubtedly
+      feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself was to blame
+      for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt that if the
+      attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have escaped. Yes,
+      that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over him to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
+      upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his sword
+      he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
+      assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink from
+      running him through the body with his sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
+      counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew that
+      he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a corner; he
+      felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was made up as to
+      what he should do, and all that he now feared was that some circumstance
+      might prevent his realising his intention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, the
+      publisher of the <i>London Packet</i>. He arrived almost breathless at the
+      place&mdash;it was in Little Queen street&mdash;and entered the shop
+      demanding to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises.
+      Evans, the publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and
+      hearing a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
+      Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was in
+      the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon me
+      which appeared in the <i>Packet</i> of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!&rdquo; said
+      the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shopkeeper smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does anything appear about you in the <i>Packet</i>, sir?&rdquo; he said,
+      over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith,
+      stung by the supercilious smile of the man; &ldquo;you are the publisher of this
+      gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote it
+      struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with his
+      cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
+      opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a small
+      wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, and
+      had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and all the
+      noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his paymaster. It
+      was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back from the cane
+      of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a missile to fling
+      at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a table and hurled
+      it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it struck Evans on the
+      chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over him. This Kenrick
+      perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small shop chairs and
+      rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; but, before he could
+      carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop from the street, and,
+      flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught Goldsmith, who had risen,
+      by the shoulder and hurried him into a hackney-coach, which drove away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
+      room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became uneasy
+      regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving the tavern,
+      had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent the assault which
+      he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the person of Kenrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of the
+      occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his conduct. A
+      lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when delivered in a
+      broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain Higgins's counsel
+      of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have abstained
+      from doing,&rdquo; cried the still breathless man. &ldquo;I did what my manhood
+      prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done yourself, my
+      friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans&mdash;it was that reptile
+      Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to shelter him,
+      what was left to me, I ask you, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were a fool, Oliver,&rdquo; said his countryman; &ldquo;you made a great mistake.
+      Can't you see that you should never go about such things single-handed?
+      You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who would not
+      hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why the devil,
+      sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when you left the
+      tavern?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;And, besides,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with me
+      to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. I have
+      taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. Kenrick
+      won't attack me again so long as I am alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
+      Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
+      which he was a master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
+      Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
+      Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
+      like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
+      that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies a
+      lesson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
+      insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
+      been less gracious to him&mdash;if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
+      example, had been accustomed to treat him&mdash;regarding him and his
+      defects merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have
+      escaped all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause
+      of her being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
+      forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
+      think about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that he
+      had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
+      years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
+      despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
+      that could not be surmounted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her forgiveness
+      for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be responsible. He
+      could not, he added, expect that in the future it would be allowed to him
+      to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and her family as had
+      been permitted to him in the past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
+      when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
+      which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only had
+      seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent Garden,
+      and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had originated with
+      that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if he was justified
+      in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not asked him to be her
+      champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it was a very poor champion
+      that he would have made; but still he knew more of her grief than any one
+      else, and he believed he might be able to help her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not leave her,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Whatever may happen&mdash;whatever
+      blame people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave
+      her until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother had no
+      reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and Kenrick.
+      But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation passed away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, my little hero!&rdquo; Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
+      threshold. &ldquo;What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what are
+      things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
+      booksellers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have heard of it?&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;You have heard of the quarrel, but
+      you cannot have heard of the reason for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, there is something behind the <i>London Packet</i>, after all?&rdquo;
+       cried Captain Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something behind it&mdash;something behind that slander&mdash;the mention
+      of your sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists between
+      my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as this&mdash;a
+      strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as you are
+      concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which he was
+      holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the words
+      never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of his own,
+      and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped it, and
+      burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
+      affected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, old friend,&rdquo; he said at last, placing his hand affectionately
+      on Goldsmith's shoulder. &ldquo;Come, come; this will not do. There is nothing
+      to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little aware of your own
+      position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck family regard your
+      friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good heavens, Dr. Goldsmith,
+      don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid for immortality through
+      our names being associated with yours? Who in a hundred years&mdash;in
+      fifty years&mdash;would know anything of the Horneck family if it were not
+      for their association with you? The name of Oliver Goldsmith will live so
+      long as there is life in English letters, and when your name is spoken the
+      name of your friends the Hornecks will not be forgotten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
+      chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day the
+      news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by Goldsmith in respect of
+      the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the literary circle of which
+      Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling was one of regret that
+      Kenrick had not received the beating instead of Evans. Of course, Johnson,
+      who had threatened two writers with an oak stick, shook his head&mdash;and
+      his body as well&mdash;in grave disapproval of Goldsmith's use of his
+      cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes were of the opinion that a
+      cane had never been more appropriately used.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands of
+      pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
+      afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
+      which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
+      Colman's management.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
+      had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl of
+      indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period&mdash;some
+      in the pay of the government others of the opposition&mdash;solely by
+      stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person of
+      the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in the form
+      of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded Junius.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
+      public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest in
+      the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling audience.
+      When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the <i>Daily Advertiser</i>&mdash;surely
+      the manliest manifesto ever printed&mdash;the howls became attenuated, and
+      shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, even by Dr. Johnson&mdash;and
+      so emphatically, too, that his biographer could not avoid recording his
+      judgment&mdash;that Goldsmith had increased his reputation by the
+      incident.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account of
+      this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
+      received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
+      Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
+      search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
+      him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel when
+      he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
+      of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
+      found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
+      responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson, after he had made some of those grotesque
+      movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably accompanied&mdash;&ldquo;Dr.
+      Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
+      that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
+      come rather sooner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
+      to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,&rdquo; said Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you were right in assuming that you could say
+      nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a fool&mdash;at
+      many times&mdash;in many ways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
+      and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
+      my suspicion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he do
+      after having seen me?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; resumed Johnson, &ldquo;it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
+      to me to find, as I did in this room&mdash;on that desk&mdash;such
+      evidence of your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean, sir? My folly&mdash;evidence&mdash;on that desk? Ah, I
+      know now what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I
+      suppose for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas,
+      sir, who could resist Filby's flatteries?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you gave me permission several years ago to read any
+      manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been
+      advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect for your
+      criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you suggested?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
+      waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,&rdquo;
+       said Johnson sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I forget now what work was last under my hand,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but whatever it
+      was, sir&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have it here, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
+      noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
+      laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived that it
+      consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the Jessamy
+      Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had them before
+      him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would be the result
+      of sending them to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
+      friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
+      matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, those verses, sir,&rdquo; he stammered; &ldquo;they are poor things. You will, I
+      fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they resemble
+      my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my man, but
+      Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the cost of
+      repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man of
+      determination with his own future&mdash;with his own happiness and the
+      happiness of others.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, sir, I scarcely understand&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
+      character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
+      heart speaks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that may
+      come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your heart
+      throbs in every line.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise the
+      feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more happy than
+      I fancied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I protest that I&mdash;that is&mdash;no, I shall protest nothing.
+      You have spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I
+      wrote those verses out of my own heart&mdash;God knows if they are the
+      first that came from my heart&mdash;I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed
+      to own it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
+      did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been the
+      sweetest&mdash;the only consolation of a life that has known but few
+      consolations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
+      as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
+      Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
+      family have extended to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
+      What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
+      remain unspoken by either of us&mdash;what if I do love her? Where is the
+      indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? Does
+      one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself&mdash;yes,
+      and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to know&mdash;and,
+      indeed, I think she must&mdash;that she has been the cause, even though
+      the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she will not be
+      free from unhappiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens all
+      my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, if I know your character&mdash;and I believe I have known it
+      for some years&mdash;you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my
+      dear friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but
+      a battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
+      come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
+      it to flight before it prove your ruin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there is of
+      beauty&mdash;everything there is of sweetness&mdash;in the life of man&mdash;you
+      call it our enemy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I call it <i>your</i> enemy, Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from other
+      men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for evermore
+      from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he has proved to the
+      world that he is most capable of all mankind of appreciating tenderness
+      and grace? What trick of nature is this? What paradox for men to vex their
+      souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from men, evermore looking on
+      happiness through another man's eyes? If you answer 'yes,' then I say that
+      men who are not poets should go down on their knees and thank Heaven that
+      they are not poets. Happy it is for mankind that Heaven has laid on few
+      men the curse of being poets. For myself, I feel that I would rather be a
+      man for an hour than a poet for all time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us look
+      at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate enough
+      to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be brought to
+      think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish enough to regard
+      their kindness to you&mdash;their acceptance of you as a friend&mdash;as
+      encouragement in your mad aspirations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
+      only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
+      not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you as
+      a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to her?
+      Answer me that question, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
+      hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,&rdquo; resumed Johnson. &ldquo;I
+      will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
+      only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but I
+      ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on your
+      side as ridiculous&mdash;nay, worse&mdash;a gross affront.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
+      resumed his discourse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
+      desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, and of
+      forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your infatuation?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith started up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,&rdquo; he cried almost
+      piteously. &ldquo;Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
+      hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
+      the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
+      which I wrote&mdash;I could not help writing them&mdash;but she does not
+      know that they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it
+      from me. My history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover&mdash;a
+      blank&mdash;a blank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor friend,&rdquo; said Johnson after a pause&mdash;he had laid his hand
+      upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
+      table&mdash;&ldquo;My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups
+      which are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I
+      have drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
+      others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means to have
+      double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself before now
+      worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have faced life,
+      by your independence of the patronage of the great. You dedicated 'The
+      Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. You did not
+      hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to offer you money
+      for the prostitution of the talents which God has given you. Dr.
+      Goldsmith, you have my respect&mdash;you have the respect of every good
+      man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your detractors
+      who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would give them an
+      opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will not do
+      anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and show all
+      those who are your friends that their friendship for you is well founded.
+      I am assured that I can trust you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his visitor
+      had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and gave way to the bitter
+      reflections of the hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
+      which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception&mdash;to his
+      hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion might
+      be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of vain dreams
+      that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his straightforwardness
+      there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that made any appeal from
+      his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in the utterances of his
+      phrases when forcing his contentions upon any audience; but Goldsmith knew
+      that he only spoke strongly because he felt strongly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson had
+      said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake the
+      sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
+      content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
+      Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
+      house&mdash;a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting
+      his father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
+      Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were to
+      present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his hearing
+      to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. The tragedy
+      of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their prospects in
+      the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he felt, the most
+      cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who make music of the
+      passions of men&mdash;who have surrounded the passion of love with a
+      glorifying halo&mdash;should be doomed to spend their lives looking on at
+      the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of the music which
+      the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy of life, and Goldsmith
+      had often found himself face to face with it, feeling himself to be one of
+      those with whom destiny is only on jesting terms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
+      Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
+      that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only of
+      all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his cause,
+      he would be regarded&mdash;and rightly, too&mdash;as both presumptuous and
+      ridiculous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
+      letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking to
+      themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to look
+      forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
+      contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
+      poet for the loss of home&mdash;the grateful companionship of a wife&mdash;the
+      babble of children&mdash;all that his fellow-men associated with the
+      gladness and glory of life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
+      surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
+      such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation&mdash;he had
+      sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness of
+      having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
+      envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
+      sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval of
+      his friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He had
+      sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his ills
+      during the past few years had departed from him. He would never see Mary
+      Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the burden of
+      his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide by it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
+      resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
+      one consolation of his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt down
+      and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the manuscript
+      into it between the bars when the light that it made fell upon one of the
+      lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he had read the
+      remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a sigh, he hastily
+      thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little blaze had fallen
+      again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could raise it by a breath or
+      two, his servant entered the room. He started to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A letter for you, sir,&rdquo; said John Eyles. &ldquo;It came by a messenger lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fetch a candle, John,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too dark
+      for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on the
+      seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines that
+      the letter contained&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
+      only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if not,
+      then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride.</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
+      He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
+      to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
+      that he was about to stand face to face with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
+      small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
+      of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer.&rdquo; Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
+      cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
+      walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
+      between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and her
+      sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put her
+      hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you would come,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I knew that I could trust you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may trust me, indeed,&rdquo; he said. He held her hand in his own, looking
+      into her pale face and sunken eyes. &ldquo;I knew the time would come when you
+      would tell me all that there is to be told,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Whether I can
+      help you or not, you will find yourself better for having told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
+      was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, and,
+      after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the mantelpiece,
+      leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into the smouldering
+      fire in the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I to tell you&mdash;what am I to tell you?&rdquo; she cried at last,
+      resuming her pacing of the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. She
+      went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking with
+      vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the sconces.
+      Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a great effort
+      she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil when she spoke,
+      seating herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of that
+      man,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You alone were observant. Did you also see him call me to
+      his side in the green room at the playhouse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw you in the act of speaking to him there&mdash;he calls himself
+      Jackson&mdash;Captain Jackson,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved me from him once!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You saved me from becoming his&mdash;body
+      and soul.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
+      me to do so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you if it had not been for you&mdash;for the book which you wrote,
+      I should be to-day a miserable castaway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot quite understand,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar of
+      Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
+      complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which I had
+      presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of reading
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was that which saved me,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, what fools girls are! They
+      are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
+      child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of men&mdash;some
+      men&mdash;so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge of
+      womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told all
+      that we should guard against?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
+      Jessamy Bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you will err,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You will have to think ill of me. Thank
+      God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
+      from all&mdash;to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
+      I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
+      village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
+      received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and feted
+      in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love with him, and I&mdash;innocent
+      fool that I was&mdash;considered myself the most favoured creature in the
+      world because he made love to me. Any day we failed to meet I wrote him a
+      letter&mdash;a foolish letter such as a school miss might write&mdash;full
+      of protestations of undying affection. I sometimes wrote two of these
+      letters in the day. More than a month passed in this foolishness, and then
+      it came to my uncle's ears that we had meetings. He forbade my continuing
+      to see a man of whom no one knew anything definite, but about whom he was
+      having strict inquiries made. I wrote to the man to this effect, and I
+      received a reply persuading me to have one more meeting with him. I was so
+      infatuated that I met him secretly, and then in impassioned strains he
+      implored me to make a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When
+      he had been fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies
+      had been active, and he feared that their malice would come between us,
+      and he should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I
+      consented to leave my uncle's house by his side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you cannot have done so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved me,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I had been reading your book, and, by God's
+      mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him I
+      came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With the
+      suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The scales
+      fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to Damascus,
+      only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited me. I knew
+      that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a single hour&mdash;thanks
+      to the genius that wrote that book&mdash;my love for that man, or what I
+      fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet him. I returned
+      to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote to me reproaching me
+      for disappointing him; and the very next day my uncle's suspicions
+      regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted in proof positive of
+      the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself Captain Jackson, He had
+      left the army in America with a stain on his character, and it was known
+      that since his return to England at least two young women had been led
+      into the trap which he laid for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God you were saved, my child,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, as she paused,
+      overcome with emotion. &ldquo;But being saved, my dear, you have no further
+      reason to fear that man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was my belief, too,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But alas! it was a delusion. So soon
+      as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in his true
+      colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I had been foolish
+      enough to write to him, to my friends&mdash;he was even scoundrel enough
+      to point out that I had in my innocence written certain passages which
+      were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of guilt&mdash;nay, his
+      letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had been guilty, so
+      that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. What was left for
+      me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to me those letters. I
+      asked him how he could think it consistent with his honour to retain them
+      and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. Alas! he soon gave me to
+      understand that I had but placed myself more deeply in his power.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The scoundrel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
+      meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing that I
+      had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France together!
+      But then&mdash;ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me&mdash;I
+      cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
+      rings I am in trepidation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
+      account?&rdquo; cried Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;What did he
+      say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me a
+      fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
+      letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who had
+      written them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And his terms?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His terms? I cannot tell you&mdash;I cannot tell you. The very thought
+      that I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
+      such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;for I
+      shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no!&rdquo; she said, laying a hand upon his arm. &ldquo;No friend of mine
+      must suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother
+      for fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
+      plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
+      would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
+      that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
+      being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
+      determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope&mdash;the
+      forlorn hope&mdash;that you might be able to help me. Tell me&mdash;tell
+      me, my dear friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that
+      of which poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guilt? Who talks of guilt?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew
+      that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought of you
+      except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted foolishly;
+      you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your own pure
+      heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any monster. Dear
+      child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against this stroke of
+      fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of escape for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to myself a
+      score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what direction
+      lies my hope of escape?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
+      invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it is
+      the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one can in
+      a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real life, my
+      dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts of fiction.
+      But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by halves. He
+      will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from you and then
+      permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity as that which
+      you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as Heaven directed my
+      pen to write that book in order that you might be saved from the fate of
+      my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you out of your present
+      difficulty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You give me hope,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;a little hope. But you must
+      promise me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I
+      know how brave you are&mdash;my brother told me what prompt action you
+      took yesterday when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish
+      to place yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only
+      cause it to spring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel now that I was foolish,&rdquo; said he humbly; &ldquo;I ran the chance of
+      forfeiting your friendship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But in this matter of mine
+      I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save me, if
+      I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man on the
+      night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what my
+      feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that if you
+      had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
+      arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have spoken truly,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You are wiser than I have ever been.
+      But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing that
+      shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be saved,
+      whatever may happen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her hand and kissed it fondly. &ldquo;You shall be saved,&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If not&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I have given you my promise. You must give
+      me yours. You will do nothing impious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave a wan smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a girl,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My courage is as water. I promise you I will
+      trust you, with all my heart&mdash;all my heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not fail you&mdash;Heaven shall not fail you,&rdquo; said he, going to
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
+      white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
+      more pallid!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e went for supper
+      to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none of his friends. He had
+      no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned Boswell
+      into ridicule to make sport for the company. He knew that Garrick would be
+      at the club in Gerrard street, to which he had been elected only a few
+      days before the production of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer,&rdquo; and it was not at
+      all unlikely that on this account the club would be a good deal livelier
+      than it usually was even when Richard Burke was wittiest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
+      the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
+      assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
+      attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
+      Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
+      town were talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
+      smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
+      the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty of
+      the press as that of which&mdash;according to the writer&mdash;the
+      ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across
+      the room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
+      worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
+      with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew perfectly well&mdash;had he not good reason to know?&mdash;that
+      the man who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
+      nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
+      notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
+      and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the fact
+      that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more eagerly
+      read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. That was one
+      of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of Junius: the
+      appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, and there was no
+      lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that the public
+      demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius one of the conditions
+      of their acceptance of such compositions&mdash;all they required was that
+      the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
+      Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money that
+      he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called himself
+      Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there would be no
+      difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people were always much
+      more ready to believe evil than good regarding any one&mdash;especially a
+      young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been breathed&mdash;the
+      result of the publication of the letters would mean practically ruin to
+      the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
+      at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
+      regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
+      the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in such
+      matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, that
+      because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was not
+      sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
+      possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should find
+      it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and he believed,
+      with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was situated would be
+      to forfeit their respect forever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and he
+      felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her sake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
+      in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon&mdash;how often his
+      friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
+      not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some occasions
+      he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also remembered how, when
+      he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned out that he had never
+      been more clearly imposed upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
+      (which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
+      shrewdness).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required it,
+      cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly wisdom?
+      By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the world?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
+      reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
+      waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
+      short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
+      not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly felt
+      no vexation at being made so easy a victim of&mdash;he was accustomed to
+      that position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between the
+      bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred at the
+      end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, coals, all
+      thoughts of guile&mdash;all his prospects of shrewdness were cast aside.
+      He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, he had no
+      right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his property. They
+      either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary Horneck, as&mdash;as
+      what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he had promised
+      Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of that which he
+      had admitted to be foolishness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
+      dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
+      reproach put those verses into the girl's hand&mdash;when, learning the
+      truth, she would understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that time did come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to get
+      possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
+      attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
+      for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully aware
+      that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of a criminal
+      prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the discovery of all
+      that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
+      would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
+      affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
+      defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the woman
+      to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was accustomed
+      to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should have
+      considerable difficulty in finding her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
+      question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
+      knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to do
+      so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and he
+      liked her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him&mdash;if he made
+      it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
+      while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became impatient
+      at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington until the
+      evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced a visitor&mdash;one
+      with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as Colonel Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
+      recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at the
+      Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit to Brick
+      Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted Colonel Gwyn
+      as if he considered it to be one of the most natural occurrences in the
+      world for him to appear at that particular moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the visitor when he had seated himself, &ldquo;you have no
+      doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of calling
+      upon you without first communicating with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis a great compliment you offer to
+      me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
+      have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
+      generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
+      so successfully caricatured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The fact
+      is, sir, that I&mdash;I&mdash;i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
+      how it is I appear before you in this fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You are
+      a friend of my best friend&mdash;Sir Joshua Reynolds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem of&mdash;of&mdash;well,
+      of all the members of the Horneck family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way his
+      visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what reply
+      to make to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I perceive that you are surprised, sir.&rdquo; said Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;not at all&mdash;that is&mdash;no, not greatly surprised&mdash;only&mdash;well,
+      sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
+      yourself, a soldier,&rdquo; stammered Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past week
+      or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Gwyn; &ldquo;but upon no occasion
+      have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me she was by
+      no means well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they told you the truth, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
+      they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
+      confess a headache was not specified.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. But
+      why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking a
+      liberty,&rdquo; he said somewhat awkwardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see&mdash;sir, you are, I know, a favoured
+      friend of the lady's&mdash;I perceived long ago&mdash;nay, it is well
+      known that she regards you with great affection as a&mdash;no, not as a
+      father&mdash;no, as&mdash;as an elder brother, that is it&mdash;yes, as an
+      elder brother; and therefore I thought that I would venture to intrude
+      upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but
+      I hesitate&mdash;as I am sure you could understand that any man must&mdash;before
+      declaring myself to her. Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you
+      might not conceive it to be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to
+      ask you if you knew of the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope
+      you will be frank with me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was
+      a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat upright on
+      his chair&mdash;a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some people, but
+      that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat inclined to be
+      pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that they were the
+      manners of a gentleman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
+      Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last he
+      gave a little start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should not have come to me, sir,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,&rdquo; said Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
+      confidence. But&mdash;ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a
+      lady would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought it possible that she&mdash;Miss Horneck&mdash;might have let
+      you know. You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so
+      she might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
+      Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of&mdash;well, a sort of
+      vested interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate them for
+      the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become accustomed. I
+      have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the children of their
+      happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if they were their own
+      offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, that poets become
+      sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, which is quite apart
+      from the world of letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
+      difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the exact
+      appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted as
+      much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But for that
+      matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
+      plain to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;I think I gathered from your words all that
+      you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
+      subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
+      lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
+      chances of success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How admirably you put the matter!&rdquo; said Gwyn. &ldquo;And I fancied you did not
+      apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot tell,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Miss Horneck has never told me that she
+      loved any man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I have still a chance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments to
+      their fathers&mdash;no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
+      consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
+      advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself if
+      you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to become
+      attached. Add to the effect of your personality&mdash;which I think is
+      great, sir&mdash;the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you
+      have won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether
+      your suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
+      some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
+      Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
+      that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the man
+      exist who would be worthy of her love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
+      some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
+      is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
+      consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. Goldsmith&mdash;not
+      as men go&mdash;there is in my lifetime nothing that I have cause to be
+      ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, her purity, her
+      tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own presumption in aspiring
+      to win her. You think me presumptuous in this matter, I am convinced,
+      sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do&mdash;I do. I know Mary Horneck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with me
+      in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me to
+      thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me away
+      without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that I have
+      your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
+      happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn, my wishes&mdash;my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck
+      may be happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever for a moment
+      had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men who were understood to be
+      admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made humourous verses on some of
+      them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic illustrations, and Mary and her
+      sister had had their laugh. He could not even now feel jealous of Colonel
+      Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more eligible suitor than the majority
+      whom he had met from time to time at the Hornecks' house. He knew that
+      since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the girl had no thoughts to give to love
+      and suitors. If Gwyn were to go to her immediately and offer himself as a
+      suitor he would meet with a disappointment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who had
+      just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be exultant
+      at the thought that it was he&mdash;he&mdash;Oliver Goldsmith&mdash;who
+      had been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret&mdash;with the duty of
+      saving her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
+      enterprise had fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
+      position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
+      rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
+      instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
+      hand of the maiden?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate all
+      his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the struggle
+      had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had become the
+      most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor at the Royal
+      Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most eminent men of
+      the period. And then, although he was plain of face and awkward in manner&mdash;nearly
+      as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as Johnson&mdash;he had been
+      appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in England. He felt that he
+      had reason to exult.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with Colonel
+      Gwyn&mdash;he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel Gwyn.
+      What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in preference to
+      Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a mirror in order to
+      learn what chance he would have of being accepted as the lover of a lovely
+      girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he had&mdash;a
+      glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from complete
+      despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted with the
+      task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
+      destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
+      too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
+      him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
+      evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
+      Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his play&mdash;in
+      which she did not appear&mdash;was being acted on the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that his
+      design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should pursue
+      in regard to the actress&mdash;how far he would be safe in confiding in
+      her&mdash;was frustrated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
+      with him&mdash;well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make a
+      quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such a disaster.
+      Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in Boswell's eyes he
+      could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of a second person.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you do
+      of the Irish nation and their characteristics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,&rdquo; said
+      Boswell. &ldquo;But now all is over; he will never see me again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
+      order to give you a chance of knowing him better?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,&rdquo; cried Boswell after a
+      contemplative pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
+      consciousness of his generosity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
+      again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
+      feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
+      secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
+      talking together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
+      biographer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which the
+      Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo; he cried anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith, with
+      an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
+      that Shakespeare was pompous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you are imitating him,&rdquo; said Boswell. &ldquo;But I perceive that he has
+      told you of our quarrel&mdash;our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
+      sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Through me, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
+      Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no one
+      of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has lately
+      been mimicking the Dean&mdash;yes, down to his very words, at the
+      Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
+      acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
+      upbraided me for half an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To no human being, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To no one, sir&mdash;that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly
+      have had the story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
+      expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
+      perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail to
+      make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
+      Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
+      accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
+      Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
+      in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
+      friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
+      being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
+      that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
+      order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
+      biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick and
+      choose the incidents with which he has to deal&mdash;that he may, if he
+      please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his hero
+      or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you frankly
+      that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are mischievous.
+      Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I insist on your
+      writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the very words that
+      passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and you will also
+      furnish me with a list of the persons&mdash;if you have not sufficient
+      paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream at the
+      stationer's at the corner&mdash;to whom you gave an account of the
+      humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship with
+      me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do not seek
+      to avoid so obvious a duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam of
+      a smile on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,&rdquo; muttered Goldsmith. &ldquo;If
+      I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
+      hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
+      him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained his
+      forgiveness. &ldquo;You were right, sir,&rdquo; the letter concluded. &ldquo;Dr. Johnson has
+      still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.&rdquo;)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to the
+      playhouse in order to consult with the lady who&mdash;through long
+      practice&mdash;was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to
+      give him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel.
+      It was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
+      not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
+      his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
+      which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
+      only of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer&rdquo; had been reached, and as she did not
+      appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
+      piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers&mdash;one which had taken the
+      town by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every
+      lady of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
+      a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
+      loose about the neck and shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, my little hero,&rdquo; cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
+      his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then to
+      Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? Oh,
+      lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all a-dying
+      of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There was a
+      rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
+      madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Faith, sir, you gave
+      him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I
+      give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr.
+      Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For
+      instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the
+      first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt
+      upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
+      Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Though, for
+      that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
+      before me in that dress&mdash;ay, or any other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
+      compliment&mdash;I sink under it, sir&mdash;thus,&rdquo; and she made an
+      exquisite courtesy. &ldquo;Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses'
+      heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely
+      anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should
+      be moved,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy
+      as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of
+      Miss Hardcastle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have the design of one in my head, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
+      head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
+      great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
+      you have begun the comedy, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
+      air. I want your assistance in that direction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic as
+      Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you give
+      me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
+      have to tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
+      him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his family&mdash;a
+      critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your face
+      suggested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
+      think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
+      the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light&mdash;which I take to
+      be the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman&mdash;he is too
+      powerful for me, I frankly confess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine is a male fiend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the manager of a theatre&mdash;another form of the same hue?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
+      greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to coffee
+      house repeating it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was more
+      than you could cope with?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd now, sir, to
+      face the particulars&mdash;to proceed from the fancy embroidery of wit to
+      the solid fabric of fact&mdash;who or what is the aggressive demon that
+      you want exorcised?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name is Jackson&mdash;he calls himself Captain Jackson,&rdquo; replied
+      Oliver. He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary
+      Horneck's story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of
+      this point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
+      any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
+      had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jackson&mdash;Captain Jackson!&rdquo; cried the actress. &ldquo;Why, Dr. Goldsmith,
+      this is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy.
+      Surely, sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for
+      a battering-ram to overturn a house of cards&mdash;one does not
+      requisition a park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of the
+      power of a piece of ordnance,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The truth is, madam, that
+      in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
+      you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
+      doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
+      there is a lady in the question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
+      waiting for the lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is the most charming of her sex, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may be
+      taken for granted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder in what part of the world she lived&mdash;certainly not in
+      London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared upon
+      the scene&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
+      the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
+      even though the serpent be slaughtered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, Mrs. Abington&rdquo;&mdash;Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely&mdash;&ldquo;pardon
+      me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
+      has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
+      of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let it
+      be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
+      taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; and
+      how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to him, but
+      had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them the
+      appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lady is prostrated with grief,&rdquo; he said, concluding his story. &ldquo;The
+      very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
+      killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
+      knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis a sad story indeed,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;The man is as bad as bad
+      can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
+      Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
+      meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
+      the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
+      been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
+      possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know that all
+      the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of Scotland
+      'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of guineas, Dr.
+      Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
+      think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not in
+      the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,&rdquo;
+       cried the lady. &ldquo;Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in a
+      bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego the
+      dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the coins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may be right,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But whence are the guineas to come, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a couple
+      of hundred pounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! She
+      would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she had
+      written letters of affection to such a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have allowed
+      herself to be imposed on by a stranger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
+      who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
+      your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return to
+      the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? How do
+      you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
+      conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
+      It occurred to me that perhaps&mdash;it might be possible&mdash;in short,
+      Mrs. Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel
+      could be entrapped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary men&mdash;and
+      of wary&mdash;is what nature and art have fitted me for&mdash;nature and
+      practice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear madam.
+      But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady with whom I am
+      acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest intelligence. That
+      is why you are our greatest actress. The highest intelligence is valueless
+      on the stage unless it is associated with a heart that beats in sympathy
+      with the sorrow and becomes exultant with the joy of others. That is why I
+      regard myself as more than fortunate in having your promise to accept a
+      part in my next comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
+      author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him out
+      of his difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,&rdquo; said the
+      actress. &ldquo;Yes, in spite of your being&mdash;being&mdash;ah&mdash;innocent&mdash;a
+      poet, and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man,
+      Dr. Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to&mdash;to&mdash;well,
+      shall we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the position I long for, dear madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know you,
+      Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or two&mdash;that
+      will give both of us a chance of still further considering the possibility
+      of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe it was the
+      lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were doubtless for
+      running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his throat without
+      the delay of a moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
+      about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
+      'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite perceive
+      their bearing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their little
+      step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, I
+      perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress for
+      my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used to
+      term 'ructions.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
+      before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
+      effective kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for he was
+      not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had departed
+      without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would have
+      regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, that
+      clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt that it
+      was a pleasure to do anything for such a man&mdash;especially as he was a
+      writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she could so
+      interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be the most
+      notable success of the season.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
+      progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
+      feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not been
+      at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting with Mrs.
+      Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. Abington were
+      associated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
+      consolidated by a &ldquo;command&rdquo; performance at which the whole of his
+      Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because it
+      meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
+      sentimentalists who were still harping upon the &ldquo;low&rdquo; elements of certain
+      scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good augury. He
+      felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan by which he
+      should be able to get possession of the letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
+      not been unmindful of his interests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
+      yesterday,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I tolerated him&mdash;nay, I encouraged him&mdash;not
+      for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, but
+      for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking fool
+      of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly makes a
+      fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
+      Mrs. Abing ton,&rdquo; said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
+      laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for I
+      have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably the
+      most effective.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have found that by your experience of traps?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The
+      smile is the silken net?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even so,&rdquo; said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. &ldquo;Ah,
+      Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
+      but at me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being smiled
+      at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response to the
+      encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my private
+      address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when the fly
+      begins to lure on the spider.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not&mdash;to the fly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. Sir, to
+      be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private address,
+      but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next Thursday
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
+      behalf&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that I
+      am only interested in my sister-fly&mdash;would she be angry if she were
+      to hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
+      upon Goldsmith's ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;she is a Christian woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the actress, &ldquo;a very small amount of Christian
+      charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. Let
+      that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on Thursday
+      night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round the corner,
+      and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you to appear boldly,
+      as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my hospitality. You must
+      come into the room when we have begun, carrying with you a roll of
+      manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene of your new comedy,
+      upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not fail to recollect,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Why, 'tis like the
+      argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
+      elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;I think I know
+      the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama of
+      mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which you
+      will not be able to play to perfection.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
+      When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I trust,
+      ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the pleasure of
+      your society for even an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will ask you to join us at the table, and then&mdash;well, then I have
+      a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
+      friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known all
+      his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters of
+      his.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
+      possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity&mdash;the fact
+      being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
+      Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
+      romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
+      formed the basis of more than one comedy&mdash;he had a notion that if
+      these comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
+      been so clearly defined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, sir!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity of
+      my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt&mdash;not at
+      scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
+      play, dear lady,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But then, you see, it would be in my power to
+      make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the right
+      moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that was
+      necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes quite
+      hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most ordinary
+      precepts of art.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said the actress. &ldquo;Nothing in this world is certain. I am a
+      poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my life.
+      At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully arranged
+      plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the slovenliness of the
+      actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain dialogue, yet in the
+      end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama out of the ruins of our
+      schemes than we originally designed. So, in this case, sir, I am not
+      without hope that even though our gentleman's lips remain sealed&mdash;nay,
+      even though our gentleman remain sober&mdash;a great calamity&mdash;we may
+      still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep your ears open and
+      I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if between us we cannot
+      get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,&rdquo; said Oliver; &ldquo;and I
+      can only repeat what you have said so well&mdash;namely, that even the
+      most clumsy of our schemes&mdash;which this one of yours certainly is not&mdash;may
+      become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
+      that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you on
+      Thursday evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith for the
+      next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a consciousness of having
+      wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon Mrs. Abington and
+      discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing the purpose which he
+      had at heart; for he could not but perceive how shallow was the scheme
+      which she had devised for the undoing of Mary Horneck's enemy. He felt
+      that it would, after all, have been better for him to place himself in the
+      hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had promised to find out for him,
+      and to do his best to run the scoundrel through the body, than to waste
+      his time listening to the crude scheme concocted by Mrs. Abington, in
+      close imitation of some third-class playwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
+      scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to join
+      her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent his
+      exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan for
+      obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
+      seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when he
+      had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
+      which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident to
+      effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had suggested
+      the possibility of such an accident taking place&mdash;in fact, she seemed
+      to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than upon the
+      ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think that she was
+      right in this respect. He had a considerable experience of life and its
+      vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a jesting mood the most
+      judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be overturned by an accident
+      apparently no less trivial than the raising of a hand, the fluttering of a
+      piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and a
+      vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
+      causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he met
+      a young woman who changed&mdash;for a time&mdash;all his ideas of the sex.
+      As he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
+      Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
+      factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
+      accident is only another form of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he met
+      Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an Italian
+      fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; cried Baretti. &ldquo;Have you another affair on your hands in addition
+      to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You do not need
+      to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;They
+      have stepped between me and starvation more than once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
+      to make money by his philanthropy?&rdquo; asked Baretti in his usual cynical
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot say,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith. &ldquo;I don't think that I can lay claim to
+      the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
+      rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
+      mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
+      swordsman in Europe,&rdquo; said Baretti.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do so, my friend,&rdquo; said Goldsmith; &ldquo;and when I succeed in killing a
+      critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as a
+      memento.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall look for them&mdash;yes, in five years, for it will certainly
+      take that time to make you expert with a sword,&rdquo; said the Italian. &ldquo;And,
+      meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
+      fighter as Kenrick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
+      may take a fancy to have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
+      martyr&mdash;a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other
+      unclean beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
+      within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
+      should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
+      as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not want
+      a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear one of
+      our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who may that friend be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
+      with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the little
+      Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. Sir,
+      Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than&mdash;than&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lioness robbed of her whelps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is the
+      bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that you had
+      boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; and the
+      best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit into the
+      jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles&mdash;reminiscent of his
+      native land&mdash;ever since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
+      Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
+      Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
+      evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
+      the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, his
+      first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
+      flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
+      every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
+      said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit who
+      had shouted: &ldquo;Stick to the coo, mon!&rdquo; On the whole, Garrick said, he
+      thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
+      many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion&mdash;whatever it
+      might be worth&mdash;that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was
+      most successful in attempting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
+      accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
+      believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
+      inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, and
+      he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme which she
+      had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of inducing the
+      man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he was in the habit
+      of keeping the letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,&rdquo;
+       said she; &ldquo;and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may become
+      dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. If he
+      suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
+      farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then is to be gained by our supping with him?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you are brought into contact with him,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You will then
+      be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take him
+      unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? heavens,
+      sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak&mdash;one
+      cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
+      and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
+      fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting the
+      letters into your pocket.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll hope for better luck than that,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But good luck
+      is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
+      cleverest people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. Abington
+      as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
+      your advice and reserve my compliments to you for&mdash;well, no, not a
+      month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done very
+      well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
+      that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
+      alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of an
+      adroit scoundrel. He had heard&mdash;nay, he had written&mdash;of the
+      wiles of women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of
+      testing a woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his
+      estimate of their value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare tavern
+      at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll of manuscript
+      in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the waiter to inform
+      the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was very fluent up to
+      this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave when he found himself
+      face to face with the man who had made the life of Mary Horneck miserable.
+      He wondered if he would be able to restrain his impulse to fly at the
+      scoundrel's throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington that
+      she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended the stairs
+      to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved himself to
+      play a part, and he was convinced that the rÃ´le was not beyond his powers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her chair
+      laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>,
+      for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting upon it and
+      one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the points of his
+      narrative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, pleasantly,
+      but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the story which
+      Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with his fingers
+      still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most inopportune
+      entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other is in the act
+      of telling a story to an appreciative audience&mdash;say, a beautiful
+      actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be seen to the
+      greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb and flow of that
+      roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate wimplings, rising and
+      falling between the porcelain of her throat and the curve of the ivory of
+      her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition of
+      Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. Abington's
+      tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned his head round as
+      the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward the table, bowing
+      profusely&mdash;rather too profusely for the part he was playing, the
+      artistic perception of the actress told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, my little author!&rdquo; cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
+      patron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers&mdash;the best
+      time for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
+      convenience of our betters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
+      convenience in an ante-room&mdash;ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that
+      the scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets
+      write best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For shame, Captain!&rdquo; cried Mrs Abington. &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is a man as well
+      as a poet. He has broken heads before now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Jackson
+      laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself back in his chair
+      and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had advanced to the side
+      of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of the bookseller's hack.
+      He played the part very indifferently, the lady perceived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith, my dear,&rdquo; laughed the Captain, &ldquo;I would fain believe that he is a
+      terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head broke
+      by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I swear that I
+      never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is accustomed to
+      spread terror around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my dear madam,&rdquo; cried her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>, &ldquo;you must pardon me for
+      saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
+      exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known kitchen
+      principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a poet's pate,
+      being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would overcome a
+      sound head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I meant nothing like that, Captain,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned
+      to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. &ldquo;Come, Dr.
+      Goldsmith,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;seat yourself by me, and partake of supper. I vow
+      that I will not even glance at that act of your new play which I perceive
+      you have brought to me, until we have supped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, madam,&rdquo; stuttered Goldsmith; &ldquo;I have already had my humble meal;
+      still&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
+      hoarse laugh, crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
+      by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
+      himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the romance
+      which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a party. Has he
+      never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable kill-joy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,&rdquo; said the actress in smiling
+      remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view of the
+      poet's weakness. &ldquo;You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of parts. He
+      is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; will you, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast at
+      him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own part
+      he was acting to perfection the rÃ´le of the hack author who was patronised
+      till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way
+      as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's cloak was
+      flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to seating
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam, I am your servant,&rdquo; he murmured; &ldquo;Sir, I am your most obedient to
+      command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such distinguished
+      company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you should, sir,&rdquo; cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
+      about, laying a fresh plate and glass, &ldquo;so you should. Your grand patrons,
+      my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you from
+      slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely to
+      feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, General
+      Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I had half a
+      mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking me over! May I
+      die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the General a lesson which
+      he would have remembered to his dying hour&mdash;his dying hour&mdash;that
+      is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn upon him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;But
+      I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being drawn on
+      his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
+      swear,&rdquo; cried the Captain bowing over the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And so I call upon you to drink to his health&mdash;a
+      bumper, sir, a bumper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With an
+      air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained it
+      with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hang him!&rdquo; he cried, when he had wiped his lips, &ldquo;I bear Goldsmith no
+      malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
+      shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge after
+      charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health of a little
+      man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show does his
+      bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous to my
+      heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Captain,&rdquo; said the lady, &ldquo;I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain from
+      challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many healths
+      during the day, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What mean you by that, madam?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Do you suggest that I cannot
+      carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
+      gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that you
+      would have a chance of offering.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,&rdquo; said the actress hastily. &ldquo;I will prove
+      to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. Goldsmith's
+      new comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you are very much my dear,&rdquo; said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
+      decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. &ldquo;Yes, your
+      confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, shall it
+      be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American rebels&mdash;curse
+      'em!&mdash;turn as green as their own coats&mdash;shall it be said that
+      Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel&mdash;Washington his name is&mdash;George
+      Washington&rdquo;&mdash;he had considerable difficulty over the name&mdash;&ldquo;is
+      accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men&mdash;not men, but
+      lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his Majesty's forces
+      into the Potomac'&mdash;shall it be said that&mdash;that&mdash;what the
+      devil was I about to say&mdash;shall it be said?&mdash;never mind&mdash;here's
+      to the health of Colonel Washington!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+      Abington, rising. &ldquo;'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; and,
+      sir, you still wear the King's uniform.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil take the King's uniform!&rdquo; shouted the man. &ldquo;The devils of
+      rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell you,
+      madam, that&mdash;nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
+      drank&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the
+      room and seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung
+      his cloak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
+      upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. &ldquo;Hold, sir, I
+      perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured by
+      your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success to the
+      cause that will triumph in America.&rdquo; Jackson, who was standing at the
+      table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
+      half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
+      him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It sounds all right,&rdquo; he muttered as if he were trying to convince
+      himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. &ldquo;It sounds all
+      right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
+      little poet,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
+      sir&mdash;drink to the success of the cause in America.&rdquo; Goldsmith got
+      upon his feet and raised his glass&mdash;it contained only a light wine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Success to it!&rdquo; he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his third
+      tumbler of brandy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hark ye, my little poet!&rdquo; whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
+      across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not returned
+      to her place. &ldquo;Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a general of
+      generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned me out of the
+      regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from Boston port, that
+      he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was mistaken, sir, and that
+      one of these days&mdash;&mdash;Mum's the word, mind you! If you open your
+      lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to pieces. I'll flay you
+      alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, let me tell you. What
+      message did he send me when he heard that I was ready to blow Cornwallis's
+      brains out and march my company across the Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to
+      man&mdash;though a poet isn't quite a man&mdash;but that's my generosity.
+      Said Washy&mdash;Washy&mdash;Wishy&mdash;Washy&mdash;&mdash; Washington:
+      'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the colonists,
+      Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who would make the
+      attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's the message I
+      got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't everybody. Mark me,
+      my friend&mdash;whatever your name is&mdash;I've got letters&mdash;letters&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, you have letters&mdash;where?&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, in the
+      confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and then
+      across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
+      half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
+      chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Letters&mdash;oh, yes&mdash;plenty of letters&mdash;but where?&mdash;where?&mdash;that's
+      my own matter&mdash;a secret,&rdquo; he murmured in vague tones. &ldquo;The government
+      would give a guinea or two for my letters&mdash;one of them came from
+      Mount Vernon itself, Mr.&mdash;whatever your name maybe&mdash;and if you
+      went to Mr. Secretary and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      pronounced the word &ldquo;Secrary&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;'I know that Dick Jackson is a
+      rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are the letters to prove it?' where
+      would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, my brains are not like
+      Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
+      well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm here,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
+      which Jackson's coat was thrown. &ldquo;I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
+      not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?&rdquo; cried the man with a lurch forward
+      and a wave of the hand. &ldquo;Madam, I'm shocked&mdash;quite shocked! I wear
+      the King's coat, though that cloak is my own&mdash;my own, and all that it
+      contains&mdash;all that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
+      his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; he
+      saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness that
+      only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the cloak lay.
+      He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining until he
+      came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the pocket a
+      leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively into the
+      bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was another packet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over her
+      chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that Sir
+      Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as &ldquo;Miss Prue.&rdquo; She gave
+      a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed coarsely,
+      saying huskily&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A handkerchief&mdash;I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket
+      of my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure&mdash;that's my motto. And now,
+      my charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for
+      I'll challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill
+      up your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.&mdash;Mr. Killjoy, we'll
+      call you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend
+      only knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that
+      the truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast&mdash;whatever it
+      may be&mdash;or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
+      remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
+      man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass before
+      Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand on the
+      table, into a standing attitude, murmuring&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
+      Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
+      table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He swallowed the contents of the tumbler&mdash;his fourth since he had
+      entered the room&mdash;and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into
+      his chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0315.jpg" alt="0315 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0315.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,&rdquo; she cried,
+      standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
+      hand. &ldquo;You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
+      Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of my
+      room, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought it
+      down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
+      watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
+      stupour, his jaw fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,&rdquo; said the actress,
+      pointing to the man who alone remained&mdash;for the best of reasons&mdash;seated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A coach? Certainly, madam,&rdquo; said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; resumed Mrs. Abington, &ldquo;may I beg of you to have the
+      goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
+      hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have a wish
+      to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is Whetstone
+      Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      * She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
+      watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from uttering
+      a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to Goldsmith that
+      she was acting her part admirably&mdash;that she had set herself to give
+      him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet which she, as
+      well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket of his cloak to that
+      of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great difficulty in extracting
+      the bundle from the man's pocket when in the coach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,&rdquo; were the first words
+      spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in his
+      repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. &ldquo;What did I say?&mdash;what
+      did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel hurt, sir,
+      more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. What's her name&mdash;I'm
+      not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? Anyhow, she insulted
+      me grossly&mdash;me, sir&mdash;me, an officer who has charged his
+      Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac flows
+      down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few stories
+      about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been their darling
+      always.&rdquo; Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but husky tone, for
+      the brandy had done its work very effectively, and he had now reached what
+      might be called&mdash;somewhat paradoxically&mdash;the high-water mark of
+      intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter re-entered the room to
+      announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at the door of the tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
+      it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
+      the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord and
+      a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. He
+      made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed him
+      down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord and
+      his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such persons,
+      and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith reached the
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, sir,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I am accompanying that gentleman to his
+      lodging.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Doctor,&rdquo; whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, &ldquo;the
+      fellow is a brawler&mdash;he will involve you in a quarrel before you
+      reach the Strand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;The lady has laid it
+      upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he instant he had
+      seated himself he found to his amazement that the man beside him was fast
+      asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the cushions one might have
+      fancied that he had been sleeping for hours rather than minutes, so
+      composed was he. Even the jolting of the starting coach made no impression
+      upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
+      arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
+      he must act at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
+      detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All he had
+      to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the pocket, and
+      then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted his
+      position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his breast
+      to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened himself in
+      some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite unaware of the
+      fact that some one was seated beside him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear madam, you do me great honour,&rdquo; he said, and then gave a little
+      hiccupping laugh. &ldquo;Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me all
+      the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give you the
+      plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold the
+      documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to put pen
+      to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to a fool.
+      Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them&mdash;no price whatever
+      except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
+      shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, my
+      lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her own
+      letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, in case
+      of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, for I
+      know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the pocket of
+      my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em&mdash;in case of accidents,
+      Ned&mdash;to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! and
+      here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars for
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
+      man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he referred
+      to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel had not only
+      tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been endeavouring to sell
+      the secrets of the King's forces to the American rebels. Goldsmith had,
+      however, no doubt that the letters which he was desirous of getting into
+      his hands were those which the man had within his waistcoat. His belief in
+      this direction did not, however, assist him to devise a plan for
+      transferring the letters from the place where they reposed to his own
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
+      Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of the
+      brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his fingers
+      remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would be quite
+      impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith could not
+      claim to be, to open the garment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
+      packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet that
+      it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont Blanc, was
+      maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any more attempts
+      to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, and Goldsmith
+      knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough to cope with
+      three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit so
+      broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
+      entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
+      Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest did not
+      end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide awake, and
+      he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he spoke that he
+      showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very far from sober.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
+      be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me&mdash;grossly
+      insulted me&mdash;turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too,
+      you rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you
+      to look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for
+      you. Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might not
+      be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward attempt
+      to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration of the
+      question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open the door.
+      He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the coach on to
+      the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on its leathern
+      straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the turnstile. At
+      the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance to the court,
+      almost coming in collision with Jackson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cursed, clumsy lout!&rdquo; shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round as
+      the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You low ruffian!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You cheated me last night, and left me to
+      sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been waiting
+      for you. Take that, you scoundrel&mdash;and that&mdash;and that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
+      forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
+      fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
+      street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith shouted out, &ldquo;Follow him&mdash;follow the murderer!&rdquo; pointing
+      wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
+      pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
+      hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the body in
+      order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more adroitness
+      than was necessary&mdash;for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp all the
+      street was in darkness&mdash;slipped the wallet into his other hand and
+      then under his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
+      had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had been
+      run through with a sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a knock-down blow,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
+      prostrate man; &ldquo;and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great harm
+      has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a beer
+      barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
+      recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
+      almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
+      sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
+      meant by choking him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith picked
+      up his hat and straightened his sword, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his physician
+      in that way has small need of his services. I thought the fellow might be
+      seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point recently; and so
+      good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he relapse. By a casual
+      savour of him I should say that he is not used to water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, and
+      as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on completely
+      recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned him, would miss
+      his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was greatly relieved
+      when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the head porter, and he
+      paid the driver with a liberality that called down upon him a torrent of
+      thanks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
+      cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no doubt
+      that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands of his
+      dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him&mdash;had alone
+      trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
+      room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
+      wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
+      and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
+      chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
+      taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of Mrs.
+      Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that they were
+      the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He was
+      utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
+      occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. He
+      could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, covered
+      with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own desk before
+      starting for the tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
+      the wallet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
+      hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
+      over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
+      which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
+      Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
+      until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which he
+      transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had had
+      no time&mdash;at least, so Goldsmith thought&mdash;to put the sham act of
+      the play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
+      unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
+      in the wallet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
+      greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
+      craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
+      of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected Mrs.
+      Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the expense of
+      the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, and had fooled
+      them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying that they were
+      entrapping him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
+      he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he was
+      showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
+      shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
+      he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
+      happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
+      doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made by
+      Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the length
+      of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy that when
+      they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on any subject.
+      But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin to act, she had
+      failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to place himself in
+      her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
+      would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
+      consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
+      to get the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, and
+      tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. She
+      should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would have been
+      ready to help her and capable of helping her&mdash;some man with a
+      knowledge of men&mdash;some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver
+      of fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper.
+      Nothing was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn
+      achieve success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a house
+      of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his life,
+      whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze that
+      had swept down upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
+      cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
+      than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
+      already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
+      prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great a
+      mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never have
+      made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he said that
+      he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious generosity of
+      the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity that had led him
+      to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was utterly unsuited;
+      and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him in the reflection
+      that his awakening had come before it was too late. He had not been led
+      away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She had been saved the
+      unhappiness which that confession would bring to a nature so full of
+      feeling as hers. And he had been saved the mortification of the thought
+      that he had caused her pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees of
+      the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had passed
+      before he fell asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he found
+      that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the letters
+      which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with but a
+      languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
+      bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith had
+      promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged the
+      loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, from
+      its shape and bulk, a manuscript&mdash;one of the many which were
+      submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned it
+      over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
+      convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
+      perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
+      accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when at
+      the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The instant
+      he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that the parcel
+      contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's handwriting to a
+      certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire village where she had
+      been staying the previous summer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
+      Mrs. Abing ton&mdash;the spelling as well as the writing was hers&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few feathers
+      pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in the capp of
+      dear Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was so greatly
+      amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the scattered letters on the
+      table in front of him. He was even more amazed at finding them there than
+      he had been the night before at not finding them in the wallet which he
+      had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He thought he had arrived at a
+      satisfactory explanation as to how he had come to find within the wallet
+      the sheets of manuscript which he had had in his hand on entering the
+      supper room; but how was he to account for the appearance of the letters
+      in this parcel which he had received from Mrs. Abington?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth&mdash;to
+      appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his table.
+      But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and happiness to
+      Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. She was saved.
+      He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and who had the
+      means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had caused him to
+      go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing the task with
+      which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been mistaken in
+      applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish scheme of a
+      pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken when she had
+      singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most women would
+      have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rÃ´le of a knight-errant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
+      despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
+      knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
+      morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; but
+      now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him&mdash;his
+      imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
+      happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to Mary
+      and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
+      Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
+      Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of his
+      formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, but it
+      was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion so
+      delicate an enterprise as that which he&mdash;Goldsmith&mdash;had
+      accomplished. Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs.
+      Abington to help him, and that was just where he would have made a huge
+      mistake. Any man who thought to get the better of the devil without the
+      aid of a woman was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of
+      this as he stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been
+      when he had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The
+      previous half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
+      Providence and the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate some
+      breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
+      obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
+      thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
+      the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to be
+      shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest&mdash;she must have felt
+      the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, substituting
+      for them the sham act of the play which excused his entrance to the
+      supper-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that the
+      wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
+      recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair with
+      the cloak&mdash;much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
+      treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to turn
+      him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had been
+      to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her glass of
+      wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as Mrs.
+      Baddeley!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
+      particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
+      acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
+      the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
+      perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
+      the letters beyond the man's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again he laughed, saying out loud&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I was right&mdash;a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy
+      of a devil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was at
+      hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
+      letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself in
+      connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
+      consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face would
+      lighten&mdash;how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
+      would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
+      that she was safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
+      bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on her
+      face&mdash;if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
+      laughter. And then&mdash;then she would be happy for evermore, and he
+      would be happy through witnessing her happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for the
+      letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his servant
+      announced two visitors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. The
+      former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a compatriot
+      of his own, named Nicolo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in my
+      hands,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;My friend Nicolo is a master of the art of fencing
+      as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the impression,
+      singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than once during
+      your wanderings in Tuscany.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now I am sure of it,&rdquo; said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
+      spoke French rather better than English. &ldquo;Yes, I was a student at Pisa
+      when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in recognising
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; &ldquo;I cannot, however, recall the
+      circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
+      memory, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,&rdquo; said Signor
+      Nicolo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith quickly. &ldquo;You were one of the orators&mdash;quite reckless,
+      if you will permit me to say so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man smiled somewhat grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,&rdquo;
+       said Baretti. &ldquo;Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
+      climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
+      government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of a beard
+      and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
+      now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,&rdquo; said the man
+      with another grim smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not quite right, my friend,&rdquo; laughed Goldsmith; &ldquo;for if my memory
+      serves me&mdash;and it does so usually on the matter of dress&mdash;I had
+      no coat whatsoever to my back&mdash;that was of no importance in Pisa,
+      where the air was full of patriotism.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,&rdquo; said
+      Baretti. &ldquo;There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We are
+      examples&mdash;Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a brewer's
+      daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy Englishman&mdash;and
+      there are a good number of them, too&mdash;into an expert swordsman in
+      twelve lessons&mdash;yes, if the pupil will but practise sufficiently
+      afterwards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We need not talk of business just now,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I insist on my
+      old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
+      'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
+      excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple of
+      bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to him&mdash;very
+      recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not have
+      remained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
+      heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have found you, you rascal!&rdquo; he shouted, swaggering across the room to
+      where Goldsmith was seated. &ldquo;Now, my good fellow, I give you just one
+      minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my pocket
+      last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken blackguard,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, who was in the
+      act of rising. &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;I submitted to your insults
+      last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I promise you that I
+      give you no such license in my own house. Take your carcase away, sir; my
+      friends have fastidious nostrils.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
+      gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
+      cowardly to attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cur!&rdquo; he said through his set teeth. &ldquo;I don't know what prevents me
+      from running you through the body.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you not? I do,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of wine
+      off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the bully after a pause; &ldquo;I don't wish to go to Sir John
+      Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, but, by
+      the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will not spare
+      you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an hour has
+      passed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American spy,
+      is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith has at
+      hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest scoundrels,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
+      second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. The
+      bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My little poet,&rdquo; he said in a mocking voice, &ldquo;you fancy that because you
+      have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you for your
+      information that I have something in my possession that I can use as I
+      meant to use the letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall kill
+      you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, leaping
+      up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
+      the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him behind
+      a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, sir,&rdquo; said he, bowing to Jackson, &ldquo;but we cannot permit you to
+      stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend and
+      I regard as a grave affront to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then let one of you draw!&rdquo; shouted the man. &ldquo;I see that you are
+      Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
+      sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;I
+      do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a weaker
+      man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a ruffian as
+      you undoubtedly are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter had
+      whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, putting
+      quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when Baretti had
+      turned partly round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Briccone! assassin!&rdquo; hissed Baretti. &ldquo;You saw that he meant to kill me,
+      Nicolo,&rdquo; he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He shall pay for it,&rdquo; whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
+      foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
+      of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;We used to enjoy a sausage or
+      two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
+      without absolutely killing the beast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
+      laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian&mdash;it was
+      not melodious&mdash;acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo,
+      trying to beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single
+      inch. He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His
+      expression resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has
+      airily offered to play with him opens the game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to attack,
+      Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take a chair, sir,&rdquo; said Baretti, grinning. &ldquo;You will have need of one
+      before my friend has finished with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
+      before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt him
+      now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the man
+      breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
+      Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
+      no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but his
+      antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard breathing
+      was a contrast to the only other sound in the room&mdash;the grating of
+      steel against steel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed gradually
+      to vanish. He became more than serious&mdash;surely his expression was one
+      of apprehension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as one
+      of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
+      shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
+      doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge of
+      the other man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as he
+      pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in touching
+      Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, and now it was
+      plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was breathing hard, and
+      the look of apprehension on his face had increased until it had actually
+      become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to perceive this, and malignant
+      triumph was in every feature of his face. Any one could see that he felt
+      confident of tiring out the visibly fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with
+      staring eyes, once again clutched Baretti.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
+      and forehead in smiles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,&rdquo; said
+      he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
+      paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
+      head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying behind
+      it like the little pennon on a lance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; whispered Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;For God's
+      sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that last was
+      like a bullet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat from
+      which it was torn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is his fun,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;Oh, body of Bacchus! A great humourist!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
+      in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but his
+      antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed him round
+      the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing heavily, but
+      apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his sword into his
+      left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
+      They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
+      meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
+      Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
+      dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
+      Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
+      result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
+      man's pocket fell on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
+      The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining by
+      a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo had
+      spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single flash.
+      Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they were the
+      batch of letters which he had received in the course of his traffic with
+      the American rebels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Sandrino,&rdquo; said Baretti, affecting to yawn. &ldquo;Finish the rascal off,
+      and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. Come,
+      sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has kept us
+      from our wine too long already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
+      sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
+      over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
+      the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with an
+      oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
+      thoroughly exhausted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0349.jpg" alt="0349 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0349.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
+      the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
+      guard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;John,&rdquo; shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
+      witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
+      exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) &ldquo;John, give that
+      man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked out
+      of my house.&rdquo; When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to the
+      half-naked panting man. &ldquo;You are possibly the most contemptible bully and
+      coward alive,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You did not hesitate to try and accomplish the
+      ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here with intent to
+      murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your clutches. If I let
+      you go now, it is because I know that in these letters, which I mean to
+      keep, I have such evidence against you as will hang you whenever I see fit
+      to use it, and I promise you to use it if you are in this country at the
+      end of two days. Now, leave this house, and thank my servant for giving
+      you his coat, and this gentleman&rdquo;&mdash;he pointed to Nicolo&mdash;&ldquo;for
+      such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you never before received.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which John
+      Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You contemptible cur!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have not yet done with you. You have
+      now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of them
+      passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in pretty high
+      places, let me tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not doubt it,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;The gallows is a high enough place for
+      you and your friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look to yourself, you foreign hound!&rdquo; he said, his face becoming livid,
+      and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare as
+      before. &ldquo;Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to be
+      made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn that rascal into the street, John,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, and John
+      bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
+      flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
+      powers&mdash;not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian,
+      but one which he was certain was more English in its style.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one shall lay a hand on me,&rdquo; said Jackson. &ldquo;Do you fancy that I am
+      anxious to remain in such a company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,&rdquo; said John, hustling him to the
+      door. &ldquo;Come&mdash;out with you&mdash;sharp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
+      and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put on
+      the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him walk
+      in the direction of the Temple lodge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
+      prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
+      on his wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You came at an opportune moment, my friend,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You have not only
+      saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never have
+      known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of your
+      art.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best swordsman is the best patriot,&rdquo; said Baretti.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! yes,&rdquo; said Nicolo. &ldquo;Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
+      or you would not be able to live in England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not an Englishman,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I am an Irish patriot, and
+      therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it is
+      not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than to
+      starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
+      dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
+      Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor an
+      hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects of
+      the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it will
+      take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the fragments
+      of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. Johnson's
+      friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,&rdquo; said
+      Baretti. &ldquo;Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
+      engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has taken part in one engagement, at least,&rdquo; said Goldsmith,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I am now at your service,&rdquo; said the fencing-master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his pocket&mdash;the
+      second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his desk&mdash;and,
+      parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and Anchor in an
+      hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was with a
+      feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before known, that
+      Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All the exhilaration
+      that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary exhibition of
+      adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with him. The
+      exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more than a
+      suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, Nicolo's
+      pretence of being overmatched early in the contest&mdash;breathing hard
+      and assuming a terrified expression&mdash;yielding his ground and allowing
+      his opponent almost to run him through&mdash;could only be regarded as
+      theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
+      amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not
+      prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith,
+      more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt which he owed
+      to Jackson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life in
+      having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world the
+      terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that every
+      step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
+      realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
+      cheeks change to red once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to Barton
+      with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him this with
+      a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
+      Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;I believe that she was more than a little
+      disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?&rdquo; he asked. This fresh
+      proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was very
+      dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise on the
+      chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in his
+      ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of his
+      success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She seemed very anxious to see you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;I fear, dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
+      sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
+      secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
+      Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, girlish
+      fancy&mdash;my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
+      neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
+      with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely she
+      has got over that foolishness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
+      foolishness,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;You may take my word for it that when she
+      sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do hope so,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;Yes, you could always contrive to make
+      her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared that
+      that disgraceful letter in the <i>Packet</i> had affected you. That was
+      why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
+      nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was very kind of you, my dear madam,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but I have seen Mary
+      since that thing appeared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance that when
+      I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to recovery. You
+      have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor of medicine,
+      and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in this direction may
+      amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself have. Still, I think
+      you will say something in my favour when you see Mary's condition begin to
+      improve from the moment we have a little chat together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. Goldsmith.
+      Your chat with her will do more for her than all the medicine the most
+      skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very inopportune time for
+      her to fall sick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
+      steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
+      attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman was
+      drawn toward her?&rdquo; said the lady smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;And
+      you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she would
+      have listened to his proposals, madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should she not have done so, sir?&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not, indeed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;He is,
+      to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think so&mdash;you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing
+      in such a case?&rdquo; said Oliver, rather eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?&rdquo; cried Mrs.
+      Horneck. &ldquo;Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
+      am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
+      my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
+      After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty&mdash;thirty-seven,
+      I believe&mdash;but he does not look more than thirty-five.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
+      you give emphasis, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;And you think that Mary will
+      see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
+      so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,&rdquo; said the lady.
+      &ldquo;That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring back
+      the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly attracted
+      to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand&mdash;I understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke slowly, gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you would help us,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck, &ldquo;and so I hope that you
+      will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
+      Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
+      passed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
+      him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks&mdash;not for him, but
+      for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, the
+      hours of thought&mdash;all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
+      facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
+      his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
+      sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being for
+      evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
+      possession as her love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
+      yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even so; I am satisfied&mdash;I am satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and Goldsmith
+      persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he succeeded in doing
+      so, for he had felt it was quite possible that Baretti might inquire of
+      him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to Brick Court, and he could
+      not well explain to the Italian the nature of the enterprise which he had
+      so successfully carried out by the aid of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing
+      to take Mrs. Abington into his confidence, and quite another to confide in
+      Baretti. He was discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that,
+      while the secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it
+      would be by no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some
+      people might laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that
+      which was generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and
+      Baretti a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn all
+      about Jackson&mdash;that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
+      become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
+      for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. He
+      was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
+      prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
+      regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
+      the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
+      conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
+      declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
+      man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
+      out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here&mdash;and indeed, sir, I
+      am glad that he is not&mdash;he would say that your definition was so good
+      as to make him certain you had stolen it from me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Dr. Johnson, &ldquo;I did not say that it was good enough to have
+      been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
+      foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, that you
+      would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of stealing
+      from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which when it
+      comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, are you
+      satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I am more than satisfied,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning
+      master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. This was
+      a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
+      to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington for
+      managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped to
+      do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
+      costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the less
+      subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, holding her
+      hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to speak, and she
+      knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she was quite
+      accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, were of
+      equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my poet,&rdquo; she said at last, &ldquo;have you need of my services to banish
+      any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was right,&rdquo; he managed to say after another pause, &ldquo;yes, I knew I was
+      not mistaken in you, my dear lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest demon
+      that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Well,
+      sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment&mdash;a more doubtful compliment
+      than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her champion. But you
+      have not told me of your adventurous journey with our friend in the
+      hackney coach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is you who have not yet told me by what means you
+      became possessed of the letters which I wanted&mdash;by what magic you
+      substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
+      into the supper room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered from
+      a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, that he
+      had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He gave me a
+      hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is not to be
+      trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every document on
+      which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty naturally
+      received a great shock when he offered to drink to the American rebels,
+      and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or so sufficed me to
+      discover the wallet with the letters; but then I was at my wits' end to
+      find something to occupy their place in the receptacle. Happily my eye
+      caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay in your hat on the floor
+      beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick was played. I had a
+      sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep me hoping all the
+      night that you would be able to get possession of the wallet, believing it
+      contained the letters for which you were in search. Lord, sir! I tried to
+      picture your face when you drew out your own papers.&rdquo; The actress lay back
+      on her couch and roared with laughter, Goldsmith joining in quite
+      pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression which
+      my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
+      humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but he
+      paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
+      termed his property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
+      Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my faith, sir!&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;I would give ten guineas to have been
+      there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she added a moment afterwards, &ldquo;you
+      will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my dear,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left my
+      room&mdash;not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
+      as would hang him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon your
+      life?&rdquo; cried the actress. &ldquo;He may try to kill Baretti on a point of
+      sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a matter
+      of business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
+      something in what you say,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;So I will e'en take a
+      hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
+      the very door of my chambers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have yet
+      to write for me in a comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my dear
+      friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?&rdquo; cried the actress, looking at
+      him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua Reynolds
+      could not quite translate to show the next century what manner of woman
+      was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young wife of
+      the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country girl's
+      smile of Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith kept his
+      word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was alert all the time he
+      was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be waiting to make an
+      attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any adventure, however,
+      and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel of letters and set
+      himself to peruse their contents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had no need to read them all&mdash;the first that came to his hand was
+      sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
+      perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
+      rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
+      themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which he
+      had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
+      Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead of
+      merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to England as
+      a suspected traitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
+      indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
+      obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
+      certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
+      country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
+      him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
+      Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
+      course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he ask
+      himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have been so
+      blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his honesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour which
+      attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies of his
+      country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself to be, he
+      would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly weaknesses were
+      dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the tenderness of her
+      heart only made him feel that she was all the more a woman, and therefore
+      all the more to be loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
+      Hornecks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
+      There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he would
+      attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner.
+      It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably be at the
+      meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with the dangerous
+      character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due precautions against
+      any attack that the desperate man might be induced to make upon him. No
+      doubt Baretti would make a good point in conversation with his friends of
+      the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution to any one; but the
+      latter was determined to give the Italian his advice on this matter,
+      whatever the consequences might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention in
+      full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not return
+      from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the Academy
+      Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
+      communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not having
+      a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,&rdquo; said Reynolds.
+      &ldquo;I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if only to
+      apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has promised to
+      come, and I have secured Johnson as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in front,
+      he followed with Reynolds some distance behind&mdash;not so far, however,
+      as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was engaged in a
+      discourse with his sweet companion&mdash;he was particularly fond of such
+      companionship&mdash;on the dignity inseparable from a classic style in
+      painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the habiliments of
+      their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who required
+      any considerable amount of remonstrance from her preceptors to keep her
+      feet from straying in regard to classical traditions. The artist who gave
+      the purest Greek features and the Roman toga alike to the Prodigal Son and
+      King Edward III could not be said to be capable of greatly erring from Dr.
+      Johnson's precepts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
+      eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
+      adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
+      suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
+      faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
+      eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, sir!&rdquo; cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
+      anchor, and pursing out his lips, &ldquo;would you contend that a member of
+      Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day clothes&mdash;that
+      the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,&rdquo; replied
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
+      to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
+      than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
+      phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, &ldquo;there is a very flagrant
+      example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even depicted in
+      his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted position, is
+      not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what would he be if
+      shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after what you call the
+      natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the advisability of the
+      epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in English.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why not, sir?&rdquo; said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, &ldquo;For
+      my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
+      Westminster Abbey written in English.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one laughed, including&mdash;when the bull had been explained to her&mdash;Angelica
+      Kauffman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
+      door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
+      went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
+      lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
+      detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
+      Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
+      reason of his absence from the meeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
+      as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
+      wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
+      him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
+      hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
+      The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
+      the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out so
+      as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
+      men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
+      been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding in
+      the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no time
+      coming to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Merciful heaven!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;I was waiting for Baretti in order to
+      warn him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack as
+      was made upon him,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;It seems that the fellow whom Baretti
+      was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable gang well
+      known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated what his
+      name was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what was his name?&rdquo; asked Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Richard Jackson,&rdquo; replied Steevens. &ldquo;Of course we never heard the name
+      before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
+      should a jury find him guilty,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;We must make an effort to
+      avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to speak
+      to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They carried
+      my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to go without
+      delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. Garrick. He
+      hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John Fielding at Bow
+      street in the morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That we shall,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;He shall have the best legal advice
+      available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him that
+      he may depend on our help, such as it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
+      waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
+      custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but they
+      offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, and
+      also to carry back to them his reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an account
+      of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could not induce the
+      constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, however, bore in
+      his message to the effect that he might depend on the help of all his
+      friends in his emergency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, and
+      they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd&mdash;afar from
+      reputable crowd&mdash;so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
+      and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
+      the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in the
+      surgeon's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
+      meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through the
+      Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two men rushed
+      out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with heavy sticks.
+      One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his sword, but he
+      succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself with the small
+      fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, as was the custom
+      in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article of diet, he had
+      undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great mischance he must have
+      severed an artery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
+      friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held a
+      commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being tried
+      by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to England by
+      Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, and had
+      recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house in
+      Whetstone Park.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, it seems
+      to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the gentleman,&rdquo;
+       said the Bow street runner. &ldquo;But I fancy the judge will tell them that
+      it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of its rogues.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
+      view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid of
+      the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having parted
+      from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. He could not
+      help feeling that Baretti was the victim of his&mdash;Goldsmith's&mdash;want
+      of consideration. What right had he, he asked himself, to drag Baretti
+      into a matter in which the Italian had no concern? He felt that a man of
+      the world would certainly have acted with more discretion, and if anything
+      happened to Baretti he would never forgive himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter a very
+      restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that Johnson had already
+      gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house Goldsmith learned that
+      Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; so it was plain that
+      Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting about helping him. They
+      all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and Goldsmith found that Burke had
+      already instructed a lawyer on behalf of Baretti. His tender heart was
+      greatly moved at the sight of Baretti when the latter was brought into
+      court, and placed in the dock, with a constable on each side. But the
+      prisoner himself appeared to be quite collected, and seemed proud of the
+      group of notable persons who had come to show their friendship for him. He
+      smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, and, when the witnesses were being
+      examined, polished the glasses of his spectacles with the greatest
+      composure. He appeared to be confident that Sir John Fielding would allow
+      him to go free when evidence was given that Jackson had been a man of
+      notoriously bad character, and he seemed greatly surprised when the
+      magistrate announced that he was returning him for trial at the next
+      sessions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the prisoner
+      in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request was granted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on this
+      melancholy drive, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
+      this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
+      country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. In
+      what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
+      ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
+      protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
+      violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
+      accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried for
+      my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice in
+      this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not be alarmed,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;When you appear before a judge and
+      jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
+      being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
+      responsible for this <i>contretemps</i>,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;But I cannot
+      forgive that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and
+      failed to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
+      considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
+      whom I killed should be regarded sacred&mdash;as sacred as though he were
+      an Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so
+      ridiculous?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;It is quite impossible that you could be convicted&mdash;oh,
+      quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and Reynolds
+      and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
+      railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
+      Newgate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone in the
+      coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house in
+      Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been uncertain
+      whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to see Mary
+      Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress of mind
+      from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the conclusion
+      that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in respect of the
+      man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for him, Goldsmith. Now,
+      however, that he had discharged his duty so far as he could in regard to
+      Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy Bride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
+      signs of recent tears were visible on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am in deep distress about Mary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How so, madam?&rdquo; he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
+      him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
+      point of death?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
+      when she left town,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;But who could fancy that her
+      condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as was
+      brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor Baretti?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It prostrated her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
+      printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he read
+      out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair to the
+      floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her friends,
+      instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming with
+      strange impatience&mdash;I told her that you had been here yesterday and
+      also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
+      from her faint&mdash;accusing herself of bringing her friends into
+      trouble, but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come&mdash;why does he
+      not come to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her in
+      this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
+      acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
+      the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition is
+      the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to call
+      to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;Will
+      you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
+      am confident that I can restore her to health?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!&mdash;ah, if you only could! But alas,
+      alas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
+      interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of sobbing
+      within the room came to his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, my dear child,&rdquo; said her mother with an affectation of cheerfulness,
+      &ldquo;you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come to his Jessamy
+      Bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
+      pathetically how weak she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, he is come he is come!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Leave him with me, mother; he has
+      much to tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;I have much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
+      spasmodically in both her own&mdash;he felt how they were trembling-as she
+      cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead&mdash;you know it, of
+      course? Oh, it is terrible&mdash;terrible! But the letters!&mdash;they
+      will be found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be
+      impossible to keep my secret longer. Will his friends&mdash;he had evil
+      friends, I know&mdash;will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by
+      your face that you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be
+      undone&mdash;undone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you might be able to bear the worst news that I could
+      bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best! Ah, what is the best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
+      child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
+      more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to speak,
+      but failing to utter a single word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet of
+      her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for certainly
+      a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only gaze mutely at
+      the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the truth upon her
+      meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not now be
+      overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
+      her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
+      Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed&mdash;not
+      hysterically, but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an
+      effort and walked across the room to the window that looked upon the
+      street. He followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she
+      turned round with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long
+      was it since he had heard her laugh in that way?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for her
+      cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, and
+      her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; she cried, putting out both her hands to him. &ldquo;Ah, I knew that I was
+      right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew that
+      you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to me for
+      evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like you, dear
+      Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that&mdash;so good, so true, so full
+      of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the greatest and
+      best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, dear friend! O,
+      you are a friend to be trusted&mdash;a friend who would be ready to die
+      for his friend. Gratitude&mdash;you do not want gratitude. It is well that
+      you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you for what
+      you have done? You have saved me from death&mdash;from worse than death&mdash;and
+      I know that the thought that you have done so will be your greatest
+      reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel that I
+      live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me out of the
+      deep waters&mdash;the waters that had well-nigh closed over my head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon him.
+      His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; but he
+      felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since he had
+      lived to see&mdash;even through the dimness of tears&mdash;so sweet a face
+      looking into his own with eyes full of the light of&mdash;was it the
+      gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the small
+      hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the tendrils
+      of a climbing flower.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you nothing to say to me&mdash;no word to give me at this moment?&rdquo;
+       she asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her
+      fingers seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What word?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Ah, my child, what word should come from such a man
+      as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete happiness
+      as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in words. You
+      have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my life. You have
+      understood me&mdash;you alone, and that to such as I means happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had flung
+      them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the direction of
+      the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You talk of my understanding you,&rdquo; she said in a voice that had a sob in
+      it. &ldquo;Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a man's
+      nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy of a
+      thought?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with a
+      sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
+      locked the fingers of both together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
+      the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in the
+      throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman well enough
+      to have no thought of himself&mdash;no thought except for her happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said at last. &ldquo;No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say to
+      you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
+      himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
+      happy&mdash;watching your happiness&mdash;in silence. Perhaps I may
+      understand you&mdash;I may understand something of the thought which
+      gratitude suggests to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, gratitude!&rdquo; said she in a tone that was sad even in its scornfulness.
+      She had not turned her head toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I may understand something of your nature&mdash;the sweetest, the
+      tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself better,
+      and I know in what direction lies my happiness&mdash;in what direction
+      lies your happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! are you sure that they are two&mdash;that they are separate?&rdquo; said
+      she. And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
+      still held them behind him. At last he said slowly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were a
+      chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to look on
+      happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there is more
+      happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not speak&mdash;for
+      God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which are trembling
+      on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she turned
+      away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, with her
+      face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
+      hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that word; but
+      I can never&mdash;never cease to think of you as the best&mdash;the
+      noblest&mdash;the truest of men. You have been my best friend&mdash;my
+      only friend&mdash;and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by
+      a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, mother, mother!&rdquo; cried the girl, starting up, &ldquo;I knew that I was
+      right&mdash;I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
+      new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more&mdash;that
+      I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, what a transformation there is already!&rdquo; said her mother. &ldquo;Ah, Dr.
+      Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend!&rdquo; she said slowly, almost gravely. &ldquo;Yes, he was
+      always my friend, and he will be so forever&mdash;my friend&mdash;our
+      friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always, always,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;I am doubly glad to find that you
+      have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
+      just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
+      May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
+      seeing you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;Send him
+      away&mdash;send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one
+      but our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do
+      for me that I should wish to see him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Mary&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
+      sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has not
+      yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing together
+      as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am myself
+      again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+      Horneck. &ldquo;I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do, dear mother,&rdquo; cried the girl, laughing. &ldquo;Say next week, or next year,
+      sweetest of mothers, or&mdash;best of all&mdash;say that he had better
+      come by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by
+      and by is easily said.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s he went to his
+      chambers to dress before going to dine with the Dillys in the Poultry,
+      Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. He had seen the light
+      return to the face that he loved more than all the faces in the world, and
+      he had been strong enough to put aside the temptation to hear her confess
+      that she returned the love which he bore her, but which he had never
+      confessed to her. He felt happy to know that the friendship which had been
+      so great a consolation to him for several years&mdash;the friendship for
+      the family who had been so good and so considerate to him&mdash;was the
+      same now as it had always been. He felt happy in the reflection that he
+      had spoken no word that would tend to jeopardise that friendship. He had
+      seen enough of the world to be made aware of the fact that there is no
+      more potent destroyer of friendship than love. He had put aside the
+      temptation to speak a word of love; nay, he had prevented her from
+      speaking what he believed would be a word of love, although the speaking
+      of that word would have been the sweetest sound that had ever fallen upon
+      his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that was how he came to feel happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he found
+      a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had dedicated
+      to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. He added
+      poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly interpreted&mdash;verses
+      pulsating with the love that was in his heart&mdash;verses which Mary
+      Horneck could not fail to interpret aright should they ever come before
+      her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they shall never come before her eyes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ah, never&mdash;never!
+      It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day she
+      might read those verses of his&mdash;yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
+      that day was far off or nigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, he
+      had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did not,
+      however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to entertain
+      his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's killing of
+      Jackson as an accident.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be well
+      for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be to the
+      advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the threats
+      made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it might be
+      possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. But Burke,
+      after hearing the story&mdash;no mention of the name of Mary Horneck being
+      made by Goldsmith&mdash;came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to
+      introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part of the man
+      who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer&mdash;as, indeed,
+      they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity on
+      Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered that a
+      defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was most
+      likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. If it
+      could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently as some of
+      the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, Burke and his
+      legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining a
+      verdict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of the
+      acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine nature
+      had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's safety, and any
+      one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated trial would
+      undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this matter was fully
+      justified. That there should have been any suggestion of premeditation in
+      the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of Baretti seems amazing
+      to a modern reader of the case as stated by the Crown. But as Edmund Burke
+      stated about that time in the House of Commons, England was a gigantic
+      shambles. The barest evidence against a prisoner was considered sufficient
+      to bring him to the gallows for an offence which nowadays, if proved
+      against him on unmistakable testimony, would only entail his incarceration
+      for a week. Women were hanged for stealing bread to keep their children
+      from that starvation which was the result of the kidnapping of their
+      husbands to serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the only influential
+      voice that was lifted up against a system in comparison with which slavery
+      was not only tolerable, but commendable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson was
+      the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For all his
+      railing against the detestable laws of the detestable country&mdash;which,
+      however, he found preferable to his own&mdash;he ridiculed the possibility
+      of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered it within the
+      bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, however absurd was
+      the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the likelihood was that he
+      would experience the feelings incidental to such an excursion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
+      Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty with
+      his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent authority of
+      Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition of the sage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
+      of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste as
+      well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
+      Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that if
+      one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat his
+      dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we know
+      something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the idiotic
+      insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record of
+      Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably deceived
+      no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be&mdash;however
+      insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may&mdash;according to Johnson&mdash;have
+      been, there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
+      until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
+      Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained an
+      envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined to
+      mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit for
+      appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
+      was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, they
+      might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought by the
+      prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had attacked
+      him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a
+      strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law permitted
+      men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
+      joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which was
+      felt&mdash;or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
+      simulated&mdash;by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
+      the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
+      circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had not
+      been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance that he
+      would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the counsel, as
+      well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old Bailey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
+      had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
+      was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
+      Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
+      trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works which
+      he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
+      addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of his
+      promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times to
+      see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
+      friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in her
+      usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the fun in
+      which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too busy to
+      reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's country house
+      wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in their pranks, and
+      to submit, as he did with such good will, to their practical jests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of the
+      pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he would
+      see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
+      constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both of
+      them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure that he
+      would be as strong a second time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged&mdash;this constant
+      endeavour to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life
+      endurable to him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that,
+      when a coach drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had
+      passed, and Mrs. Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the
+      change which was apparent in his appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!&rdquo; she cried when she entered his little
+      parlour, &ldquo;you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
+      was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
+      you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
+      despairing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my dear madam,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am only suffering from a slight attack
+      of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
+      assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to give
+      me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught sight of
+      you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a moment; I
+      feared that&mdash;ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked as
+      I was when you appeared before me,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;Why, dear sir, you are
+      killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one here to
+      give you the attention which your condition requires.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?&rdquo; said the Doctor, making a
+      pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I will take you in
+      hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now I
+      will beg of you to go thither in your own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Barton? Oh, my dear madam&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
+      should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
+      interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others than
+      to help yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
+      who could be of the same help to us as you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no one who would be more willing, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that mysterious
+      indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced that it was
+      you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again in
+      need of my help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
+      you are interested in her future&mdash;in the happiness which we all are
+      anxious to secure for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family&mdash;nay, I can
+      talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. I
+      know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
+      Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; she has not told me that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
+      emotion which he felt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally settled,
+      and so not worthy of another thought,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Finally settled?&rdquo; repeated Goldsmith. &ldquo;Then she has accepted Colonel
+      Gwyn's proposal?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,&rdquo; said the mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
+      one of gladness?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,&rdquo; said
+      the lady. &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character is
+      irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
+      convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him&mdash;and
+      yet she sends him away from her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is possibly because she knows her own mind&mdash;her own heart, I
+      should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! she is but a girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives is
+      worthy of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
+      rigidly on that assumption&mdash;an assumption which would condemn her to
+      live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to take a
+      practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely concerns
+      the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you take a
+      great interest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would do anything for her happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards you
+      with the greatest respect and esteem&mdash;nay, if I may say it, with
+      affection as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! affection&mdash;affection for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
+      for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to yield
+      to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. Mary is
+      there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence with her on
+      behalf of Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! I, madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell you,
+      my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
+      yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for no
+      one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
+      convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion while
+      turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
+      influence, will you not, dear friend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have time to think&mdash;to think. How can I answer you at once in
+      this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
+      looking into the empty grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are wrong,&rdquo; she said in a low tone. &ldquo;You are wrong; I know what is in
+      your thoughts&mdash;in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
+      would stand on a different footing in respect to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! a different footing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you are in error in that respect,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;Marriage
+      is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is not Katherine
+      the same to you now as she was before she married Charles Bunbury?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew of
+      what was in his heart!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But where lies the need for her to marry at once?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;If she
+      were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
+      not marry at once; but if she does not love him&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who can say that she does not love him?&rdquo; cried the lady. &ldquo;Oh, my dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world of
+      whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, I
+      was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When I
+      married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
+      disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
+      for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
+      woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing a
+      just opinion on the subject.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous of
+      seeing her married to a good man&mdash;a man with whom her future
+      happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; alas!
+      that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates her life
+      and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is ruled by her
+      heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what her uncle, with
+      whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her meeting a certain
+      man there&mdash;my brother did not make me acquainted with his name&mdash;and
+      being so carried away with some plausible story he told that she actually
+      fancied herself in love with him&mdash;actually, until my brother,
+      learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop to an affair
+      that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her heart&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
+      some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
+      the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
+      fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
+      desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause before he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to point
+      out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,&rdquo; cried the
+      mother, catching his hand and pressing it. &ldquo;But I would ask of you not to
+      put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl with a
+      heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
+      direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to the
+      ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts&mdash;her longings&mdash;her
+      hopes&mdash;and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart&mdash;ah, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
+      life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      And finds too late. . .'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
+      poor Olivia!&rdquo; He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
+      in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will go to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will be saving her&mdash;ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,&rdquo;
+       cried Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and saw
+      you,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and the change to
+      the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been neglecting yourself&mdash;yes,
+      and some one who will nurse you back to life. Oh, Barton is the place for
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no place I should like better to die at,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To die at?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
+      still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your daughter Mary is there,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e wrote that very
+      evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, one of his merry
+      letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had resolved to yield
+      gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant to leave for Barton
+      the next day. When that letter was written he gave himself up to his
+      thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between her
+      and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making it
+      impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought himself
+      to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, Oliver
+      Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her sister&mdash;with
+      the affection which exists between good friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
+      he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
+      heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
+      had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
+      and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
+      what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He knew
+      that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done that
+      day, she would have told him that she loved him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
+      follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
+      mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
+      led in the future?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was to
+      be found only in marriage&mdash;marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
+      undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit to
+      himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
+      undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
+      good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
+      and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the dangers
+      which surrounded her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He would,
+      moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word duty, which
+      would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his argument, tend to
+      frustrate his intention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, and
+      he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his visit
+      would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought before leaving
+      was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a moment's
+      consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the
+      coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was even
+      more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. While
+      still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure the
+      instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward him, and
+      Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself painfully and
+      laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement both on her face
+      and on that of her brother-in-law.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Why,
+      you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary only shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been ill,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;But I am better already, having seen you
+      both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she ready
+      to give me another lesson in loo?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,&rdquo; said Bunbury,
+      while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. &ldquo;Oh! yes; we will take
+      care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,&rdquo; he continued.
+      &ldquo;Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! But we'll
+      build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you and such as
+      you, my friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I am better already,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith; and then, as the chaise
+      drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her face had
+      become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; she was not
+      even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and the ploughed
+      fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
+      uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
+      which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; but
+      though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the chaise
+      arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her guest at the
+      great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the depressing effect of
+      her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not betray the shock which she
+      experienced on observing how greatly changed was her friend since he had
+      been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. She met him with a laugh and a
+      cry of &ldquo;You have never come to us without your scratch-wig? If you have
+      forgot it, you will e'en have to go back for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
+      last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
+      at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
+      vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
+      became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for his
+      friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
+      harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
+      Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
+      his visit to the house he loved. He felt better&mdash;better than he had
+      been for months.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
+      her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
+      after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
+      imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
+      his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily the
+      manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of the scene,
+      especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she declared she had
+      good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so greatly as to cause
+      him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, when he had meant to talk
+      about love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much character
+      into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to imitate, she
+      never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating person would
+      be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily than Goldsmith at
+      the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into the
+      already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected to
+      understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his rejection.
+      A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, and of
+      course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely appropriate to
+      Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and good-humoured mirth, the
+      hours passed as they had always done in the house which humoured mirth,
+      the hours passed as they had always done in the house which had ever been
+      so delightful to at least one of the guests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
+      fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
+      incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
+      extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat as
+      the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day treated
+      before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to him&mdash;that
+      Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her future such
+      as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think what might be in
+      store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only by her own
+      sympathetic heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
+      Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
+      laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
+      of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no doubt
+      that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
+      afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with Mary
+      in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new covers
+      on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the
+      many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and jars of
+      preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with bundles of
+      sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, Charles
+      Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a housewife we have become!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Quite right, my dear; the
+      head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
+      the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that I do not enter into the
+      spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
+      husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis foolish on their part,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But Little Comedy is ever on the
+      watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active abettor of her
+      in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle threadbare by
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,&rdquo; said
+      he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, I agree with you,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I agree with you heartily. I do
+      not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
+      flattered by his attention?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
+      man from the Prince down&mdash;or should I say up?&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twould be treason to say so,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn
+      be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way of
+      treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
+      valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never saved
+      a poor woman a day's work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,&rdquo; said he quietly. &ldquo;On the contrary,
+      I came down here specially to talk of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,&rdquo; said she,
+      continuing her work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,&rdquo;
+       said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only of late!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of your
+      thoughts long ago as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
+      latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.&rdquo; She ceased her work and
+      looked towards him gratefully&mdash;attentively. He left his seat and went
+      to her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My sweet Jessamy Bride,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I have thought of your future with
+      great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as&mdash;as&mdash;perhaps a
+      father might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is
+      dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of
+      snares.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; she quietly said. &ldquo;Ah, you know that I have had some
+      experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame would
+      have been mine!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
+      affair,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It was your tender heart that led you astray at first,
+      and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But alas! 'tis
+      just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Did not I send
+      Colonel Gwyn away from me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were wrong to do so, my Mary,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a good man&mdash;he
+      is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able to shelter
+      you from all dangers&mdash;from the dangers into which your own heart may
+      lead you again as it led you before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as his
+      wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a girl as
+      you in the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! my dear friend,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I have seen enough of the world to know
+      that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from the day
+      she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only begin to
+      beset her on that day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Often&mdash;often. But it would not be so with you, dear child&mdash;at
+      least, not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly man
+      all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
+      standpoint of her matchmaking mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
+      way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think of
+      you always as I think of you know&mdash;bound to no man&mdash;the dearest
+      of all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
+      position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have seen
+      that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your&mdash;your
+      happiness&mdash;yes, happiness in the future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You are ready
+      to sacrifice yourself&mdash;I mean you are ready to forego all the
+      pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
+      the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
+      happiness&mdash;or what you fancy will be happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; she said after a pause. &ldquo;I do, because I know what it would mean
+      to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
+      marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;nay&mdash;do not speak so definitely,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will speak definitely,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Yes, the time is come for me to
+      speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of being
+      happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else with all
+      my heart, I dare not&mdash;oh! I dare not even entertain the thought of
+      marrying Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You love some one else?&rdquo; he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment there
+      went through his mind the thought&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Her heart has led her astray once again.</i>'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,&rdquo; she cried;
+      &ldquo;I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
+      world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
+      heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
+      in a hushed voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, child&mdash;child&mdash;spare me that pain&mdash;let me go from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till you hear me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Ah! cannot you perceive that I love you&mdash;only
+      you, Oliver Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush&mdash;for God's sake!&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not hush,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I will speak for love's sake&mdash;for the
+      sake of that love which I bear you&mdash;for the sake of that love which I
+      know you return.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas&mdash;alas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her love
+      for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before heaven
+      would be in my keeping silence&mdash;in marrying a man I do not love. Ah!
+      I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood your
+      nature&mdash;so sweet&mdash;so simple&mdash;so great&mdash;so true. I
+      thought last year when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling
+      which I had for you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to
+      know the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop&mdash;stop&mdash;for God's sake, stop! I&mdash;I&mdash;do not love
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
+      died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes fixed
+      upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not love me?&rdquo; she said in a slow whisper. &ldquo;Will you say those
+      words again with your eyes looking into mine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not humiliate me further,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have some pity upon me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no; pity is not for me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If you spoke the truth when
+      you said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not
+      love me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say you know me,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;and yet you think it possible that I
+      could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and sympathetic
+      heart has made for your own undoing. Look there&mdash;there&mdash;into
+      that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
+      exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
+      and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark&mdash;a
+      figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and you will see
+      what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which have
+      been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the pain they
+      gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in the future?
+      Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who have been kinder
+      than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune that could befall
+      them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I could be so base.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
+      worthy of being loved of all men in the world,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Ah, sir, cannot
+      you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my affection
+      for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary&mdash;Mary&mdash;this is madness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I feel that you return my affection; but I will
+      put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that you do
+      not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was another pause before he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
+      ordeal? Let me go&mdash;let me go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not until you answer me&mdash;not until I have proved you. Look into my
+      eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, dear child&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cannot speak those words.&rdquo; There was another long silence. The
+      terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
+      are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
+      maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
+      whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
+      before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
+      expectation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
+      way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
+      said slowly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
+      the room&mdash;out of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much of
+      the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
+      impulse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he did not
+      return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became alarmed. He had
+      only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went out; he had left no
+      line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
+      still-room, he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She told him the truth&mdash;as much of the truth as she could tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid that his running away was due to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If so, I
+      shall never forgive myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can be your meaning, my dear?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;I thought that you and
+      he had always been the closest friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,&rdquo; said
+      she. &ldquo;You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance of
+      Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and begged
+      of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the proposal of
+      Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I heard nothing of that,&rdquo; said he, with a look of astonishment. &ldquo;And so I
+      suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
+      said something that offended him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She held down her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should be ashamed of yourself,&rdquo; said he &ldquo;Have you not seen long ago
+      that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ashamed of myself,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I shall never forgive myself for my
+      harshness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will not bring him back,&rdquo; said her brother-in-law. &ldquo;Oh! it is always
+      the best of friends who part in this fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
+      so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
+      felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
+      induce him to return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
+      back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
+      face was very grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw the poor fellow,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I found him at his chambers in Brick
+      Court. He is very ill indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, too ill to be moved?&rdquo; she cried. He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Far too ill to be moved,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never saw a man in worse condition.
+      He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks before now,
+      and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love to you and to
+      Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His rudeness! his rudeness!&rdquo; said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
+      tears. &ldquo;Oh, my poor friend&mdash;my poor friend!&rdquo; She did not tell her
+      sister all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very
+      anxious to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had
+      seen him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him
+      had promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change
+      to the country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the postboy's
+      horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a letter from the
+      doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
+      Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
+      sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand&mdash;poems addressed to her&mdash;the
+      love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
+      hopeless years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She started up, crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me&mdash;he loves me as I love him&mdash;only
+      his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love&mdash;he loves
+      me, and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
+      sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself&mdash;nay, he has
+      sacrificed himself for me&mdash;for me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear&mdash;dear sister,&rdquo; said Katherine, &ldquo;is it possible that you&mdash;you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I loved him, do you ask?&rdquo; cried Mary, raising her head. &ldquo;Yes, I
+      loved him&mdash;I love him still&mdash;I shall never love any one else,
+      and I am going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good&mdash;God will
+      be good. My love shall live until I go to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor child!&rdquo; said her sister. &ldquo;I could never have guessed your secret.
+      Come away. We will go to him together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
+      together to Brick Court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
+      Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not tell me that I am too late&mdash;for God's sake say that he still
+      lives!&rdquo; cried Mary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at the
+      girl, and the girl understood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw herself into her sister's arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is dead!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
+      that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
+      Presence,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but I
+      know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the thought
+      of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever lived. Ah,
+      there was none like him&mdash;a man of such sweet simplicity that every
+      word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his works; you
+      and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not less than
+      those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the Son who on
+      earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went with her sister among the weeping men and women&mdash;he had been
+      a friend to all&mdash;up the stairs and into the darkened room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      THE END.
+    </h3>
+    <div style="height: 6em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51951 ***</div>
+  </body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+Title: The Jessamy Bride
+
+Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951]
+Last Updated: March 13, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger from page images generously
+provided by the Internet Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+
+By Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+Author Of “The Impudent Comedian,” Etc.
+
+With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
+
+New York
+
+Duffield & Company
+
+1906
+
+[Illustration: 0001]
+
+[Illustration: 0008]
+
+[Illustration: 0009]
+
+THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are
+a company of intelligent men--although I allow that we should have
+difficulty in proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down
+with a Scotchman--and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
+intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
+ignorance and maintained by sophistry.”
+
+“Why, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even
+the most intelligent of men--whom I take to be myself--is interfered
+with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
+another.”
+
+Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
+Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced--with some
+care--that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile in
+the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
+faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
+conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind,
+and the latter--as Burke perceived in a moment--was solemn in mimicry of
+Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on his chair
+and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell turned an
+eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so that he
+might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon Garrick's
+face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right hand that
+he put behind his ear.
+
+Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
+Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious
+and unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their
+heads in the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces
+were identical as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who
+is greatly grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures
+worked by the same machinery, they turned their heads again toward
+Johnson.
+
+“Sir,” said Johnson, “your endeavour to evade the consequences of
+maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching
+upon mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
+intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I
+cannot permit to pass unrebuked.”
+
+“Nay, sir,” cried Boswell, eagerly, “I cannot believe that Dr.
+Goldsmith's intention was so monstrous.”
+
+“And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
+positive proof that the contrary is the case,” roared Johnson.
+
+“Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Men have been hanged on less,” remarked Burke. “But, to return to the
+original matter, I should like to know upon what facts----”
+
+“Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art
+would indeed be a departure,” said Goldsmith solemnly. “I cannot
+countenance a proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.”
+
+“And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
+you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?” said
+Garrick.
+
+“Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so--that's not just the
+same thing,” laughed Goldsmith.
+
+“Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
+imagination,” said Reynolds. “That is the most satisfactory
+arrangement.”
+
+“Yes, for the author,” said Burke. “Some time ago it was the book which
+was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.”
+
+“These sallies are all very well in their way,” said Garrick, “but their
+brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that
+Dr. Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
+included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses
+no more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with
+the exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
+statesman--another branch of the same profession--and therefore we are
+vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.”
+
+“The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,” said
+Johnson. “It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence--nay, even to
+Boswell's--that acting is a trick, not a profession--a diversion, not
+an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended to the
+contrary.”
+
+“It must only have been in sport, sir,” said Boswell mildly.
+
+“Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,” cried Johnson, “but
+he has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
+having you as his advocate.”
+
+“Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce
+an opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,” said
+Goldsmith. “His fine sense of humour----”
+
+“Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
+return from Corsica?” shouted Johnson.
+
+“Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,” said Garrick,
+“but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of
+a wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied
+by Mr. Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as
+outcasts because we happen to be actors?”
+
+“Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,” cried Johnson. “And good enough
+for you too, you rascal!”
+
+“And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
+become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who
+have relations in the church, to make such an assertion,” said Johnson
+sternly. “What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in
+your estimation?”
+
+“The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither
+could the stage look for another Garrick?” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street
+delighted the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,” cried Johnson; and
+when he perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay
+back in his chair and roared with laughter.
+
+Reynolds took snuff.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the
+puppets--I heard him myself,” said Boswell.
+
+“That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
+that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,”
+ said Burke. “You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr.
+Boswell. But to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith;
+surely, Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of genius is at least
+on a level with a musician of genius.”
+
+“Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
+satisfy you,” replied Johnson.
+
+“Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that
+of Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,” said Burke.
+
+“Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and
+Piozzi the ill luck to be an Italian,” replied Johnson. “Sir, 't is no
+use affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the
+arts. I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that
+you actually believe what your words would imply.”
+
+“You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,” said Goldsmith: “whether you will
+have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.”
+
+“I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space,
+just as there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really
+interesting to me personally,” said Garrick, rising; “but the fact is
+that I rashly made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for
+perhaps twenty minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some
+agreement on a matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr.
+Burke and myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.”
+
+He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal
+education in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
+
+“If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I
+can bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,” said
+Goldsmith.
+
+“The dog is well enough,” said Johnson; “but he has need to be kept in
+his place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him
+in his place he will tolerate as he does mine.”
+
+“And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?” asked Goldsmith.
+“Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
+as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
+we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?”
+
+“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “your question is as ridiculous as anything you
+have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say
+a good deal.”
+
+“What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his
+attempts to shine,” whispered Boswell to Burke.
+
+“'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice
+heard in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,” said Burke.
+
+“Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?” asked Boswell.
+
+“A Niagara?” said Burke. “Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it
+in his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a
+Niagara is.”
+
+“Sir,” said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
+undertone. “Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+The conversation took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the
+Strand, where the party had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as
+good company as usual. There was a general feeling that he had rarely
+insulted Boswell so frequently in the course of a single evening--but
+then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself open to insult as he had upon
+this evening--and when he had finished with the Scotchman, he turned
+his attention to Garrick, the opportunity being afforded him by Oliver
+Goldsmith, who had been unguarded enough to say a word or two regarding
+that which he termed “the art of acting.”
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,” cried the great dictator.
+“Who gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
+acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler
+who kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist.
+Madame Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight
+rope, will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter--nay, every poodle that
+dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.”
+
+It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission
+of acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as
+Johnson asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made;
+it was in vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included
+among the arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the
+standing of artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose
+that the tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their
+claims to be on a level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of
+humanity. Dr. Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to
+him most courteously by his friends.
+
+Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told
+Burke he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was
+thoroughly Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and
+eminently capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements
+of a clubable man.
+
+He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
+in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who,
+as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of
+theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
+he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
+successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
+distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
+
+He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what
+Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
+
+“Pray, sir,” said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
+ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was
+as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. “Pray, sir, is there any evidence
+among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was
+imperishable?”
+
+“Sir,” said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, “there is evidence that
+the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_
+at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.”
+
+“Well, sir?” said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
+
+“Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such
+an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to
+accept the offer of a dinner,” said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest
+manner.
+
+Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally.
+He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from
+Johnson.
+
+“Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,” he murmured, but in
+no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every
+one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was
+necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he
+was the recipient.
+
+“Come, Goldy,” cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, “you must
+not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
+better of you in the argument.”
+
+“Argument, sir?” said Goldsmith. “I protest that I was not aware that
+any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
+argument, Doctor.”
+
+“'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr.
+Boswell, sir,” said Johnson, with a twinkle.
+
+“The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
+the wolf,” muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
+for his Animated Nature.
+
+At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
+to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
+to obtain permission to join the party.
+
+“My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?” said
+Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
+
+“Why, sir,” said Boswell, “you have told us more than once that you had
+a cousin who was a dignitary of the church.”
+
+“Have I, indeed?” said Goldsmith. “Then I suppose, if I said so, this
+must be the very man. A Dean, is he?”
+
+“Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common
+room of a tavern,” said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any
+sudden addition to his audience of an evening. “If your relation were an
+Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
+the order to show him into this room.” Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
+He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone
+told the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face
+undoubtedly wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any
+of his friends, before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and
+somewhat undersized clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands
+and apron of a dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect
+carriage that gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was
+white, but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in
+one eye.
+
+The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward.
+It contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table
+twenty minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver,
+perceived in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to
+that with which Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A
+little jerk which the visitor gave in raising his head was laughably
+like a motion made by Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, “I entreat of
+you to be seated.” His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
+although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made
+an attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have
+regarded him as sincere. “Nay, gentlemen, I insist,” continued the
+stranger; “you embarrass me with your courtesy.”
+
+“Sir,” said Johnson, “you will not find that any company over which I
+have the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.”
+
+“I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,” said the stranger, with a
+deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
+of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. “Ah! I do not need to ask which
+of this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly--I beg your pardon,
+Oliver--ah, old times--old times!” He had caught Goldsmith's hands
+in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
+Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of
+a smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long
+silence that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an
+element of pathos.
+
+Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
+all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was
+now worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
+
+“I ask your pardon, sir,” he said, gravely, “but--sir, I am a
+painter--my name is Reynolds--and--well, sir, the family resemblance
+between you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith--a resemblance that
+perhaps only a painter's eye could detect--seemed to me so extraordinary
+as you stood together, that----”
+
+“Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried the visitor. “My
+cousin Oliver and I have not met for--how many years is it, Nolly? Not
+eleven--no, it cannot be eleven--and yet----”
+
+“Ah, sir,” said Oliver, “time is fugitive--very fugitive.”
+
+He shook his head sadly.
+
+“I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
+wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,” said the stranger.
+“But you must present me to your friends, Noll--Oliver, I mean. You,
+sir”--he turned to Reynolds--“have told me your name. Am I fortunate
+enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no
+doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am your
+servant. And you, sir”--he turned to Burke--“I seem to have seen your
+face somewhere--it is strangely familiar----”
+
+“That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,” said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
+recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of
+pride, as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The
+clergyman made precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying----
+
+“What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty--the friend of the
+people?”
+
+“The same, sir,” said Oliver. “He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
+Goldsmith.”
+
+“Then he is my friend also,” said the clergyman. “Sir, to be in a
+position to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.”
+
+“You do me great honor, sir,” said Burke.
+
+Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
+Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so
+far neglected.
+
+“Mr. Burke, you are our countryman--Oliver's and mine--and I know you
+are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have a talk
+with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?”
+
+“With all my power, sir,” said Burke. “Give me your hand again, sir.
+Mrs. Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an
+honour upon the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.”
+
+“You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
+you work with your arm that way?”
+
+“There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,” said Oliver.
+
+“They can wait,” cried Mr. Dean. “They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
+Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
+mortified at what I have said.”
+
+“This is Mr. Boswell, sir,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Mr. Boswell--of where, sir?”
+
+“Mr. Boswell, of--of Scotland, sir.”
+
+“Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre.
+Your clergymen might be better employed, Mr.--Mr.----”
+
+“Boswell, sir.”
+
+“Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you
+ever visit your country again--a remote possibility, from all that I can
+learn of your countrymen.”
+
+“Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'----” began
+Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
+
+“What, you would condone his offence?” he cried. “The fact of your
+having a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still
+sadly lax in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.”
+
+“And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,” said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
+
+His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
+bowing profoundly.
+
+“Dr. Johnson,” he cried, “I have long desired to meet you, sir.”
+
+“I am your servant, Mr. Dean,” said Johnson, towering above him as he
+got--somewhat awkwardly--upon his feet. “No gentleman of your cloth,
+sir--leaving aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in
+the church to which you have attained--fails to obtain my respect.”
+
+“I am glad of that, sir,” said the Dean. “It shows that you, though
+a Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal
+on behalf of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not
+disposed to relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration
+for the church.”
+
+“Sir,” said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
+“Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable.
+I am not a Non-conformist--on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
+quarter.”
+
+“Sir,” said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke
+to a subordinate. “Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened
+country and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you
+in the company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe
+that you were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of
+conscience. I regret that I was mistaken.”
+
+“Sir!” cried Goldsmith, in great consternation--for Johnson was rendered
+speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, instead
+of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. “Sir, this is the
+great Dr. Johnson--nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.”
+
+“'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
+weak,” said the clergyman, smiling. “Well, well, we will take the honest
+gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one
+sense: he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one
+scale. To such greatness we would do well to bow.”
+
+“Heavens, sir!” said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in
+it. “Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?”
+
+“Alas! sir,” said the stranger, “I am but a country parson. I cannot be
+expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
+Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you,
+Mr.--Mr.--ah! you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though
+I doubt not you are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you
+written that entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence
+of such gentlemen as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and--I add with
+pride--Oliver Goldsmith?”
+
+“I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,” muttered Boswell.
+
+“And he has doubtless greatness enough--avoirdupois--to serve for both!
+Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to speak for
+himself, tell me what he has written.”
+
+“He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
+Corsica,” said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
+
+“And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy
+altitude in literature?”
+
+“You are surely jesting, sir,” said Goldsmith. “The world is familiar
+with Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.”
+
+“Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no
+need for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the
+work appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?”
+
+[Illustration: 0037]
+
+But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up
+a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown
+and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his
+wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
+
+“Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
+with greater tenderness,” said the clergyman. “I would fain hope that
+the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the
+work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?”
+
+“Eighteen years ago,” said Oliver.
+
+“And what books has he written within the intervening years?”
+
+“He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
+our authors.”
+
+“Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
+eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You,
+cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be
+without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable
+list; but your friend--oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!--he is no true
+worker in literature, or he would--nay, he could not, have remained idle
+all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not
+use his pen?”
+
+“He has a pension from the King, sir,” stuttered Oliver. “I tell you,
+sir, he is the most learned man in Europe.”
+
+“His is a sad case,” said the clergyman. “To refrain from administering
+to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious
+duty.” He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head.
+Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's
+jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. “Dr.
+Johnson,” said the stranger, “I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman
+to urge upon you to amend your way of life.”
+
+“Sir,” shouted Johnson, “if you were not a clergyman I would say that
+you were a very impertinent fellow!”
+
+“Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience--if you have
+one--tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the
+knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
+room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
+acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
+have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
+friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
+friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
+though they are workers--not without honour--at that profession of
+letters which you despise--nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not
+despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life
+to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a
+pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
+of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr.
+Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think
+you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those
+tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down
+all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your
+love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I
+leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my
+leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have
+not spoken in vain.”
+
+He made a general bow--an awkward bow--and walked with some dignity to
+the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+When he had disappeared, the room was very silent.
+
+Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
+buried in his hands, started up, crying out, “'Rasse-las, Prince
+of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he
+published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?” He ran to the door and
+opened it, calling downstairs: “'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!”
+ “Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!”
+
+“Sir!” came the roar of Dr. Johnson. “Close that door and return to your
+chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
+which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
+decently.”
+
+Goldsmith shut the door.
+
+“I did you a gross injustice, sir,” said he, returning slowly to the
+table. “I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book
+since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the
+moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'”
+
+“If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force
+of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson. “If I am
+suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
+volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
+industry.”
+
+“Those who know you, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “do not need any evidence of
+your industry. As for that man----”
+
+“Let the man alone, sir,” thundered Johnson.
+
+“Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?” said Boswell.
+
+“Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next
+to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's;
+and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.”
+
+“Oh, no, sir,” said Boswell. “We deny your generous plea of
+justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written
+even within the year.”
+
+“Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the--well, the less I think of
+them, if you will allow me the paradox,” said Johnson. “Sir, the man
+is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey
+my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can
+forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my
+Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?”
+
+“His name, sir, his name?” faltered Goldsmith.
+
+“Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,” said Johnson.
+
+“His name, sir, is--is--God help me, sir, I know not what is his name.”
+
+“Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell
+tells me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did
+so in a spirit of boasting, you erred.”
+
+For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
+in a low tone:
+
+“The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.”
+
+“Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,” cried Boswell. “You boasted
+of him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.”
+
+“Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,” said Burke with a smile.
+
+“His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
+nature are maintained when one hears his voice,” remarked Goldsmith in a
+low tone.
+
+“Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,” said Reynolds as the door was opened
+and Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced
+to the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before.
+“Mr. Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.”
+
+“Whatever he may be on some other points,” remarked Burke.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Garrick, “you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
+you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May
+I inquire the reason of the difference?”
+
+“You may not, sir!” shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
+acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that
+it would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he
+knew that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick
+were to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene
+for the entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had
+heard more than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield
+had created by his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson,
+played an important part. He had been congratulating himself upon the
+fortunate absence of the actor during the visit of the clergyman.
+
+“You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,” he repeated, as Garrick looked
+with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
+
+“Sir,” said Boswell, “my veracity is called in question.”
+
+“What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
+that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?” cried Johnson.
+
+“Nay, sir, one question,” said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
+“Mr. Garrick--have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for a
+relative?”
+
+“Why, no, sir,” replied Garrick; “but I heard him say that he had a
+brother who deserved to be a Dean.”
+
+“And so I had,” cried Goldsmith. “Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
+poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.”
+
+“I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
+concerned,” said Johnson; “but it seemed to me that some of the man's
+gestures--nay, some of the tones of his voice as well--resembled those
+of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table noticed
+the similarity to which I allude.”
+
+“I certainly noticed it,” cried Boswell eagerly.
+
+“Your evidence is not admissible, sir,” said Johnson. “What does Sir
+Joshua Reynolds say?”
+
+“Why, sir,” said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick,
+“I confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
+regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
+was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.”
+
+“But if not, sir, how can you account for----”
+
+Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
+
+“Be silent, sir,” he thundered. “If you have left your manners in
+Scotland in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for
+the gift was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country
+in that respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken
+touching this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in
+the light of a personal affront.”
+
+After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
+
+“I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the
+past half-hour than any of this company.”
+
+“Well, Davy,” said Johnson, “the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
+dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been,
+sir, and of what nature was your diversion?”
+
+“Sir,” said Garrick, “I have been with a poet.”
+
+“So have we, sir--with the greatest poet alive--the author of 'The
+Deserted Village'--and yet you enter to find us immoderately glum,” said
+Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he did not
+regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he quite
+believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
+relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
+
+“Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick.
+“Mine was only a sort of poet.”
+
+“And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?” asked Boswell.
+
+“A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,” replied
+Garrick.
+
+He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
+for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who
+was anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just
+written. The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house
+in the Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was
+short, it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated
+by Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
+
+“A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman--he wore
+the bands and apron of a Dean,” he continued, “not seeming to notice the
+little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
+grasped me by the arm,” he continued, “doubtless recognising me from
+my portraits--for he said he had never seen me act--and then began an
+harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
+that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction
+than my neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith,
+gentlemen, he took it quite as a family grievance.” Suddenly he paused,
+and looked around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest
+were grave. A thought seemed to strike the narrator. “What!” he cried,
+“it is not possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin,
+the Dean, regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so, 'tis
+an extraordinary coincidence that I should have encountered
+him--unless--good heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here
+when I had thrown him off?”
+
+“Sir,” cried Oliver, “I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no
+Dean, entered this room!”
+
+“Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court
+on your return,” said Garrick. “Oh, yes, Doctor!--a small man with the
+family bow of the Goldsmiths--something like this.” He gave a comical
+reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
+
+“I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of
+mine,” protested Goldsmith.
+
+“And let that be the end of the matter,” declared Johnson, with no lack
+of decisiveness in his voice.
+
+“Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman
+again,” laughed Garrick. “I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was
+endeavouring to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version
+of 'The Deserted Village'--he said he had the version at his lodging,
+and meant to read it to his cousin--I ask your pardon, sir, but he said
+'cousin.'”
+
+“Sir, let us have no more of this--cousin or no cousin,” roared Johnson.
+
+“That is my prayer, sir--I utter it with all my heart and soul,” said
+Garrick. “It was about my poet I meant to speak--my poet and his play.
+What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as the
+subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?”
+
+“I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme
+of theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that
+scoundrel Foote,” said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite
+himself again, and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with
+that finality which carried conviction with it--yes, to James Boswell.
+
+For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details
+of his interview with the poet who--according to his account--had
+designed the drama of “Otaheite” in order to afford Garrick an
+opportunity of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in
+feathers, and beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while
+he delivered a series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to
+Mars, Vulcan and Diana.
+
+“The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,” said Garrick. “My poet
+explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to
+his advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess;
+and when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite
+could know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea
+Islanders were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights
+in the Pagan mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that
+the Romans should claim a monopoly of Diana.”
+
+Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's
+contention was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief
+to his mind to have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the
+argument, though he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in
+the poet's argument.
+
+He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
+question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
+of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
+mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
+hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
+force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
+originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
+tragedy.
+
+When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson
+apart--greatly to the pique of Boswell--and said--
+
+“Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
+will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
+you.”
+
+“You deserve no favour, Goldy,” said Johnson, laying his hand on the
+little man's shoulder, “and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants
+you one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your
+debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting
+you a favour.”
+
+“You say everything better than any living man, sir,” cried Goldsmith.
+“How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
+suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am
+anxious to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I
+have written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.”
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, “we have been good friends for several
+years now.”
+
+“Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.”
+
+“Undoubtedly, sir--long before you became recognised as the most
+melodious of our poets--the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote
+the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your
+second--nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be
+damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of
+'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith.”
+
+Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
+his eyes and his voice as he said--
+
+“Your generosity overpowers me, sir.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+Boswell, who was standing to one side watching---his eyes full of
+curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word--the little
+scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care
+that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's
+house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly;
+but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own
+capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets
+which had been exchanged in the corner.
+
+For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object--nay,
+when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
+Johnson turned upon him, saying--
+
+“Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell
+you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man,
+woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be
+a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger,
+who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by
+you, sir.”
+
+Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
+good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month
+of inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during
+the summer.
+
+The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
+Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house
+in Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through
+Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was
+very eloquent in his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who,
+he said, in spite of the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an
+impostor calling himself his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to
+receive the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, who understood the
+temperament of his countryman, felt that he himself might surpass in
+eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he took for his text the magnanimity
+of the author of “The Good Natured Man.” He, however, refrained from the
+attempt to prove to his companion that there were other ways by which a
+man could gain a reputation for generosity than by permitting the most
+distinguished writer of the age to dedicate a comedy to him.
+
+Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
+quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds
+was as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at
+a corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of
+ear-shot, he laid his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he
+said--
+
+“You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
+friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy--the greatest
+genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, and there
+never will be another such.”
+
+“Sir,” said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon
+his face, every gesture that he made corresponding. “Sir, I protest that
+you are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it,
+but as for the rascality--well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both
+a great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
+example, but----”
+
+“Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
+device as that bow which you made, Davy,” said Reynolds. “It presented
+before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths--all made in the same fashion
+as our friend on in front, and all striving---and not unsuccessfully,
+either--to maintain the family tradition of the Goldsmith bow. And
+then your imitation of your imitation of the same movement--how did we
+contain ourselves--Burke and I?”
+
+“You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?” said Garrick.
+
+“I'm convinced that he did.”
+
+“But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.”
+
+“You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
+tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.”
+
+“You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
+certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to
+him and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson
+and never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.”
+
+“You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
+David.”
+
+“It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device,
+my friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
+Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are
+others who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man
+to offer an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.”
+
+“He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.”
+
+“And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
+attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
+man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow
+a bad word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole
+dozen could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our
+friend Mr. Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of
+generosity because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at
+them, but preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I
+would rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of
+a dozen yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such
+as Bunbury. On the same principle, I have no particular liking to be
+preserved to make sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that
+literary three-decker, Johnson.”
+
+“I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
+schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.”
+
+“That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up
+my mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an
+actor being a degrading-one--about an actor being on the level with a
+fiddler--nay, one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old
+schoolmaster a more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it
+is probable that he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain
+truths which were told to him by the Dean.”
+
+“And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
+Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled
+by that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
+characteristics of the Goldsmith family.”
+
+“Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour--declaring that he had
+never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?”
+
+“Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
+magnanimous, David--as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an arm,
+plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a grain
+or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I have
+seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
+commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
+force the immorality of the whole proceeding.”
+
+They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
+and Burke--the former still talking eagerly--having waited for them to
+come up.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Reynolds, “you have all gone out of your accustomed
+way to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
+refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
+opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
+Betty Hamilton.”
+
+“_O matre pulchra filia pulchrior_” said Goldsmith; but there was not
+much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been
+the loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
+Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
+
+Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
+servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out
+by the servant.
+
+He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
+
+“Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,” he cried, “I have to entreat your forgiveness
+for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
+absence.”
+
+“Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,” said Sir Joshua.
+“I cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.”
+
+“The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
+picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made
+a point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside
+when she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.”
+
+“I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
+to your Lordship's eye,” said Sir Joshua.
+
+“The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,” said the young man, but
+with no great show of ardour. “It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also
+a beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side
+of the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick--two birds with the one stone, you
+know?”
+
+“True, sir,” said Garrick. “Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.”
+
+“That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,” said the young
+man. “Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at
+the Pantheon to-night.”
+
+“Is it not a mask?” said Garrick.
+
+“Nay, finer sport even than that,” laughed the youth. “We are going to
+do more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in
+twenty years, sir.”
+
+“At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?” inquired Garrick.
+
+“Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,”
+ cried Lord Stanley. “Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
+acquainted with them?”
+
+“Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick.
+
+“I have often longed for that privilege,” said Lord Stanley, bowing
+in reply to the salutation of the others. “Mr. Burke's speech on the
+Marriage Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always
+been my favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another,
+Dr. Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
+distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
+invite you all to the Pantheon--here are tickets to the show. You will
+give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night when
+Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.”
+
+“Alas, my Lord,” said Garrick, “that privilege will be in the hands of
+Mr. Col-man.”
+
+“What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
+you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to
+act my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.”
+
+He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with
+an air of mystery.
+
+“What does he mean?” asked Reynolds.
+
+“That is what I have been asking myself,” replied Garrick. “By heavens,
+I have it!” he cried after a pause of a few moments. “I have heard
+rumours of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers
+of the Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of
+Vauxhall and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the
+entrance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the
+leader of the scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also
+one of the plot. Let us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss
+being-present for the world.”
+
+“I am not so eager,” said Sir Joshua. “I have my work to engage me early
+in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to
+be on foot.”
+
+“I have not, thank heaven!” cried Garrick; “nor has Dr. Goldsmith,
+I'll swear. As for Burke--well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
+seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.”
+
+“We need a frolic,” cried Goldsmith. “God knows we had a dull enough
+dinner at the Crown and Anchor.”
+
+“An Irishman and a frolic are like--well, let us say like Lady Betty and
+your macaw, Sir Joshua,” said Burke. “They go together very naturally.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+Sir Joshua entered his house, and the others hastened northward to the
+Oxford road, where the Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a
+year for the entertainment of the fashionable world--a more fashionable
+world, it was hoped, than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh
+and Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and
+fashion sought their entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly
+Rooms when the weather failed to allow of their meeting at the two great
+public gardens. But as the government of the majority of these places
+invariably became lax--there was only one Beau Nash who had the
+cleverness to perceive that an autocracy was the only possible form of
+government for such assemblies--the committee of the Pantheon determined
+to frame so strict a code of rules, bearing upon the admission of
+visitors, as should, they believed, prevent the place from falling to
+the low level of the gardens.
+
+In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
+there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
+excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
+maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
+most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed
+to enter.
+
+The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions
+as eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
+sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going
+to those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such
+persons understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be
+optimists in regard to the question of the possibility of combining
+Puritanism and promiscuous entertainments terminating long after
+midnight. They hailed the arrival of the time when innocent recreation
+would not be incompatible with the display of the richest dresses or the
+most sumptuous figures.
+
+But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
+the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
+best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
+the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
+published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
+artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility
+of actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually
+scandalous.
+
+While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
+declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
+resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
+affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying
+out of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make
+the management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in
+endeavouring to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
+
+When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the
+thoroughfare was then called, the result of this meeting was making
+itself felt. The road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for
+something unusual to occur, though of what form it was to assume no
+one seemed to be aware. The crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They
+cheered heartily every coach that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed
+ladies to the Pantheon and to other and less public entertainments.
+They waved their hats over the chairs which, similarly burdened, went
+swinging along between the bearers, footmen walking on each side
+and link-boys running in advance, the glare of their torches giving
+additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows who had the
+chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an officer of the
+Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and occasionally a
+jostling match took place between some supercilious young beau and the
+apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force his way.
+More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of the
+lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
+next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
+with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
+Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick,
+drew his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the
+crowd. It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a
+space was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was
+thrown to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy
+dropped upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the
+crowd cheered and jeered in turn.
+
+At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
+frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
+dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
+use both.
+
+But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road,
+all the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object,
+and there was a cry of, “Here they come--here she comes--a cheer for
+Mrs. Baddeley!”
+
+“O Lord,” cried Garrick, “they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
+Baddeley for their experiment!”
+
+“Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,” said Goldsmith.
+“They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs.
+Baddeley. There are many gradations in colour between black and white.”
+
+“But not between black and White's,” said Burke. “This notion is well
+worthy of the wit of White's.”
+
+“Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,” said
+Garrick. “But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
+cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.”
+
+“That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene
+as this,” said Burke. “Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week
+after to-night.”
+
+“By my soul!” cried Goldsmith, “she looks as if she would give double
+that sum to be safe at home in bed.”
+
+The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
+the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
+through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance
+in front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold
+and silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
+gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed,
+and they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one
+side was the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr.
+Hanger, equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was
+immediately behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of
+the lady's escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
+
+The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was
+seated, smiling----“Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,” Burke
+remarked.
+
+“Oh, yes,” cried Goldsmith, “she was always the better actress. I am
+fortunate in having her in my new comedy.”
+
+“The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,” said
+Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
+several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
+
+“And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
+the Duchesses,” said Burke.
+
+“My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
+sway,” said Garrick. “I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
+will emancipate him.”
+
+“If so he is in error,” said Burke. “The Duchess of Argyll will never
+let him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady
+Betty.”
+
+“Till then, do you say?” said Goldsmith. “Faith, sir, if he fancies he
+will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had
+a very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady
+is most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
+Reynolds.”
+
+The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to
+Lady Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be
+a _fait accompli_; but there were rumours that the young man had of
+late been making an effort to release himself--that it was only with
+difficulty the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon
+her daughter, whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
+
+The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
+crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
+friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
+dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
+gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
+plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
+
+It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
+that a voice cried--
+
+“Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow
+them to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!” The
+discordant note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment
+a seasonable one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
+
+The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up
+a shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a
+Methodist service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with
+which the early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another
+direction a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as
+well as men; but above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the
+preacher was heard.
+
+“By my soul,” said Garrick, “that effect is strikingly dramatic. I
+should like to find some one who would give me a play with such a
+scene.”
+
+A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in
+the act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned
+suddenly round.
+
+“I'll take your order, sir,” he cried. “Only you will have to pay me
+handsomely.”
+
+“What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
+escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?” said Garrick.
+
+“Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,” cried Captain Horneck--Goldsmith's
+“Captain in lace.”
+
+“If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
+would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to
+my Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
+happen.” Then he turned to Goldsmith. “Come along, Nolly, my friend,” he
+cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; “if you want a scene for
+your new comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not
+wearing the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to
+be resisted, whatever you wear.”
+
+“You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,” said
+Goldsmith. “I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
+stop at the porch of the Pantheon.”
+
+“As a matter of course you will come,” said young Horneck. “Let us
+hasten out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin
+to preach!”
+
+He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
+arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as
+they could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his
+companion, that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but
+for the fact that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord
+Albemarle, and that his mother had entreated him not to do anything that
+might jeopardise the match.
+
+“You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,” said Garrick.
+
+“Nay,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
+means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
+would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that
+his act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.”
+
+“You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,” said the Captain.
+“Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
+But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty
+and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.”
+
+“Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,” said Burke.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being
+under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have
+had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building,
+where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed
+his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the
+people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little
+way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of
+the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and
+cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just
+as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down.
+
+The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed
+in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a
+line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped
+out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked
+between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered
+the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy
+than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at
+that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition.
+
+Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the “business” of the part which she had
+to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding
+herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick
+standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he
+bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit
+was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a
+_grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her
+hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying--
+
+“La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's
+the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?”
+
+“Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,” said Garrick
+gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
+porch.
+
+The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
+serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
+collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
+side of the lady.
+
+“Madam,” he cried, “honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
+What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
+visitor?” he shouted to the liveried porter.
+
+“Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,”
+ replied the man.
+
+“Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,” said the young
+gentleman. “Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.”
+
+“I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,” replied the man.
+
+“Nay, Mr. Hanger,” replied the frightened actress, “I wish not to be the
+cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, “I know that it is not
+your will that we should come in active contest with the representatives
+of authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that
+our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?” When
+the cries of assent came to an end he continued, “Then, sirs, the
+responsibility for bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords
+to the front! You will touch no man with a point unless he oppose you.
+Should a constable assault any of this company you will run him through
+without mercy. Now, gentlemen.”
+
+In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and
+in that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
+moments stood irresolute, but then--the points of a dozen swords were
+within a yard of their breasts--lowered their staves and slipped quietly
+aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt to
+withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
+went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
+
+To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from
+the thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort
+walked through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being
+sheathed at the entrance.
+
+It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
+rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
+of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to
+look scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave
+the assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose
+first husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively
+plain, in spite of their masks of paint and powder.
+
+The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of
+her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
+twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess
+of Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of
+a body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
+anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had
+no touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her
+complexion, and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add
+to their silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the
+cold whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose.
+The solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that
+she made with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that
+lovely woman.
+
+Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
+small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
+Duchess's elegance and distinction.
+
+Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at
+the lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her
+body guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her,
+they exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess
+even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster
+shrugged her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a
+Frenchwoman.
+
+Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
+also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying--
+
+“Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
+her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
+frightened away.”
+
+Captain Horneck had gone up to his _fiancee_.
+
+“You were not in that creature's train, I hope,” said the lady.
+
+“I? Dear child, for what do you take me?” he said. “No, I certainly was
+not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.”
+
+“If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
+you the impropriety,” said she.
+
+(She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than
+a year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
+
+By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and
+now returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where
+Mrs. Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
+
+“Madam,” said Lord Conway, “these gentlemen are anxious to offer you
+their sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and
+to express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour
+them by your patronage.”
+
+And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the
+management, with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling
+actress.
+
+“And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,” said Lord Stanley. “She
+agreed to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.”
+
+“She can take very good care of herself,” said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
+curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to
+underrate the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to
+divide the honours attached to her position with another woman, much
+less with one who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself.
+“Mrs. Abington is a little timid, my Lord,” she continued; “she may not
+find herself quite at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place,
+to be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better
+taste.”
+
+But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was
+conveyed to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of
+the honours which were being done to the lady who had entered the room,
+and when this news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through
+the porch to the side of her sister actress.
+
+And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll
+and Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two
+actresses, offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them
+frequently at the assemblies in the rotunda.
+
+The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
+condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
+their shoulders once more.
+
+Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
+disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew
+that the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the
+Duchess's daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity
+of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible
+suitors were growing scarce?
+
+Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played
+under his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy,
+and he was compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more
+highly finished exhibition of this form of art.
+
+His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
+Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
+liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to
+remain in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious
+to see what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and
+his friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the
+part of the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke,
+he heard a merry voice behind him saying--
+
+“Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the
+Pantheon?”
+
+“Nay,” cried another voice, “Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing
+of a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
+century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on
+the Oxford road.”
+
+He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
+handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
+
+“Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride--and my sweet Little Comedy!” he cried, as
+the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act
+of making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
+Katherine--the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. “Mrs. Horneck, madam,
+I am your servant--and don't I look your servant, too,” he added,
+remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
+
+“You look always the same good friend,” said the lady.
+
+“Nay,” laughed Mrs. Bunbury, “if he were your servant he would take
+care, for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it
+is not that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something
+gorgeous. What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?”
+
+(His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
+Bun-burys.)
+
+“Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
+company, madam,” said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. “But
+a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
+to-night.” He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses
+and their admirers.
+
+Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
+
+“The air is tainted,” said Goldsmith, solemnly.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. “'T is as you
+say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.”
+
+“I said not so, madam,” cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. “As
+amusing---amusing----”
+
+“As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,”
+ protested Little Comedy. “Were they not, Mary?”
+
+“Oh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them,”
+ replied the Jessamy Bride.
+
+“There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
+witnesses!” said Mrs. Bunbury.
+
+“I could deny nothing to two such faces,” said Goldsmith, “even though
+one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius
+weeping over the Pantheon.”
+
+“And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
+it?” she inquired, with her chin in the air.
+
+“Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,”
+ said Goldsmith.
+
+“Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,” cried the young
+lady.
+
+“Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,” said
+Oliver.
+
+“That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,”
+ remarked Mary.
+
+“And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the
+Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer,” cried her sister,
+with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well
+qualified to be an exponent.
+
+“'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to
+the Royal Academy of Arts,” said a lady who had come up with Burke at
+that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
+movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
+
+Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
+Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
+unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
+
+“In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,” Goldsmith began, but seeing the
+ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and
+the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
+
+“Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
+Goldsmith?” said Mrs. Thrale.
+
+“Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
+declining to argue out the matter with you,” said the Professor of
+Ancient History.
+
+Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
+quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed
+in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention
+to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who,
+moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in
+accepting her patronage.
+
+She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most
+of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the
+Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
+busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
+injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_,
+she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the
+benefit of her remarks.
+
+Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy,
+pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when,
+suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing
+behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the
+expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as
+she gazed across the rotunda.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object
+was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs.
+Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence
+of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his
+bearing.
+
+Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck
+and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an
+instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
+the girl across the room.
+
+Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
+white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after
+the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy
+of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been
+a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but
+he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely
+noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them;
+and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the
+majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the
+name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently
+interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that
+elaborate bow.
+
+Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star,
+but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
+
+“I have never seen him before,” she said. “I don't think he can be
+any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually
+nobodies--until we come to know them.”
+
+“That is quite reasonable,” said he. “It is a distinction to become your
+friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor
+at the Academy are forgotten.”
+
+His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
+attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
+
+“Heavens, child!” she whispered to her, “what is the matter with you?”
+
+“What should be the matter with me?” said Mary. “What, except--oh, this
+place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
+well ventilated at all times!”
+
+“My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,” said
+Bunbury.
+
+“No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
+moment,” said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. “For heaven's
+sake don't stare so, child,” she added to her sister, making a pitiful
+attempt to laugh.
+
+“But, my dear----” began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary.
+
+“Nay,” she cried, “I will not have our mother alarmed, and--well, every
+one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness
+has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company?
+Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss.
+Lend me your arm, if you please.”
+
+“With all pleasure in life,” cried Oliver.
+
+He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
+greatly she was trembling.
+
+When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister
+and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
+immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
+who had bowed to her.
+
+“Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,” she said. “Take me
+somewhere--some place away from here--any place away from here.”
+
+He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one
+sconce with wax candles was alight.
+
+“Why should you tremble, my dear girl?” said he. “What is there to be
+afraid of? I am your friend--you know that I would die to save you from
+the least trouble.”
+
+“Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” she cried. “I am in no
+trouble--only for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you
+did not come in the bloom-tinted coat after all.”
+
+He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was
+broken only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's
+song--the hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the
+rotunda and around the galleries.
+
+At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying--
+
+“I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend--I wonder what
+you think of your Jessamy Bride.”
+
+“I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,” said he tenderly.
+“But if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may
+be able to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a
+moment. Why, what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry
+in France together?”
+
+“Nothing--nothing has happened--I give you my word upon it,” she
+said. “Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
+frightened--no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have
+not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could not
+understand--psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. Goldsmith;
+girls are foolish creatures.”
+
+“Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?”
+ said he. “Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence?
+Think if it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs
+are concerned, but I feel that for others--for you, my dear--ah, child,
+don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
+poignancy is blunted?”
+
+“I have never had consolation except from you,” said the girl. “But
+this--this--oh, my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's
+soul to enable you to write those lines--
+
+               'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+
+               And finds too late. . . '?”
+
+There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to
+his forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked
+slowly away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than
+a dozen steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of
+indecision, hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying--
+
+“I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.”
+
+“Yes,” she said; “it is only a woman who can think everything that is
+evil about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their
+own destruction, but by women.”
+
+She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
+
+“Let us go away,” she said. “I am sick of this place. There is no corner
+of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever
+any singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song!
+I would pay fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her
+efforts.” Her laugh had a shrill note that caused it to sound very
+pitiful to the man who heard it.
+
+He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
+standing with Burke and her son.
+
+“I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,” said Mrs.
+Horneck. “We have been entranced with its melody.”
+
+“Oh, no; I have missed no note of it--no note. Was there ever anything
+so delicious--so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went homeward,
+mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.”
+
+“At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!”
+ said Burke. “It is the young miss in these days who insists on her
+mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!”
+
+“Mary was always a wise little person,” said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+“Wise? Oh, let us go home!” said the girl wearily.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,” said her
+mother.
+
+Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the
+janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
+
+He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
+lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
+girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
+hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
+
+The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went
+out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While
+Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was
+furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for
+seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so
+clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated,
+bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so
+rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a
+gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if
+to take leave of the ladies.
+
+The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
+staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
+the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered
+wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his
+awkwardness.
+
+“Curse you for a lout!” cried the officer.
+
+Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
+
+“Look you, sir!” he said. “I have offered you my humblest apologies for
+the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to
+say as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir--Oliver
+Goldsmith--and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that we
+are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
+may be.”
+
+The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
+cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish,
+shouted “Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke
+forever!” For both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as
+they were in society.
+
+While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
+in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
+stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand.
+Then he turned to his opponent, saying--
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you
+can let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.”
+
+“Or if it suits you better, sir,” said another gentleman coming to
+Goldsmith's side, “you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
+Clare.”
+
+“My Lord,” cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, “I have no
+quarrel with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in
+the heat of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman
+might not make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I
+have the honour to wish your Lordship good-night.”
+
+He bowed and made his exit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting
+him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let
+him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his
+comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman,
+felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece was so
+inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough to
+sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible.
+
+He read this letter--one of several which he had received from Colman
+during the week prophesying disaster--without impatience, and threw it
+aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save the
+expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
+his lines--
+
+               “When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+
+               And finds too late....”
+
+“Too late----” She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had broken,
+as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had broken,
+when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is enshrined for
+all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress of tears. It
+would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in her eyes.
+Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
+
+What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl
+who had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other
+human being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had
+shown themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing
+himself on the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when
+Little Comedy married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him
+which had begun at Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he
+spent at the Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his
+life.
+
+But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his “Jessamy
+Bride,” drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt
+from the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature--that
+in her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy
+which he sought. More than once she had proved to him that she
+recognised the greatness of his nature--his simplicity, his generosity,
+the tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his
+trustfulness, that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his
+intolerance of hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was
+the note of the most successful productions of the day. Above all,
+he felt that she recognised his true attitude in relation to English
+literature. If he was compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order
+to earn his daily bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English
+literature. How nobly he discharged this debt his “Traveller,” “The
+Vicar of Wakefield,” “The Deserted Village,” and “The Good Natured
+Man” testified at intervals. He felt that he was the truest poet, the
+sincerest dramatist, of the period, and he never allowed the work which
+he was compelled to do for the booksellers to turn him aside from his
+high aims.
+
+It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood
+what his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of
+the world. She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she
+understood him and sympathised with him.
+
+As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
+her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
+time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
+her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
+how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a
+long visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look
+of gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her
+with a letter. “The Vicar of Wakefield” was the book, and she had said--
+
+“You can never, never know what it has been to me--what it has done
+for me.” Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude--of
+affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes
+had overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not
+be easily severed.
+
+[Illustration: 0105]
+
+But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
+song.
+
+What was he to think of her?
+
+One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then,
+on glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
+changed from one of merriment to one of despair--the despair of a bird
+that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
+
+What was he to think of her?
+
+He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of
+her, but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
+certain, brought about her change of mood.
+
+It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
+guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
+going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
+means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep
+the man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
+rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
+
+Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary
+it had proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the
+girls, and he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to
+regard the occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run
+the man through some vital part.
+
+What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the
+very sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him,
+and his too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number
+of answers to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no
+ill of her. He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly
+good. He felt that her concern was on account of some one else who
+might be in the power of that man. He knew how generous she was--how
+sympathetic. He had told her some of his own troubles, and though he did
+so lightly, as was his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing
+of them. Might it not then be that the trouble which affected her was
+not her own, but another's?
+
+Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
+incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
+
+Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow
+whose appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had
+escaped with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an
+ordinary shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how
+he had declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a
+man he would have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but
+design, and would have been ready to fight.
+
+Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of
+the man would be a step in the right direction.
+
+It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the
+morning that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which
+contained some unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the
+details of the news, but he was certain that on receiving it he had a
+definite idea that it was unpleasant. When he now read Colman's
+letter for the second time he found that his recollection of his first
+impression was not at fault. It was just his luck: no man was in the
+habit of writing more joyous letters or receiving more depressing than
+Goldsmith.
+
+He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
+mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
+to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
+could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
+dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
+stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
+interests to be connected with a failure.
+
+This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
+
+“Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
+not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?” he said.
+
+“It might be in respect to most plays, sir,” replied Colman; “but in
+regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
+anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
+this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.”
+
+“I shall try to bear both with fortitude,” said Goldsmith quietly,
+though he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his
+gratuitous predictions of failure--predictions which from the first his
+attitude in regard to the play had contributed to realise. “I should
+like to have a talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,” he added.
+
+“They are in the green room,” said the manager. “I must say that I was
+in hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work
+would enable you to see your way to withdraw it.”
+
+“I decline to withdraw it, sir,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“I have been a manager now for some years,” said Colman, “and, speaking
+from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
+hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
+complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that
+was ever wrote.”
+
+“That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
+appreciate,” said Goldsmith. “Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
+what the people want nowadays is a novelty?”
+
+“Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of
+yours is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's
+the novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words,
+sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young boor--what's the fellow's
+name?--Lumpkin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the
+refinement and sensibility of the period--the fellow who talks of his
+bear only dancing to the genteelest of tunes--all this, Dr. Goldsmith,
+I pledge you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an
+early fall of the curtain.”
+
+“An early fall of the curtain?”
+
+“Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
+beyond that of your pothouse to be set.”
+
+“Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not
+a pothouse.”
+
+“The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.”
+
+“Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
+apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
+through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
+Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.”
+
+“Of _your_ play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
+share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
+having anything to do with its production.”
+
+“If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
+respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
+with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.”
+
+Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's
+office and went to the green room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+The attitude of Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping
+with the traditions of the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it
+so contrary to the traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like
+the rest of his profession--not even excepting Garrick--possessed only a
+small amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented
+to them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his
+own acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted
+blank verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional
+lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack
+of human nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and
+he could see no reason why he should substitute for them anything more
+natural. He had no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure
+a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious
+sentimentality of an artificial age.
+
+He had produced “The Good Natured Man” some years before, and had made
+money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who
+had condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that
+play were still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
+characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but
+actually intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named
+provisionally “The Mistakes of a Night,” he at first declined to have
+anything to do with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential
+friends--friends who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised
+his genius when he was living in a garret and before he had written
+anything beyond a few desultory essays--and they brought all their
+influence to bear upon the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the
+comedy, but laid it aside for several months, and only grudgingly, at
+last, consented to put it in rehearsal.
+
+Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best
+to depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging
+his shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant
+to allow certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written
+them.
+
+This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
+than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
+soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
+half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
+
+At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young
+Marlow, threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was
+serious in his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment
+Goldsmith assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract
+with the manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same
+contract by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was
+handed over to Lee Lewes.
+
+After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
+the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
+chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
+manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
+possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
+to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
+provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
+encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
+regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said
+he was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up
+their parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
+rehearsing.
+
+When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
+conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He
+knew that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could
+not doubt what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round
+and go back to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw
+the play. The temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of
+determination which had carried him through many difficulties--that
+spirit which Reynolds appreciated and had embodied in his portrait--came
+to his aid. He walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with
+both Woodward and Mrs. Abington.
+
+“I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
+Colman,” he said; “but I am sure that you have not taken this serious
+step without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr.
+Colman will be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an
+agreement with me to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he
+will therefore sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick
+will, I hope, honour me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs.
+Bulk-ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the
+rehearsal.”
+
+The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
+the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and
+who had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now
+began to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had
+been a fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched
+garret knew what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate
+to kick downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him
+employment as a libeller.
+
+“Sir,” cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to
+him--“Sir, you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will
+not be my fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success.
+You have been badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your
+ill-treatment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to
+appear in your piece.”
+
+“Madam,” said Goldsmith, “you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
+ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
+gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to
+assert that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I
+shall regard as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has
+passed I know that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection
+of the opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the
+success of this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
+circumstances incidental to its birth.”
+
+He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly
+that he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors:
+they reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course,
+caused them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
+
+“You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,” said Shuter,
+who was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
+
+“You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,” said Goldsmith.
+“Lord, sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident
+was to happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned
+to a certainty.”
+
+The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
+Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
+influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
+acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith
+that none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet
+the members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption
+that its failure was inevitable.
+
+On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
+since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers
+to dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at
+a wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
+during the greater part of the night.
+
+The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her
+eyes at the same moment had yet to be explained.
+
+He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his
+elbow resting on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After
+half-an-hour's thought his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens.
+Picking one up with a sigh, he began to write.
+
+Verse after verse appeared upon the paper--the love-song of a man who
+feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
+consolation in life is love.
+
+After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again
+rested his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he
+had written. His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected
+sincerity when every one around him was engaged in composing verses
+which were regarded worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were
+artificial.
+
+He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
+Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would
+she be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
+delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
+known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
+enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
+feeling?
+
+His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
+
+“How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?” he
+muttered. “Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is
+the chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should
+he himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life
+that the man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to
+live in loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was
+struck blind--a great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from
+love receives no pity--no pity on earth--no pity in heaven.”
+
+He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for
+an hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper
+which he had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it.
+He did not tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand
+to the desk and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making
+the torn edge rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of
+a woman whose lover was beside her--that was what the quivering motion
+suggested to the poet who watched it.
+
+“And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!” he said.
+“Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!”
+
+He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
+where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
+men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
+that friendship could afford him no solace.
+
+He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
+giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+For the next two days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes
+in his play as were suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals.
+The alterations were not radical, but he felt that they would be
+improvements, and his judgment was rarely at fault. Moreover, he was
+quick to perceive in what direction the strong points and the weak
+points of the various members of the company lay, and he had no
+hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them a better chance
+of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman called the
+“pot-house scene” would he change, not a word of the scene where the
+farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow to be
+omitted.
+
+Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
+to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee
+house talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the
+fate that was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he
+not adopted this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become
+aware, as they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy.
+When it was produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the
+manager up to ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a
+new set of lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
+
+But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some
+of them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
+hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he
+might not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not
+possibly be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a
+pity, one of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be
+so easily avoided?
+
+To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
+or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written
+it, he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the
+medium of these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the
+verdict of the playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on
+those scenes so early in the play was that the playgoers might know not
+to expect a sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a
+natural school of comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of
+the manners of the day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only
+the broadest and heartiest fun.
+
+“If the scenes are ungenteel,” said he, “it is because nature is made
+up of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
+interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
+when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a
+greater favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest
+gentleman who ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely
+on the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not
+interfere with his romping.”
+
+He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
+on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when
+he did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from
+his over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others--a disability
+which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
+consequence, delightfully fluent.
+
+On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
+he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that
+the Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some
+degree of apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might
+think he looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he
+was by her side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her.
+The words still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it
+would pain her to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite
+content that matters should remain as they were. Whatever the words
+might have meant, it was impossible that they could mean anything that
+might cause him to think of her with less reverence and affection.
+
+He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to
+find out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom
+there came to his ears the sound of laughter--such laughter as caused
+him to remark to the servant--
+
+“I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.”
+
+“Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
+sir,” replied Ralph.
+
+“I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
+entertaining them,” said Goldsmith.
+
+Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
+entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
+
+The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
+keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits
+of laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
+amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him
+much manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
+imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
+details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
+entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
+laboriously at his “Animated Nature.”
+
+“Good morning, sir, good morning,” he cried, pretending to take off
+his gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect
+self-possession, previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. “Now
+mind you don't sit there, Dr. Goldsmith,” he continued, raising a
+warning finger. A little motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis,
+with his mincing ways, was transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy
+and self-conscious in the presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy
+politeness to get him a chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very
+one on which the man had placed his hat. “Now, now, now, what are you
+about?”--once more Garrick was the amanuensis. “Did not I warn you to
+be careful about that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it?
+Sir, that excuse is a mere quibble--a mere quibble. This must not occur
+again, or I shall be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then,
+my good sir? Now to business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man
+to make me a cup of chocolate--with milk, sir--plenty of milk, and two
+lumps of sugar--plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a
+patriot--none of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think
+on't, your laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for
+me; and mind you tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in
+it”--this shouted half-way out of the door through which he had shown
+Goldsmith hurrying with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate.
+Then came the monologue of the amanuensis strolling about the room,
+passing his sneering remarks at the furniture--opening a letter which
+had just come by post, and reading it _sotto voce_. It was supposed to
+be from Filby, the tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform
+in which Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the
+Haymarket would be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith
+had made up his mind as to the exact orders which he meant to
+wear, ending with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and
+discrimination in choosing a costume which was so well adapted to
+his physique, and a humble suggestion that it should be worn upon the
+occasion of the first performance of the new comedy, when the writer
+hoped no objection would be raised to the hanging of a board in front of
+the author's box with “Made by Filby” printed on it.
+
+Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain
+words--giving an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here
+and there, and finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a
+postscript alluding to the length of time that had passed since the
+writer had received a payment on account, could not have been surpassed.
+The effect of the comedy upon the people in the room was immeasurably
+heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick,
+as the amanuensis, immediately walked to him gravely with the scrap of
+paper which had done duty as the letter, in his hand, asking him if what
+was written there in black and white about the field-marshal's uniform
+was correct, and if he meant to agree to Filby's request to wear it on
+the first night of the comedy.
+
+Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
+entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
+of the scene, saying-“Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
+more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful
+issue a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager
+of a playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why
+should not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?”
+
+The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew
+that Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment,
+and would not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In
+an instant, however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious
+amanuensis, and became David Garrick, crying--
+
+“Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to
+reply to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of
+your experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
+nature.”
+
+Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated
+at the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much
+what might follow.
+
+At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
+the room.
+
+“Come, sir,” said the amanuensis, “we have no time to waste over empty
+civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we
+cannot keep the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the
+booksellers, 'tis the world we think of. What is this?”--picking up an
+imaginary paper--“'The derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed
+the ingeniousness of many able writers, but there can be no doubt in
+the mind of any one who has seen that noble creature, as I have, in
+its native woods, careering nimbly from branch to branch of the largest
+trees in search of the butterflies, which form its sole food, that
+the name elephant is but a corruption of elegant, the movements of the
+animal being as singularly graceful as its shape is in accordance with
+all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your
+style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' should be himself
+both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon should himself
+be a buffoon.”
+
+In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
+leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis
+as to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer
+and warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
+Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
+imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
+the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked--
+
+“The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis!
+Lord! what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to
+dictate to his amanuensis?”
+
+Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house,
+around the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household
+in roars of laughter--as one delightful member of the household has
+recorded--over his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of
+Dr. Johnson.
+
+“And all this,” said Goldsmith, “came out of the paltry story which I
+told him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment
+he sat down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I
+knew he saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea
+and send him away.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+Goldsmith was delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from
+care. He had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear
+that she was unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry
+a mood as he had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at
+dinner, and he was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the
+mysterious mood that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
+
+She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
+him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though
+she said that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the
+intention of the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go
+together to the theatre and demand its immediate production on the
+finest scale possible.
+
+“There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
+Colman in that respect,” said Goldsmith. “Only to-day, when I ventured
+to talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not
+his intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be
+played for longer than a small portion of one evening.”
+
+“The monster!” cried the girl. “I should like to talk to him as I
+feel about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will
+tolerate his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs
+some one to be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him
+how contemptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him.
+The occasion is one that demands the powers of a man who has a whole
+dictionary at his back--yes, Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten
+that if he does not behave handsomely he will, in his next edition of
+the Dictionary, define a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps
+an author in suspense for months, and then produces his comedy so
+ungenerously as to make its failure a certainty. But, no, your play
+will be the greater success on account of its having to overcome all the
+obstacles which Mr. Colman has placed in its way.”
+
+“I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be
+the greatest success of the century,” said he.
+
+“And so it will be--oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will--oh, we
+shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
+and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
+upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.”
+
+“You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to
+the remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
+suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
+upon an ill-treated author.”
+
+“I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
+one of the two enterprises--the first being the changing of the mistakes
+of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the changing of
+the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager--ay, and of an
+author as well.”
+
+“Admirably spoke!” cried the author. “I have a mind to let the name 'The
+Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.”
+
+“No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,” said she.
+“Oh, do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot
+hit upon a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath
+of laurel.” Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not
+far away, had put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a
+word or two of the girl's sentence.
+
+“I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,” said
+he. “You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
+Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?”
+
+“Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
+Knight!'” said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
+not like too many people to hear him make one.
+
+“'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get
+a better,” said Goldsmith. “I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
+Horneck to discover the better one.”
+
+“Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
+and damn the play,” said Reynolds. “I have given it its proper name,
+and if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
+reprobation of all honest folk who detest an _alias_.”
+
+“Then that name shall stand,” said Goldsmith. “I give you my word, Sir
+Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have
+it damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in
+England.”
+
+“That is very well said, indeed,” remarked Sir Joshua. “It gives
+evidence of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all
+should respect.”
+
+Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely,
+for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase,
+but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of
+laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he
+was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
+
+Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
+question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
+story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
+not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
+
+A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner--his name was Colonel
+Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck--took
+up the question quite seriously.
+
+“For my part,” he said, “I admit frankly that I have never heard the
+story of Grouse in the gun-room.”
+
+“Is it possible, sir?” cried Garrick. “What, you mean to say that you
+are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who
+asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was
+locked--that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?”
+
+“No, sir,” cried Colonel Gwyn. “I had no idea that the story was a
+familiar one. It seems interesting, too.”
+
+“Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,” said Garrick. “But you are an
+army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the
+mess-table.”
+
+“I protest, sir,” said Colonel Gwyn, “I know so little about it that
+I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog--I have myself known of
+sporting dogs called Grouse.”
+
+“Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,” cried Garrick. “Ould Grouse a dog! Pray
+do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man,
+and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr.
+Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death
+severely.”
+
+“Then he is dead?” said Gwyn. “That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
+the narrative.”
+
+“A particularly pathetic interest, sir,” said Garrick, shaking his head.
+“I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that
+that dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us--that the gunroom door
+is now open, but that within there is silence--no sound of the dear old
+feet that were wont to patter and potter--you will pardon my emotion,
+madam”--He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
+became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured
+to assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology,
+did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now
+without seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had
+too high an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face
+perfectly grave, while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to
+suppress came from the napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti
+said something in Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the
+melancholy nature of the party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin,
+saying--
+
+“'T is selfish to repine, and he himself--dear old soul!--would be the
+last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in the
+gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
+I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
+delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
+known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had
+no particular character in the neighbourhood.”
+
+“Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,” said the Colonel.
+
+“Well, if the truth must be told--but no, the man is dead and gone now,”
+ cried Garrick, “and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
+do, the nimbleness of his wit--the genial mirth which ran through the
+gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
+is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse
+or two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
+thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
+comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
+afraid to joke, sir, and----”
+
+“But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
+read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
+actually narrated, but only hinted at,” said Gwyn.
+
+“That makes little matter, sir,” said Garrick. “The untold story of Ould
+Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
+year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.”
+
+“At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,” said Mrs. Bunbury, “after the pains which
+Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of
+the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.”
+ Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled.
+
+“I protest, madam,” said he, “that up to the present--ah! I fear that
+the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to
+be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind
+you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----”
+
+This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with
+laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel
+Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and
+then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never
+quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household
+where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the
+ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with
+a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be
+merry.
+
+“Colonel Gwyn,” said Garrick, “these gentlemen seem to have their own
+reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate
+when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive
+they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
+sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
+the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
+don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
+some years.”
+
+He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
+in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
+the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
+
+When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
+embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who
+was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends
+every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which
+chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of
+port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom
+he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward
+regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written
+for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very
+effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a
+single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick
+were indignant.
+
+“You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,” said
+the latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the
+play to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
+
+“Ah, Davy, my friend,” Goldsmith replied, “I feel more at my ease in
+reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst--or the best. If
+the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
+for the next year or two.”
+
+In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
+entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
+room.
+
+Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
+and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting
+long sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was
+supposed to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment
+has survived, and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with
+Garrick repeating the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous
+change of expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with
+Goldsmith burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly
+amusing gestures the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed
+that Sir Joshua's guests were convulsed.
+
+After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
+playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
+did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines
+after the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous
+than that of the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an
+affecting passage from Addison's “Cato,” Goldsmith began to sing
+the song which he had been compelled to omit from the part of Miss
+Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course
+Garrick's gestures during the delivery of the song were marvellously
+ingenious, and an additional element of attraction was introduced by
+Dr. Burney, who hastily seated himself at the pianoforte and interwove a
+medley accompaniment, introducing all the airs then popular, but without
+prejudice to the harmonies of the accompaniment.
+
+Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
+marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
+caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees--he begged the
+lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was accustomed
+to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica shook her
+head.
+
+“Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,” said Sir Joshua to
+the Jessamy Bride. “Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
+hearing her sing.”
+
+Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
+Angelica.
+
+“Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!” she cried. “Will your Majesty
+condescend to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned
+to captivate our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to
+conquer our savage hearts by the exercise of another?”
+
+A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
+thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
+springing to his feet.
+
+“By the Lord, I've got it!” shouted Goldsmith. “The Jessamy Bride has
+given it to me, as I knew she would--the title of my comedy--she has
+just said it: '_She Stoops to Conquer_.'”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+As a matter of course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith
+communicated it to him the next day; but the latter was firm on this
+particular point. He had given the play its name, he said, and he would
+not alter it now on any consideration.
+
+Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play
+gave him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret
+at not being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he
+believed the manager would play to perfection.
+
+But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the
+whole Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his
+customary emphasis, that no better title than “She Stoops to Conquer”
+ could be found for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and
+the rehearsal was proceeded with.
+
+“Nay, sir,” cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
+in order to go upon the stage, “Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
+must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we
+may be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
+filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?”
+
+“I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss
+Horneck--Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
+topics of the hour. “I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as
+will enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but
+to a whole archipelago of wit.”
+
+“Otaheite is a name of good omen,” said Cradock. “It is suggestive of
+palms, and '_palmam qui meruit ferat._'”
+
+“Sir,” said Johnson, “you should know better than to quote Latin in the
+presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
+it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
+is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
+playgoers.”
+
+“Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,” laughed
+Cradock. “Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal,
+and Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
+critics.”
+
+Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
+Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
+opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
+his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
+critics.
+
+Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
+servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
+outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
+broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed
+and applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons--especially the
+satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists--but it was the
+drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of Miss
+Horneck--
+
+“Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?”
+
+When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
+Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much
+amazed as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage
+out of compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority
+regarding the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in
+the estimation of his company, remarked--
+
+“Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
+generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
+playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
+your wit.”
+
+“I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent
+the instruction of Dr. Johnson,” said Goldsmith quietly.
+
+The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed
+it during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it
+became understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit
+their regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been
+originally cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the
+prologue, which Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told
+Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or two to Woodward.
+
+The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
+Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
+threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
+thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
+epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
+declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
+herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
+ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
+were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject;
+but Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
+epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding
+the first performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was
+eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley.
+
+“It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an
+epilogue which will never be spoke,” sneered Colman when the last
+difficulties had been smoothed over.
+
+Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
+consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
+Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
+of the play--when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
+niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
+either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
+almost caused him to break down.
+
+Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
+She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
+hesitate for a moment.
+
+“I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,” she said; “my dress
+would be ruined.”
+
+He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
+
+“Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour
+of the play,” she cried. “Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their
+dusters, and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one
+of the candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years
+contained such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr.
+Col-man for a curmudgeon.”
+
+“You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,”
+ said Goldsmith. “Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and
+I only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.”
+
+“It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
+play, sir,” said Johnson. “The credit of your friends, who insisted on
+Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.”
+
+“And above all,” said Reynolds pleasantly, “the play must be a success
+in order to put Colman in the wrong.”
+
+“That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
+important to us all,” said Mary. “It would never do for Colman to be in
+the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
+saved by Monday night.”
+
+“I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,” said
+Goldsmith. “I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a
+sense of my own unworthiness.”
+
+“You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,” cried
+Johnson. “Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
+hear your play.”
+
+“I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
+when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care
+to send a guinea in advance,” said Goldsmith, and every one present knew
+that he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by
+Johnson on the day that “The Vicar of Wakefield” was sold.
+
+“And now,” said Reynolds, “I have to prove how certain we are of the
+future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday
+previous to the performance.”
+
+“Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
+success of the play,” said Johnson. “To proffer such an invitation would
+be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public
+had attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who
+know your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that
+our esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday
+night, sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour
+to have you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with
+us.”
+
+“You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what
+you mean better,” said Goldsmith. “A compliment is doubly a compliment
+coming from Dr. Johnson.”
+
+He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
+walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter
+of a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character
+of Young Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had
+sufficiently recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how
+remarkable a character he had created.
+
+On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the
+St. James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found
+the author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
+salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered
+with silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any
+mistake on this point.
+
+“Heavens!” cried the visitor. “Have you forgot that you cannot wear
+colours?”
+
+“Why not?” asked Goldsmith. “Because Woodward is to appear in mourning
+to speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy
+should also be in black?”
+
+“Nay,” said Steevens, “that is not the reason. How is it possible that
+you forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat
+of yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in
+front of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you
+hope that the King will command a performance.”
+
+Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
+garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
+dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
+before throwing it over the back of a chair.
+
+“It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,”
+ said he. “I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.”
+
+He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with
+his friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
+Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
+assembled.
+
+It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook
+hands twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the
+King of Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for
+regret with him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He
+expressed a hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have
+so depressing an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their
+enjoyment of his comedy.
+
+Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did
+not think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would
+be quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
+frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
+all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose
+name they had probably never heard.
+
+Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
+the best, but still....
+
+Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
+Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
+heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
+merriment.
+
+The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
+concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
+become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
+of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the
+clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time
+to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
+
+Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds
+that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his
+nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken
+at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took
+place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave
+all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to
+him--not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity
+College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with
+him.
+
+While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
+theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
+had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
+to have the omission repaired without delay.
+
+He never returned.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter
+from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was
+having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house,
+the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in
+the direction of Pall Mall.
+
+“Psha! sir,” said Johnson to Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is little better than
+a fool.” Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
+
+“Yes,” said Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
+ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
+let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say
+the best comedy of a century.”
+
+“I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the
+playhouse?” said Richard Burke.
+
+“It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
+concerned,” said Steevens. “I think that the best course we can adopt
+is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
+looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
+Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
+burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.”
+
+“You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
+playhouse, sir,” said Johnson.
+
+“If I know anything of him, sir,” said Steevens, “the playhouse is just
+the place which he would most persistently avoid.” There was a long
+pause before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
+
+“Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.”
+
+“That is very kind of you, sir,” replied Steevens. “But you may rest
+assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.”
+
+While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
+hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
+Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting
+alone in some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable
+failure of his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled
+him to hold out against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced,
+suffer a relapse when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and
+his naturally sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his
+life give place to a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him
+to put in an appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his
+friends. Steevens actually made up his mind that if he failed to find
+Goldsmith during the next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage
+on the Edgware road.
+
+He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house--from Jack's, in Dean
+street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster--but he failed to discover his
+friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this way; and all
+this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse--except
+the one box that held Cumberland and his friends--were greeting the
+brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
+contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
+authors had witnessed.
+
+The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens
+have imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous
+figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with
+a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and
+as phrase after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and
+vivified with numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken,
+he seems to shake the theatre with his laughter.
+
+Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
+of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two
+notable figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
+frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
+
+Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
+Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the
+most notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
+occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
+laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
+she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
+Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
+Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
+lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
+every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
+
+Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, “looking glum,” as one
+witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
+having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth
+the resentment of the pit.
+
+In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
+years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's “Good-Natured Man” at “the other
+house,” sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
+“Ossian.” He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
+an impostor.
+
+The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
+younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
+for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from
+the pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact
+that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his
+eyes fixed upon her--earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his
+_fiancée_ are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important
+box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may
+be gratified by beholding her. It does not so much matter about her
+husband, who once thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a
+concern whose operations represented the potentialities of wealth
+beyond the dreams of avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the
+Gunnings when she first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever
+recorded to the eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll,
+mindful of that trick which the cleverness of her mother turned to so
+good account, does not condescend to notice from her box, where she sits
+with Lady Betty Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though
+she is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising
+between the acts.
+
+What a play! What spectators!
+
+We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought
+to those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with
+delight at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the
+little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
+
+Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality
+upon their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
+biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
+down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
+
+And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
+nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in
+St. James's Park.
+
+Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching
+for him.
+
+“Don't speak, man, for God's sake,” cried Oliver. “'Tis not so dark but
+that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
+the comedy is ended--that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in the
+middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is ended.”
+
+“Not I,” said Steevens. “I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
+what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at
+the coffee house?”
+
+“I don't know what you speak of,” said Goldsmith. “But I beg of you to
+hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play--don't fear to
+tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly twenty
+years; I am not easily dismayed.”
+
+“My dear friend,” said Steevens, “I have no intention of going to
+the playhouse unless you are in my company--I promised so much to Dr.
+Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
+yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
+sir?”
+
+“What do you mean by that?”
+
+“I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise
+on the stage that you, and you only, can decide--are you willing to
+allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman,
+who is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
+prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great
+man, too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I
+am convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?”
+
+“It shall not--it shall not!” cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
+“I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I
+have something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in
+this battle have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my
+friend--I'll go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to
+avert disaster.”
+
+They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
+obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
+Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of
+the play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence
+to insist on a scene being omitted--or, perhaps, a whole act; and
+nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
+
+When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his
+head out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the
+playhouse--that his worst fears were realized.
+
+“Nonsense!” cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other
+window. “The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental
+to any performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on
+their boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy
+has yet to be damned.”
+
+When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage
+door, looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as
+if to see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the
+back of the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick,
+in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had
+driven her forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was
+within twenty yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights
+were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have
+failed to recognise the familiar features of the scene. The next moment
+there came a hiss--a solitary hiss from the boxes.
+
+“What's that, Mr. Colman?” whispered the excited author.
+
+“Psha! sir,” said Colman brutally. “Why trouble yourself about a squib
+when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?”
+
+“That's a lie,” said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
+Mr. Hardcastle. “'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
+assured from the first.”
+
+“By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
+while I live!” said Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever
+uttered. Goldsmith was soon made aware of this. The laughter that
+followed Tony Lumpkin's pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle
+was a highwayman was not the laugh of playgoers who have endured four
+acts of a dull play; it was the laugh of people who have been in a good
+humour for over two hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from
+their laughter that the people in every part of the house were following
+the comedy with extraordinary interest. Every point in the dialogue was
+effective--the exquisite complications, the broad fun, the innumerable
+touches of nature, all were appreciated by an audience whose expression
+of gratification fell little short of rapture.
+
+When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not
+return to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue
+was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
+
+As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of
+speaking to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits,
+and from them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the
+first scene to the one which was being represented, the performance had
+been a succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every
+member of the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and
+scenery familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary
+success of the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the
+offensive terms of the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the
+audience, several of the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and
+cheering for some time--so much Goldsmith learned little by little at
+intervals from the actors.
+
+“I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
+word; he has treated me cruelly--more cruelly than he has any idea
+of,” said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. “But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
+anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes
+much to you, sir.”
+
+“Faith then, sir,” cried Lewes, “I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
+will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
+Goldsmith.”
+
+“You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,” said Goldsmith.
+
+And so he had.
+
+When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
+Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
+Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head,
+and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through
+half-closed eyes.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility,
+“I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
+foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray
+of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at
+having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
+sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I
+might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.”
+
+“Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a
+part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to
+accept it.”
+
+“Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him
+both her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
+Goldsmith.”
+
+[Illustration: 0173]
+
+And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company
+and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
+congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
+had filled the theatre.
+
+“We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
+Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,” said he.
+“You dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
+indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast.
+On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding
+modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make
+you a coxcomb.”
+
+“Oh, I hope not, sir,” said Goldsmith. “No, you don't hope it, sir,”
+ cried Johnson. “You are thinking at this moment how much better you are
+than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal.”
+
+“And he has a right to think so,” said Mrs. Bunbury. “Come, Dr.
+Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters.”
+
+“Certainly, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Where are they?”
+
+“Well said!” cried Edmund Burke.
+
+“Nay, sir,” said Johnson. “Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough.
+We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
+garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.”
+
+His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake
+on the walls.
+
+Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand.
+She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she
+was not mistaken.
+
+For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit
+and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in
+the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived
+the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly
+imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the
+points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian
+into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the
+background with the Bunburys.
+
+So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in
+uniform had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind
+Mr. Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner,
+saying a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action,
+though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the
+girl, and perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes
+were turned upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her
+heart.
+
+He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out
+her inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
+people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing
+was paying no attention to her.
+
+When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought
+it advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
+
+“Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried. “We have given you our ears for more
+than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.”
+
+“I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, you
+were remarking that----”
+
+“That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be
+compared to a boy who has robbed an orchard,” said the lady.
+
+“True--very true, madam,” said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
+involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
+beside her. She was not smiling.
+
+“Yes, 'tis true; but why?” cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
+did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
+
+“Ah, yes; that's just it--why?” said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
+from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and
+Henry Bunbury were standing.
+
+“Why?” said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. “Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
+suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because
+his booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in
+his pockets what he is not entitled to.”
+
+She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
+did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
+successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
+attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
+gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
+more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
+
+“You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?” said Mr. Thrale.
+
+“Nay, sir!” cried Bunbury; “mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
+some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.”
+
+“What did I say, Goldy?” cried Johnson. “Was it not that, after the
+presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?”
+
+“Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
+of them I accepted some days ago,” said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
+hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
+conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
+
+But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
+laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of
+the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
+involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious
+to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this
+form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that
+refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
+Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he “talked like
+poor Poll.” He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely
+because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
+couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
+
+Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
+thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
+expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
+given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons
+around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which
+makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who “talked
+like poor Poll” was the man who, even before he had done anything in
+literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop
+Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and
+a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious
+Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to
+great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
+
+While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that
+the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs.
+Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying
+to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his
+adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying--
+
+“Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.”
+
+“I shall take good care that you don't, sir,” said she.
+
+“Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!” he cried, bowing
+as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he
+suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Why, if
+I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman
+in uniform who was speaking with you just now,” said he. “I fancy I have
+met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.”
+
+“His name is Jackson,” she replied. “Yes, Captain Jackson, though the
+Lord only knows what he is captain of.”
+
+“I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,” said Goldsmith.
+“'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by
+professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.”
+
+When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
+affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the
+occasion, she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in
+their coach--her mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
+
+The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
+produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
+eaten no dinner--Johnson and his friends had been by no means reticent
+on the subject of the dinner--he was without an appetite for the
+delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
+in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
+endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
+almost speechless the whole evening.
+
+“Ah,” said she, “I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been
+quite obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with
+us at Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a
+little comedy may become a great tragedy.”
+
+Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
+play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
+Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as
+he could without being rude.
+
+He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick
+Court. But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
+
+All his life he had been looking forward to this night--the night
+that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him
+an incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his
+period. And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with
+destiny was within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever
+felt in his garret.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+What did it all mean?
+
+That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
+refer to the reception given to “She Stoops to Conquer,” which had
+placed him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to
+the strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
+
+The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had
+been speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
+reputation--he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
+reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
+room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
+glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the
+eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs.
+Woffington, showed that he was a person of no position in society. This
+conclusion to which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no
+persons of any distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the
+playhouse had shown that they were acquainted with him--no one person
+save only Mary Horneck.
+
+Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and
+Mrs. Bulk-ley.
+
+This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have
+been incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had
+invariably shunned in society those persons--women as well as men--who
+had shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested
+the man--he was popular enough at that period--who had allowed
+innuendoes to do duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman--she
+is popular enough now--who had laughed at and made light of the
+innuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
+
+And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
+fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
+The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands
+with the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for
+her own ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary
+Horneck stood in a very different position from that occupied by the
+Duchess. While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the
+lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from
+the actresses.
+
+And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one
+of these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor--a man
+who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
+
+What could this curious incident mean?
+
+The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
+the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
+had arrived--not a post had been missed--from persons who professed the
+most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to borrow from
+him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom he had
+rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
+consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would
+continue his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so
+marked a way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their
+letters lay unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he
+sent his guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That
+was how he contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had
+earned since leaving his garret.)
+
+His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
+left his chambers.
+
+He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
+no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed
+to notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain
+Jackson--he would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared
+to him more than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to
+another girl all that he had noticed, he would have said that such a
+matter required no explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young
+girls with men of the stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck,
+however, the matter was not so easily explained. The shrug and
+the raising of the eyebrows were singularly inappropriate to any
+consideration of an incident in which she was concerned.
+
+He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
+success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several
+of the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on
+terms of the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a
+cordiality, the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces.
+Among them was one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had
+early found a friend in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this
+early friendship of his.
+
+Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
+word, and whose wife was his laundress--not wholly above suspicion as
+regards her honesty--stammered his congratulations, and received the
+crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he
+had always suspected--that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
+world for men who have become successful.
+
+Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
+that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
+another hour would pass.
+
+He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
+alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
+time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of
+such intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to
+inquire if Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to
+ear as he admitted the visitor.
+
+“I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,” he said,
+his grin expanding genially.
+
+“Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?” said Goldsmith.
+“You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?”
+
+“I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the
+table--and Mr. Marlow's man, sir--as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what
+more you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says
+he quite cool-like and satisfied--and it's the gentleman's own private
+house, after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh
+till he thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then
+sent us off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some
+fools about us said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr.
+Northcote--Sir Joshua's young man, sir--he up and says that nature isn't
+always genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth--I beg
+your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
+couldn't ha' done worse than me--talking so familiar-like, instead of
+showing you up.”
+
+“Nay, sir,” said Goldsmith, “the patron has the privilege of addressing
+his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
+George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer;
+and, to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for
+my benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.”
+
+“Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,” whispered the man, for he had led
+the way to the drawingroom door. “I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If
+I told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
+without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls
+this year, sir.”
+
+In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
+
+She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
+that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
+smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
+ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
+sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them
+that touched him deeply.
+
+“You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
+honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,” she said,
+giving him her hand. “But it was impossible--oh, quite impossible, for
+me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
+how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear
+friend.”
+
+“It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,” said he. “I was looking forward to
+that night also--I don't know for how many years--all my life, it seems
+to me.”
+
+“Never mind!” she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. “Never
+mind! your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you
+now; every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.”
+
+“There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,” said
+Goldsmith. “But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
+single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
+miserable.”
+
+“I know it,” she said, giving him her hand once more. “I know it, and
+knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.”
+
+“What is the matter, Mary?” he asked her after a pause. “Once before I
+begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
+able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man
+of many resources.”
+
+“I cannot tell you,” she said slowly, but with great emphasis. “There
+are some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree
+that a woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with
+another--either with a sister or with a brother--even so good a friend
+as Oliver Goldsmith.”
+
+“That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,” said
+he. “I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its
+origin to me.”
+
+“Ah, I see everything but too plainly,” she cried, throwing herself down
+on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. “Why, all my
+misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
+Oh, I have said too much,” she cried piteously. She had sprung to her
+feet and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. “Pray forget
+what I have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say;
+oh, pray go away--go away and leave me alone with my sorrow--it is my
+own--no one has a right to it but myself.”
+
+There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
+little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
+
+“No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,” said he. “You shall
+tell me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room
+last night has to do with your sorrow.”
+
+She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a
+curious look of cunning in her eyes--a look that made him shudder, so
+foreign was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
+
+“A man? Did I speak to a man?” she said slowly, affecting an endeavour
+to recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. “Oh, yes, I
+suppose I spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded
+it was! And it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked
+in their paint!--almost as terrible as a lady of quality!”
+
+“Poor child!” said he. “My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
+everything from me you have told me all--all except--listen to me, Mary.
+Nothing that I can hear--nothing that you can tell me--will cause me to
+think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to make me
+aware that that man--Captain Jackson, he calls himself----”
+
+“How did you find out his name?” she said in a whisper. “I did not tell
+you his name even at the Pantheon.”
+
+“No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
+why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
+as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
+rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?”
+
+“He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet----”
+
+“How has he got you in his power--that is what you are going to tell
+me.”
+
+“No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not
+know me, or you would not ask me to tell you.”
+
+“What would you have me think, child?”
+
+“Think the worst--the worst that your kind heart can think--only leave
+me--leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I may soon
+die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'”
+
+“I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything
+ill of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have
+written so much as I have written about men and women without being able
+to know when a woman is altogether good--a man altogether bad? I know
+you, my dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him?
+Think of the friends you have.”
+
+“It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but
+if they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
+loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
+fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?”
+
+“For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.”
+
+“It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch
+who stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being
+thrust out behind to push her over.”
+
+She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
+thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
+
+“That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind
+you, there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from
+slipping. There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice,
+or else those who hold them out to you will go over the brink with
+you. Ah, my dear, dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In
+another year--perhaps in another month--you will wonder how you could
+ever have taken so gloomy a view of the present hour.”
+
+A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained
+there, however. Then she shook her head, saying--
+
+“Alas! Alas!”
+
+She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his
+own, laying his other caressingly on her head.
+
+“You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,” said he. “You fill
+with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that
+it would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my
+dying could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What
+I do say is that I should like to live for you--to live to see happiness
+once again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing--you will
+not give me a chance of helping you.”
+
+She shook her head sadly.
+
+“I dare not--I dare not,” she said. “I dare not run the chance of
+forfeiting your regard forever.”
+
+“Good-bye,” he said after a pause.
+
+He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
+and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
+
+“Mary,” he said, “I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
+beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again--that
+you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
+company of such a man--talking to him as I saw you last night--what
+would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
+construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
+dear?”
+
+“Alas! alas!” she cried piteously. “I cannot make you such a promise.
+You will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my
+own free will?”
+
+“What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
+you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!”
+
+“That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
+power over me--he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot speak
+to you more! Leave me--leave me! I have been a fool and I must pay the
+penalty of my folly.” Before he could make a reply, the door was opened
+and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
+sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
+
+“Nonsense, dear Mamma,” cried Little Comedy. “What Mary needs is some
+one who will raise her spirits--Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I
+am sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor?
+Nay, you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain
+that you would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but
+I protest it would seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your
+attention. He doesn't look particularly like our agreeable Rattle at
+the present moment, does he, Mamma? And it was the same at supper
+last night. It might have been fancied that he was celebrating a great
+failure instead of a huge success.”
+
+For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
+the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the
+author some account of what the friends whom she had met that day
+said of the piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a
+perpetually sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her
+gaiety was out of tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the
+first breathing space that the girl permitted him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+He felt that the result of his interview with Mary was to render more
+mysterious than ever the question which he had hoped to solve.
+
+He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
+had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd
+enough to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed
+account of his interview with the girl--a detailed account of his
+observation of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the
+Pantheon, then in the green room of Covent Garden--would have no trouble
+whatever in accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could
+see the shrugs of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed
+to be vastly grieved.
+
+Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all
+womankind together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one
+woman to be swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind
+generally.
+
+But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe
+that she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think
+anything evil regarding her.
+
+“She is not as others,” was the phrase that was in his mind--the thought
+that was in his heart.
+
+He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance
+that when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not
+as other women are.
+
+He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that
+when a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from
+other women, he loves that woman.
+
+He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out
+the heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that
+had occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in
+the same apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that
+the killing of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question
+which was puzzling him.
+
+After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he
+went to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of
+the author's nights for “She Stoops to Conquer.” Baretti was a
+well known personage in the best literary society in London, having
+consolidated his reputation by the publication of his English and
+Italian dictionary. He had been Johnson's friend since his first exile
+from Italy, and it was through his influence Baretti, on the formation
+of the Royal Academy, had been appointed Secretary for Foreign
+Correspondence. To Johnson also he owed the more remunerative
+appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. He had frequently dined
+with Goldsmith at his chambers.
+
+Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
+author of the play upon his success.
+
+“If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it
+creates in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,” said the
+Italian.
+
+“Yes,” said Goldsmith quickly, “that is just what I wish to have a word
+with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
+should be.”
+
+“What,” cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who
+had certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. “What, do you
+mean to fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be
+your weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen
+you should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty
+certain of victory.”
+
+“Ah, yes; but there are cases--well, one never knows what may happen,
+and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can
+do a little sword play--enough to enable me to face a moderately good
+antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
+in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.”
+
+“How did you retort?”
+
+“Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised
+as gentlemen.”
+
+“Bacchus! An effective retort! And then----”
+
+“Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
+making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout
+of swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
+compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
+any first-rate master of the art in London?”
+
+The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
+
+“You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you
+into a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?”
+
+“Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.”
+
+“Better make it five years.”
+
+“Five years?”
+
+“My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
+express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be
+made a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell
+you that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front
+place among swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so
+short-sighted I could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I
+shall never kill a man.”
+
+He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
+them.
+
+“I have made up my mind to have some lessons,” said Goldsmith, “and I
+know there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.”
+
+“Psha!” said Baretti. “There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
+are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
+teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
+you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
+such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
+fiber than yourself.”
+
+“There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men--nay,
+even an Irishman--to show himself adroit with a sword,” said Goldsmith;
+“and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services towards
+this end.”
+
+He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
+
+“You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no
+further than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular
+wish to place myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,” said
+he. “I fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a
+fencing master.”
+
+“I shall keep it a secret,” laughed Baretti; “but mind, sir, when you
+run your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the
+court as a witness as to your pacific character.”
+
+(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called
+as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with
+the murder of a man.)
+
+He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had
+taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own
+nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel
+with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him
+through a vital part.
+
+He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
+containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon
+Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic
+of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and
+so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
+express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
+posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
+care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement
+with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
+scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
+the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
+lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
+
+If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
+enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many
+months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his
+triumph in another direction.
+
+After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
+several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with
+him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
+
+He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all
+clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was
+unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had
+received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
+
+He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
+was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
+
+“You were talking about me just before I entered,” said he: “I always
+know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now,
+may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to
+me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I
+hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all
+that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own
+reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?”
+
+Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
+fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
+which he said--
+
+“You may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
+Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends.”
+
+“Psha, sir!” cried Goldsmith, “don't I know that already? Were you not
+all my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
+overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
+bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?”
+
+“Goldsmith,” said Steevens, “we received a copy of the _London Packet_
+half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
+attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.”
+
+“At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
+assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
+is none other than myself,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,” said Steevens. “It
+is the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.”
+
+“Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,” said Goldsmith. “You
+know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once
+I made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
+caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that
+it is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where
+is the _Packet?_”
+
+“There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,” said Cradock.
+“Take my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise
+nature of that scoundrel's slanders.”
+
+“Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to
+sting me,” replied Goldsmith. “And so, sir, let me have the _Packet_,
+and you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
+Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
+detraction.”
+
+“Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
+garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,” said Steevens.
+
+“Come, sirs, I insist,” cried Goldsmith. “Why do I waste time with you?”
+ he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. “I waste time
+here when I can read the _Packet_ in the bar.”
+
+“Hold, sir,” said Burke. “Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
+would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched
+forth to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the
+paper and here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English
+writers--the truest of English poets--the best of Englishmen.”
+
+“You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick
+flings himself upon me?”
+
+He took the _Packet_. It opened automatically, where an imaginary letter
+to himself, signed “Tom Tickle,” appeared.
+
+He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
+nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
+from it--he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing--but
+suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
+crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
+flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the
+room with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword
+and placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a
+word to any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane
+only.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+Kenrick's article in the _London Packet_ remains to this day as the
+vilest example of scurrility published under the form of criticism. All
+the venom that can be engendered by envy and malice appears in every
+line of it. It contains no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains
+no clever phrase. It is the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the
+demon of jealousy. The note of the Gadarene herd sounds through it,
+strident and strenuous. It exists as the worst outcome of the period
+when every garret scribbler emulated “Junius,” both as regards style and
+method, but only succeeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead
+of the thunder of the unknown master of vituperation.
+
+Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt;
+but when he came to that vile passage--“For hours the _great_ Goldsmith
+will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
+pier-glass. Was but the lovely H------k as much enamoured, you would not
+sigh, my gentle swain”--his hands tore the paper in fury.
+
+He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did
+not know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him
+aware of the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He
+did not mind any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have
+the name that he most cherished of all names associated with his in an
+insult that seemed to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was
+more than he could bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind
+him and had struck from thence the one who had been kindest to him of
+all the people in the world.
+
+There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
+There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him
+and the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck
+in the face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to
+whom he had been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would
+undoubtedly feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself
+was to blame for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt
+that if the attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have
+escaped. Yes, that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over
+him to her.
+
+His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
+upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his
+sword he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his
+hands.
+
+And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
+assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink
+from running him through the body with his sword.
+
+On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
+counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew
+that he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a
+corner; he felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was
+made up as to what he should do, and all that he now feared was that
+some circumstance might prevent his realising his intention.
+
+He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans,
+the publisher of the _London Packet_. He arrived almost breathless at
+the place--it was in Little Queen street--and entered the shop demanding
+to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. Evans, the
+publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and hearing
+a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
+Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was
+in the house.
+
+“I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon
+me which appeared in the _Packet_ of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!” said
+the visitor.
+
+The shopkeeper smiled.
+
+“Does anything appear about you in the _Packet_, sir?” he said,
+over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
+
+“You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!” cried Goldsmith,
+stung by the supercilious smile of the man; “you are the publisher of
+this gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote
+it struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.”
+
+He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with
+his cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
+opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a
+small wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance,
+and had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and
+all the noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his
+paymaster. It was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back
+from the cane of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a
+missile to fling at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a
+table and hurled it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it
+struck Evans on the chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over
+him. This Kenrick perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small
+shop chairs and rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled;
+but, before he could carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop
+from the street, and, flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught
+Goldsmith, who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried him into a
+hackney-coach, which drove away.
+
+The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
+room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became
+uneasy regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving
+the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent
+the assault which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the
+person of Kenrick.
+
+He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of
+the occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his
+conduct. A lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when
+delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain
+Higgins's counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
+
+“Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have
+abstained from doing,” cried the still breathless man. “I did what my
+manhood prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done
+yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans--it was
+that reptile Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to
+shelter him, what was left to me, I ask you, sir?”
+
+“You were a fool, Oliver,” said his countryman; “you made a great
+mistake. Can't you see that you should never go about such things
+single-handed? You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who
+would not hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why
+the devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when
+you left the tavern?”
+
+“Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,” replied Goldsmith.
+“And, besides,” he added, “I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with
+me to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day.
+I have taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it.
+Kenrick won't attack me again so long as I am alive.”
+
+He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
+Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
+which he was a master.
+
+When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
+Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
+Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
+like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
+that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies
+a lesson.
+
+But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
+insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
+been less gracious to him--if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
+example, had been accustomed to treat him--regarding him and his defects
+merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have escaped
+all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause of her
+being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
+
+But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
+forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
+think about.
+
+The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that
+he had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
+years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
+despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
+that could not be surmounted.
+
+He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her
+forgiveness for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be
+responsible. He could not, he added, expect that in the future it would
+be allowed to him to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and
+her family as had been permitted to him in the past.
+
+Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
+when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
+which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only
+had seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent
+Garden, and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had
+originated with that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if
+he was justified in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not
+asked him to be her champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it
+was a very poor champion that he would have made; but still he knew more
+of her grief than any one else, and he believed he might be able to help
+her.
+
+He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
+
+“I will not leave her,” he cried. “Whatever may happen--whatever blame
+people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave her
+until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.”
+
+He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain
+Horneck.
+
+For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother
+had no reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and
+Kenrick. But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation
+passed away.
+
+“Ha, my little hero!” Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
+threshold. “What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what
+are things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
+booksellers?”
+
+“You have heard of it?” said Oliver. “You have heard of the quarrel, but
+you cannot have heard of the reason for it!”
+
+“What, there is something behind the _London Packet_, after all?” cried
+Captain Horneck.
+
+“Something behind it--something behind that slander--the mention of your
+sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?”
+
+“My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists
+between my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as
+this--a strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as
+you are concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?”
+
+Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which
+he was holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the
+words never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of
+his own, and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped
+it, and burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
+
+Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
+affected.
+
+“Come, come, old friend,” he said at last, placing his hand
+affectionately on Goldsmith's shoulder. “Come, come; this will not do.
+There is nothing to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little
+aware of your own position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck
+family regard your friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good
+heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid
+for immortality through our names being associated with yours? Who in a
+hundred years--in fifty years--would know anything of the Horneck
+family if it were not for their association with you? The name of Oliver
+Goldsmith will live so long as there is life in English letters, and
+when your name is spoken the name of your friends the Hornecks will not
+be forgotten.”
+
+He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
+chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+The next day the news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by
+Goldsmith in respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the
+literary circle of which Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling
+was one of regret that Kenrick had not received the beating instead of
+Evans. Of course, Johnson, who had threatened two writers with an oak
+stick, shook his head--and his body as well--in grave disapproval of
+Goldsmith's use of his cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes
+were of the opinion that a cane had never been more appropriately used.
+
+What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands
+of pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
+afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
+which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
+Colman's management.
+
+Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
+had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl
+of indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period--some
+in the pay of the government others of the opposition--solely by
+stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person
+of the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in
+the form of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded
+Junius.
+
+The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
+public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest
+in the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling
+audience. When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the _Daily
+Advertiser_--surely the manliest manifesto ever printed--the howls
+became attenuated, and shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted,
+even by Dr. Johnson--and so emphatically, too, that his biographer
+could not avoid recording his judgment--that Goldsmith had increased his
+reputation by the incident.
+
+(Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account
+of this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
+received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
+
+For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
+Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
+search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
+him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel
+when he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
+
+But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
+of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
+found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
+responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, after he had made some of those
+grotesque movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably
+accompanied--“Dr. Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years,
+sir.”
+
+“That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,” said
+Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
+that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
+come rather sooner.
+
+“If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
+to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,” said Johnson.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Goldsmith, “you were right in assuming that you could
+say nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a
+fool--at many times--in many ways.”
+
+“I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
+and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
+my suspicion.”
+
+“If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he
+do after having seen me?” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Johnson, “it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
+to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of
+your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.”
+
+“What do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now
+what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose
+for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who
+could resist Filby's flatteries?”
+
+“Sir,” said Johnson, “you gave me permission several years ago to read
+any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.”
+
+“And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably
+been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect
+for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you
+suggested?”
+
+“It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
+waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,”
+ said Johnson sternly.
+
+Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
+
+“I forget now what work was last under my hand,” said he; “but whatever
+it was, sir----”
+
+“I have it here, sir,” said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
+noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
+laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived
+that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the
+Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had
+them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would
+be the result of sending them to her.
+
+He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
+friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
+matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
+
+“Oh, those verses, sir,” he stammered; “they are poor things. You will,
+I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they
+resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my
+man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the
+cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----”
+
+“They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man
+of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the
+happiness of others.”
+
+“I protest, sir, I scarcely understand----”
+
+“Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.”
+
+“Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
+character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
+heart speaks.”
+
+“Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that
+may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your
+heart throbs in every line.”
+
+“Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise
+the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more
+happy than I fancied.”
+
+“Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.”
+
+“Sir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have
+spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote
+those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that
+came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?”
+
+“My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
+did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.”
+
+“A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been
+the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few
+consolations.”
+
+“Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
+as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
+Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
+family have extended to you.”
+
+“I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
+What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
+remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the
+indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship?
+Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?”
+
+“My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes,
+and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to
+know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even
+though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she
+will not be free from unhappiness.”
+
+“She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens
+all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.”
+
+“Nay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it
+for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear
+friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a
+battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
+come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
+it to flight before it prove your ruin.”
+
+“Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there
+is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you
+call it our enemy?”
+
+“I call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith.”
+
+“Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from
+other men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for
+evermore from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he
+has proved to the world that he is most capable of all mankind of
+appreciating tenderness and grace? What trick of nature is this? What
+paradox for men to vex their souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from
+men, evermore looking on happiness through another man's eyes? If you
+answer 'yes,' then I say that men who are not poets should go down on
+their knees and thank Heaven that they are not poets. Happy it is for
+mankind that Heaven has laid on few men the curse of being poets. For
+myself, I feel that I would rather be a man for an hour than a poet for
+all time.”
+
+“Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us
+look at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate
+enough to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be
+brought to think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish
+enough to regard their kindness to you--their acceptance of you as a
+friend--as encouragement in your mad aspirations.”
+
+“You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.”
+
+“I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
+only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
+not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you
+as a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to
+her? Answer me that question, sir.”
+
+But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
+hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
+
+“You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,” resumed Johnson. “I
+will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
+only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but
+I ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on
+your side as ridiculous--nay, worse--a gross affront.”
+
+Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
+resumed his discourse.
+
+“The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
+desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends,
+and of forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your
+infatuation?”
+
+Goldsmith started up.
+
+“Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,” he cried almost
+piteously. “Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
+hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
+the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
+which I wrote--I could not help writing them--but she does not know that
+they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from me. My
+history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover--a blank--a blank.”
+
+“My poor friend,” said Johnson after a pause--he had laid his hand
+upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
+table--“My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups which
+are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I have
+drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
+others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means
+to have double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself
+before now worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have
+faced life, by your independence of the patronage of the great. You
+dedicated 'The Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me.
+You did not hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to
+offer you money for the prostitution of the talents which God has given
+you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect--you have the respect of every
+good man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your
+detractors who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would
+give them an opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will
+not do anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and
+show all those who are your friends that their friendship for you is
+well founded. I am assured that I can trust you, sir.”
+
+Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+When his visitor had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and
+gave way to the bitter reflections of the hour.
+
+He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
+which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception--to his
+hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion
+might be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of
+vain dreams that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his
+straightforwardness there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that
+made any appeal from his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in
+the utterances of his phrases when forcing his contentions upon any
+audience; but Goldsmith knew that he only spoke strongly because he felt
+strongly.
+
+Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson
+had said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake
+the sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
+content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
+Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
+house--a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting his
+father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
+Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were
+to present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
+
+It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his
+hearing to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions.
+The tragedy of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their
+prospects in the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he
+felt, the most cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who
+make music of the passions of men--who have surrounded the passion
+of love with a glorifying halo--should be doomed to spend their lives
+looking on at the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of
+the music which the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy
+of life, and Goldsmith had often found himself face to face with it,
+feeling himself to be one of those with whom destiny is only on jesting
+terms.
+
+Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
+Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
+that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only
+of all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his
+cause, he would be regarded--and rightly, too--as both presumptuous and
+ridiculous.
+
+He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
+letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking
+to themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to
+look forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
+contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
+poet for the loss of home--the grateful companionship of a wife--the
+babble of children--all that his fellow-men associated with the gladness
+and glory of life?
+
+He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
+surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
+such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation--he had
+sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness
+of having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
+envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
+sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval
+of his friends.
+
+And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He
+had sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his
+ills during the past few years had departed from him. He would never
+see Mary Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the
+burden of his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide
+by it.
+
+He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
+resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
+one consolation of his life.
+
+In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt
+down and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the
+manuscript into it between the bars when the light that it made fell
+upon one of the lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he
+had read the remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a
+sigh, he hastily thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little
+blaze had fallen again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could
+raise it by a breath or two, his servant entered the room. He started to
+his feet.
+
+“A letter for you, sir,” said John Eyles. “It came by a messenger lad.”
+
+“Fetch a candle, John,” said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too
+dark for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on
+the seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
+
+By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines
+that the letter contained--
+
+_Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
+only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if
+not, then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride._
+
+He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
+He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
+to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
+that he was about to stand face to face with her.
+
+He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
+small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
+of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
+cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
+walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
+between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and
+her sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put
+her hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
+
+“I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew that I could trust you.”
+
+“You may trust me, indeed,” he said. He held her hand in his own,
+looking into her pale face and sunken eyes. “I knew the time would come
+when you would tell me all that there is to be told,” he continued.
+“Whether I can help you or not, you will find yourself better for having
+told me.”
+
+She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
+was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up,
+and, after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the
+mantelpiece, leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into
+the smouldering fire in the grate.
+
+He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
+heart.
+
+“What am I to tell you--what am I to tell you?” she cried at last,
+resuming her pacing of the floor.
+
+He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes.
+She went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking
+with vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the
+sconces. Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a
+great effort she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil
+when she spoke, seating herself.
+
+“You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of
+that man,” she said. “You alone were observant. Did you also see him
+call me to his side in the green room at the playhouse?”
+
+“I saw you in the act of speaking to him there--he calls himself
+Jackson--Captain Jackson,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“You saved me from him once!” she cried. “You saved me from becoming
+his--body and soul.”
+
+“No,” he said; “I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
+me to do so.”
+
+“I tell you if it had not been for you--for the book which you wrote, I
+should be to-day a miserable castaway.”
+
+He looked puzzled.
+
+“I cannot quite understand,” said he. “I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar
+of Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
+complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which
+I had presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of
+reading it.”
+
+“It was that which saved me,” she cried. “Oh, what fools girls are! They
+are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
+child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of
+men--some men--so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge
+of womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told
+all that we should guard against?”
+
+She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
+
+He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying--
+
+“I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
+Jessamy Bride.”
+
+She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
+
+“Then you will err,” she said. “You will have to think ill of me. Thank
+God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
+from all--to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
+I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
+village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
+received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and
+feted in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love
+with him, and I--innocent fool that I was--considered myself the most
+favoured creature in the world because he made love to me. Any day we
+failed to meet I wrote him a letter--a foolish letter such as a
+school miss might write--full of protestations of undying affection.
+I sometimes wrote two of these letters in the day. More than a month
+passed in this foolishness, and then it came to my uncle's ears that we
+had meetings. He forbade my continuing to see a man of whom no one knew
+anything definite, but about whom he was having strict inquiries made. I
+wrote to the man to this effect, and I received a reply persuading me
+to have one more meeting with him. I was so infatuated that I met him
+secretly, and then in impassioned strains he implored me to make
+a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When he had been
+fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies had been
+active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, and he
+should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I consented
+to leave my uncle's house by his side.”
+
+“But you cannot have done so.”
+
+“You saved me,” she cried. “I had been reading your book, and, by God's
+mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him
+I came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With
+the suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The
+scales fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to
+Damascus, only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited
+me. I knew that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a
+single hour--thanks to the genius that wrote that book--my love for that
+man, or what I fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet
+him. I returned to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote
+to me reproaching me for disappointing him; and the very next day my
+uncle's suspicions regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted
+in proof positive of the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself
+Captain Jackson, He had left the army in America with a stain on his
+character, and it was known that since his return to England at least
+two young women had been led into the trap which he laid for me.”
+
+“Thank God you were saved, my child,” said Goldsmith, as she paused,
+overcome with emotion. “But being saved, my dear, you have no further
+reason to fear that man.”
+
+“That was my belief, too,” said she. “But alas! it was a delusion. So
+soon as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in
+his true colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I
+had been foolish enough to write to him, to my friends--he was even
+scoundrel enough to point out that I had in my innocence written certain
+passages which were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of
+guilt--nay, his letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had
+been guilty, so that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood.
+What was left for me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to
+me those letters. I asked him how he could think it consistent with his
+honour to retain them and to hold such an infamous threat over my head.
+Alas! he soon gave me to understand that I had but placed myself more
+deeply in his power.”
+
+“The scoundrel!”
+
+“Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
+meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.”
+
+“And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.”
+
+“I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing
+that I had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France
+together! But then--ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me--I
+cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
+rings I am in trepidation.”
+
+“Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
+account?” cried Goldsmith.
+
+“Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?” she asked. “What did he
+say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me
+a fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
+letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who
+had written them.”
+
+“And his terms?” asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
+
+“His terms? I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you. The very thought that
+I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
+such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.”
+
+“By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!” cried Goldsmith, “for I
+shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.”
+
+“No--no!” she said, laying a hand upon his arm. “No friend of mine must
+suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother for
+fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
+plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
+would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
+that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
+being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
+determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope--the forlorn
+hope--that you might be able to help me. Tell me--tell me, my dear
+friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that of which
+poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'”
+
+“Guilt? Who talks of guilt?” said he. “Oh, my poor innocent child, I
+knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought
+of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted
+foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your
+own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any
+monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against
+this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of
+escape for you.”
+
+“Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to
+myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what
+direction lies my hope of escape?”
+
+He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said--
+
+“'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
+invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it
+is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one
+can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real
+life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts
+of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by
+halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from
+you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity
+as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as
+Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be
+saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you
+out of your present difficulty.”
+
+“You give me hope,” she said. “Yes--a little hope. But you must promise
+me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how
+brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday
+when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place
+yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause
+it to spring.”
+
+“I feel now that I was foolish,” said he humbly; “I ran the chance of
+forfeiting your friendship.”
+
+“Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,” she said. “But in this matter of
+mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save
+me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man
+on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what
+my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that
+if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
+arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.”
+
+“You have spoken truly,” said he. “You are wiser than I have ever been.
+But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing
+that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be
+saved, whatever may happen.”
+
+He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “You shall be saved,” he
+repeated.
+
+“If not----” said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
+
+“No--no,” he whispered. “I have given you my promise. You must give me
+yours. You will do nothing impious.”
+
+She gave a wan smile.
+
+“I am a girl,” she said. “My courage is as water. I promise you I will
+trust you, with all my heart--all my heart.”
+
+“I shall not fail you--Heaven shall not fail you,” said he, going to the
+door.
+
+He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
+white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
+more pallid!
+
+He bowed at the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none
+of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as
+the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company.
+He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he
+had been elected only a few days before the production of “She Stoops to
+Conquer,” and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club
+would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard
+Burke was wittiest.
+
+While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
+the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
+assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
+attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
+Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
+town were talking.
+
+The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
+smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
+the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty
+of the press as that of which--according to the writer--the ingenious
+Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the
+room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
+worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
+with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
+
+He knew perfectly well--had he not good reason to know?--that the man
+who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
+nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
+notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
+and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the
+fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more
+eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day.
+That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of
+Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted,
+and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all
+that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius
+one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions--all they
+required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
+
+No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
+Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money
+that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called
+himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there
+would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people
+were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any
+one--especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been
+breathed--the result of the publication of the letters would mean
+practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
+
+Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
+at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
+regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
+the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in
+such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did,
+that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was
+not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
+possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should
+find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and
+he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was
+situated would be to forfeit their respect forever.
+
+She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and
+he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her
+sake.
+
+He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
+in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon--how often his
+friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
+not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some
+occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also
+remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned
+out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon.
+
+He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
+
+He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
+(which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
+shrewdness).
+
+How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required
+it, cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly
+wisdom? By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the
+world?
+
+He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
+reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
+waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
+short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
+not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly
+felt no vexation at being made so easy a victim of--he was accustomed to
+that position.
+
+When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between
+the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred
+at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning,
+coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast
+aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all,
+he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his
+property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary
+Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he
+had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of
+that which he had admitted to be foolishness.
+
+Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
+dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
+reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the
+truth, she would understand.
+
+And that time did come.
+
+In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to
+get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
+attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
+for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully
+aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of
+a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the
+discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
+
+It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
+would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
+affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
+defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
+
+That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the
+woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was
+accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should
+have considerable difficulty in finding her.
+
+He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
+question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
+knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to
+do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and
+he liked her.
+
+He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made
+it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
+while.
+
+He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became
+impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington
+until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced
+a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as
+Colonel Gwyn.
+
+Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
+recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at
+the Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit
+to Brick Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted
+Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be one of the most natural
+occurrences in the world for him to appear at that particular moment.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith,” said the visitor when he had seated himself, “you
+have no doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of
+calling upon you without first communicating with you.”
+
+“Not at all, sir,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis a great compliment you offer to
+me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.”
+
+“You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
+have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.”
+
+“Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
+generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.”
+
+And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
+so successfully caricatured.
+
+“Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The
+fact is, sir, that I--I--i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
+how it is I appear before you in this fashion.”
+
+“You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You
+are a friend of my best friend--Sir Joshua Reynolds.”
+
+“Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
+Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem
+of--of--well, of all the members of the Horneck family.”
+
+It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way
+his visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what
+reply to make to him.
+
+“I perceive that you are surprised, sir.” said Gwyn.
+
+“No, no--not at all--that is--no, not greatly surprised--only--well,
+sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
+yourself, a soldier,” stammered Goldsmith.
+
+“I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past
+week or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Gwyn; “but upon no
+occasion have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me
+she was by no means well.”
+
+“And they told you the truth, sir,” said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
+
+“You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
+they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
+confess a headache was not specified.”
+
+“Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination.
+But why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel
+Gwyn?”
+
+Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
+
+“I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking
+a liberty,” he said somewhat awkwardly.
+
+“Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?” asked Goldsmith.
+
+“Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see--sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend
+of the lady's--I perceived long ago--nay, it is well known that she
+regards you with great affection as a--no, not as a father--no, as--as
+an elder brother, that is it--yes, as an elder brother; and therefore
+I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be
+quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate--as I am sure
+you could understand that any man must--before declaring myself to her.
+Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to
+be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of
+the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank
+with me, sir.”
+
+Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel
+Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat
+upright on his chair--a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some
+people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat
+inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that
+they were the manners of a gentleman.
+
+Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
+Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
+
+He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last
+he gave a little start.
+
+“You should not have come to me, sir,” he said slowly.
+
+“I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,” said Gwyn.
+
+“On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
+confidence. But--ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady
+would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?”
+
+“I thought it possible that she--Miss Horneck--might have let you know.
+You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she
+might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
+Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of--well, a sort of vested
+interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.”
+
+“Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate
+them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become
+accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the
+children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if
+they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose,
+that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers,
+which is quite apart from the world of letters.”
+
+Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
+difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the
+exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted
+as much.
+
+“I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,” he said. “But for that
+matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
+plain to you.”
+
+“Oh, yes,” said Goldsmith, “I think I gathered from your words all that
+you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
+subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
+lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
+chances of success.”
+
+“How admirably you put the matter!” said Gwyn. “And I fancied you did
+not apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?”
+
+“I cannot tell,” said Goldsmith. “Miss Horneck has never told me that
+she loved any man.”
+
+“Then I have still a chance?”
+
+“Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments
+to their fathers--no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
+consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
+advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself
+if you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to
+become attached. Add to the effect of your personality--which I think is
+great, sir--the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you have
+won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether your
+suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.”
+
+“You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
+some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
+Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
+that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.”
+
+“You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the
+man exist who would be worthy of her love?”
+
+“He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
+some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
+is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
+
+“It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
+consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr.
+Goldsmith--not as men go--there is in my lifetime nothing that I have
+cause to be ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness,
+her purity, her tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own
+presumption in aspiring to win her. You think me presumptuous in this
+matter, I am convinced, sir.”
+
+“I do--I do. I know Mary Horneck.”
+
+“I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with
+me in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me
+to thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me
+away without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that
+I have your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
+happiness.”
+
+“Colonel Gwyn, my wishes--my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may
+be happy.”
+
+“And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.”
+
+Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to
+him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men
+who were understood to be admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made
+humourous verses on some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic
+illustrations, and Mary and her sister had had their laugh. He could not
+even now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more
+eligible suitor than the majority whom he had met from time to time at
+the Hornecks' house. He knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the
+girl had no thoughts to give to love and suitors. If Gwyn were to go
+to her immediately and offer himself as a suitor he would meet with a
+disappointment.
+
+Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who
+had just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be
+exultant at the thought that it was he--he--Oliver Goldsmith--who had
+been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret--with the duty of saving
+her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
+
+Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
+enterprise had fallen.
+
+He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
+position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
+rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
+instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
+hand of the maiden?
+
+For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate
+all his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the
+struggle had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had
+become the most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor
+at the Royal Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most
+eminent men of the period. And then, although he was plain of face and
+awkward in manner--nearly as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as
+Johnson--he had been appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in
+England. He felt that he had reason to exult.
+
+But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with
+Colonel Gwyn--he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel
+Gwyn. What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in
+preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a
+mirror in order to learn what chance he would have of being accepted
+as the lover of a lovely girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to
+himself?
+
+He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he
+had--a glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
+
+He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from
+complete despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted
+with the task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
+destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
+too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
+him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
+
+He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
+evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
+Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his
+play--in which she did not appear--was being acted on the stage.
+
+He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that
+his design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should
+pursue in regard to the actress--how far he would be safe in confiding
+in her--was frustrated.
+
+The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
+with him--well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make
+a quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such
+a disaster. Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in
+Boswell's eyes he could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of
+a second person.
+
+“Psha! Sir,” said Goldsmith, “you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you
+do of the Irish nation and their characteristics.”
+
+“Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,” said
+Boswell. “But now all is over; he will never see me again.”
+
+“Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
+order to give you a chance of knowing him better?” said Goldsmith.
+
+“For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,” cried Boswell after
+a contemplative pause.
+
+“Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
+consciousness of his generosity.”
+
+“What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
+again?”
+
+“No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
+feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
+secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
+talking together.”
+
+“What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?”
+
+“Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
+biographer.”
+
+Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which
+the Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
+
+“Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
+Goldsmith?” he cried anxiously.
+
+“I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,” replied Goldsmith, with
+an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
+that Shakespeare was pompous.
+
+“Now you are imitating him,” said Boswell. “But I perceive that he has
+told you of our quarrel--our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
+sir.”
+
+“Through me, sir?”
+
+“Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
+Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no
+one of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has
+lately been mimicking the Dean--yes, down to his very words, at the
+Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
+acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
+upbraided me for half an hour.”
+
+“To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?”
+
+“To no human being, sir.”
+
+“Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.”
+
+“To no one, sir--that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly have
+had the story.”
+
+“Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
+expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
+perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail
+to make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
+Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
+accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
+Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
+in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.”
+
+“Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
+friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
+being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
+that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
+order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?”
+
+“Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
+biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick
+and choose the incidents with which he has to deal--that he may, if he
+please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his
+hero or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you
+frankly that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are
+mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I
+insist on your writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the
+very words that passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and
+you will also furnish me with a list of the persons--if you have not
+sufficient paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream
+at the stationer's at the corner--to whom you gave an account of the
+humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship
+with me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do
+not seek to avoid so obvious a duty.”
+
+Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam
+of a smile on his face.
+
+He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a
+word.
+
+“Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,” muttered Goldsmith.
+“If I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
+hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.”
+
+(The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
+him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained
+his forgiveness. “You were right, sir,” the letter concluded. “Dr.
+Johnson has still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.”)
+
+But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to
+the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long
+practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give
+him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It
+was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
+not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
+his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
+
+The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
+which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
+only of “She Stoops to Conquer” had been reached, and as she did not
+appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
+piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town
+by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady
+of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
+a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
+loose about the neck and shoulders.
+
+“Ha, my little hero,” cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
+his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then
+to Mrs. Abington. “Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last?
+Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all
+a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There
+was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.”
+
+“The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
+madam,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir,
+you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the
+playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about
+you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them
+all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it
+was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making
+an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional
+channel.”
+
+“If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
+Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for
+that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
+before me in that dress--ay, or any other.”
+
+“Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
+compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus,” and she made an exquisite
+courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are
+as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?”
+
+“I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am
+extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most
+accomplished should be moved,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a
+comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than
+that of Miss Hardcastle.”
+
+“I have the design of one in my head, madam.”
+
+“Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
+head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
+great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
+you have begun the comedy, sir?”
+
+“I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
+air. I want your assistance in that direction.”
+
+“What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
+Goldsmith?”
+
+“Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic
+as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you
+give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?”
+
+“With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
+Goldsmith.”
+
+“I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
+have to tell you.”
+
+“Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.”
+
+“How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?”
+
+“Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
+him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his
+family--a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your
+face suggested.”
+
+“I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for
+help.”
+
+“Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
+think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
+the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light--which I take to be
+the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman--he is too powerful
+for me, I frankly confess.”
+
+“Mine is a male fiend.”
+
+“Not the manager of a theatre--another form of the same hue?”
+
+“Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.”
+
+“Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.”
+
+“If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
+greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to
+coffee house repeating it.”
+
+“Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.”
+
+“How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was
+more than you could cope with?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+And now, sir, to face the particulars--to proceed from the fancy
+embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact--who or what is the
+aggressive demon that you want exorcised?”
+
+“His name is Jackson--he calls himself Captain Jackson,” replied Oliver.
+He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's
+story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this
+point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
+any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
+had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
+
+“Jackson--Captain Jackson!” cried the actress. “Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this
+is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely,
+sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a
+battering-ram to overturn a house of cards--one does not requisition a
+park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.”
+
+“Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of
+the power of a piece of ordnance,” said Goldsmith. “The truth is, madam,
+that in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.”
+
+“If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
+you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
+doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.”
+
+“I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
+there is a lady in the question.”
+
+“Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
+waiting for the lady.”
+
+“She is the most charming of her sex, madam.”
+
+“I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may
+be taken for granted.”
+
+“Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.”
+
+“I wonder in what part of the world she lived--certainly not in London.”
+
+“Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared
+upon the scene----”
+
+“Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
+the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
+even though the serpent be slaughtered.”
+
+“Pardon me, Mrs. Abington”--Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely--“pardon
+me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
+has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.”
+
+In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
+of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let
+it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
+taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America;
+and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to
+him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them
+the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
+
+“The lady is prostrated with grief,” he said, concluding his story. “The
+very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
+killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
+knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.”
+
+“'Tis a sad story indeed,” said Mrs. Abington. “The man is as bad as
+bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
+Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
+meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
+the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
+been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
+possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know
+that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of
+Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of
+guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?”
+
+“That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
+think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,” said
+Goldsmith.
+
+“Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not
+in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,”
+ cried the lady. “Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in
+a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego
+the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the
+coins.”
+
+“You may be right,” said he. “But whence are the guineas to come, pray?”
+
+“Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a
+couple of hundred pounds.”
+
+“Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends!
+She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she
+had written letters of affection to such a man.”
+
+“She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.”
+
+“If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have
+allowed herself to be imposed on by a stranger?”
+
+“Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
+who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
+your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return
+to the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters?
+How do you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?”
+
+“Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
+conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
+It occurred to me that perhaps--it might be possible--in short, Mrs.
+Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel could
+be entrapped.”
+
+“You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary
+men--and of wary--is what nature and art have fitted me for--nature and
+practice?”
+
+“I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear
+madam. But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady
+with whom I am acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest
+intelligence. That is why you are our greatest actress. The highest
+intelligence is valueless on the stage unless it is associated with a
+heart that beats in sympathy with the sorrow and becomes exultant with
+the joy of others. That is why I regard myself as more than fortunate in
+having your promise to accept a part in my next comedy.”
+
+Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
+author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him
+out of his difficulty.
+
+“I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,” said
+the actress. “Yes, in spite of your being--being--ah--innocent--a poet,
+and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, Dr.
+Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to--to--well, shall
+we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?”
+
+“That is the position I long for, dear madam.”
+
+“Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know
+you, Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or
+two--that will give both of us a chance of still further considering the
+possibility of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe
+it was the lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were
+doubtless for running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his
+throat without the delay of a moment.”
+
+“Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.”
+
+“Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
+about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
+'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?”
+
+“Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite
+perceive their bearing.”
+
+“Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their
+little step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir,
+I perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress
+for my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used
+to term 'ructions.'”
+
+She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
+before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
+effective kiss.
+
+He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for
+he was not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had
+departed without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would
+have regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however,
+that clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt
+that it was a pleasure to do anything for such a man--especially as he
+was a writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she
+could so interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be
+the most notable success of the season.
+
+As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
+progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
+feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not
+been at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting
+with Mrs. Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs.
+Abington were associated.
+
+The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
+consolidated by a “command” performance at which the whole of his
+Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because
+it meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
+sentimentalists who were still harping upon the “low” elements of
+certain scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good
+augury. He felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan
+by which he should be able to get possession of the letters.
+
+When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
+not been unmindful of his interests.
+
+“The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
+yesterday,” said she, “but I tolerated him--nay, I encouraged him--not
+for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me,
+but for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking
+fool of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly
+makes a fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of
+herself.”
+
+“Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
+Mrs. Abing ton,” said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
+laughter.
+
+“You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,” she
+said. “But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for
+I have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably
+the most effective.”
+
+“You have found that by your experience of traps?” said Goldsmith. “The
+smile is the silken net?”
+
+“Even so,” said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. “Ah,
+Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.”
+
+“Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
+but at me.”
+
+“Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being
+smiled at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response
+to the encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my
+private address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when
+the fly begins to lure on the spider.”
+
+“'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not--to the fly.”
+
+“Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass.
+Sir, to be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private
+address, but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next
+Thursday night.”
+
+“Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
+behalf----”
+
+“Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that
+I am only interested in my sister-fly--would she be angry if she were to
+hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?”
+
+There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
+upon Goldsmith's ear.
+
+“Madam,” said he, “she is a Christian woman.”
+
+“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,” said the actress, “a very small amount of Christian
+charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman.
+Let that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on
+Thursday night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round
+the corner, and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you
+to appear boldly, as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my
+hospitality. You must come into the room when we have begun, carrying
+with you a roll of manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene
+of your new comedy, upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.”
+
+“I shall not fail to recollect,” said Goldsmith. “Why, 'tis like the
+argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
+elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.”
+
+“Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,” said the lady. “I think I
+know the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama
+of mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which
+you will not be able to play to perfection.”
+
+“You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
+When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I
+trust, ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the
+pleasure of your society for even an hour.”
+
+“I will ask you to join us at the table, and then--well, then I have
+a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
+friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known
+all his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters
+of his.”
+
+Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
+possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity--the fact
+being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
+Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
+romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
+formed the basis of more than one comedy--he had a notion that if these
+comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
+been so clearly defined.
+
+She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
+
+“What, sir!” she cried. “Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity
+of my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt--not at
+scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.”
+
+“I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
+play, dear lady,” said he. “But then, you see, it would be in my power
+to make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the
+right moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that
+was necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes
+quite hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most
+ordinary precepts of art.”
+
+“Psha! sir,” said the actress. “Nothing in this world is certain. I am
+a poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my
+life. At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully
+arranged plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the
+slovenliness of the actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain
+dialogue, yet in the end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama
+out of the ruins of our schemes than we originally designed. So, in this
+case, sir, I am not without hope that even though our gentleman's lips
+remain sealed--nay, even though our gentleman remain sober--a great
+calamity--we may still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep
+your ears open and I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if
+between us we cannot get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.”
+
+“I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,” said Oliver; “and I
+can only repeat what you have said so well--namely, that even the most
+clumsy of our schemes--which this one of yours certainly is not--may
+become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
+that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you
+on Thursday evening.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+Goldsmith for the next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a
+consciousness of having wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon
+Mrs. Abington and discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing
+the purpose which he had at heart; for he could not but perceive how
+shallow was the scheme which she had devised for the undoing of Mary
+Horneck's enemy. He felt that it would, after all, have been better for
+him to place himself in the hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had
+promised to find out for him, and to do his best to run the scoundrel
+through the body, than to waste his time listening to the crude scheme
+concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imitation of some third-class
+playwright.
+
+He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
+scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to
+join her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent
+his exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan
+for obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
+seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when
+he had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
+which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident
+to effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had
+suggested the possibility of such an accident taking place--in fact, she
+seemed to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than
+upon the ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think
+that she was right in this respect. He had a considerable experience
+of life and its vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a
+jesting mood the most judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be
+overturned by an accident apparently no less trivial than the raising of
+a hand, the fluttering of a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
+
+He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and
+a vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
+causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he
+met a young woman who changed--for a time--all his ideas of the sex. As
+he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
+Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
+factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
+accident is only another form of despair.
+
+In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he
+met Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an
+Italian fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
+
+“What!” cried Baretti. “Have you another affair on your hands in
+addition to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You
+do not need to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.”
+
+“I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,” said Goldsmith. “They
+have stepped between me and starvation more than once.”
+
+“Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
+to make money by his philanthropy?” asked Baretti in his usual cynical
+way.
+
+“I cannot say,” replied Goldsmith. “I don't think that I can lay claim
+to the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
+rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.”
+
+“'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
+mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
+swordsman in Europe,” said Baretti.
+
+“Do so, my friend,” said Goldsmith; “and when I succeed in killing a
+critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as
+a memento.”
+
+“I shall look for them--yes, in five years, for it will certainly take
+that time to make you expert with a sword,” said the Italian. “And,
+meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
+fighter as Kenrick.”
+
+“In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
+may take a fancy to have.”
+
+“And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
+martyr--a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other unclean
+beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
+within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
+should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
+as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not
+want a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear
+one of our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.”
+
+“And who may that friend be?”
+
+“You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
+with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?”
+
+“Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?”
+
+“What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the
+little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur.
+Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than--than----”
+
+“A lioness robbed of her whelps?”
+
+“Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is
+the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that
+you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer;
+and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit
+into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles--reminiscent of
+his native land--ever since.”
+
+Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
+Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
+Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
+evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
+the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time,
+his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
+flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
+every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
+said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit
+who had shouted: “Stick to the coo, mon!” On the whole, Garrick said, he
+thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
+many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion--whatever it might
+be worth--that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most
+successful in attempting.
+
+Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
+accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
+believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
+
+He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
+inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper,
+and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme
+which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of
+inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he
+was in the habit of keeping the letters.
+
+“These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,”
+ said she; “and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may
+become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously.
+If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
+farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.”
+
+“What then is to be gained by our supping with him?” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Why, you are brought into contact with him,” she replied. “You will
+then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take
+him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great?
+heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak--one
+cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
+and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
+fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting
+the letters into your pocket.”
+
+“I'll hope for better luck than that,” said Oliver.
+
+“Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,” said she. “But good
+luck is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
+cleverest people.”
+
+“That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,”
+ said Goldsmith. “But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs.
+Abington as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.”
+
+“Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,” said she.
+
+“Madam,” said he, “I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
+your advice and reserve my compliments to you for--well, no, not a
+month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done
+very well.”
+
+As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
+that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
+alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of
+an adroit scoundrel. He had heard--nay, he had written--of the wiles of
+women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of testing a
+woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his estimate
+of their value.
+
+It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare
+tavern at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll
+of manuscript in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the
+waiter to inform the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was
+very fluent up to this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave
+when he found himself face to face with the man who had made the life of
+Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered if he would be able to restrain his
+impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat.
+
+When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington
+that she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended
+the stairs to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved
+himself to play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not
+beyond his powers.
+
+Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her
+chair laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her
+_vis-à-vis_, for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting
+upon it and one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the
+points of his narrative.
+
+When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly,
+pleasantly, but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the
+story which Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with
+his fingers still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most
+inopportune entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other
+is in the act of telling a story to an appreciative audience--say, a
+beautiful actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be
+seen to the greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb
+and flow of that roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate
+wimplings, rising and falling between the porcelain of her throat and
+the curve of the ivory of her shoulders.
+
+The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition
+of Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs.
+Abington's tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned
+his head round as the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward
+the table, bowing profusely--rather too profusely for the part he was
+playing, the artistic perception of the actress told her.
+
+“Ha, my little author!” cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
+patron.
+
+“You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers--the best time
+for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.”
+
+“Ah, sir,” said Goldsmith, “we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
+convenience of our betters.”
+
+“Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
+convenience in an ante-room--ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that the
+scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets write
+best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.”
+
+“For shame, Captain!” cried Mrs Abington. “Dr. Goldsmith is a man as
+well as a poet. He has broken heads before now.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself
+back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had
+advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of
+the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady
+perceived.
+
+“Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is
+a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head
+broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I
+swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is
+accustomed to spread terror around.”
+
+“Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs.
+Abington.
+
+“Nay, my dear madam,” cried her _vis-à-vis_, “you must pardon me for
+saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
+exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known
+kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a
+poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would
+overcome a sound head.”
+
+“I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she
+turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript.
+“Come, Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of
+supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play
+which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped.”
+
+“Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal;
+still----”
+
+He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
+hoarse laugh, crying--
+
+“Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
+by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
+himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the
+romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a
+party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable
+kill-joy?”
+
+“You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in
+smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view
+of the poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of
+parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long;
+will you, Dr. Goldsmith?”
+
+She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast
+at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own
+part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was
+patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in
+a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's
+cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to
+seating himself.
+
+“Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient
+to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such
+distinguished company.”
+
+“And so you should, sir,” cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
+about, laying a fresh plate and glass, “so you should. Your grand
+patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you
+from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely
+to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity,
+General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I
+had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking
+me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the
+General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his
+dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn
+upon him.”
+
+“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,” said Mrs. Abington.
+“But I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being
+drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.”
+
+“If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
+swear,” cried the Captain bowing over the table.
+
+“Good,” she said. “And so I call upon you to drink to his health--a
+bumper, sir, a bumper!”
+
+The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With
+an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained
+it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
+Goldsmith.
+
+“Hang him!” he cried, when he had wiped his lips, “I bear Goldsmith no
+malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
+shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge
+after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health
+of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show
+does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous
+to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.”
+
+“Nay, Captain,” said the lady, “I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain
+from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many
+healths during the day, sir.”
+
+“What mean you by that, madam?” he cried. “Do you suggest that I cannot
+carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
+gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that
+you would have a chance of offering.”
+
+“Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,” said the actress hastily. “I will
+prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr.
+Goldsmith's new comedy.”
+
+“Now you are very much my dear,” said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
+decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. “Yes,
+your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam,
+shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American
+rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be
+said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his
+name is--George Washington”--he had considerable difficulty over the
+name--“is accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not
+men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his
+Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what
+the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to
+the health of Colonel Washington!”
+
+“Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,” said Mrs.
+Abington, rising. “'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place;
+and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform.”
+
+“The devil take the King's uniform!” shouted the man. “The devils of
+rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell
+you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
+drank----” Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and
+seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his
+cloak.
+
+“Hold, sir,” cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
+upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. “Hold, sir, I
+perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured
+by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success
+to the cause that will triumph in America.” Jackson, who was standing at
+the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
+half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
+him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
+
+“It sounds all right,” he muttered as if he were trying to convince
+himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. “It sounds all
+right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
+little poet,” he continued. “I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
+sir--drink to the success of the cause in America.” Goldsmith got upon
+his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine.
+
+“Success to it!” he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his
+third tumbler of brandy.
+
+“Hark ye, my little poet!” whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
+across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not
+returned to her place. “Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a
+general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned
+me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from
+Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was
+mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you!
+If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to
+pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis,
+let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was
+ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the
+Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a
+man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy----
+Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the
+colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who
+would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's
+the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't
+everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got
+letters--letters----”
+
+“Yes, yes, you have letters--where?” cried Goldsmith, in the
+confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
+
+The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and
+then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
+half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
+chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
+
+“Letters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own
+matter--a secret,” he murmured in vague tones. “The government would
+give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon
+itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary
+and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'”--he pronounced the word “Secrary”--“'I
+know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are
+the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir,
+my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the
+lady?”
+
+He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
+well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
+
+“I'm here,” cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
+which Jackson's coat was thrown. “I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
+not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.”
+
+“Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?” cried the man with a lurch
+forward and a wave of the hand. “Madam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I
+wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that
+it contains--all that----”
+
+His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
+his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face;
+he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness
+that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the
+cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining
+until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the
+pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively
+into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was
+another packet.
+
+Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over
+her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that
+Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as “Miss Prue.”
+ She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed
+coarsely, saying huskily--
+
+“A handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of
+my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my
+charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll
+challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up
+your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call
+you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only
+knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the
+truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may
+be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!”
+
+Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
+remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
+man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass
+before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand
+on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring--
+
+“Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
+Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
+table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.”
+
+He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had
+entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his
+chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
+
+[Illustration: 0315]
+
+“That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,” she cried,
+standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
+hand. “You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
+Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of
+my room, sir!”
+
+She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought
+it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
+watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
+stupour, his jaw fallen.
+
+Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
+
+“Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,” said the actress,
+pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated.
+
+“A coach? Certainly, madam,” said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
+
+“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Mrs. Abington, “may I beg of you to have the
+goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
+hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have
+a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is
+Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.”
+
+* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
+watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from
+uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to
+Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set
+herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet
+which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket
+of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great
+difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the
+coach.
+
+“They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,” were the first words
+spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in
+his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. “What did I
+say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel
+hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour.
+What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley?
+Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged
+his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac
+flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few
+stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been
+their darling always.” Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but
+husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and
+he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the
+high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter
+re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at
+the door of the tavern.
+
+At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
+it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
+the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord
+and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson.
+He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed
+him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord
+and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such
+persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith
+reached the street.
+
+“Hold on, sir,” he cried, “I am accompanying that gentleman to his
+lodging.”
+
+“Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the
+fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach
+the Strand.”
+
+“Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it
+upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.”
+
+He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the
+man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the
+cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours
+rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the
+starting coach made no impression upon him.
+
+Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
+arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
+he must act at once.
+
+He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
+detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All
+he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the
+pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
+
+The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted
+his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his
+breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened
+himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite
+unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him.
+
+“Dear madam, you do me great honour,” he said, and then gave a little
+hiccupping laugh. “Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me
+all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give
+you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold
+the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to
+put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to
+a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever
+except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
+shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned,
+my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her
+own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer,
+in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents,
+for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the
+pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of
+accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend!
+and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars
+for them.”
+
+Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
+man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
+
+Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he
+referred to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel
+had not only tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been
+endeavouring to sell the secrets of the King's forces to the American
+rebels. Goldsmith had, however, no doubt that the letters which he was
+desirous of getting into his hands were those which the man had within
+his waistcoat. His belief in this direction did not, however, assist him
+to devise a plan for transferring the letters from the place where they
+reposed to his own pocket.
+
+The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
+Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of
+the brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his
+fingers remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would
+be quite impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith
+could not claim to be, to open the garment.
+
+He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
+packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet
+that it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont
+Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any
+more attempts to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake,
+and Goldsmith knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough
+to cope with three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
+
+Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit
+so broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
+entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
+Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest
+did not end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide
+awake, and he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he
+spoke that he showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very
+far from sober.
+
+“Good Lord!” he cried, “how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
+be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me--grossly
+insulted me--turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, you
+rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you to
+look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for you.
+Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?”
+
+Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might
+not be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward
+attempt to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration
+of the question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open
+the door. He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the
+coach on to the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on
+its leathern straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the
+turnstile. At the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance
+to the court, almost coming in collision with Jackson.
+
+“You cursed, clumsy lout!” shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round
+as the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the
+other.
+
+“You low ruffian!” he said. “You cheated me last night, and left me
+to sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been
+waiting for you. Take that, you scoundrel--and that--and that----”
+
+He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
+forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
+fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
+street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
+
+Goldsmith shouted out, “Follow him--follow the murderer!” pointing
+wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
+
+In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
+pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
+hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the
+body in order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more
+adroitness than was necessary--for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp
+all the street was in darkness--slipped the wallet into his other hand
+and then under his coat.
+
+A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
+had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had
+been run through with a sword.
+
+“It was a knock-down blow,” said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
+prostrate man; “and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great
+harm has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a
+beer barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
+recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.”
+
+He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
+almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
+sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
+meant by choking him.
+
+A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith
+picked up his hat and straightened his sword, saying--
+
+“Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his
+physician in that way has small need of his services. I thought the
+fellow might be seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point
+recently; and so good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he
+relapse. By a casual savour of him I should say that he is not used to
+water.”
+
+He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple,
+and as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on
+completely recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned
+him, would miss his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was
+greatly relieved when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the
+head porter, and he paid the driver with a liberality that called down
+upon him a torrent of thanks.
+
+As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
+cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no
+doubt that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands
+of his dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him--had
+alone trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
+
+He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
+room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
+wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
+and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
+chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
+taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of
+Mrs. Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that
+they were the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
+
+He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He
+was utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
+occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought.
+He could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers,
+covered with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own
+desk before starting for the tavern.
+
+What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
+the wallet?
+
+Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
+hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
+
+He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
+over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
+which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
+Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
+until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which
+he transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had
+had no time--at least, so Goldsmith thought--to put the sham act of the
+play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
+unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
+in the wallet?
+
+Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
+greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
+craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
+of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected
+Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the
+expense of the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on,
+and had fooled them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying
+that they were entrapping him.
+
+Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
+he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he
+was showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
+shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
+he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
+happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
+doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made
+by Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
+
+How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the
+length of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy
+that when they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on
+any subject. But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin
+to act, she had failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to
+place himself in her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
+
+He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
+would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
+consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
+to get the better.
+
+What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary,
+and tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him.
+She should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would
+have been ready to help her and capable of helping her--some man with a
+knowledge of men--some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver of
+fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. Nothing
+was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve
+success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
+
+He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a
+house of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his
+life, whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze
+that had swept down upon it.
+
+He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
+cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
+than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
+already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
+prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great
+a mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never
+have made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he
+said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious
+generosity of the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity
+that had led him to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was
+utterly unsuited; and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him
+in the reflection that his awakening had come before it was too late. He
+had not been led away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She
+had been saved the unhappiness which that confession would bring to
+a nature so full of feeling as hers. And he had been saved the
+mortification of the thought that he had caused her pain.
+
+The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees
+of the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had
+passed before he fell asleep.
+
+He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he
+found that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the
+letters which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with
+but a languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
+bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith
+had promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged
+the loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently,
+from its shape and bulk, a manuscript--one of the many which were
+submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned
+it over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
+convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
+perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
+accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
+
+He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when
+at the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The
+instant he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that
+the parcel contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's
+handwriting to a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire
+village where she had been staying the previous summer.
+
+On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
+Mrs. Abing ton--the spelling as well as the writing was hers--
+
+“'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few
+feathers pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in
+the capp of dear Dr. Goldsmith.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+He was so greatly amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the
+scattered letters on the table in front of him. He was even more amazed
+at finding them there than he had been the night before at not finding
+them in the wallet which he had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He
+thought he had arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to how he had
+come to find within the wallet the sheets of manuscript which he had had
+in his hand on entering the supper room; but how was he to account for
+the appearance of the letters in this parcel which he had received from
+Mrs. Abington?
+
+So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth--to
+appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his
+table. But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and
+happiness to Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy.
+She was saved. He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and
+who had the means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had
+caused him to go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing
+the task with which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been
+mistaken in applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish
+scheme of a pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken
+when she had singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most
+women would have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a
+knight-errant.
+
+His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
+despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
+knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
+morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him;
+but now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him--his
+imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
+happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to
+Mary and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
+Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
+Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
+
+He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of
+his formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest,
+but it was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion
+so delicate an enterprise as that which he--Goldsmith--had accomplished.
+Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. Abington to help
+him, and that was just where he would have made a huge mistake. Any man
+who thought to get the better of the devil without the aid of a woman
+was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of this as he
+stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been when he
+had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The previous
+half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
+Providence and the world.
+
+When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate
+some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
+obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
+thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
+the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to
+be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have
+felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it,
+substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his
+entrance to the supper-room.
+
+The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that
+the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
+recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair
+with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
+treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to
+turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had
+been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her
+glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as
+Mrs. Baddeley!
+
+He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
+particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
+acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
+the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
+perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
+the letters beyond the man's hands.
+
+Once again he laughed, saying out loud--
+
+“Ah, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a
+devil!”
+
+Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was
+at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
+letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself
+in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
+consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face
+would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
+would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
+that she was safe.
+
+That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
+bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on
+her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
+laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would
+be happy through witnessing her happiness.
+
+He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for
+the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his
+servant announced two visitors.
+
+Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered.
+The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a
+compatriot of his own, named Nicolo.
+
+“I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in
+my hands,” said Baretti. “My friend Nicolo is a master of the art
+of fencing as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the
+impression, singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than
+once during your wanderings in Tuscany.”
+
+“And now I am sure of it,” said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
+spoke French rather better than English. “Yes, I was a student at
+Pisa when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in
+recognising him.”
+
+“And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,”
+ said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; “I cannot, however, recall the
+circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
+memory, sir?”
+
+“There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,” said Signor
+Nicolo.
+
+“I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,”
+ said Goldsmith quickly. “You were one of the orators--quite reckless, if
+you will permit me to say so much.”
+
+The man smiled somewhat grimly.
+
+“If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,”
+ said Baretti. “Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
+climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
+government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back
+again.”
+
+“It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor
+Nicolo,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of
+a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.”
+
+“Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
+now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,” said the man
+with another grim smile.
+
+“You are not quite right, my friend,” laughed Goldsmith; “for if my
+memory serves me--and it does so usually on the matter of dress--I had
+no coat whatsoever to my back--that was of no importance in Pisa, where
+the air was full of patriotism.”
+
+“The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,” said
+Baretti. “There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We
+are examples--Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a
+brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy
+Englishman--and there are a good number of them, too--into an expert
+swordsman in twelve lessons--yes, if the pupil will but practise
+sufficiently afterwards.”
+
+“We need not talk of business just now,” said Goldsmith. “I insist on
+my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
+'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
+excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.”
+
+He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple
+of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to
+him--very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not
+have remained.
+
+The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
+heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
+room.
+
+“I have found you, you rascal!” he shouted, swaggering across the room
+to where Goldsmith was seated. “Now, my good fellow, I give you just
+one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my
+pocket last night.”
+
+“And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken
+blackguard,” said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo,
+who was in the act of rising. “Come, sir,” he continued, “I submitted
+to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I
+promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your
+carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils.”
+
+Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
+gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
+cowardly to attack.
+
+“You cur!” he said through his set teeth. “I don't know what prevents me
+from running you through the body.”
+
+“Do you not? I do,” said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of
+wine off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
+
+“Come, sir,” said the bully after a pause; “I don't wish to go to Sir
+John Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property,
+but, by the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will
+not spare you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an
+hour has passed.”
+
+“Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American
+spy, is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith
+has at hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest
+scoundrels,” said Goldsmith.
+
+Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
+second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons.
+The bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
+
+“My little poet,” he said in a mocking voice, “you fancy that because
+you have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you
+for your information that I have something in my possession that I can
+use as I meant to use the letters.”
+
+“And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall
+kill you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!” cried Goldsmith,
+leaping up.
+
+There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
+the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him
+behind a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
+
+“Pardon me, sir,” said he, bowing to Jackson, “but we cannot permit you
+to stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend
+and I regard as a grave affront to us.”
+
+“Then let one of you draw!” shouted the man. “I see that you are
+Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
+sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.”
+
+“Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,” said Baretti.
+“I do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a
+weaker man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a
+ruffian as you undoubtedly are.”
+
+He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter
+had whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti,
+putting quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when
+Baretti had turned partly round.
+
+“Briccone! assassin!” hissed Baretti. “You saw that he meant to kill me,
+Nicolo,” he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
+
+“He shall pay for it,” whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
+foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
+of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
+
+“Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,” he cried. “We used to enjoy a sausage
+or two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
+without absolutely killing the beast.”
+
+The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
+
+Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
+laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian--it was not
+melodious--acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, trying to
+beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single inch.
+He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His expression
+resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has airily
+offered to play with him opens the game.
+
+After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to
+attack, Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
+
+“Take a chair, sir,” said Baretti, grinning. “You will have need of one
+before my friend has finished with you.”
+
+Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
+before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt
+him now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the
+man breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
+Italian.
+
+Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
+no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but
+his antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard
+breathing was a contrast to the only other sound in the room--the
+grating of steel against steel.
+
+Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed
+gradually to vanish. He became more than serious--surely his expression
+was one of apprehension.
+
+Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as
+one of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
+shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
+doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge
+of the other man.
+
+It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as
+he pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in
+touching Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once,
+and now it was plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was
+breathing hard, and the look of apprehension on his face had increased
+until it had actually become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to
+perceive this, and malignant triumph was in every feature of his face.
+Any one could see that he felt confident of tiring out the visibly
+fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with staring eyes, once again clutched
+Baretti.
+
+Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
+and forehead in smiles.
+
+“I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,”
+ said he.
+
+In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
+paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
+head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying
+behind it like the little pennon on a lance.
+
+“Heavens!” whispered Goldsmith.
+
+“Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,” said Baretti. “For
+God's sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that
+last was like a bullet.”
+
+Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat
+from which it was torn.
+
+And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
+face.
+
+“That is his fun,” said Baretti. “Oh, body of Bacchus! A great
+humourist!”
+
+The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
+in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
+
+The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but
+his antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed
+him round the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing
+heavily, but apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his
+sword into his left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
+
+Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
+They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
+meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
+Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
+dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
+Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
+result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
+
+And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
+man's pocket fell on the floor.
+
+With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
+The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining
+by a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo
+had spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single
+flash. Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they
+were the batch of letters which he had received in the course of his
+traffic with the American rebels.
+
+“Come, Sandrino,” said Baretti, affecting to yawn. “Finish the rascal
+off, and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us.
+Come, sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has
+kept us from our wine too long already.”
+
+With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
+sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
+over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
+the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with
+an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
+thoroughly exhausted.
+
+[Illustration: 0349]
+
+Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
+the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
+guard.
+
+“John,” shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
+witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
+exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) “John, give that
+man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked
+out of my house.” When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to
+the half-naked panting man. “You are possibly the most contemptible
+bully and coward alive,” said he. “You did not hesitate to try and
+accomplish the ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here
+with intent to murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your
+clutches. If I let you go now, it is because I know that in these
+letters, which I mean to keep, I have such evidence against you as will
+hang you whenever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to use it if
+you are in this country at the end of two days. Now, leave this house,
+and thank my servant for giving you his coat, and this gentleman”--he
+pointed to Nicolo--“for such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you
+never before received.”
+
+The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which
+John Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
+
+“You contemptible cur!” he said, “I have not yet done with you. You have
+now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of
+them passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in
+pretty high places, let me tell you.”
+
+“I do not doubt it,” said Baretti. “The gallows is a high enough place
+for you and your friends.”
+
+The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
+
+“Look to yourself, you foreign hound!” he said, his face becoming livid,
+and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare
+as before. “Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to
+be made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!”
+
+“Turn that rascal into the street, John,” cried Goldsmith, and John
+bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
+flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
+powers--not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, but
+one which he was certain was more English in its style.
+
+“No one shall lay a hand on me,” said Jackson. “Do you fancy that I am
+anxious to remain in such a company?”
+
+“Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,” said John, hustling him to the
+door. “Come--out with you--sharp!”
+
+In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
+and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put
+on the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him
+walk in the direction of the Temple lodge.
+
+Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
+prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
+on his wall.
+
+“You came at an opportune moment, my friend,” said he. “You have not
+only saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never
+have known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of
+your art.”
+
+“The best swordsman is the best patriot,” said Baretti.
+
+“That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,” said
+Goldsmith.
+
+“Alas! yes,” said Nicolo. “Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
+or you would not be able to live in England.”
+
+“I am not an Englishman,” said Goldsmith. “I am an Irish patriot, and
+therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it
+is not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than
+to starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
+dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
+Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor
+an hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects
+of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it
+will take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the
+fragments of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr.
+Johnson's friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.”
+
+“Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,”
+ said Baretti. “Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
+engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.”
+
+“He has taken part in one engagement, at least,” said Goldsmith,
+
+“And I am now at your service,” said the fencing-master.
+
+They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his
+pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his
+desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and
+Anchor in an hour.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before
+known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All
+the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary
+exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with
+him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more
+than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance,
+Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing
+hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and
+allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded
+as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
+amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did
+not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon
+Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt
+which he owed to Jackson.
+
+And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life
+in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world
+the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that
+every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
+realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
+cheeks change to red once more.
+
+It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to
+Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him
+this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
+
+“I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
+Goldsmith,” said the lady. “I believe that she was more than a little
+disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.”
+
+“Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?” he asked. This
+fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was
+very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise
+on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in
+his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of
+his success.
+
+“She seemed very anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I fear, dear
+Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
+sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
+secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
+Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly,
+girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
+neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
+with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely
+she has got over that foolishness!”
+
+“Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
+foolishness,” said Goldsmith. “You may take my word for it that when she
+sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.”
+
+“I do hope so,” said Mrs. Horneck. “Yes, you could always contrive to
+make her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared
+that that disgraceful letter in the _Packet_ had affected you. That was
+why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
+nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.”
+
+“That was very kind of you, my dear madam,” said he; “but I have seen
+Mary since that thing appeared.”
+
+“To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?”
+
+“Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance
+that when I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to
+recovery. You have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor
+of medicine, and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in
+this direction may amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself
+have. Still, I think you will say something in my favour when you see
+Mary's condition begin to improve from the moment we have a little chat
+together.”
+
+“That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr.
+Goldsmith. Your chat with her will do more for her than all the
+medicine the most skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very
+inopportune time for her to fall sick.”
+
+“I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?”
+
+“Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
+steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
+attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.”
+
+“The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.”
+
+He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
+
+“Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman
+was drawn toward her?” said the lady smiling.
+
+“I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,” said Goldsmith. “And
+you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she
+would have listened to his proposals, madam?”
+
+“Why should she not have done so, sir?” said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+“Why not, indeed?”
+
+“Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,” said she. “He is,
+to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.”
+
+“You think so--you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing in
+such a case?” said Oliver, rather eagerly.
+
+“How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?” cried Mrs.
+Horneck. “Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
+am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
+my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
+After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty--thirty-seven,
+I believe--but he does not look more than thirty-five.”
+
+“No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
+you give emphasis, madam,” said Goldsmith. “And you think that Mary will
+see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?”
+
+“I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
+so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,” said the lady.
+“That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring
+back the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly
+attracted to her.”
+
+“I understand--I understand.”
+
+He spoke slowly, gravely.
+
+“I knew you would help us,” said Mrs. Horneck, “and so I hope that you
+will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
+Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
+passed.”
+
+Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
+him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks--not for him, but
+for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days,
+the hours of thought--all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
+facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
+his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
+sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being
+for evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
+possession as her love.
+
+That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
+yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said--
+
+“Even so; I am satisfied--I am satisfied.”
+
+It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and
+Goldsmith persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he
+succeeded in doing so, for he had felt it was quite possible that
+Baretti might inquire of him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to
+Brick Court, and he could not well explain to the Italian the nature of
+the enterprise which he had so successfully carried out by the aid
+of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. Abington into
+his confidence, and quite another to confide in Baretti. He was
+discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, while the
+secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it would be by
+no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some people might
+laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that which was
+generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and Baretti
+a man.
+
+He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn
+all about Jackson--that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
+become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
+for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes.
+He was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
+prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
+
+Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
+regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
+the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
+conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
+declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
+man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
+out--
+
+“Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am
+glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to
+make him certain you had stolen it from me.”
+
+“Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,” said
+Goldsmith.
+
+“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “I did not say that it was good enough to have
+been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
+foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person,
+Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly,
+that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of
+stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which
+when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir,
+are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?”
+
+“Sir, I am more than satisfied,” said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the
+cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face.
+This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
+
+After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
+to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington
+for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped
+to do.
+
+He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
+costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the
+less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee,
+holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to
+speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she
+was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew,
+were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
+
+“Well, my poet,” she said at last, “have you need of my services to
+banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?”
+
+“I was right,” he managed to say after another pause, “yes, I knew I was
+not mistaken in you, my dear lady.”
+
+“Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest
+demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,” said
+she. “Well, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful
+compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her
+champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our
+friend in the hackney coach.”
+
+“Nay,” he cried, “it is you who have not yet told me by what means
+you became possessed of the letters which I wanted--by what magic you
+substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
+into the supper room.”
+
+“Psha, sir!” said she, “'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered
+from a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair,
+that he had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He
+gave me a hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is
+not to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every
+document on which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty
+naturally received a great shock when he offered to drink to the
+American rebels, and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or
+so sufficed me to discover the wallet with the letters; but then I
+was at my wits' end to find something to occupy their place in the
+receptacle. Happily my eye caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay
+in your hat on the floor beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick
+was played. I had a sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep
+me hoping all the night that you would be able to get possession of the
+wallet, believing it contained the letters for which you were in search.
+Lord, sir! I tried to picture your face when you drew out your own
+papers.” The actress lay back on her couch and roared with laughter,
+Goldsmith joining in quite pleasantly.
+
+“Ah!” he said; “I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression
+which my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
+humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but
+he paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
+termed his property.”
+
+“Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?”
+
+At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
+Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
+
+“By my faith, sir!” she cried; “I would give ten guineas to have been
+there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,” she added a moment afterwards,
+“you will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the
+town.”
+
+“Nay, my dear,” said he. “It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left
+my room--not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
+as would hang him.”
+
+“Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon
+your life?” cried the actress. “He may try to kill Baretti on a point
+of sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a
+matter of business.”
+
+“Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
+something in what you say,” said Goldsmith. “So I will e'en take a
+hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
+the very door of my chambers.”
+
+“Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have
+yet to write for me in a comedy.”
+
+“I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my
+dear friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.”
+
+“Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?” cried the actress, looking
+at him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua
+Reynolds could not quite translate to show the next century what manner
+of woman was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young
+wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country
+girl's smile of Mrs. Abington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was
+alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be
+waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any
+adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel
+of letters and set himself to peruse their contents.
+
+He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was
+sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
+perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
+rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
+themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which
+he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
+Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead
+of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to
+England as a suspected traitor.
+
+As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
+indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
+obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
+certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
+country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
+him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
+Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
+course.
+
+Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he
+ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have
+been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his
+honesty.
+
+He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour
+which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies
+of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself
+to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly
+weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the
+tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a
+woman, and therefore all the more to be loved.
+
+It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
+Hornecks.
+
+He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
+There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he
+would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock
+dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably
+be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with
+the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due
+precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be
+induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point
+in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's
+counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give
+the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might
+be.
+
+It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention
+in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not
+return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the
+Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
+
+He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
+communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not
+having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
+
+“You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said
+Reynolds. “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if
+only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has
+promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well.”
+
+Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in
+front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far,
+however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was
+engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly
+fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic
+style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the
+habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a
+painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from
+her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical
+traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman
+toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to
+be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.
+
+All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
+eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
+adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
+suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
+faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
+eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
+
+“What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
+anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member
+of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day
+clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?”
+
+“Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied
+Goldsmith.
+
+Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
+to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
+than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
+phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
+
+“Sir,” he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, “there is a very
+flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even
+depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted
+position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what
+would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after
+what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the
+advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in
+English.”
+
+“And why not, sir?” said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added,
+“For my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
+Westminster Abbey written in English.”
+
+Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to
+her--Angelica Kauffman.
+
+After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
+door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
+went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
+lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
+detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
+Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
+reason of his absence from the meeting.
+
+When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
+as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
+wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
+him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
+hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
+The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
+
+“If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,” said
+Goldsmith.
+
+In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
+the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out
+so as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
+
+“A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
+men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
+been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding
+in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no
+time coming to you.”
+
+“Merciful heaven!” cried Goldsmith. “I was waiting for Baretti in order
+to warn him.”
+
+“You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack
+as was made upon him,” said Steevens. “It seems that the fellow whom
+Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable
+gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated
+what his name was.”
+
+“And what was his name?” asked Reynolds.
+
+“Richard Jackson,” replied Steevens. “Of course we never heard the name
+before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.”
+
+“The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,” said Goldsmith.
+
+“Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
+should a jury find him guilty,” said Steevens. “We must make an effort
+to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to
+speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They
+carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to
+go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr.
+Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John
+Fielding at Bow street in the morning.”
+
+“That we shall,” said Sir Joshua. “He shall have the best legal advice
+available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him
+that he may depend on our help, such as it is.”
+
+The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
+waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
+custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but
+they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have,
+and also to carry back to them his reply.
+
+Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an
+account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could
+not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They,
+however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the
+help of all his friends in his emergency.
+
+Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected,
+and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from
+reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
+and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
+the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in
+the surgeon's hands.
+
+Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
+meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through
+the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two
+men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with
+heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his
+sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself
+with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him,
+as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article
+of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great
+mischance he must have severed an artery.
+
+The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
+friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held
+a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being
+tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to
+England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months,
+and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house
+in Whetstone Park.
+
+“So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence,
+it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,” said
+Goldsmith.
+
+“If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the
+gentleman,” said the Bow street runner. “But I fancy the judge will tell
+them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of
+its rogues.”
+
+Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
+view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid
+of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having
+parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy.
+He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of
+his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked
+himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no
+concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted
+with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never
+forgive himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+After a very restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that
+Johnson had already gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house
+Goldsmith learned that Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's;
+so it was plain that Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting
+about helping him. They all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and
+Goldsmith found that Burke had already instructed a lawyer on behalf of
+Baretti. His tender heart was greatly moved at the sight of Baretti
+when the latter was brought into court, and placed in the dock, with a
+constable on each side. But the prisoner himself appeared to be quite
+collected, and seemed proud of the group of notable persons who had come
+to show their friendship for him. He smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith,
+and, when the witnesses were being examined, polished the glasses of his
+spectacles with the greatest composure. He appeared to be confident that
+Sir John Fielding would allow him to go free when evidence was given
+that Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad character, and he seemed
+greatly surprised when the magistrate announced that he was returning
+him for trial at the next sessions.
+
+Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the
+prisoner in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request
+was granted.
+
+He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on
+this melancholy drive, saying--
+
+“My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
+this.”
+
+“Psha, sir!” said Baretti. “'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
+country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment.
+In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
+ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
+protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
+violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
+accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried
+for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice
+in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!”
+
+“Do not be alarmed,” said Goldsmith. “When you appear before a judge and
+jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
+being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?”
+
+“I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
+responsible for this _contretemps_,” said Baretti. “But I cannot forgive
+that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed
+to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
+considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
+whom I killed should be regarded sacred--as sacred as though he were an
+Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?”
+
+“You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,”
+ said Goldsmith. “It is quite impossible that you could be convicted--oh,
+quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and
+Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.”
+
+But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
+railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
+Newgate.
+
+It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone
+in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house
+in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been
+uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to
+see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress
+of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the
+conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in
+respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for
+him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as
+he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy
+Bride.
+
+Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
+signs of recent tears were visible on it.
+
+“Dear Dr. Goldsmith,” she said, “I am in deep distress about Mary.”
+
+“How so, madam?” he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
+him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
+point of death?
+
+“She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
+when she left town,” said Mrs. Horneck. “But who could fancy that her
+condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as
+was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor
+Baretti?”
+
+“It prostrated her?”
+
+“Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
+printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he
+read out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair
+to the floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her
+friends, instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.”
+
+“And now?”
+
+“Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming
+with strange impatience--I told her that you had been here yesterday and
+also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
+from her faint--accusing herself of bringing her friends into trouble,
+but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come--why does he not come
+to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
+Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her
+in this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
+acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
+the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition
+is the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to
+call to-day.”
+
+“Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,” said Goldsmith, “Will
+you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
+am confident that I can restore her to health?”
+
+“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!--ah, if you only could! But alas,
+alas!”
+
+He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
+interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of
+sobbing within the room came to his ears.
+
+“Now, my dear child,” said her mother with an affectation of
+cheerfulness, “you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come
+to his Jessamy Bride.”
+
+The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
+pathetically how weak she was.
+
+“Ah, he is come he is come!” she cried. “Leave him with me, mother; he
+has much to tell me.”
+
+“Yes.” said he; “I have much.”
+
+Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
+
+She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
+spasmodically in both her own--he felt how they were trembling-as she
+cried--
+
+“The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead--you know it, of
+course? Oh, it is terrible--terrible! But the letters!--they will be
+found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be impossible
+to keep my secret longer. Will his friends--he had evil friends, I
+know--will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face that
+you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be undone--undone.”
+
+“My dear,” he said, “you might be able to bear the worst news that I
+could bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?”
+
+“The best! Ah, what is the best?”
+
+“It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
+child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.”
+
+She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
+more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to
+speak, but failing to utter a single word.
+
+He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet
+of her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for
+certainly a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only
+gaze mutely at the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the
+truth upon her meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not
+now be overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
+
+Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
+her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
+Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed--not hysterically,
+but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an effort and
+walked across the room to the window that looked upon the street. He
+followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she turned round
+with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long was it since
+he had heard her laugh in that way?
+
+She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for
+her cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June,
+and her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
+
+“Ah,” she cried, putting out both her hands to him. “Ah, I knew that I
+was right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew
+that you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to
+me for evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like
+you, dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that--so good, so true,
+so full of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the
+greatest and best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear,
+dear friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted--a friend who would be
+ready to die for his friend. Gratitude--you do not want gratitude. It is
+well that you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you
+for what you have done? You have saved me from death--from worse than
+death--and I know that the thought that you have done so will be your
+greatest reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel
+that I live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me
+out of the deep waters--the waters that had well-nigh closed over my
+head.”
+
+He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon
+him. His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him;
+but he felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since
+he had lived to see--even through the dimness of tears--so sweet a
+face looking into his own with eyes full of the light of--was it the
+gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
+
+He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the
+small hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the
+tendrils of a climbing flower.
+
+“Have you nothing to say to me--no word to give me at this moment?” she
+asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her fingers
+seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
+
+“What word?” said he. “Ah, my child, what word should come from such
+a man as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete
+happiness as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in
+words. You have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my
+life. You have understood me--you alone, and that to such as I means
+happiness.”
+
+She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had
+flung them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the
+direction of the window.
+
+“You talk of my understanding you,” she said in a voice that had a sob
+in it. “Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a
+man's nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy
+of a thought?”
+
+He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with
+a sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
+locked the fingers of both together.
+
+Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
+the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in
+the throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman
+well enough to have no thought of himself--no thought except for her
+happiness.
+
+“No,” he said at last. “No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say
+to you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
+himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
+happy--watching your happiness--in silence. Perhaps I may understand
+you--I may understand something of the thought which gratitude suggests
+to you.”
+
+“Ah, gratitude!” said she in a tone that was sad even in its
+scornfulness. She had not turned her head toward him.
+
+“Yes, I may understand something of your nature--the sweetest, the
+tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself
+better, and I know in what direction lies my happiness--in what
+direction lies your happiness.”
+
+“Ah! are you sure that they are two--that they are separate?” said she.
+And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his face.
+
+There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
+still held them behind him. At last he said slowly--
+
+“I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were
+a chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to
+look on happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there
+is more happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not
+speak--for God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which
+are trembling on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.”
+
+She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she
+turned away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears,
+with her face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
+
+After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
+
+She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
+hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice--
+
+“You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that
+word; but I can never--never cease to think of you as the best--the
+noblest--the truest of men. You have been my best friend--my only
+friend--and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by a
+woman.”
+
+He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
+
+A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
+
+“Oh, mother, mother!” cried the girl, starting up, “I knew that I was
+right--I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
+new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more--that
+I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!”
+
+“Why, what a transformation there is already!” said her mother. “Ah, Dr.
+Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!”
+
+“Friend--friend!” she said slowly, almost gravely. “Yes, he was always
+my friend, and he will be so forever--my friend--our friend.”
+
+“Always, always,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I am doubly glad to find that you
+have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
+just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
+May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
+seeing you?”
+
+“No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,” cried the girl. “Send him
+away--send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one but
+our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do for
+me that I should wish to see him?”
+
+“My dear Mary----”
+
+“Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
+sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has
+not yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing
+together as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am
+myself again.”
+
+“I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,” said Mrs.
+Horneck. “I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.”
+
+“Do, dear mother,” cried the girl, laughing. “Say next week, or next
+year, sweetest of mothers, or--best of all--say that he had better come
+by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by and
+by is easily said.'”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+As he went to his chambers to dress before going to dine with the
+Dillys in the Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years.
+He had seen the light return to the face that he loved more than all
+the faces in the world, and he had been strong enough to put aside the
+temptation to hear her confess that she returned the love which he bore
+her, but which he had never confessed to her. He felt happy to know that
+the friendship which had been so great a consolation to him for several
+years--the friendship for the family who had been so good and so
+considerate to him--was the same now as it had always been. He felt
+happy in the reflection that he had spoken no word that would tend to
+jeopardise that friendship. He had seen enough of the world to be made
+aware of the fact that there is no more potent destroyer of friendship
+than love. He had put aside the temptation to speak a word of love; nay,
+he had prevented her from speaking what he believed would be a word of
+love, although the speaking of that word would have been the sweetest
+sound that had ever fallen upon his ears.
+
+And that was how he came to feel happy.
+
+And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he
+found a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had
+dedicated to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy.
+He added poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly
+interpreted--verses pulsating with the love that was in his
+heart--verses which Mary Horneck could not fail to interpret aright
+should they ever come before her eyes.
+
+“But they shall never come before her eyes,” he said. “Ah, never--never!
+It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.”
+
+And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day
+she might read those verses of his--yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
+that day was far off or nigh.
+
+When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house,
+he had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did
+not, however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to
+entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's
+killing of Jackson as an accident.
+
+After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be
+well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be
+to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the
+threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it
+might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck.
+But Burke, after hearing the story--no mention of the name of Mary
+Horneck being made by Goldsmith--came to the conclusion that it would be
+unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part
+of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer--as,
+indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity
+on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered
+that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was
+most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal.
+If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently
+as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did,
+Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance
+of obtaining a verdict.
+
+The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of
+the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine
+nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's
+safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated
+trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this
+matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion
+of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of
+Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by
+the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of
+Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against
+a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an
+offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony,
+would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for
+stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the
+result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and
+yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against
+a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but
+commendable.
+
+Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson
+was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For
+all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable
+country--which, however, he found preferable to his own--he ridiculed
+the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered
+it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that,
+however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the
+likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such
+an excursion.
+
+He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
+Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty
+with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent
+authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition
+of the sage.
+
+It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
+of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste
+as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
+Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that
+if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat
+his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we
+know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the
+idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record
+of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably
+deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to
+silence.
+
+But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be--however
+insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may--according to Johnson--have been,
+there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
+until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
+Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained
+an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined
+to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit
+for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
+
+Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
+was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians,
+they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought
+by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had
+attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems
+rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law
+permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
+
+Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
+joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which
+was felt--or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
+simulated--by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
+the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
+circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had
+not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance
+that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the
+counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old
+Bailey.
+
+When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
+had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
+was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
+Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
+trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works
+which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
+addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of
+his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
+
+He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times
+to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
+friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in
+her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the
+fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too
+busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's
+country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in
+their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their
+practical jests.
+
+He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of
+the pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he
+would see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
+constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both
+of them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure
+that he would be as strong a second time.
+
+This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged--this constant endeavour
+to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life endurable to
+him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, when a coach
+drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had passed, and Mrs.
+Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the change which was
+apparent in his appearance.
+
+“Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!” she cried when she entered his little
+parlour, “you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
+was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
+you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
+despairing.”
+
+“Nay, my dear madam,” he said. “I am only suffering from a slight attack
+of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
+assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to
+give me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught
+sight of you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a
+moment; I feared that--ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.”
+
+“However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked
+as I was when you appeared before me,” said the lady. “Why, dear sir,
+you are killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one
+here to give you the attention which your condition requires.”
+
+“What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?” said the Doctor, making a
+pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
+
+“Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,” said she. “I will take you in
+hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now
+I will beg of you to go thither in your own.”
+
+“To Barton? Oh, my dear madam----”
+
+“Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
+should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
+interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others
+than to help yourself.”
+
+“How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?”
+
+“Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
+who could be of the same help to us as you.”
+
+“There is no one who would be more willing, madam.”
+
+“You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that
+mysterious indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced
+that it was you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.”
+
+“Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again
+in need of my help.”
+
+“It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
+you are interested in her future--in the happiness which we all are
+anxious to secure for her.”
+
+“Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?”
+
+“I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family--nay, I can
+talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.”
+
+“You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.”
+
+“And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day.
+I know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
+Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.”
+
+“No; she has not told me that.”
+
+He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
+emotion which he felt.
+
+“It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally
+settled, and so not worthy of another thought,” said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+“Finally settled?” repeated Goldsmith. “Then she has accepted Colonel
+Gwyn's proposal?”
+
+“On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,” said the mother.
+
+He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
+one of gladness?
+
+“Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,” said
+the lady. “Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character
+is irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
+convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him--and
+yet she sends him away from her.”
+
+“That is possibly because she knows her own mind--her own heart, I
+should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.”
+
+“Alas! she is but a girl.”
+
+“Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives
+is worthy of her.”
+
+“That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
+rigidly on that assumption--an assumption which would condemn her to
+live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to
+take a practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely
+concerns the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you
+take a great interest.”
+
+“I would do anything for her happiness.”
+
+“I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards
+you with the greatest respect and esteem--nay, if I may say it, with
+affection as well.”
+
+“Ah! affection--affection for me?”
+
+“You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
+for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to
+yield to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit.
+Mary is there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence
+with her on behalf of Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“What! I, madam?”
+
+“Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell
+you, my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
+yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for
+no one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
+convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion
+while turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
+influence, will you not, dear friend?”
+
+“I must have time to think--to think. How can I answer you at once in
+this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.”
+
+He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
+looking into the empty grate.
+
+“You are wrong,” she said in a low tone. “You are wrong; I know what is
+in your thoughts--in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
+would stand on a different footing in respect to you.”
+
+“Ah! a different footing!”
+
+“I think that you are in error in that respect,” said the lady.
+“Marriage is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is
+not Katherine the same to you now as she was before she married Charles
+Bunbury?”
+
+He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew
+of what was in his heart!
+
+“Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,” said he.
+
+“And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,” said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+“But where lies the need for her to marry at once?” he inquired. “If she
+were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
+not marry at once; but if she does not love him----”
+
+“Who can say that she does not love him?” cried the lady. “Oh, my dear
+Dr. Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world
+of whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir,
+I was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When
+I married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
+disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
+for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
+woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing
+a just opinion on the subject.”
+
+“I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.”
+
+“Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous
+of seeing her married to a good man--a man with whom her future
+happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend;
+alas! that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates
+her life and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is
+ruled by her heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what
+her uncle, with whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her
+meeting a certain man there--my brother did not make me acquainted with
+his name--and being so carried away with some plausible story he told
+that she actually fancied herself in love with him--actually, until my
+brother, learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop
+to an affair that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her
+heart----”
+
+“Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.”
+
+“That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
+some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
+the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
+fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
+desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?”
+
+There was a long pause before he said--
+
+“Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to
+point out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,” cried the
+mother, catching his hand and pressing it. “But I would ask of you not
+to put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl
+with a heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
+direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to
+the ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.”
+
+“You are a woman.”
+
+“I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts--her longings--her
+hopes--and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart--ah, Dr.
+Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
+life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?--
+
+               'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
+
+               And finds too late. . .'
+
+To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
+poor Olivia!” He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
+in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying--
+
+“I will go to her.”
+
+“You will be saving her--ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,”
+ cried Mrs. Horneck.
+
+He started slightly.
+
+“Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?”
+
+“I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and
+saw you,” she replied. “You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and
+the change to the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been
+neglecting yourself--yes, and some one who will nurse you back to life.
+Oh, Barton is the place for you!”
+
+“There is no place I should like better to die at,” said he.
+
+“To die at?” she said. “Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
+still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
+you.”
+
+“Your daughter Mary is there,” said he.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+He wrote that very evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure,
+one of his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had
+resolved to yield gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant
+to leave for Barton the next day. When that letter was written he gave
+himself up to his thoughts.
+
+All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between
+her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making
+it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought
+himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he,
+Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her
+sister--with the affection which exists between good friends.
+
+While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
+he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
+heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
+had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
+and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
+what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He
+knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done
+that day, she would have told him that she loved him.
+
+Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
+follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
+mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
+led in the future?
+
+Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was
+to be found only in marriage--marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
+undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit
+to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
+undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
+good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
+and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the
+dangers which surrounded her.
+
+Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He
+would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word
+duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his
+argument, tend to frustrate his intention.
+
+He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed,
+and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his
+visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought
+before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a
+moment's consideration.
+
+She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where
+the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was
+even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance.
+While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with
+pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward
+him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself
+painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement
+both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law.
+
+She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
+
+“Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?” he cried. “Why,
+you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?”
+
+Mary only shook her head.
+
+“I have been ill,” said Oliver. “But I am better already, having seen
+you both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she
+ready to give me another lesson in loo?”
+
+“She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,” said
+Bunbury, while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. “Oh! yes; we
+will take care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,” he
+continued. “Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are!
+But we'll build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you
+and such as you, my friend.”
+
+“I tell you I am better already,” cried Goldsmith; and then, as the
+chaise drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her
+face had become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him;
+she was not even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and
+the ploughed fields.
+
+Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
+uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
+which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton;
+but though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the
+chaise arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her
+guest at the great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the
+depressing effect of her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not
+betray the shock which she experienced on observing how greatly changed
+was her friend since he had been with her and her sister at Ranelagh.
+She met him with a laugh and a cry of “You have never come to us without
+your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, you will e'en have to go back
+for it.”
+
+The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
+last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
+at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
+vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
+became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for
+his friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
+harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
+Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
+his visit to the house he loved. He felt better--better than he had been
+for months.
+
+In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
+her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
+after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
+imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
+his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily
+the manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of
+the scene, especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she
+declared she had good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so
+greatly as to cause him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea,
+when he had meant to talk about love.
+
+She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much
+character into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to
+imitate, she never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating
+person would be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily
+than Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
+
+Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into
+the already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected
+to understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his
+rejection. A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary,
+and of course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely
+appropriate to Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and
+good-humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done in the
+house which humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done
+in the house which had ever been so delightful to at least one of the
+guests.
+
+He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
+fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
+incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
+extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat
+as the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day
+treated before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
+
+And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to
+him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her
+future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think
+what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only
+by her own sympathetic heart.
+
+He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
+Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
+laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
+of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no
+doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of
+gravity.
+
+The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
+afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with
+Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new
+covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of
+the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and
+jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with
+bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling,
+Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
+
+“What a housewife we have become!” he cried. “Quite right, my dear; the
+head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.”
+
+Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
+the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
+
+“I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,” said he, “that I do not enter into the
+spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
+husband.”
+
+“'Tis foolish on their part,” said she. “But Little Comedy is ever on
+the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active
+abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle
+threadbare by now.”
+
+“Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,”
+ said he.
+
+“Indeed, I agree with you,” she cried. “I agree with you heartily. I do
+not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
+flattered by his attention?”
+
+“No--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
+man from the Prince down--or should I say up?” he replied.
+
+“'Twould be treason to say so,” she laughed. “Well, let poor Colonel
+Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way
+of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
+valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never
+saved a poor woman a day's work.”
+
+“I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,” said he quietly. “On the
+contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him.”
+
+“Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,” said she,
+continuing her work.
+
+“Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,”
+ said he.
+
+“Only of late!” she cried. “Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of
+your thoughts long ago as well.”
+
+“I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
+latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.” She ceased her work
+and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and
+went to her side.
+
+“My sweet Jessamy Bride,” said he, “I have thought of your future with
+great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father
+might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent
+upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares.”
+
+“I know that,” she quietly said. “Ah, you know that I have had some
+experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame
+would have been mine!”
+
+“Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
+affair,” said he. “It was your tender heart that led you astray at
+first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But
+alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for
+you.”
+
+“Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,” said she. “Did not I send
+Colonel Gwyn away from me?”
+
+“You were wrong to do so, my Mary,” he said. “Colonel Gwyn is a good
+man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able
+to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own
+heart may lead you again as it led you before.”
+
+“You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?” said she.
+
+“Yes,” he replied. “I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as
+his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a
+girl as you in the world.”
+
+“Ah! my dear friend,” she cried. “I have seen enough of the world to
+know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from
+the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only
+begin to beset her on that day?”
+
+“Often--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least,
+not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly
+man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
+standpoint of her matchmaking mother.”
+
+“Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
+way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think
+of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of
+all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
+position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have
+seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.”
+
+“And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?”
+
+“Yes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your
+happiness--yes, happiness in the future.”
+
+“Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!” she cried. “You are
+ready to sacrifice yourself--I mean you are ready to forego all the
+pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
+the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
+happiness--or what you fancy will be happiness.”
+
+“I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.”
+
+“I do,” she said after a pause. “I do, because I know what it would mean
+to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
+marry Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“Nay--nay--do not speak so definitely,” he said.
+
+“I will speak definitely,” she cried. “Yes, the time is come for me to
+speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of
+being happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else
+with all my heart, I dare not--oh! I dare not even entertain the thought
+of marrying Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“You love some one else?” he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment
+there went through his mind the thought--
+
+“_Her heart has led her astray once again._'”
+
+“I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,” she cried;
+“I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
+world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
+heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.”
+
+Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
+in a hushed voice--
+
+“Ah, child--child--spare me that pain--let me go from you.”
+
+“Not till you hear me,” she said. “Ah! cannot you perceive that I love
+you--only you, Oliver Goldsmith?”
+
+“Hush--for God's sake!” he cried.
+
+“I will not hush,” she said. “I will speak for love's sake--for the sake
+of that love which I bear you--for the sake of that love which I know
+you return.”
+
+“Alas--alas!”
+
+“I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her
+love for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before
+heaven would be in my keeping silence--in marrying a man I do not love.
+Ah! I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood
+your nature--so sweet--so simple--so great--so true. I thought last year
+when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling which I had for
+you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to know the truth.”
+
+He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper--
+
+“Stop--stop--for God's sake, stop! I--I--do not love you.”
+
+She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
+died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes
+fixed upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
+
+“You do not love me?” she said in a slow whisper. “Will you say those
+words again with your eyes looking into mine?”
+
+“Do not humiliate me further,” he said. “Have some pity upon me.”
+
+“No--no; pity is not for me,” she said. “If you spoke the truth when you
+said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not love
+me.”
+
+“You say you know me,” he cried, “and yet you think it possible that
+I could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and
+sympathetic heart has made for your own undoing. Look there--there--into
+that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.”
+
+He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
+exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
+and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark--a
+figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
+
+“Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,” he said, “and you will see
+what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which
+have been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the
+pain they gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in
+the future? Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who
+have been kinder than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune
+that could befall them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I
+could be so base.”
+
+“I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
+worthy of being loved of all men in the world,” said she. “Ah, sir,
+cannot you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my
+affection for you?”
+
+“Mary--Mary--this is madness!”
+
+“Listen to me,” she said. “I feel that you return my affection; but I
+will put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that
+you do not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+There was another pause before he said--
+
+“Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
+ordeal? Let me go--let me go.”
+
+“Not until you answer me--not until I have proved you. Look into my
+eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
+now.”
+
+“Ah, dear child----”
+
+“You cannot speak those words.” There was another long silence. The
+terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
+are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
+maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
+whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
+before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
+expectation.
+
+He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
+way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
+said slowly--
+
+“It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.”
+
+“That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!”
+
+She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
+
+He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
+the room--out of the house.
+
+In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much
+of the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
+impulse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became
+alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went
+out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
+
+Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
+still-room, he inquired.
+
+She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell.
+
+“I am afraid that his running away was due to me,” she said. “If so, I
+shall never forgive myself.”
+
+“What can be your meaning, my dear?” he inquired. “I thought that you
+and he had always been the closest friends.”
+
+“If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,” said
+she. “You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance
+of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and
+begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the
+proposal of Colonel Gwyn.”
+
+“I heard nothing of that,” said he, with a look of astonishment. “And so
+I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
+said something that offended him.”
+
+She held down her head.
+
+“You should be ashamed of yourself,” said he “Have you not seen long ago
+that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?”
+
+“I am ashamed of myself,” said she. “I shall never forgive myself for my
+harshness.”
+
+“That will not bring him back,” said her brother-in-law. “Oh! it is
+always the best of friends who part in this fashion.”
+
+Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
+so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
+felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
+induce him to return.
+
+But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
+back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
+face was very grave.
+
+“I saw the poor fellow,” he said. “I found him at his chambers in Brick
+Court. He is very ill indeed.”
+
+“What, too ill to be moved?” she cried. He shook his head.
+
+“Far too ill to be moved,” he said. “I never saw a man in worse
+condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks
+before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love
+to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he
+says.”
+
+“His rudeness! his rudeness!” said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
+tears. “Oh, my poor friend--my poor friend!” She did not tell her sister
+all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious
+to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen
+him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had
+promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to
+the country.
+
+The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the
+postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a
+letter from the doctor.
+
+No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
+Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
+
+When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
+sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand--poems addressed to her--the
+love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
+hopeless years.
+
+She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
+
+She started up, crying--
+
+“Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me--he loves me as I love him--only
+his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love--he loves me,
+and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
+sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself--nay, he has sacrificed
+himself for me--for me!”
+
+She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
+
+“My dear--dear sister,” said Katherine, “is it possible that
+you--you----”
+
+“That I loved him, do you ask?” cried Mary, raising her head. “Yes, I
+loved him--I love him still--I shall never love any one else, and I am
+going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good--God will be good. My
+love shall live until I go to him.”
+
+“My poor child!” said her sister. “I could never have guessed your
+secret. Come away. We will go to him together.”
+
+They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
+together to Brick Court.
+
+A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
+Abington.
+
+“Do not tell me that I am too late--for God's sake say that he still
+lives!” cried Mary.
+
+The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
+
+She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at
+the girl, and the girl understood.
+
+She threw herself into her sister's arms.
+
+“He is dead!” she cried. “But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
+that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.”
+
+“That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
+Presence,” said Mrs. Abington. “Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but
+I know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the
+thought of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever
+lived. Ah, there was none like him--a man of such sweet simplicity
+that every word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his
+works; you and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not
+less than those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the
+Son who on earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.”
+
+Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
+
+She went with her sister among the weeping men and women--he had been a
+friend to all--up the stairs and into the darkened room.
+
+She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+Title: The Jessamy Bride
+
+Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger from page images generously
+provided by the Internet Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+
+By Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+Author Of "The Impudent Comedian," Etc.
+
+With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
+
+New York
+
+Duffield & Company
+
+1906
+
+[Illustration: 0001]
+
+[Illustration: 0008]
+
+[Illustration: 0009]
+
+THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are
+a company of intelligent men--although I allow that we should have
+difficulty in proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down
+with a Scotchman--and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
+intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
+ignorance and maintained by sophistry."
+
+"Why, sir," cried Goldsmith, "I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even
+the most intelligent of men--whom I take to be myself--is interfered
+with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
+another."
+
+Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
+Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced--with some
+care--that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile in
+the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
+faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
+conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind,
+and the latter--as Burke perceived in a moment--was solemn in mimicry of
+Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on his chair
+and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell turned an
+eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so that he
+might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon Garrick's
+face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right hand that
+he put behind his ear.
+
+Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
+Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious
+and unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their
+heads in the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces
+were identical as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who
+is greatly grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures
+worked by the same machinery, they turned their heads again toward
+Johnson.
+
+"Sir," said Johnson, "your endeavour to evade the consequences of
+maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching
+upon mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
+intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I
+cannot permit to pass unrebuked."
+
+"Nay, sir," cried Boswell, eagerly, "I cannot believe that Dr.
+Goldsmith's intention was so monstrous."
+
+"And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
+positive proof that the contrary is the case," roared Johnson.
+
+"Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence," said Goldsmith.
+
+"Men have been hanged on less," remarked Burke. "But, to return to the
+original matter, I should like to know upon what facts----"
+
+"Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art
+would indeed be a departure," said Goldsmith solemnly. "I cannot
+countenance a proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination."
+
+"And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
+you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?" said
+Garrick.
+
+"Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so--that's not just the
+same thing," laughed Goldsmith.
+
+"Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
+imagination," said Reynolds. "That is the most satisfactory
+arrangement."
+
+"Yes, for the author," said Burke. "Some time ago it was the book which
+was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination."
+
+"These sallies are all very well in their way," said Garrick, "but their
+brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that
+Dr. Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
+included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses
+no more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with
+the exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
+statesman--another branch of the same profession--and therefore we are
+vitally concerned in the settlement of the question."
+
+"The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir," said
+Johnson. "It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence--nay, even to
+Boswell's--that acting is a trick, not a profession--a diversion, not
+an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended to the
+contrary."
+
+"It must only have been in sport, sir," said Boswell mildly.
+
+"Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation," cried Johnson, "but
+he has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
+having you as his advocate."
+
+"Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce
+an opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest," said
+Goldsmith. "His fine sense of humour----"
+
+"Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
+return from Corsica?" shouted Johnson.
+
+"Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you," said Garrick,
+"but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of
+a wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied
+by Mr. Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as
+outcasts because we happen to be actors?"
+
+"Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy," cried Johnson. "And good enough
+for you too, you rascal!"
+
+"And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
+become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury," said Goldsmith.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who
+have relations in the church, to make such an assertion," said Johnson
+sternly. "What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in
+your estimation?"
+
+"The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither
+could the stage look for another Garrick?" said Goldsmith.
+
+"Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street
+delighted the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did," cried Johnson; and
+when he perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay
+back in his chair and roared with laughter.
+
+Reynolds took snuff.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the
+puppets--I heard him myself," said Boswell.
+
+"That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
+that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,"
+said Burke. "You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr.
+Boswell. But to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith;
+surely, Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of genius is at least
+on a level with a musician of genius."
+
+"Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
+satisfy you," replied Johnson.
+
+"Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that
+of Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's," said Burke.
+
+"Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and
+Piozzi the ill luck to be an Italian," replied Johnson. "Sir, 't is no
+use affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the
+arts. I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that
+you actually believe what your words would imply."
+
+"You can take your choice, Mr. Burke," said Goldsmith: "whether you will
+have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity."
+
+"I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space,
+just as there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really
+interesting to me personally," said Garrick, rising; "but the fact is
+that I rashly made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for
+perhaps twenty minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some
+agreement on a matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr.
+Burke and myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present."
+
+He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal
+education in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
+
+"If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I
+can bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir," said
+Goldsmith.
+
+"The dog is well enough," said Johnson; "but he has need to be kept in
+his place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him
+in his place he will tolerate as he does mine."
+
+"And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?" asked Goldsmith.
+"Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
+as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
+we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?"
+
+"Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "your question is as ridiculous as anything you
+have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say
+a good deal."
+
+"What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his
+attempts to shine," whispered Boswell to Burke.
+
+"'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice
+heard in the neighbourhood of a Niagara," said Burke.
+
+"Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?" asked Boswell.
+
+"A Niagara?" said Burke. "Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it
+in his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a
+Niagara is."
+
+"Sir," said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
+undertone. "Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+The conversation took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the
+Strand, where the party had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as
+good company as usual. There was a general feeling that he had rarely
+insulted Boswell so frequently in the course of a single evening--but
+then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself open to insult as he had upon
+this evening--and when he had finished with the Scotchman, he turned
+his attention to Garrick, the opportunity being afforded him by Oliver
+Goldsmith, who had been unguarded enough to say a word or two regarding
+that which he termed "the art of acting."
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir," cried the great dictator.
+"Who gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
+acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler
+who kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist.
+Madame Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight
+rope, will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter--nay, every poodle that
+dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist."
+
+It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission
+of acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as
+Johnson asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made;
+it was in vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included
+among the arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the
+standing of artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose
+that the tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their
+claims to be on a level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of
+humanity. Dr. Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to
+him most courteously by his friends.
+
+Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told
+Burke he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was
+thoroughly Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and
+eminently capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements
+of a clubable man.
+
+He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
+in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who,
+as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of
+theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
+he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
+successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
+distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
+
+He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what
+Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
+
+"Pray, sir," said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
+ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was
+as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. "Pray, sir, is there any evidence
+among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was
+imperishable?"
+
+"Sir," said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, "there is evidence that
+the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_
+at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry."
+
+"Well, sir?" said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
+
+"Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such
+an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to
+accept the offer of a dinner," said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest
+manner.
+
+Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally.
+He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from
+Johnson.
+
+"Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch," he murmured, but in
+no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every
+one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was
+necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he
+was the recipient.
+
+"Come, Goldy," cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, "you must
+not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
+better of you in the argument."
+
+"Argument, sir?" said Goldsmith. "I protest that I was not aware that
+any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
+argument, Doctor."
+
+"'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr.
+Boswell, sir," said Johnson, with a twinkle.
+
+"The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
+the wolf," muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
+for his Animated Nature.
+
+At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
+to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
+to obtain permission to join the party.
+
+"My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?" said
+Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
+
+"Why, sir," said Boswell, "you have told us more than once that you had
+a cousin who was a dignitary of the church."
+
+"Have I, indeed?" said Goldsmith. "Then I suppose, if I said so, this
+must be the very man. A Dean, is he?"
+
+"Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common
+room of a tavern," said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any
+sudden addition to his audience of an evening. "If your relation were an
+Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
+the order to show him into this room." Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
+He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone
+told the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face
+undoubtedly wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any
+of his friends, before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and
+somewhat undersized clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands
+and apron of a dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect
+carriage that gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was
+white, but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in
+one eye.
+
+The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward.
+It contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table
+twenty minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver,
+perceived in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to
+that with which Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A
+little jerk which the visitor gave in raising his head was laughably
+like a motion made by Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
+
+"Gentlemen," said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, "I entreat of
+you to be seated." His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
+although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made
+an attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have
+regarded him as sincere. "Nay, gentlemen, I insist," continued the
+stranger; "you embarrass me with your courtesy."
+
+"Sir," said Johnson, "you will not find that any company over which I
+have the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church."
+
+"I am the humblest of its ministers, sir," said the stranger, with a
+deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
+of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. "Ah! I do not need to ask which
+of this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly--I beg your pardon,
+Oliver--ah, old times--old times!" He had caught Goldsmith's hands
+in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
+Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of
+a smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long
+silence that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an
+element of pathos.
+
+Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
+all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was
+now worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
+
+"I ask your pardon, sir," he said, gravely, "but--sir, I am a
+painter--my name is Reynolds--and--well, sir, the family resemblance
+between you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith--a resemblance that
+perhaps only a painter's eye could detect--seemed to me so extraordinary
+as you stood together, that----"
+
+"Not another word, sir, I entreat of you," cried the visitor. "My
+cousin Oliver and I have not met for--how many years is it, Nolly? Not
+eleven--no, it cannot be eleven--and yet----"
+
+"Ah, sir," said Oliver, "time is fugitive--very fugitive."
+
+He shook his head sadly.
+
+"I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
+wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase," said the stranger.
+"But you must present me to your friends, Noll--Oliver, I mean. You,
+sir"--he turned to Reynolds--"have told me your name. Am I fortunate
+enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no
+doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am your
+servant. And you, sir"--he turned to Burke--"I seem to have seen your
+face somewhere--it is strangely familiar----"
+
+"That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir," said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
+recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of
+pride, as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The
+clergyman made precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying----
+
+"What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty--the friend of the
+people?"
+
+"The same, sir," said Oliver. "He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
+Goldsmith."
+
+"Then he is my friend also," said the clergyman. "Sir, to be in a
+position to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life."
+
+"You do me great honor, sir," said Burke.
+
+Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
+Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so
+far neglected.
+
+"Mr. Burke, you are our countryman--Oliver's and mine--and I know you
+are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have a talk
+with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?"
+
+"With all my power, sir," said Burke. "Give me your hand again, sir.
+Mrs. Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an
+honour upon the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about."
+
+"You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
+you work with your arm that way?"
+
+"There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean," said Oliver.
+
+"They can wait," cried Mr. Dean. "They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
+Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
+mortified at what I have said."
+
+"This is Mr. Boswell, sir," said Goldsmith.
+
+"Mr. Boswell--of where, sir?"
+
+"Mr. Boswell, of--of Scotland, sir."
+
+"Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre.
+Your clergymen might be better employed, Mr.--Mr.----"
+
+"Boswell, sir."
+
+"Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you
+ever visit your country again--a remote possibility, from all that I can
+learn of your countrymen."
+
+"Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'----" began
+Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
+
+"What, you would condone his offence?" he cried. "The fact of your
+having a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still
+sadly lax in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better."
+
+"And this is Dr. Johnson, sir," said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
+
+His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
+bowing profoundly.
+
+"Dr. Johnson," he cried, "I have long desired to meet you, sir."
+
+"I am your servant, Mr. Dean," said Johnson, towering above him as he
+got--somewhat awkwardly--upon his feet. "No gentleman of your cloth,
+sir--leaving aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in
+the church to which you have attained--fails to obtain my respect."
+
+"I am glad of that, sir," said the Dean. "It shows that you, though
+a Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal
+on behalf of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not
+disposed to relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration
+for the church."
+
+"Sir," said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
+"Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable.
+I am not a Non-conformist--on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
+quarter."
+
+"Sir," said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke
+to a subordinate. "Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened
+country and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you
+in the company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe
+that you were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of
+conscience. I regret that I was mistaken."
+
+"Sir!" cried Goldsmith, in great consternation--for Johnson was rendered
+speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, instead
+of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. "Sir, this is the
+great Dr. Johnson--nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one."
+
+"'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
+weak," said the clergyman, smiling. "Well, well, we will take the honest
+gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one
+sense: he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one
+scale. To such greatness we would do well to bow."
+
+"Heavens, sir!" said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in
+it. "Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?"
+
+"Alas! sir," said the stranger, "I am but a country parson. I cannot be
+expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
+Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you,
+Mr.--Mr.--ah! you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though
+I doubt not you are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you
+written that entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence
+of such gentlemen as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and--I add with
+pride--Oliver Goldsmith?"
+
+"I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir," muttered Boswell.
+
+"And he has doubtless greatness enough--avoirdupois--to serve for both!
+Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to speak for
+himself, tell me what he has written."
+
+"He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
+Corsica," said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
+
+"And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy
+altitude in literature?"
+
+"You are surely jesting, sir," said Goldsmith. "The world is familiar
+with Dr. Johnson's Dictionary."
+
+"Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no
+need for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the
+work appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?"
+
+[Illustration: 0037]
+
+But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up
+a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown
+and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his
+wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
+
+"Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
+with greater tenderness," said the clergyman. "I would fain hope that
+the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the
+work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?"
+
+"Eighteen years ago," said Oliver.
+
+"And what books has he written within the intervening years?"
+
+"He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
+our authors."
+
+"Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
+eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You,
+cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be
+without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable
+list; but your friend--oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!--he is no true
+worker in literature, or he would--nay, he could not, have remained idle
+all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not
+use his pen?"
+
+"He has a pension from the King, sir," stuttered Oliver. "I tell you,
+sir, he is the most learned man in Europe."
+
+"His is a sad case," said the clergyman. "To refrain from administering
+to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious
+duty." He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head.
+Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's
+jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. "Dr.
+Johnson," said the stranger, "I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman
+to urge upon you to amend your way of life."
+
+"Sir," shouted Johnson, "if you were not a clergyman I would say that
+you were a very impertinent fellow!"
+
+"Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience--if you have
+one--tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the
+knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
+room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
+acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
+have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
+friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
+friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
+though they are workers--not without honour--at that profession of
+letters which you despise--nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not
+despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life
+to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a
+pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
+of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr.
+Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think
+you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those
+tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down
+all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your
+love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I
+leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my
+leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have
+not spoken in vain."
+
+He made a general bow--an awkward bow--and walked with some dignity to
+the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+When he had disappeared, the room was very silent.
+
+Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
+buried in his hands, started up, crying out, "'Rasse-las, Prince
+of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he
+published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?" He ran to the door and
+opened it, calling downstairs: "'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!"
+"Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!"
+
+"Sir!" came the roar of Dr. Johnson. "Close that door and return to your
+chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
+which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
+decently."
+
+Goldsmith shut the door.
+
+"I did you a gross injustice, sir," said he, returning slowly to the
+table. "I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book
+since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the
+moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'"
+
+"If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force
+of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson. "If I am
+suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
+volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
+industry."
+
+"Those who know you, sir," cried Goldsmith, "do not need any evidence of
+your industry. As for that man----"
+
+"Let the man alone, sir," thundered Johnson.
+
+"Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?" said Boswell.
+
+"Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next
+to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's;
+and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks."
+
+"Oh, no, sir," said Boswell. "We deny your generous plea of
+justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written
+even within the year."
+
+"Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the--well, the less I think of
+them, if you will allow me the paradox," said Johnson. "Sir, the man
+is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey
+my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can
+forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my
+Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?"
+
+"His name, sir, his name?" faltered Goldsmith.
+
+"Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name," said Johnson.
+
+"His name, sir, is--is--God help me, sir, I know not what is his name."
+
+"Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell
+tells me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did
+so in a spirit of boasting, you erred."
+
+For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
+in a low tone:
+
+"The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean."
+
+"Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it," cried Boswell. "You boasted
+of him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too."
+
+"Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith," said Burke with a smile.
+
+"His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
+nature are maintained when one hears his voice," remarked Goldsmith in a
+low tone.
+
+"Here comes Mr. Garrick himself," said Reynolds as the door was opened
+and Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced
+to the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before.
+"Mr. Garrick is an impartial witness on this point."
+
+"Whatever he may be on some other points," remarked Burke.
+
+"Gentlemen," said Garrick, "you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
+you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May
+I inquire the reason of the difference?"
+
+"You may not, sir!" shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
+acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that
+it would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he
+knew that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick
+were to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene
+for the entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had
+heard more than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield
+had created by his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson,
+played an important part. He had been congratulating himself upon the
+fortunate absence of the actor during the visit of the clergyman.
+
+"You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir," he repeated, as Garrick looked
+with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
+
+"Sir," said Boswell, "my veracity is called in question."
+
+"What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
+that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?" cried Johnson.
+
+"Nay, sir, one question," said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
+"Mr. Garrick--have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for a
+relative?"
+
+"Why, no, sir," replied Garrick; "but I heard him say that he had a
+brother who deserved to be a Dean."
+
+"And so I had," cried Goldsmith. "Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
+poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago."
+
+"I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
+concerned," said Johnson; "but it seemed to me that some of the man's
+gestures--nay, some of the tones of his voice as well--resembled those
+of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table noticed
+the similarity to which I allude."
+
+"I certainly noticed it," cried Boswell eagerly.
+
+"Your evidence is not admissible, sir," said Johnson. "What does Sir
+Joshua Reynolds say?"
+
+"Why, sir," said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick,
+"I confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
+regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
+was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence."
+
+"But if not, sir, how can you account for----"
+
+Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
+
+"Be silent, sir," he thundered. "If you have left your manners in
+Scotland in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for
+the gift was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country
+in that respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken
+touching this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in
+the light of a personal affront."
+
+After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
+
+"I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the
+past half-hour than any of this company."
+
+"Well, Davy," said Johnson, "the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
+dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been,
+sir, and of what nature was your diversion?"
+
+"Sir," said Garrick, "I have been with a poet."
+
+"So have we, sir--with the greatest poet alive--the author of 'The
+Deserted Village'--and yet you enter to find us immoderately glum," said
+Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he did not
+regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he quite
+believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
+relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
+
+"Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith," said Garrick.
+"Mine was only a sort of poet."
+
+"And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?" asked Boswell.
+
+"A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry," replied
+Garrick.
+
+He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
+for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who
+was anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just
+written. The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house
+in the Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was
+short, it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated
+by Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
+
+"A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman--he wore
+the bands and apron of a Dean," he continued, "not seeming to notice the
+little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
+grasped me by the arm," he continued, "doubtless recognising me from
+my portraits--for he said he had never seen me act--and then began an
+harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
+that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction
+than my neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith,
+gentlemen, he took it quite as a family grievance." Suddenly he paused,
+and looked around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest
+were grave. A thought seemed to strike the narrator. "What!" he cried,
+"it is not possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin,
+the Dean, regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'t is
+an extraordinary coincidence that I should have encountered
+him--unless--good heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here
+when I had thrown him off?"
+
+"Sir," cried Oliver, "I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no
+Dean, entered this room!"
+
+"Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court
+on your return," said Garrick. "Oh, yes, Doctor!--a small man with the
+family bow of the Goldsmiths--something like this." He gave a comical
+reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
+
+"I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of
+mine," protested Goldsmith.
+
+"And let that be the end of the matter," declared Johnson, with no lack
+of decisiveness in his voice.
+
+"Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman
+again," laughed Garrick. "I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was
+endeavouring to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version
+of 'The Deserted Village'--he said he had the version at his lodging,
+and meant to read it to his cousin--I ask your pardon, sir, but he said
+'cousin.'"
+
+"Sir, let us have no more of this--cousin or no cousin," roared Johnson.
+
+"That is my prayer, sir--I utter it with all my heart and soul," said
+Garrick. "It was about my poet I meant to speak--my poet and his play.
+What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as the
+subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?"
+
+"I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme
+of theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that
+scoundrel Foote," said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite
+himself again, and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with
+that finality which carried conviction with it--yes, to James Boswell.
+
+For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details
+of his interview with the poet who--according to his account--had
+designed the drama of "Otaheite" in order to afford Garrick an
+opportunity of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in
+feathers, and beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while
+he delivered a series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to
+Mars, Vulcan and Diana.
+
+"The monarch was especially devoted to Diana," said Garrick. "My poet
+explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to
+his advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess;
+and when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite
+could know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea
+Islanders were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights
+in the Pagan mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that
+the Romans should claim a monopoly of Diana."
+
+Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's
+contention was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief
+to his mind to have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the
+argument, though he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in
+the poet's argument.
+
+He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
+question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
+of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
+mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
+hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
+force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
+originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
+tragedy.
+
+When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson
+apart--greatly to the pique of Boswell--and said--
+
+"Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
+will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
+you."
+
+"You deserve no favour, Goldy," said Johnson, laying his hand on the
+little man's shoulder, "and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants
+you one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your
+debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting
+you a favour."
+
+"You say everything better than any living man, sir," cried Goldsmith.
+"How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
+suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am
+anxious to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I
+have written and Mr. Colman is about to produce."
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, "we have been good friends for several
+years now."
+
+"Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir."
+
+"Undoubtedly, sir--long before you became recognised as the most
+melodious of our poets--the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote
+the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your
+second--nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be
+damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of
+'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith."
+
+Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
+his eyes and his voice as he said--
+
+"Your generosity overpowers me, sir."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+Boswell, who was standing to one side watching---his eyes full of
+curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word--the little
+scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care
+that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's
+house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly;
+but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own
+capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets
+which had been exchanged in the corner.
+
+For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object--nay,
+when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
+Johnson turned upon him, saying--
+
+"Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell
+you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man,
+woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be
+a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger,
+who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by
+you, sir."
+
+Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
+good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month
+of inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during
+the summer.
+
+The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
+Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house
+in Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through
+Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was
+very eloquent in his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who,
+he said, in spite of the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an
+impostor calling himself his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to
+receive the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, who understood the
+temperament of his countryman, felt that he himself might surpass in
+eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he took for his text the magnanimity
+of the author of "The Good Natured Man." He, however, refrained from the
+attempt to prove to his companion that there were other ways by which a
+man could gain a reputation for generosity than by permitting the most
+distinguished writer of the age to dedicate a comedy to him.
+
+Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
+quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds
+was as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at
+a corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of
+ear-shot, he laid his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he
+said--
+
+"You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
+friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy--the greatest
+genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, and there
+never will be another such."
+
+"Sir," said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon
+his face, every gesture that he made corresponding. "Sir, I protest that
+you are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it,
+but as for the rascality--well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both
+a great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
+example, but----"
+
+"Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
+device as that bow which you made, Davy," said Reynolds. "It presented
+before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths--all made in the same fashion
+as our friend on in front, and all striving---and not unsuccessfully,
+either--to maintain the family tradition of the Goldsmith bow. And
+then your imitation of your imitation of the same movement--how did we
+contain ourselves--Burke and I?"
+
+"You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?" said Garrick.
+
+"I'm convinced that he did."
+
+"But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope."
+
+"You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
+tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man."
+
+"You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
+certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to
+him and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson
+and never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue."
+
+"You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
+David."
+
+"It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device,
+my friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
+Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are
+others who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man
+to offer an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects."
+
+"He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy."
+
+"And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
+attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
+man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow
+a bad word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole
+dozen could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our
+friend Mr. Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of
+generosity because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at
+them, but preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I
+would rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of
+a dozen yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such
+as Bunbury. On the same principle, I have no particular liking to be
+preserved to make sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that
+literary three-decker, Johnson."
+
+"I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
+schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else."
+
+"That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up
+my mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an
+actor being a degrading-one--about an actor being on the level with a
+fiddler--nay, one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old
+schoolmaster a more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it
+is probable that he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain
+truths which were told to him by the Dean."
+
+"And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
+Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled
+by that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
+characteristics of the Goldsmith family."
+
+"Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour--declaring that he had
+never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?"
+
+"Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
+magnanimous, David--as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an arm,
+plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a grain
+or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I have
+seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
+commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
+force the immorality of the whole proceeding."
+
+They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
+and Burke--the former still talking eagerly--having waited for them to
+come up.
+
+"Gentlemen," said Reynolds, "you have all gone out of your accustomed
+way to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
+refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
+opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
+Betty Hamilton."
+
+"_O matre pulchra filia pulchrior_" said Goldsmith; but there was not
+much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been
+the loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
+Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
+
+Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
+servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out
+by the servant.
+
+He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
+
+"Ah, my dear Sir Joshua," he cried, "I have to entreat your forgiveness
+for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
+absence."
+
+"Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration," said Sir Joshua.
+"I cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither."
+
+"The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
+picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made
+a point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside
+when she commences to catechise a poor man, sir."
+
+"I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
+to your Lordship's eye," said Sir Joshua.
+
+"The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua," said the young man, but
+with no great show of ardour. "It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also
+a beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side
+of the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick--two birds with the one stone, you
+know?"
+
+"True, sir," said Garrick. "Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise."
+
+"That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play," said the young
+man. "Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at
+the Pantheon to-night."
+
+"Is it not a mask?" said Garrick.
+
+"Nay, finer sport even than that," laughed the youth. "We are going to
+do more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in
+twenty years, sir."
+
+"At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?" inquired Garrick.
+
+"Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,"
+cried Lord Stanley. "Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
+acquainted with them?"
+
+"Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith," said Garrick.
+
+"I have often longed for that privilege," said Lord Stanley, bowing
+in reply to the salutation of the others. "Mr. Burke's speech on the
+Marriage Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always
+been my favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another,
+Dr. Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
+distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
+invite you all to the Pantheon--here are tickets to the show. You will
+give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night when
+Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced."
+
+"Alas, my Lord," said Garrick, "that privilege will be in the hands of
+Mr. Col-man."
+
+"What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
+you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to
+act my part. But we shall meet there, I trust."
+
+He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with
+an air of mystery.
+
+"What does he mean?" asked Reynolds.
+
+"That is what I have been asking myself," replied Garrick. "By heavens,
+I have it!" he cried after a pause of a few moments. "I have heard
+rumours of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers
+of the Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of
+Vauxhall and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the
+entrance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the
+leader of the scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also
+one of the plot. Let us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss
+being-present for the world."
+
+"I am not so eager," said Sir Joshua. "I have my work to engage me early
+in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to
+be on foot."
+
+"I have not, thank heaven!" cried Garrick; "nor has Dr. Goldsmith,
+I'll swear. As for Burke--well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
+seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President."
+
+"We need a frolic," cried Goldsmith. "God knows we had a dull enough
+dinner at the Crown and Anchor."
+
+"An Irishman and a frolic are like--well, let us say like Lady Betty and
+your macaw, Sir Joshua," said Burke. "They go together very naturally."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+Sir Joshua entered his house, and the others hastened northward to the
+Oxford road, where the Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a
+year for the entertainment of the fashionable world--a more fashionable
+world, it was hoped, than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh
+and Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and
+fashion sought their entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly
+Rooms when the weather failed to allow of their meeting at the two great
+public gardens. But as the government of the majority of these places
+invariably became lax--there was only one Beau Nash who had the
+cleverness to perceive that an autocracy was the only possible form of
+government for such assemblies--the committee of the Pantheon determined
+to frame so strict a code of rules, bearing upon the admission of
+visitors, as should, they believed, prevent the place from falling to
+the low level of the gardens.
+
+In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
+there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
+excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
+maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
+most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed
+to enter.
+
+The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions
+as eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
+sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going
+to those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such
+persons understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be
+optimists in regard to the question of the possibility of combining
+Puritanism and promiscuous entertainments terminating long after
+midnight. They hailed the arrival of the time when innocent recreation
+would not be incompatible with the display of the richest dresses or the
+most sumptuous figures.
+
+But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
+the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
+best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
+the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
+published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
+artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility
+of actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually
+scandalous.
+
+While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
+declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
+resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
+affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying
+out of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make
+the management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in
+endeavouring to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
+
+When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the
+thoroughfare was then called, the result of this meeting was making
+itself felt. The road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for
+something unusual to occur, though of what form it was to assume no
+one seemed to be aware. The crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They
+cheered heartily every coach that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed
+ladies to the Pantheon and to other and less public entertainments.
+They waved their hats over the chairs which, similarly burdened, went
+swinging along between the bearers, footmen walking on each side
+and link-boys running in advance, the glare of their torches giving
+additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows who had the
+chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an officer of the
+Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and occasionally a
+jostling match took place between some supercilious young beau and the
+apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force his way.
+More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of the
+lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
+next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
+with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
+Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick,
+drew his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the
+crowd. It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a
+space was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was
+thrown to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy
+dropped upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the
+crowd cheered and jeered in turn.
+
+At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
+frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
+dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
+use both.
+
+But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road,
+all the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object,
+and there was a cry of, "Here they come--here she comes--a cheer for
+Mrs. Baddeley!"
+
+"O Lord," cried Garrick, "they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
+Baddeley for their experiment!"
+
+"Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees," said Goldsmith.
+"They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs.
+Baddeley. There are many gradations in colour between black and white."
+
+"But not between black and White's," said Burke. "This notion is well
+worthy of the wit of White's."
+
+"Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of," said
+Garrick. "But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
+cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse."
+
+"That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene
+as this," said Burke. "Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week
+after to-night."
+
+"By my soul!" cried Goldsmith, "she looks as if she would give double
+that sum to be safe at home in bed."
+
+The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
+the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
+through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance
+in front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold
+and silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
+gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed,
+and they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one
+side was the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr.
+Hanger, equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was
+immediately behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of
+the lady's escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
+
+The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was
+seated, smiling----"Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley," Burke
+remarked.
+
+"Oh, yes," cried Goldsmith, "she was always the better actress. I am
+fortunate in having her in my new comedy."
+
+"The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington," said
+Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
+several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
+
+"And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
+the Duchesses," said Burke.
+
+"My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
+sway," said Garrick. "I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
+will emancipate him."
+
+"If so he is in error," said Burke. "The Duchess of Argyll will never
+let him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady
+Betty."
+
+"Till then, do you say?" said Goldsmith. "Faith, sir, if he fancies he
+will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had
+a very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady
+is most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
+Reynolds."
+
+The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to
+Lady Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be
+a _fait accompli_; but there were rumours that the young man had of
+late been making an effort to release himself--that it was only with
+difficulty the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon
+her daughter, whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
+
+The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
+crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
+friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
+dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
+gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
+plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
+
+It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
+that a voice cried--
+
+"Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow
+them to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!" The
+discordant note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment
+a seasonable one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
+
+The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up
+a shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a
+Methodist service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with
+which the early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another
+direction a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as
+well as men; but above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the
+preacher was heard.
+
+"By my soul," said Garrick, "that effect is strikingly dramatic. I
+should like to find some one who would give me a play with such a
+scene."
+
+A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in
+the act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned
+suddenly round.
+
+"I'll take your order, sir," he cried. "Only you will have to pay me
+handsomely."
+
+"What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
+escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?" said Garrick.
+
+"Hush, man, for Heaven's sake," cried Captain Horneck--Goldsmith's
+"Captain in lace."
+
+"If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
+would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to
+my Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
+happen." Then he turned to Goldsmith. "Come along, Nolly, my friend," he
+cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; "if you want a scene for
+your new comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not
+wearing the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to
+be resisted, whatever you wear."
+
+"You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain," said
+Goldsmith. "I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
+stop at the porch of the Pantheon."
+
+"As a matter of course you will come," said young Horneck. "Let us
+hasten out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin
+to preach!"
+
+He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
+arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as
+they could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his
+companion, that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but
+for the fact that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord
+Albemarle, and that his mother had entreated him not to do anything that
+might jeopardise the match.
+
+"You are more discreet than Lord Stanley," said Garrick.
+
+"Nay," said Goldsmith. "'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
+means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
+would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that
+his act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess."
+
+"You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly," said the Captain.
+"Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
+But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty
+and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself."
+
+"Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming," said Burke.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being
+under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have
+had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building,
+where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed
+his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the
+people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little
+way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of
+the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and
+cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just
+as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down.
+
+The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed
+in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a
+line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped
+out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked
+between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered
+the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy
+than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at
+that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition.
+
+Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the "business" of the part which she had
+to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding
+herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick
+standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he
+bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit
+was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a
+_grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her
+hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying--
+
+"La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's
+the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?"
+
+"Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production," said Garrick
+gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
+porch.
+
+The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
+serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
+collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
+side of the lady.
+
+"Madam," he cried, "honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
+What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
+visitor?" he shouted to the liveried porter.
+
+"Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,"
+replied the man.
+
+"Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter," said the young
+gentleman. "Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay."
+
+"I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir," replied the man.
+
+"Nay, Mr. Hanger," replied the frightened actress, "I wish not to be the
+cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair."
+
+"Gentlemen," cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, "I know that it is not
+your will that we should come in active contest with the representatives
+of authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that
+our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?" When
+the cries of assent came to an end he continued, "Then, sirs, the
+responsibility for bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords
+to the front! You will touch no man with a point unless he oppose you.
+Should a constable assault any of this company you will run him through
+without mercy. Now, gentlemen."
+
+In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and
+in that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
+moments stood irresolute, but then--the points of a dozen swords were
+within a yard of their breasts--lowered their staves and slipped quietly
+aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt to
+withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
+went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
+
+To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from
+the thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort
+walked through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being
+sheathed at the entrance.
+
+It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
+rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
+of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to
+look scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave
+the assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose
+first husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively
+plain, in spite of their masks of paint and powder.
+
+The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of
+her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
+twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess
+of Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of
+a body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
+anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had
+no touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her
+complexion, and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add
+to their silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the
+cold whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose.
+The solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that
+she made with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that
+lovely woman.
+
+Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
+small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
+Duchess's elegance and distinction.
+
+Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at
+the lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her
+body guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her,
+they exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess
+even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster
+shrugged her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a
+Frenchwoman.
+
+Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
+also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying--
+
+"Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
+her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
+frightened away."
+
+Captain Horneck had gone up to his _fiancee_.
+
+"You were not in that creature's train, I hope," said the lady.
+
+"I? Dear child, for what do you take me?" he said. "No, I certainly was
+not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith."
+
+"If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
+you the impropriety," said she.
+
+(She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than
+a year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
+
+By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and
+now returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where
+Mrs. Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
+
+"Madam," said Lord Conway, "these gentlemen are anxious to offer you
+their sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and
+to express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour
+them by your patronage."
+
+And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the
+management, with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling
+actress.
+
+"And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton," said Lord Stanley. "She
+agreed to wait in her chair until this matter was settled."
+
+"She can take very good care of herself," said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
+curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to
+underrate the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to
+divide the honours attached to her position with another woman, much
+less with one who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself.
+"Mrs. Abington is a little timid, my Lord," she continued; "she may not
+find herself quite at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place,
+to be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better
+taste."
+
+But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was
+conveyed to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of
+the honours which were being done to the lady who had entered the room,
+and when this news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through
+the porch to the side of her sister actress.
+
+And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll
+and Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two
+actresses, offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them
+frequently at the assemblies in the rotunda.
+
+The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
+condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
+their shoulders once more.
+
+Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
+disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew
+that the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the
+Duchess's daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity
+of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible
+suitors were growing scarce?
+
+Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played
+under his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy,
+and he was compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more
+highly finished exhibition of this form of art.
+
+His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
+Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
+liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to
+remain in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious
+to see what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and
+his friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the
+part of the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke,
+he heard a merry voice behind him saying--
+
+"Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the
+Pantheon?"
+
+"Nay," cried another voice, "Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing
+of a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
+century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on
+the Oxford road."
+
+He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
+handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
+
+"Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride--and my sweet Little Comedy!" he cried, as
+the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act
+of making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
+Katherine--the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. "Mrs. Horneck, madam,
+I am your servant--and don't I look your servant, too," he added,
+remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
+
+"You look always the same good friend," said the lady.
+
+"Nay," laughed Mrs. Bunbury, "if he were your servant he would take
+care, for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it
+is not that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something
+gorgeous. What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?"
+
+(His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
+Bun-burys.)
+
+"Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
+company, madam," said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. "But
+a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
+to-night." He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses
+and their admirers.
+
+Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
+
+"The air is tainted," said Goldsmith, solemnly.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. "'T is as you
+say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh."
+
+"I said not so, madam," cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. "As
+amusing---amusing----"
+
+"As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,"
+protested Little Comedy. "Were they not, Mary?"
+
+"Oh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them,"
+replied the Jessamy Bride.
+
+"There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
+witnesses!" said Mrs. Bunbury.
+
+"I could deny nothing to two such faces," said Goldsmith, "even though
+one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius
+weeping over the Pantheon."
+
+"And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
+it?" she inquired, with her chin in the air.
+
+"Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,"
+said Goldsmith.
+
+"Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be," cried the young
+lady.
+
+"Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be," said
+Oliver.
+
+"That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,"
+remarked Mary.
+
+"And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the
+Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer," cried her sister,
+with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well
+qualified to be an exponent.
+
+"'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom," said Goldsmith.
+
+"Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to
+the Royal Academy of Arts," said a lady who had come up with Burke at
+that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
+movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
+
+Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
+Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
+unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
+
+"In the presence of Mrs. Thrale," Goldsmith began, but seeing the
+ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and
+the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
+
+"Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
+Goldsmith?" said Mrs. Thrale.
+
+"Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
+declining to argue out the matter with you," said the Professor of
+Ancient History.
+
+Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
+quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed
+in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention
+to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who,
+moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in
+accepting her patronage.
+
+She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most
+of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the
+Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
+busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
+injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_,
+she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the
+benefit of her remarks.
+
+Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy,
+pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when,
+suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing
+behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the
+expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as
+she gazed across the rotunda.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object
+was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs.
+Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence
+of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his
+bearing.
+
+Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck
+and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an
+instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
+the girl across the room.
+
+Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
+white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after
+the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy
+of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been
+a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but
+he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely
+noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them;
+and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the
+majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the
+name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently
+interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that
+elaborate bow.
+
+Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star,
+but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
+
+"I have never seen him before," she said. "I don't think he can be
+any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually
+nobodies--until we come to know them."
+
+"That is quite reasonable," said he. "It is a distinction to become your
+friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor
+at the Academy are forgotten."
+
+His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
+attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
+
+"Heavens, child!" she whispered to her, "what is the matter with you?"
+
+"What should be the matter with me?" said Mary. "What, except--oh, this
+place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
+well ventilated at all times!"
+
+"My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air," said
+Bunbury.
+
+"No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
+moment," said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. "For heaven's
+sake don't stare so, child," she added to her sister, making a pitiful
+attempt to laugh.
+
+"But, my dear----" began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary.
+
+"Nay," she cried, "I will not have our mother alarmed, and--well, every
+one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness
+has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company?
+Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss.
+Lend me your arm, if you please."
+
+"With all pleasure in life," cried Oliver.
+
+He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
+greatly she was trembling.
+
+When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister
+and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
+immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
+who had bowed to her.
+
+"Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend," she said. "Take me
+somewhere--some place away from here--any place away from here."
+
+He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one
+sconce with wax candles was alight.
+
+"Why should you tremble, my dear girl?" said he. "What is there to be
+afraid of? I am your friend--you know that I would die to save you from
+the least trouble."
+
+"Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?" she cried. "I am in no
+trouble--only for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you
+did not come in the bloom-tinted coat after all."
+
+He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was
+broken only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's
+song--the hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the
+rotunda and around the galleries.
+
+At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying--
+
+"I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend--I wonder what
+you think of your Jessamy Bride."
+
+"I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear," said he tenderly.
+"But if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may
+be able to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a
+moment. Why, what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry
+in France together?"
+
+"Nothing--nothing has happened--I give you my word upon it," she
+said. "Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
+frightened--no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have
+not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could not
+understand--psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. Goldsmith;
+girls are foolish creatures."
+
+"Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?"
+said he. "Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence?
+Think if it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs
+are concerned, but I feel that for others--for you, my dear--ah, child,
+don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
+poignancy is blunted?"
+
+"I have never had consolation except from you," said the girl. "But
+this--this--oh, my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's
+soul to enable you to write those lines--
+
+               'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+
+               And finds too late. . . '?"
+
+There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to
+his forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked
+slowly away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than
+a dozen steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of
+indecision, hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying--
+
+"I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good."
+
+"Yes," she said; "it is only a woman who can think everything that is
+evil about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their
+own destruction, but by women."
+
+She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
+
+"Let us go away," she said. "I am sick of this place. There is no corner
+of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever
+any singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song!
+I would pay fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her
+efforts." Her laugh had a shrill note that caused it to sound very
+pitiful to the man who heard it.
+
+He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
+standing with Burke and her son.
+
+"I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song," said Mrs.
+Horneck. "We have been entranced with its melody."
+
+"Oh, no; I have missed no note of it--no note. Was there ever anything
+so delicious--so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went homeward,
+mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari."
+
+"At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!"
+said Burke. "It is the young miss in these days who insists on her
+mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!"
+
+"Mary was always a wise little person," said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+"Wise? Oh, let us go home!" said the girl wearily.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called," said her
+mother.
+
+Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the
+janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
+
+He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
+lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
+girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
+hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
+
+The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went
+out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While
+Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was
+furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for
+seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so
+clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated,
+bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so
+rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a
+gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if
+to take leave of the ladies.
+
+The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
+staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
+the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered
+wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his
+awkwardness.
+
+"Curse you for a lout!" cried the officer.
+
+Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
+
+"Look you, sir!" he said. "I have offered you my humblest apologies for
+the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to
+say as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir--Oliver
+Goldsmith--and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that we
+are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
+may be."
+
+The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
+cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish,
+shouted "Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke
+forever!" For both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as
+they were in society.
+
+While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
+in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
+stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand.
+Then he turned to his opponent, saying--
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you
+can let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe."
+
+"Or if it suits you better, sir," said another gentleman coming to
+Goldsmith's side, "you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
+Clare."
+
+"My Lord," cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, "I have no
+quarrel with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in
+the heat of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman
+might not make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I
+have the honour to wish your Lordship good-night."
+
+He bowed and made his exit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting
+him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let
+him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his
+comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman,
+felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece was so
+inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough to
+sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible.
+
+He read this letter--one of several which he had received from Colman
+during the week prophesying disaster--without impatience, and threw it
+aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save the
+expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
+his lines--
+
+               "When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+
+               And finds too late...."
+
+"Too late----" She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had broken,
+as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had broken,
+when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is enshrined for
+all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress of tears. It
+would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in her eyes.
+Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
+
+What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl
+who had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other
+human being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had
+shown themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing
+himself on the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when
+Little Comedy married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him
+which had begun at Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he
+spent at the Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his
+life.
+
+But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his "Jessamy
+Bride," drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt
+from the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature--that
+in her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy
+which he sought. More than once she had proved to him that she
+recognised the greatness of his nature--his simplicity, his generosity,
+the tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his
+trustfulness, that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his
+intolerance of hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was
+the note of the most successful productions of the day. Above all,
+he felt that she recognised his true attitude in relation to English
+literature. If he was compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order
+to earn his daily bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English
+literature. How nobly he discharged this debt his "Traveller," "The
+Vicar of Wakefield," "The Deserted Village," and "The Good Natured
+Man" testified at intervals. He felt that he was the truest poet, the
+sincerest dramatist, of the period, and he never allowed the work which
+he was compelled to do for the booksellers to turn him aside from his
+high aims.
+
+It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood
+what his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of
+the world. She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she
+understood him and sympathised with him.
+
+As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
+her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
+time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
+her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
+how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a
+long visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look
+of gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her
+with a letter. "The Vicar of Wakefield" was the book, and she had said--
+
+"You can never, never know what it has been to me--what it has done
+for me." Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude--of
+affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes
+had overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not
+be easily severed.
+
+[Illustration: 0105]
+
+But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
+song.
+
+What was he to think of her?
+
+One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then,
+on glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
+changed from one of merriment to one of despair--the despair of a bird
+that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
+
+What was he to think of her?
+
+He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of
+her, but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
+certain, brought about her change of mood.
+
+It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
+guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
+going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
+means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep
+the man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
+rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
+
+Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary
+it had proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the
+girls, and he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to
+regard the occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run
+the man through some vital part.
+
+What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the
+very sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him,
+and his too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number
+of answers to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no
+ill of her. He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly
+good. He felt that her concern was on account of some one else who
+might be in the power of that man. He knew how generous she was--how
+sympathetic. He had told her some of his own troubles, and though he did
+so lightly, as was his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing
+of them. Might it not then be that the trouble which affected her was
+not her own, but another's?
+
+Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
+incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
+
+Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow
+whose appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had
+escaped with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an
+ordinary shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how
+he had declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a
+man he would have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but
+design, and would have been ready to fight.
+
+Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of
+the man would be a step in the right direction.
+
+It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the
+morning that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which
+contained some unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the
+details of the news, but he was certain that on receiving it he had a
+definite idea that it was unpleasant. When he now read Colman's
+letter for the second time he found that his recollection of his first
+impression was not at fault. It was just his luck: no man was in the
+habit of writing more joyous letters or receiving more depressing than
+Goldsmith.
+
+He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
+mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
+to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
+could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
+dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
+stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
+interests to be connected with a failure.
+
+This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
+
+"Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
+not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?" he said.
+
+"It might be in respect to most plays, sir," replied Colman; "but in
+regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
+anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
+this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy."
+
+"I shall try to bear both with fortitude," said Goldsmith quietly,
+though he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his
+gratuitous predictions of failure--predictions which from the first his
+attitude in regard to the play had contributed to realise. "I should
+like to have a talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward," he added.
+
+"They are in the green room," said the manager. "I must say that I was
+in hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work
+would enable you to see your way to withdraw it."
+
+"I decline to withdraw it, sir," said Goldsmith.
+
+"I have been a manager now for some years," said Colman, "and, speaking
+from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
+hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
+complete a disaster as this, sir. Why,'t is like no other comedy that
+was ever wrote."
+
+"That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
+appreciate," said Goldsmith. "Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
+what the people want nowadays is a novelty?"
+
+"Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of
+yours is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's
+the novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words,
+sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young boor--what's the fellow's
+name?--Lumpkin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the
+refinement and sensibility of the period--the fellow who talks of his
+bear only dancing to the genteelest of tunes--all this, Dr. Goldsmith,
+I pledge you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an
+early fall of the curtain."
+
+"An early fall of the curtain?"
+
+"Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
+beyond that of your pothouse to be set."
+
+"Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not
+a pothouse."
+
+"The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace."
+
+"Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
+apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
+through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
+Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play."
+
+"Of _your_ play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
+share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
+having anything to do with its production."
+
+"If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
+respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
+with the cruelty of a step-father towards it."
+
+Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's
+office and went to the green room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+The attitude of Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping
+with the traditions of the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it
+so contrary to the traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like
+the rest of his profession--not even excepting Garrick--possessed only a
+small amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented
+to them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his
+own acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted
+blank verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional
+lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack
+of human nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and
+he could see no reason why he should substitute for them anything more
+natural. He had no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure
+a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious
+sentimentality of an artificial age.
+
+He had produced "The Good Natured Man" some years before, and had made
+money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who
+had condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that
+play were still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
+characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but
+actually intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named
+provisionally "The Mistakes of a Night," he at first declined to have
+anything to do with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential
+friends--friends who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised
+his genius when he was living in a garret and before he had written
+anything beyond a few desultory essays--and they brought all their
+influence to bear upon the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the
+comedy, but laid it aside for several months, and only grudgingly, at
+last, consented to put it in rehearsal.
+
+Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best
+to depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging
+his shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant
+to allow certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written
+them.
+
+This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
+than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
+soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
+half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
+
+At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young
+Marlow, threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was
+serious in his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment
+Goldsmith assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract
+with the manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same
+contract by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was
+handed over to Lee Lewes.
+
+After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
+the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
+chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
+manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
+possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
+to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
+provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
+encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
+regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said
+he was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up
+their parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
+rehearsing.
+
+When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
+conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He
+knew that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could
+not doubt what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round
+and go back to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw
+the play. The temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of
+determination which had carried him through many difficulties--that
+spirit which Reynolds appreciated and had embodied in his portrait--came
+to his aid. He walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with
+both Woodward and Mrs. Abington.
+
+"I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
+Colman," he said; "but I am sure that you have not taken this serious
+step without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr.
+Colman will be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an
+agreement with me to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he
+will therefore sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick
+will, I hope, honour me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs.
+Bulk-ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the
+rehearsal."
+
+The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
+the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and
+who had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now
+began to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had
+been a fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched
+garret knew what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate
+to kick downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him
+employment as a libeller.
+
+"Sir," cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to
+him--"Sir, you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will
+not be my fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success.
+You have been badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your
+ill-treatment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to
+appear in your piece."
+
+"Madam," said Goldsmith, "you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
+ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
+gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to
+assert that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I
+shall regard as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has
+passed I know that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection
+of the opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the
+success of this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
+circumstances incidental to its birth."
+
+He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly
+that he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors:
+they reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course,
+caused them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
+
+"You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think," said Shuter,
+who was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
+
+"You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming," said Goldsmith.
+"Lord, sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident
+was to happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned
+to a certainty."
+
+The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
+Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
+influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
+acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith
+that none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet
+the members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption
+that its failure was inevitable.
+
+On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
+since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers
+to dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at
+a wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
+during the greater part of the night.
+
+The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her
+eyes at the same moment had yet to be explained.
+
+He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his
+elbow resting on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After
+half-an-hour's thought his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens.
+Picking one up with a sigh, he began to write.
+
+Verse after verse appeared upon the paper--the love-song of a man who
+feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
+consolation in life is love.
+
+After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again
+rested his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he
+had written. His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected
+sincerity when every one around him was engaged in composing verses
+which were regarded worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were
+artificial.
+
+He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
+Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would
+she be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
+delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
+known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
+enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
+feeling?
+
+His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
+
+"How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?" he
+muttered. "Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is
+the chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should
+he himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life
+that the man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to
+live in loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was
+struck blind--a great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from
+love receives no pity--no pity on earth--no pity in heaven."
+
+He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for
+an hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper
+which he had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it.
+He did not tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand
+to the desk and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making
+the torn edge rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of
+a woman whose lover was beside her--that was what the quivering motion
+suggested to the poet who watched it.
+
+"And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!" he said.
+"Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!"
+
+He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
+where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
+men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
+that friendship could afford him no solace.
+
+He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
+giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+For the next two days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes
+in his play as were suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals.
+The alterations were not radical, but he felt that they would be
+improvements, and his judgment was rarely at fault. Moreover, he was
+quick to perceive in what direction the strong points and the weak
+points of the various members of the company lay, and he had no
+hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them a better chance
+of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman called the
+"pot-house scene" would he change, not a word of the scene where the
+farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow to be
+omitted.
+
+Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
+to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee
+house talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the
+fate that was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he
+not adopted this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become
+aware, as they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy.
+When it was produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the
+manager up to ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a
+new set of lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
+
+But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some
+of them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
+hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he
+might not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not
+possibly be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a
+pity, one of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be
+so easily avoided?
+
+To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
+or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written
+it, he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the
+medium of these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the
+verdict of the playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on
+those scenes so early in the play was that the playgoers might know not
+to expect a sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a
+natural school of comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of
+the manners of the day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only
+the broadest and heartiest fun.
+
+"If the scenes are ungenteel," said he, "it is because nature is made
+up of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
+interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
+when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a
+greater favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest
+gentleman who ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely
+on the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not
+interfere with his romping."
+
+He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
+on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when
+he did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from
+his over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others--a disability
+which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
+consequence, delightfully fluent.
+
+On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
+he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that
+the Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some
+degree of apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might
+think he looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he
+was by her side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her.
+The words still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it
+would pain her to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite
+content that matters should remain as they were. Whatever the words
+might have meant, it was impossible that they could mean anything that
+might cause him to think of her with less reverence and affection.
+
+He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to
+find out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom
+there came to his ears the sound of laughter--such laughter as caused
+him to remark to the servant--
+
+"I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph."
+
+"Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
+sir," replied Ralph.
+
+"I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
+entertaining them," said Goldsmith.
+
+Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
+entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
+
+The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
+keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits
+of laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
+amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him
+much manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
+imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
+details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
+entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
+laboriously at his "Animated Nature."
+
+"Good morning, sir, good morning," he cried, pretending to take off
+his gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect
+self-possession, previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. "Now
+mind you don't sit there, Dr. Goldsmith," he continued, raising a
+warning finger. A little motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis,
+with his mincing ways, was transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy
+and self-conscious in the presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy
+politeness to get him a chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very
+one on which the man had placed his hat. "Now, now, now, what are you
+about?"--once more Garrick was the amanuensis. "Did not I warn you to
+be careful about that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it?
+Sir, that excuse is a mere quibble--a mere quibble. This must not occur
+again, or I shall be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then,
+my good sir? Now to business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man
+to make me a cup of chocolate--with milk, sir--plenty of milk, and two
+lumps of sugar--plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a
+patriot--none of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think
+on't, your laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for
+me; and mind you tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in
+it"--this shouted half-way out of the door through which he had shown
+Goldsmith hurrying with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate.
+Then came the monologue of the amanuensis strolling about the room,
+passing his sneering remarks at the furniture--opening a letter which
+had just come by post, and reading it _sotto voce_. It was supposed to
+be from Filby, the tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform
+in which Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the
+Haymarket would be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith
+had made up his mind as to the exact orders which he meant to
+wear, ending with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and
+discrimination in choosing a costume which was so well adapted to
+his physique, and a humble suggestion that it should be worn upon the
+occasion of the first performance of the new comedy, when the writer
+hoped no objection would be raised to the hanging of a board in front of
+the author's box with "Made by Filby" printed on it.
+
+Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain
+words--giving an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here
+and there, and finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a
+postscript alluding to the length of time that had passed since the
+writer had received a payment on account, could not have been surpassed.
+The effect of the comedy upon the people in the room was immeasurably
+heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick,
+as the amanuensis, immediately walked to him gravely with the scrap of
+paper which had done duty as the letter, in his hand, asking him if what
+was written there in black and white about the field-marshal's uniform
+was correct, and if he meant to agree to Filby's request to wear it on
+the first night of the comedy.
+
+Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
+entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
+of the scene, saying-"Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
+more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful
+issue a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager
+of a playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why
+should not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?"
+
+The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew
+that Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment,
+and would not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In
+an instant, however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious
+amanuensis, and became David Garrick, crying--
+
+"Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to
+reply to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of
+your experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
+nature."
+
+Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated
+at the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much
+what might follow.
+
+At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
+the room.
+
+"Come, sir," said the amanuensis, "we have no time to waste over empty
+civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we
+cannot keep the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the
+booksellers,'t is the world we think of. What is this?"--picking up an
+imaginary paper--"'The derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed
+the ingeniousness of many able writers, but there can be no doubt in
+the mind of any one who has seen that noble creature, as I have, in
+its native woods, careering nimbly from branch to branch of the largest
+trees in search of the butterflies, which form its sole food, that
+the name elephant is but a corruption of elegant, the movements of the
+animal being as singularly graceful as its shape is in accordance with
+all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your
+style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' should be himself
+both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon should himself
+be a buffoon."
+
+In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
+leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis
+as to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer
+and warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
+Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
+imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
+the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked--
+
+"The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis!
+Lord! what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to
+dictate to his amanuensis?"
+
+Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house,
+around the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household
+in roars of laughter--as one delightful member of the household has
+recorded--over his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of
+Dr. Johnson.
+
+"And all this," said Goldsmith, "came out of the paltry story which I
+told him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment
+he sat down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I
+knew he saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea
+and send him away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+Goldsmith was delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from
+care. He had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear
+that she was unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry
+a mood as he had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at
+dinner, and he was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the
+mysterious mood that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
+
+She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
+him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though
+she said that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the
+intention of the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go
+together to the theatre and demand its immediate production on the
+finest scale possible.
+
+"There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
+Colman in that respect," said Goldsmith. "Only to-day, when I ventured
+to talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not
+his intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be
+played for longer than a small portion of one evening."
+
+"The monster!" cried the girl. "I should like to talk to him as I
+feel about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will
+tolerate his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs
+some one to be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him
+how contemptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him.
+The occasion is one that demands the powers of a man who has a whole
+dictionary at his back--yes, Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten
+that if he does not behave handsomely he will, in his next edition of
+the Dictionary, define a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps
+an author in suspense for months, and then produces his comedy so
+ungenerously as to make its failure a certainty. But, no, your play
+will be the greater success on account of its having to overcome all the
+obstacles which Mr. Colman has placed in its way."
+
+"I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be
+the greatest success of the century," said he.
+
+"And so it will be--oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will--oh, we
+shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
+and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
+upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us."
+
+"You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to
+the remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
+suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
+upon an ill-treated author."
+
+"I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
+one of the two enterprises--the first being the changing of the mistakes
+of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the changing of
+the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager--ay, and of an
+author as well."
+
+"Admirably spoke!" cried the author. "I have a mind to let the name 'The
+Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it."
+
+"No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre," said she.
+"Oh, do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot
+hit upon a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath
+of laurel." Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not
+far away, had put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a
+word or two of the girl's sentence.
+
+"I presume that you are still discussing the great title question," said
+he. "You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
+Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?"
+
+"Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
+Knight!'" said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
+not like too many people to hear him make one.
+
+"'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get
+a better," said Goldsmith. "I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
+Horneck to discover the better one."
+
+"Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
+and damn the play," said Reynolds. "I have given it its proper name,
+and if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
+reprobation of all honest folk who detest an _alias_."
+
+"Then that name shall stand," said Goldsmith. "I give you my word, Sir
+Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have
+it damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in
+England."
+
+"That is very well said, indeed," remarked Sir Joshua. "It gives
+evidence of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all
+should respect."
+
+Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely,
+for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase,
+but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of
+laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he
+was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
+
+Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
+question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
+story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
+not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
+
+A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner--his name was Colonel
+Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck--took
+up the question quite seriously.
+
+"For my part," he said, "I admit frankly that I have never heard the
+story of Grouse in the gun-room."
+
+"Is it possible, sir?" cried Garrick. "What, you mean to say that you
+are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who
+asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was
+locked--that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?"
+
+"No, sir," cried Colonel Gwyn. "I had no idea that the story was a
+familiar one. It seems interesting, too."
+
+"Oh, 't is amazingly interesting," said Garrick. "But you are an
+army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the
+mess-table."
+
+"I protest, sir," said Colonel Gwyn, "I know so little about it that
+I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog--I have myself known of
+sporting dogs called Grouse."
+
+"Oh, Colonel, you surprise me," cried Garrick. "Ould Grouse a dog! Pray
+do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man,
+and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr.
+Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death
+severely."
+
+"Then he is dead?" said Gwyn. "That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
+the narrative."
+
+"A particularly pathetic interest, sir," said Garrick, shaking his head.
+"I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that
+that dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us--that the gunroom door
+is now open, but that within there is silence--no sound of the dear old
+feet that were wont to patter and potter--you will pardon my emotion,
+madam"--He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
+became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured
+to assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology,
+did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now
+without seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had
+too high an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face
+perfectly grave, while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to
+suppress came from the napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti
+said something in Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the
+melancholy nature of the party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin,
+saying--
+
+"'T is selfish to repine, and he himself--dear old soul!--would be the
+last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in the
+gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
+I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
+delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
+known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had
+no particular character in the neighbourhood."
+
+"Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then," said the Colonel.
+
+"Well, if the truth must be told--but no, the man is dead and gone now,"
+cried Garrick, "and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
+do, the nimbleness of his wit--the genial mirth which ran through the
+gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
+is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse
+or two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
+thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
+comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
+afraid to joke, sir, and----"
+
+"But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
+read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
+actually narrated, but only hinted at," said Gwyn.
+
+"That makes little matter, sir," said Garrick. "The untold story of Ould
+Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
+year or two than the best story of which every detail is given."
+
+"At any rate, Colonel Gwyn," said Mrs. Bunbury, "after the pains which
+Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of
+the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it."
+Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled.
+
+"I protest, madam," said he, "that up to the present--ah! I fear that
+the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to
+be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind
+you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----"
+
+This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with
+laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel
+Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and
+then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never
+quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household
+where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the
+ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with
+a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be
+merry.
+
+"Colonel Gwyn," said Garrick, "these gentlemen seem to have their own
+reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate
+when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive
+they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
+sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
+the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
+don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
+some years."
+
+He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
+in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
+the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
+
+When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
+embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who
+was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends
+every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which
+chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of
+port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom
+he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward
+regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written
+for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very
+effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a
+single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick
+were indignant.
+
+"You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll," said
+the latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the
+play to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
+
+"Ah, Davy, my friend," Goldsmith replied, "I feel more at my ease in
+reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst--or the best. If
+the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
+for the next year or two."
+
+In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
+entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
+room.
+
+Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
+and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting
+long sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was
+supposed to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment
+has survived, and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with
+Garrick repeating the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous
+change of expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with
+Goldsmith burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly
+amusing gestures the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed
+that Sir Joshua's guests were convulsed.
+
+After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
+playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
+did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines
+after the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous
+than that of the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an
+affecting passage from Addison's "Cato," Goldsmith began to sing
+the song which he had been compelled to omit from the part of Miss
+Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course
+Garrick's gestures during the delivery of the song were marvellously
+ingenious, and an additional element of attraction was introduced by
+Dr. Burney, who hastily seated himself at the pianoforte and interwove a
+medley accompaniment, introducing all the airs then popular, but without
+prejudice to the harmonies of the accompaniment.
+
+Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
+marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
+caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees--he begged the
+lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was accustomed
+to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica shook her
+head.
+
+"Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck," said Sir Joshua to
+the Jessamy Bride. "Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
+hearing her sing."
+
+Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
+Angelica.
+
+"Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!" she cried. "Will your Majesty
+condescend to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned
+to captivate our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to
+conquer our savage hearts by the exercise of another?"
+
+A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
+thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
+springing to his feet.
+
+"By the Lord, I've got it!" shouted Goldsmith. "The Jessamy Bride has
+given it to me, as I knew she would--the title of my comedy--she has
+just said it: '_She Stoops to Conquer_.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+As a matter of course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith
+communicated it to him the next day; but the latter was firm on this
+particular point. He had given the play its name, he said, and he would
+not alter it now on any consideration.
+
+Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play
+gave him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret
+at not being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he
+believed the manager would play to perfection.
+
+But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the
+whole Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his
+customary emphasis, that no better title than "She Stoops to Conquer"
+could be found for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and
+the rehearsal was proceeded with.
+
+"Nay, sir," cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
+in order to go upon the stage, "Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
+must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we
+may be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
+filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?"
+
+"I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson," said Miss
+Horneck--Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
+topics of the hour. "I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as
+will enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but
+to a whole archipelago of wit."
+
+"Otaheite is a name of good omen," said Cradock. "It is suggestive of
+palms, and '_palmam qui meruit ferat._'"
+
+"Sir," said Johnson, "you should know better than to quote Latin in the
+presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
+it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
+is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
+playgoers."
+
+"Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine," laughed
+Cradock. "Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal,
+and Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
+critics."
+
+Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
+Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
+opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
+his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
+critics.
+
+Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
+servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
+outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
+broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed
+and applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons--especially the
+satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists--but it was the
+drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of Miss
+Horneck--
+
+"Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?"
+
+When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
+Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much
+amazed as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage
+out of compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority
+regarding the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in
+the estimation of his company, remarked--
+
+"Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
+generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
+playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
+your wit."
+
+"I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent
+the instruction of Dr. Johnson," said Goldsmith quietly.
+
+The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed
+it during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it
+became understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit
+their regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been
+originally cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the
+prologue, which Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told
+Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or two to Woodward.
+
+The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
+Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
+threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
+thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
+epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
+declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
+herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
+ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
+were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject;
+but Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
+epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding
+the first performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was
+eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley.
+
+"It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an
+epilogue which will never be spoke," sneered Colman when the last
+difficulties had been smoothed over.
+
+Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
+consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
+Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
+of the play--when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
+niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
+either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
+almost caused him to break down.
+
+Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
+She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
+hesitate for a moment.
+
+"I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night," she said; "my dress
+would be ruined."
+
+He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
+
+"Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour
+of the play," she cried. "Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their
+dusters, and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one
+of the candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years
+contained such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr.
+Col-man for a curmudgeon."
+
+"You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,"
+said Goldsmith. "Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and
+I only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me."
+
+"It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
+play, sir," said Johnson. "The credit of your friends, who insisted on
+Colman's taking the play, is also at stake."
+
+"And above all," said Reynolds pleasantly, "the play must be a success
+in order to put Colman in the wrong."
+
+"That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
+important to us all," said Mary. "It would never do for Colman to be in
+the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
+saved by Monday night."
+
+"I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends," said
+Goldsmith. "I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a
+sense of my own unworthiness."
+
+"You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir," cried
+Johnson. "Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
+hear your play."
+
+"I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
+when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care
+to send a guinea in advance," said Goldsmith, and every one present knew
+that he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by
+Johnson on the day that "The Vicar of Wakefield" was sold.
+
+"And now," said Reynolds, "I have to prove how certain we are of the
+future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday
+previous to the performance."
+
+"Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
+success of the play," said Johnson. "To proffer such an invitation would
+be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public
+had attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who
+know your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that
+our esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday
+night, sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour
+to have you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with
+us."
+
+"You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what
+you mean better," said Goldsmith. "A compliment is doubly a compliment
+coming from Dr. Johnson."
+
+He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
+walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter
+of a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character
+of Young Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had
+sufficiently recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how
+remarkable a character he had created.
+
+On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the
+St. James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found
+the author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
+salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered
+with silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any
+mistake on this point.
+
+"Heavens!" cried the visitor. "Have you forgot that you cannot wear
+colours?"
+
+"Why not?" asked Goldsmith. "Because Woodward is to appear in mourning
+to speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy
+should also be in black?"
+
+"Nay," said Steevens, "that is not the reason. How is it possible that
+you forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat
+of yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in
+front of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you
+hope that the King will command a performance."
+
+Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
+garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
+dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
+before throwing it over the back of a chair.
+
+"It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,"
+said he. "I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake."
+
+He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with
+his friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
+Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
+assembled.
+
+It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook
+hands twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the
+King of Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for
+regret with him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He
+expressed a hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have
+so depressing an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their
+enjoyment of his comedy.
+
+Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did
+not think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would
+be quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
+frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
+all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose
+name they had probably never heard.
+
+Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
+the best, but still....
+
+Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
+Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
+heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
+merriment.
+
+The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
+concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
+become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
+of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the
+clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time
+to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
+
+Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds
+that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his
+nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken
+at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took
+place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave
+all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to
+him--not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity
+College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with
+him.
+
+While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
+theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
+had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
+to have the omission repaired without delay.
+
+He never returned.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter
+from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was
+having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house,
+the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in
+the direction of Pall Mall.
+
+"Psha! sir," said Johnson to Burke, "Dr. Goldsmith is little better than
+a fool." Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
+
+"Yes," said Burke, "Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
+ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
+let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say
+the best comedy of a century."
+
+"I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the
+playhouse?" said Richard Burke.
+
+"It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
+concerned," said Steevens. "I think that the best course we can adopt
+is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
+looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
+Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
+burden he has been forced to bear during the past month."
+
+"You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
+playhouse, sir," said Johnson.
+
+"If I know anything of him, sir," said Steevens, "the playhouse is just
+the place which he would most persistently avoid." There was a long
+pause before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
+
+"Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety."
+
+"That is very kind of you, sir," replied Steevens. "But you may rest
+assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be."
+
+While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
+hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
+Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting
+alone in some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable
+failure of his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled
+him to hold out against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced,
+suffer a relapse when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and
+his naturally sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his
+life give place to a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him
+to put in an appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his
+friends. Steevens actually made up his mind that if he failed to find
+Goldsmith during the next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage
+on the Edgware road.
+
+He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house--from Jack's, in Dean
+street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster--but he failed to discover his
+friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this way; and all
+this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse--except
+the one box that held Cumberland and his friends--were greeting the
+brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
+contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
+authors had witnessed.
+
+The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens
+have imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous
+figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with
+a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and
+as phrase after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and
+vivified with numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken,
+he seems to shake the theatre with his laughter.
+
+Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
+of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two
+notable figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
+frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
+
+Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
+Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the
+most notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
+occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
+laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
+she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
+Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
+Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
+lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
+every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
+
+Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, "looking glum," as one
+witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
+having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth
+the resentment of the pit.
+
+In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
+years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's "Good-Natured Man" at "the other
+house," sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
+"Ossian." He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
+an impostor.
+
+The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
+younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
+for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from
+the pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact
+that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his
+eyes fixed upon her--earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his
+_fiancée_ are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important
+box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may
+be gratified by beholding her. It does not so much matter about her
+husband, who once thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a
+concern whose operations represented the potentialities of wealth
+beyond the dreams of avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the
+Gunnings when she first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever
+recorded to the eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll,
+mindful of that trick which the cleverness of her mother turned to so
+good account, does not condescend to notice from her box, where she sits
+with Lady Betty Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though
+she is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising
+between the acts.
+
+What a play! What spectators!
+
+We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought
+to those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with
+delight at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the
+little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
+
+Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality
+upon their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
+biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
+down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
+
+And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
+nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in
+St. James's Park.
+
+Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching
+for him.
+
+"Don't speak, man, for God's sake," cried Oliver. "'Tis not so dark but
+that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
+the comedy is ended--that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in the
+middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is ended."
+
+"Not I," said Steevens. "I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
+what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at
+the coffee house?"
+
+"I don't know what you speak of," said Goldsmith. "But I beg of you to
+hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play--don't fear to
+tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly twenty
+years; I am not easily dismayed."
+
+"My dear friend," said Steevens, "I have no intention of going to
+the playhouse unless you are in my company--I promised so much to Dr.
+Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
+yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
+sir?"
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise
+on the stage that you, and you only, can decide--are you willing to
+allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman,
+who is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
+prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great
+man, too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I
+am convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?"
+
+"It shall not--it shall not!" cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
+"I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I
+have something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in
+this battle have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my
+friend--I'll go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to
+avert disaster."
+
+They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
+obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
+Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of
+the play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence
+to insist on a scene being omitted--or, perhaps, a whole act; and
+nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
+
+When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his
+head out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the
+playhouse--that his worst fears were realized.
+
+"Nonsense!" cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other
+window. "The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental
+to any performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on
+their boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy
+has yet to be damned."
+
+When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage
+door, looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as
+if to see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the
+back of the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick,
+in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had
+driven her forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was
+within twenty yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights
+were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have
+failed to recognise the familiar features of the scene. The next moment
+there came a hiss--a solitary hiss from the boxes.
+
+"What's that, Mr. Colman?" whispered the excited author.
+
+"Psha! sir," said Colman brutally. "Why trouble yourself about a squib
+when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?"
+
+"That's a lie," said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
+Mr. Hardcastle. "'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
+assured from the first."
+
+"By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
+while I live!" said Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever
+uttered. Goldsmith was soon made aware of this. The laughter that
+followed Tony Lumpkin's pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle
+was a highwayman was not the laugh of playgoers who have endured four
+acts of a dull play; it was the laugh of people who have been in a good
+humour for over two hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from
+their laughter that the people in every part of the house were following
+the comedy with extraordinary interest. Every point in the dialogue was
+effective--the exquisite complications, the broad fun, the innumerable
+touches of nature, all were appreciated by an audience whose expression
+of gratification fell little short of rapture.
+
+When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not
+return to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue
+was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
+
+As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of
+speaking to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits,
+and from them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the
+first scene to the one which was being represented, the performance had
+been a succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every
+member of the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and
+scenery familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary
+success of the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the
+offensive terms of the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the
+audience, several of the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and
+cheering for some time--so much Goldsmith learned little by little at
+intervals from the actors.
+
+"I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
+word; he has treated me cruelly--more cruelly than he has any idea
+of," said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. "But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
+anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes
+much to you, sir."
+
+"Faith then, sir," cried Lewes, "I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
+will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
+Goldsmith."
+
+"You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote," said Goldsmith.
+
+And so he had.
+
+When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
+Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
+Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head,
+and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through
+half-closed eyes.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith," she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility,
+"I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
+foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray
+of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at
+having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
+sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I
+might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another."
+
+"Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?" said he. "Nay, I have a
+part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to
+accept it."
+
+"Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!" cried the actress, offering him
+both her hands. "I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
+Goldsmith."
+
+[Illustration: 0173]
+
+And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company
+and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
+congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
+had filled the theatre.
+
+"We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
+Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage," said he.
+"You dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
+indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast.
+On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding
+modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make
+you a coxcomb."
+
+"Oh, I hope not, sir," said Goldsmith. "No, you don't hope it, sir,"
+cried Johnson. "You are thinking at this moment how much better you are
+than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal."
+
+"And he has a right to think so," said Mrs. Bunbury. "Come, Dr.
+Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters."
+
+"Certainly, madam," said Goldsmith. "Where are they?"
+
+"Well said!" cried Edmund Burke.
+
+"Nay, sir," said Johnson. "Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough.
+We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
+garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common."
+
+His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake
+on the walls.
+
+Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand.
+She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she
+was not mistaken.
+
+For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit
+and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in
+the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived
+the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly
+imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the
+points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian
+into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the
+background with the Bunburys.
+
+So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in
+uniform had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind
+Mr. Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner,
+saying a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action,
+though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the
+girl, and perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes
+were turned upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her
+heart.
+
+He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out
+her inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
+people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing
+was paying no attention to her.
+
+When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought
+it advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
+
+"Psha! Dr. Goldsmith," she cried. "We have given you our ears for more
+than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes."
+
+"I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed," said Goldsmith. "Yes, you
+were remarking that----"
+
+"That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be
+compared to a boy who has robbed an orchard," said the lady.
+
+"True--very true, madam," said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
+involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
+beside her. She was not smiling.
+
+"Yes,'tis true; but why?" cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
+did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
+
+"Ah, yes; that's just it--why?" said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
+from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and
+Henry Bunbury were standing.
+
+"Why?" said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. "Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
+suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because
+his booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in
+his pockets what he is not entitled to."
+
+She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
+did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
+successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
+attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
+gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
+more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
+
+"You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?" said Mr. Thrale.
+
+"Nay, sir!" cried Bunbury; "mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
+some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night."
+
+"What did I say, Goldy?" cried Johnson. "Was it not that, after the
+presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?"
+
+"Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
+of them I accepted some days ago," said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
+hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
+conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
+
+But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
+laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of
+the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
+involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious
+to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this
+form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that
+refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
+Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he "talked like
+poor Poll." He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely
+because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
+couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
+
+Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
+thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
+expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
+given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons
+around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which
+makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who "talked
+like poor Poll" was the man who, even before he had done anything in
+literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop
+Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and
+a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious
+Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to
+great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
+
+While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that
+the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs.
+Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying
+to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his
+adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying--
+
+"Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam."
+
+"I shall take good care that you don't, sir," said she.
+
+"Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!" he cried, bowing
+as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he
+suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. "Why, if
+I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman
+in uniform who was speaking with you just now," said he. "I fancy I have
+met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude."
+
+"His name is Jackson," she replied. "Yes, Captain Jackson, though the
+Lord only knows what he is captain of."
+
+"I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name," said Goldsmith.
+"'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by
+professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so."
+
+When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
+affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the
+occasion, she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in
+their coach--her mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
+
+The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
+produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
+eaten no dinner--Johnson and his friends had been by no means reticent
+on the subject of the dinner--he was without an appetite for the
+delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
+in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
+endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
+almost speechless the whole evening.
+
+"Ah," said she, "I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been
+quite obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with
+us at Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a
+little comedy may become a great tragedy."
+
+Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
+play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
+Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as
+he could without being rude.
+
+He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick
+Court. But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
+
+All his life he had been looking forward to this night--the night
+that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him
+an incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his
+period. And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with
+destiny was within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever
+felt in his garret.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+What did it all mean?
+
+That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
+refer to the reception given to "She Stoops to Conquer," which had
+placed him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to
+the strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
+
+The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had
+been speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
+reputation--he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
+reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
+room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
+glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the
+eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs.
+Woffington, showed that he was a person of no position in society. This
+conclusion to which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no
+persons of any distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the
+playhouse had shown that they were acquainted with him--no one person
+save only Mary Horneck.
+
+Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and
+Mrs. Bulk-ley.
+
+This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have
+been incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had
+invariably shunned in society those persons--women as well as men--who
+had shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested
+the man--he was popular enough at that period--who had allowed
+innuendoes to do duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman--she
+is popular enough now--who had laughed at and made light of the
+innuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
+
+And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
+fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
+The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands
+with the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for
+her own ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary
+Horneck stood in a very different position from that occupied by the
+Duchess. While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the
+lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from
+the actresses.
+
+And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one
+of these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor--a man
+who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
+
+What could this curious incident mean?
+
+The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
+the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
+had arrived--not a post had been missed--from persons who professed the
+most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to borrow from
+him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom he had
+rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
+consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would
+continue his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so
+marked a way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their
+letters lay unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he
+sent his guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That
+was how he contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had
+earned since leaving his garret.)
+
+His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
+left his chambers.
+
+He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
+no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed
+to notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain
+Jackson--he would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared
+to him more than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to
+another girl all that he had noticed, he would have said that such a
+matter required no explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young
+girls with men of the stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck,
+however, the matter was not so easily explained. The shrug and
+the raising of the eyebrows were singularly inappropriate to any
+consideration of an incident in which she was concerned.
+
+He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
+success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several
+of the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on
+terms of the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a
+cordiality, the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces.
+Among them was one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had
+early found a friend in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this
+early friendship of his.
+
+Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
+word, and whose wife was his laundress--not wholly above suspicion as
+regards her honesty--stammered his congratulations, and received the
+crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he
+had always suspected--that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
+world for men who have become successful.
+
+Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
+that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
+another hour would pass.
+
+He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
+alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
+time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of
+such intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to
+inquire if Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to
+ear as he admitted the visitor.
+
+"I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory," he said,
+his grin expanding genially.
+
+"Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?" said Goldsmith.
+"You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?"
+
+"I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the
+table--and Mr. Marlow's man, sir--as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what
+more you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says
+he quite cool-like and satisfied--and it's the gentleman's own private
+house, after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh
+till he thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then
+sent us off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some
+fools about us said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr.
+Northcote--Sir Joshua's young man, sir--he up and says that nature isn't
+always genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth--I beg
+your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
+couldn't ha' done worse than me--talking so familiar-like, instead of
+showing you up."
+
+"Nay, sir," said Goldsmith, "the patron has the privilege of addressing
+his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
+George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer;
+and, to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for
+my benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow."
+
+"Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir," whispered the man, for he had led
+the way to the drawingroom door. "I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If
+I told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
+without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls
+this year, sir."
+
+In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
+
+She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
+that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
+smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
+ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
+sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them
+that touched him deeply.
+
+"You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
+honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men," she said,
+giving him her hand. "But it was impossible--oh, quite impossible, for
+me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
+how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear
+friend."
+
+"It was pitiful, indeed, dear child," said he. "I was looking forward to
+that night also--I don't know for how many years--all my life, it seems
+to me."
+
+"Never mind!" she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. "Never
+mind! your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you
+now; every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success."
+
+"There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me," said
+Goldsmith. "But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
+single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
+miserable."
+
+"I know it," she said, giving him her hand once more. "I know it, and
+knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable."
+
+"What is the matter, Mary?" he asked her after a pause. "Once before I
+begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
+able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man
+of many resources."
+
+"I cannot tell you," she said slowly, but with great emphasis. "There
+are some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree
+that a woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with
+another--either with a sister or with a brother--even so good a friend
+as Oliver Goldsmith."
+
+"That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery," said
+he. "I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its
+origin to me."
+
+"Ah, I see everything but too plainly," she cried, throwing herself down
+on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. "Why, all my
+misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
+Oh, I have said too much," she cried piteously. She had sprung to her
+feet and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. "Pray forget
+what I have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say;
+oh, pray go away--go away and leave me alone with my sorrow--it is my
+own--no one has a right to it but myself."
+
+There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
+little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
+
+"No, I will not go away from you, my poor child," said he. "You shall
+tell me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room
+last night has to do with your sorrow."
+
+She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a
+curious look of cunning in her eyes--a look that made him shudder, so
+foreign was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
+
+"A man? Did I speak to a man?" she said slowly, affecting an endeavour
+to recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. "Oh, yes, I
+suppose I spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded
+it was! And it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked
+in their paint!--almost as terrible as a lady of quality!"
+
+"Poor child!" said he. "My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
+everything from me you have told me all--all except--listen to me, Mary.
+Nothing that I can hear--nothing that you can tell me--will cause me to
+think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to make me
+aware that that man--Captain Jackson, he calls himself----"
+
+"How did you find out his name?" she said in a whisper. "I did not tell
+you his name even at the Pantheon."
+
+"No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
+why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
+as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
+rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?"
+
+"He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet----"
+
+"How has he got you in his power--that is what you are going to tell
+me."
+
+"No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not
+know me, or you would not ask me to tell you."
+
+"What would you have me think, child?"
+
+"Think the worst--the worst that your kind heart can think--only leave
+me--leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I may soon
+die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'"
+
+"I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything
+ill of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have
+written so much as I have written about men and women without being able
+to know when a woman is altogether good--a man altogether bad? I know
+you, my dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him?
+Think of the friends you have."
+
+"It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but
+if they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
+loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
+fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?"
+
+"For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain."
+
+"It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch
+who stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being
+thrust out behind to push her over."
+
+She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
+thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
+
+"That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind
+you, there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from
+slipping. There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice,
+or else those who hold them out to you will go over the brink with
+you. Ah, my dear, dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In
+another year--perhaps in another month--you will wonder how you could
+ever have taken so gloomy a view of the present hour."
+
+A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained
+there, however. Then she shook her head, saying--
+
+"Alas! Alas!"
+
+She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his
+own, laying his other caressingly on her head.
+
+"You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived," said he. "You fill
+with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that
+it would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my
+dying could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What
+I do say is that I should like to live for you--to live to see happiness
+once again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing--you will
+not give me a chance of helping you."
+
+She shook her head sadly.
+
+"I dare not--I dare not," she said. "I dare not run the chance of
+forfeiting your regard forever."
+
+"Good-bye," he said after a pause.
+
+He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
+and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
+
+"Mary," he said, "I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
+beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again--that
+you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
+company of such a man--talking to him as I saw you last night--what
+would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
+construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
+dear?"
+
+"Alas! alas!" she cried piteously. "I cannot make you such a promise.
+You will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my
+own free will?"
+
+"What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
+you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!"
+
+"That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
+power over me--he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot speak
+to you more! Leave me--leave me! I have been a fool and I must pay the
+penalty of my folly." Before he could make a reply, the door was opened
+and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
+sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
+
+"Nonsense, dear Mamma," cried Little Comedy. "What Mary needs is some
+one who will raise her spirits--Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I
+am sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor?
+Nay, you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain
+that you would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but
+I protest it would seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your
+attention. He doesn't look particularly like our agreeable Rattle at
+the present moment, does he, Mamma? And it was the same at supper
+last night. It might have been fancied that he was celebrating a great
+failure instead of a huge success."
+
+For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
+the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the
+author some account of what the friends whom she had met that day
+said of the piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a
+perpetually sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her
+gaiety was out of tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the
+first breathing space that the girl permitted him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+He felt that the result of his interview with Mary was to render more
+mysterious than ever the question which he had hoped to solve.
+
+He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
+had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd
+enough to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed
+account of his interview with the girl--a detailed account of his
+observation of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the
+Pantheon, then in the green room of Covent Garden--would have no trouble
+whatever in accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could
+see the shrugs of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed
+to be vastly grieved.
+
+Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all
+womankind together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one
+woman to be swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind
+generally.
+
+But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe
+that she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think
+anything evil regarding her.
+
+"She is not as others," was the phrase that was in his mind--the thought
+that was in his heart.
+
+He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance
+that when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not
+as other women are.
+
+He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that
+when a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from
+other women, he loves that woman.
+
+He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out
+the heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that
+had occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in
+the same apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that
+the killing of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question
+which was puzzling him.
+
+After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he
+went to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of
+the author's nights for "She Stoops to Conquer." Baretti was a
+well known personage in the best literary society in London, having
+consolidated his reputation by the publication of his English and
+Italian dictionary. He had been Johnson's friend since his first exile
+from Italy, and it was through his influence Baretti, on the formation
+of the Royal Academy, had been appointed Secretary for Foreign
+Correspondence. To Johnson also he owed the more remunerative
+appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. He had frequently dined
+with Goldsmith at his chambers.
+
+Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
+author of the play upon his success.
+
+"If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it
+creates in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph," said the
+Italian.
+
+"Yes," said Goldsmith quickly, "that is just what I wish to have a word
+with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
+should be."
+
+"What," cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who
+had certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. "What, do you
+mean to fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be
+your weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen
+you should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty
+certain of victory."
+
+"Ah, yes; but there are cases--well, one never knows what may happen,
+and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can
+do a little sword play--enough to enable me to face a moderately good
+antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
+in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people."
+
+"How did you retort?"
+
+"Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised
+as gentlemen."
+
+"Bacchus! An effective retort! And then----"
+
+"Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
+making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout
+of swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
+compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
+any first-rate master of the art in London?"
+
+The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
+
+"You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you
+into a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?"
+
+"Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight."
+
+"Better make it five years."
+
+"Five years?"
+
+"My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
+express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be
+made a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell
+you that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front
+place among swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so
+short-sighted I could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I
+shall never kill a man."
+
+He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
+them.
+
+"I have made up my mind to have some lessons," said Goldsmith, "and I
+know there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti."
+
+"Psha!" said Baretti. "There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
+are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
+teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
+you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
+such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
+fiber than yourself."
+
+"There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men--nay,
+even an Irishman--to show himself adroit with a sword," said Goldsmith;
+"and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services towards
+this end."
+
+He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
+
+"You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no
+further than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular
+wish to place myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick," said
+he. "I fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a
+fencing master."
+
+"I shall keep it a secret," laughed Baretti; "but mind, sir, when you
+run your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the
+court as a witness as to your pacific character."
+
+(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called
+as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with
+the murder of a man.)
+
+He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had
+taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own
+nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel
+with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him
+through a vital part.
+
+He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
+containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon
+Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic
+of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and
+so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
+express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
+posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
+care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement
+with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
+scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
+the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
+lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
+
+If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
+enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many
+months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his
+triumph in another direction.
+
+After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
+several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with
+him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
+
+He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all
+clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was
+unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had
+received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
+
+He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
+was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
+
+"You were talking about me just before I entered," said he: "I always
+know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now,
+may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to
+me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I
+hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all
+that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own
+reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?"
+
+Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
+fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
+which he said--
+
+"You may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
+Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends."
+
+"Psha, sir!" cried Goldsmith, "don't I know that already? Were you not
+all my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
+overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
+bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?"
+
+"Goldsmith," said Steevens, "we received a copy of the _London Packet_
+half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
+attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters."
+
+"At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
+assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
+is none other than myself," said Goldsmith.
+
+"It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir," said Steevens. "It
+is the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick."
+
+"Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen," said Goldsmith. "You
+know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once
+I made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
+caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that
+it is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where
+is the _Packet?_"
+
+"There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff," said Cradock.
+"Take my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise
+nature of that scoundrel's slanders."
+
+"Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to
+sting me," replied Goldsmith. "And so, sir, let me have the _Packet_,
+and you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
+Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
+detraction."
+
+"Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
+garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one," said Steevens.
+
+"Come, sirs, I insist," cried Goldsmith. "Why do I waste time with you?"
+he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. "I waste time
+here when I can read the _Packet_ in the bar."
+
+"Hold, sir," said Burke. "Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
+would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched
+forth to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the
+paper and here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English
+writers--the truest of English poets--the best of Englishmen."
+
+"You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick
+flings himself upon me?"
+
+He took the _Packet_. It opened automatically, where an imaginary letter
+to himself, signed "Tom Tickle," appeared.
+
+He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
+nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
+from it--he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing--but
+suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
+crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
+flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the
+room with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword
+and placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a
+word to any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane
+only.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+Kenrick's article in the _London Packet_ remains to this day as the
+vilest example of scurrility published under the form of criticism. All
+the venom that can be engendered by envy and malice appears in every
+line of it. It contains no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains
+no clever phrase. It is the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the
+demon of jealousy. The note of the Gadarene herd sounds through it,
+strident and strenuous. It exists as the worst outcome of the period
+when every garret scribbler emulated "Junius," both as regards style and
+method, but only succeeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead
+of the thunder of the unknown master of vituperation.
+
+Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt;
+but when he came to that vile passage--"For hours the _great_ Goldsmith
+will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
+pier-glass. Was but the lovely H------k as much enamoured, you would not
+sigh, my gentle swain"--his hands tore the paper in fury.
+
+He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did
+not know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him
+aware of the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He
+did not mind any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have
+the name that he most cherished of all names associated with his in an
+insult that seemed to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was
+more than he could bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind
+him and had struck from thence the one who had been kindest to him of
+all the people in the world.
+
+There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
+There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him
+and the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck
+in the face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to
+whom he had been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would
+undoubtedly feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself
+was to blame for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt
+that if the attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have
+escaped. Yes, that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over
+him to her.
+
+His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
+upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his
+sword he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his
+hands.
+
+And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
+assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink
+from running him through the body with his sword.
+
+On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
+counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew
+that he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a
+corner; he felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was
+made up as to what he should do, and all that he now feared was that
+some circumstance might prevent his realising his intention.
+
+He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans,
+the publisher of the _London Packet_. He arrived almost breathless at
+the place--it was in Little Queen street--and entered the shop demanding
+to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. Evans, the
+publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and hearing
+a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
+Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was
+in the house.
+
+"I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon
+me which appeared in the _Packet_ of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!" said
+the visitor.
+
+The shopkeeper smiled.
+
+"Does anything appear about you in the _Packet_, sir?" he said,
+over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
+
+"You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!" cried Goldsmith,
+stung by the supercilious smile of the man; "you are the publisher of
+this gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote
+it struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you."
+
+He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with
+his cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
+opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a
+small wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance,
+and had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and
+all the noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his
+paymaster. It was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back
+from the cane of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a
+missile to fling at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a
+table and hurled it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it
+struck Evans on the chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over
+him. This Kenrick perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small
+shop chairs and rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled;
+but, before he could carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop
+from the street, and, flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught
+Goldsmith, who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried him into a
+hackney-coach, which drove away.
+
+The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
+room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became
+uneasy regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving
+the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent
+the assault which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the
+person of Kenrick.
+
+He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of
+the occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his
+conduct. A lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when
+delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain
+Higgins's counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
+
+"Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have
+abstained from doing," cried the still breathless man. "I did what my
+manhood prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done
+yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans--it was
+that reptile Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to
+shelter him, what was left to me, I ask you, sir?"
+
+"You were a fool, Oliver," said his countryman; "you made a great
+mistake. Can't you see that you should never go about such things
+single-handed? You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who
+would not hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why
+the devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when
+you left the tavern?"
+
+"Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind," replied Goldsmith.
+"And, besides," he added, "I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with
+me to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day.
+I have taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it.
+Kenrick won't attack me again so long as I am alive."
+
+He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
+Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
+which he was a master.
+
+When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
+Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
+Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
+like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
+that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies
+a lesson.
+
+But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
+insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
+been less gracious to him--if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
+example, had been accustomed to treat him--regarding him and his defects
+merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have escaped
+all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause of her
+being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
+
+But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
+forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
+think about.
+
+The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that
+he had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
+years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
+despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
+that could not be surmounted.
+
+He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her
+forgiveness for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be
+responsible. He could not, he added, expect that in the future it would
+be allowed to him to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and
+her family as had been permitted to him in the past.
+
+Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
+when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
+which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only
+had seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent
+Garden, and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had
+originated with that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if
+he was justified in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not
+asked him to be her champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it
+was a very poor champion that he would have made; but still he knew more
+of her grief than any one else, and he believed he might be able to help
+her.
+
+He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
+
+"I will not leave her," he cried. "Whatever may happen--whatever blame
+people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave her
+until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in."
+
+He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain
+Horneck.
+
+For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother
+had no reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and
+Kenrick. But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation
+passed away.
+
+"Ha, my little hero!" Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
+threshold. "What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what
+are things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
+booksellers?"
+
+"You have heard of it?" said Oliver. "You have heard of the quarrel, but
+you cannot have heard of the reason for it!"
+
+"What, there is something behind the _London Packet_, after all?" cried
+Captain Horneck.
+
+"Something behind it--something behind that slander--the mention of your
+sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?"
+
+"My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists
+between my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as
+this--a strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as
+you are concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?"
+
+Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which
+he was holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the
+words never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of
+his own, and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped
+it, and burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
+
+Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
+affected.
+
+"Come, come, old friend," he said at last, placing his hand
+affectionately on Goldsmith's shoulder. "Come, come; this will not do.
+There is nothing to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little
+aware of your own position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck
+family regard your friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good
+heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid
+for immortality through our names being associated with yours? Who in a
+hundred years--in fifty years--would know anything of the Horneck
+family if it were not for their association with you? The name of Oliver
+Goldsmith will live so long as there is life in English letters, and
+when your name is spoken the name of your friends the Hornecks will not
+be forgotten."
+
+He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
+chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+The next day the news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by
+Goldsmith in respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the
+literary circle of which Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling
+was one of regret that Kenrick had not received the beating instead of
+Evans. Of course, Johnson, who had threatened two writers with an oak
+stick, shook his head--and his body as well--in grave disapproval of
+Goldsmith's use of his cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes
+were of the opinion that a cane had never been more appropriately used.
+
+What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands
+of pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
+afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
+which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
+Colman's management.
+
+Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
+had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl
+of indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period--some
+in the pay of the government others of the opposition--solely by
+stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person
+of the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in
+the form of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded
+Junius.
+
+The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
+public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest
+in the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling
+audience. When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the _Daily
+Advertiser_--surely the manliest manifesto ever printed--the howls
+became attenuated, and shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted,
+even by Dr. Johnson--and so emphatically, too, that his biographer
+could not avoid recording his judgment--that Goldsmith had increased his
+reputation by the incident.
+
+(Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account
+of this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
+received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
+
+For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
+Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
+search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
+him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel
+when he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
+
+But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
+of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
+found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
+responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, after he had made some of those
+grotesque movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably
+accompanied--"Dr. Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years,
+sir."
+
+"That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir," said
+Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
+that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
+come rather sooner.
+
+"If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
+to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool," said Johnson.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Goldsmith, "you were right in assuming that you could
+say nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a
+fool--at many times--in many ways."
+
+"I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
+and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
+my suspicion."
+
+"If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he
+do after having seen me?" said Goldsmith.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith," resumed Johnson, "it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
+to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of
+your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter."
+
+"What do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now
+what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose
+for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who
+could resist Filby's flatteries?"
+
+"Sir," said Johnson, "you gave me permission several years ago to read
+any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged."
+
+"And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably
+been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect
+for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you
+suggested?"
+
+"It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
+waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,"
+said Johnson sternly.
+
+Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
+
+"I forget now what work was last under my hand," said he; "but whatever
+it was, sir----"
+
+"I have it here, sir," said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
+noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
+laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived
+that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the
+Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had
+them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would
+be the result of sending them to her.
+
+He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
+friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
+matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
+
+"Oh, those verses, sir," he stammered; "they are poor things. You will,
+I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they
+resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my
+man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the
+cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----"
+
+"They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man
+of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the
+happiness of others."
+
+"I protest, sir, I scarcely understand----"
+
+"Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand."
+
+"Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
+character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
+heart speaks."
+
+"Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that
+may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your
+heart throbs in every line."
+
+"Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise
+the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more
+happy than I fancied."
+
+"Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you."
+
+"Sir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have
+spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote
+those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that
+came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?"
+
+"My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
+did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you."
+
+"A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been
+the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few
+consolations."
+
+"Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
+as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
+Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
+family have extended to you."
+
+"I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
+What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
+remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the
+indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship?
+Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?"
+
+"My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes,
+and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to
+know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even
+though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she
+will not be free from unhappiness."
+
+"She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens
+all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden."
+
+"Nay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it
+for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear
+friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a
+battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
+come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
+it to flight before it prove your ruin."
+
+"Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there
+is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you
+call it our enemy?"
+
+"I call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith."
+
+"Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from
+other men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for
+evermore from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he
+has proved to the world that he is most capable of all mankind of
+appreciating tenderness and grace? What trick of nature is this? What
+paradox for men to vex their souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from
+men, evermore looking on happiness through another man's eyes? If you
+answer 'yes,' then I say that men who are not poets should go down on
+their knees and thank Heaven that they are not poets. Happy it is for
+mankind that Heaven has laid on few men the curse of being poets. For
+myself, I feel that I would rather be a man for an hour than a poet for
+all time."
+
+"Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us
+look at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate
+enough to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be
+brought to think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish
+enough to regard their kindness to you--their acceptance of you as a
+friend--as encouragement in your mad aspirations."
+
+"You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir."
+
+"I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
+only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
+not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you
+as a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to
+her? Answer me that question, sir."
+
+But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
+hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
+
+"You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir," resumed Johnson. "I
+will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
+only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but
+I ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on
+your side as ridiculous--nay, worse--a gross affront."
+
+Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
+resumed his discourse.
+
+"The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
+desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends,
+and of forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your
+infatuation?"
+
+Goldsmith started up.
+
+"Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more," he cried almost
+piteously. "Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
+hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
+the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
+which I wrote--I could not help writing them--but she does not know that
+they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from me. My
+history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover--a blank--a blank."
+
+"My poor friend," said Johnson after a pause--he had laid his hand
+upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
+table--"My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups which
+are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I have
+drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
+others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means
+to have double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself
+before now worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have
+faced life, by your independence of the patronage of the great. You
+dedicated 'The Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me.
+You did not hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to
+offer you money for the prostitution of the talents which God has given
+you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect--you have the respect of every
+good man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your
+detractors who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would
+give them an opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will
+not do anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and
+show all those who are your friends that their friendship for you is
+well founded. I am assured that I can trust you, sir."
+
+Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+When his visitor had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and
+gave way to the bitter reflections of the hour.
+
+He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
+which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception--to his
+hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion
+might be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of
+vain dreams that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his
+straightforwardness there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that
+made any appeal from his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in
+the utterances of his phrases when forcing his contentions upon any
+audience; but Goldsmith knew that he only spoke strongly because he felt
+strongly.
+
+Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson
+had said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake
+the sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
+content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
+Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
+house--a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting his
+father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
+Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were
+to present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
+
+It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his
+hearing to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions.
+The tragedy of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their
+prospects in the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he
+felt, the most cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who
+make music of the passions of men--who have surrounded the passion
+of love with a glorifying halo--should be doomed to spend their lives
+looking on at the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of
+the music which the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy
+of life, and Goldsmith had often found himself face to face with it,
+feeling himself to be one of those with whom destiny is only on jesting
+terms.
+
+Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
+Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
+that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only
+of all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his
+cause, he would be regarded--and rightly, too--as both presumptuous and
+ridiculous.
+
+He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
+letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking
+to themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to
+look forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
+contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
+poet for the loss of home--the grateful companionship of a wife--the
+babble of children--all that his fellow-men associated with the gladness
+and glory of life?
+
+He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
+surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
+such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation--he had
+sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness
+of having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
+envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
+sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval
+of his friends.
+
+And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He
+had sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his
+ills during the past few years had departed from him. He would never
+see Mary Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the
+burden of his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide
+by it.
+
+He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
+resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
+one consolation of his life.
+
+In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt
+down and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the
+manuscript into it between the bars when the light that it made fell
+upon one of the lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he
+had read the remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a
+sigh, he hastily thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little
+blaze had fallen again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could
+raise it by a breath or two, his servant entered the room. He started to
+his feet.
+
+"A letter for you, sir," said John Eyles. "It came by a messenger lad."
+
+"Fetch a candle, John," said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too
+dark for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on
+the seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
+
+By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines
+that the letter contained--
+
+_Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
+only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if
+not, then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride._
+
+He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
+He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
+to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
+that he was about to stand face to face with her.
+
+He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
+small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
+of "She Stoops to Conquer." Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
+cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
+walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
+between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and
+her sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put
+her hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
+
+"I knew you would come," she said. "I knew that I could trust you."
+
+"You may trust me, indeed," he said. He held her hand in his own,
+looking into her pale face and sunken eyes. "I knew the time would come
+when you would tell me all that there is to be told," he continued.
+"Whether I can help you or not, you will find yourself better for having
+told me."
+
+She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
+was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up,
+and, after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the
+mantelpiece, leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into
+the smouldering fire in the grate.
+
+He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
+heart.
+
+"What am I to tell you--what am I to tell you?" she cried at last,
+resuming her pacing of the floor.
+
+He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes.
+She went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking
+with vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the
+sconces. Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a
+great effort she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil
+when she spoke, seating herself.
+
+"You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of
+that man," she said. "You alone were observant. Did you also see him
+call me to his side in the green room at the playhouse?"
+
+"I saw you in the act of speaking to him there--he calls himself
+Jackson--Captain Jackson," said Goldsmith.
+
+"You saved me from him once!" she cried. "You saved me from becoming
+his--body and soul."
+
+"No," he said; "I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
+me to do so."
+
+"I tell you if it had not been for you--for the book which you wrote, I
+should be to-day a miserable castaway."
+
+He looked puzzled.
+
+"I cannot quite understand," said he. "I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar
+of Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
+complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which
+I had presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of
+reading it."
+
+"It was that which saved me," she cried. "Oh, what fools girls are! They
+are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
+child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of
+men--some men--so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge
+of womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told
+all that we should guard against?"
+
+She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
+
+He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying--
+
+"I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
+Jessamy Bride."
+
+She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
+
+"Then you will err," she said. "You will have to think ill of me. Thank
+God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
+from all--to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
+I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
+village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
+received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and
+feted in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love
+with him, and I--innocent fool that I was--considered myself the most
+favoured creature in the world because he made love to me. Any day we
+failed to meet I wrote him a letter--a foolish letter such as a
+school miss might write--full of protestations of undying affection.
+I sometimes wrote two of these letters in the day. More than a month
+passed in this foolishness, and then it came to my uncle's ears that we
+had meetings. He forbade my continuing to see a man of whom no one knew
+anything definite, but about whom he was having strict inquiries made. I
+wrote to the man to this effect, and I received a reply persuading me
+to have one more meeting with him. I was so infatuated that I met him
+secretly, and then in impassioned strains he implored me to make
+a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When he had been
+fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies had been
+active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, and he
+should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I consented
+to leave my uncle's house by his side."
+
+"But you cannot have done so."
+
+"You saved me," she cried. "I had been reading your book, and, by God's
+mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him
+I came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With
+the suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The
+scales fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to
+Damascus, only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited
+me. I knew that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a
+single hour--thanks to the genius that wrote that book--my love for that
+man, or what I fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet
+him. I returned to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote
+to me reproaching me for disappointing him; and the very next day my
+uncle's suspicions regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted
+in proof positive of the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself
+Captain Jackson, He had left the army in America with a stain on his
+character, and it was known that since his return to England at least
+two young women had been led into the trap which he laid for me."
+
+"Thank God you were saved, my child," said Goldsmith, as she paused,
+overcome with emotion. "But being saved, my dear, you have no further
+reason to fear that man."
+
+"That was my belief, too," said she. "But alas! it was a delusion. So
+soon as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in
+his true colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I
+had been foolish enough to write to him, to my friends--he was even
+scoundrel enough to point out that I had in my innocence written certain
+passages which were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of
+guilt--nay, his letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had
+been guilty, so that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood.
+What was left for me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to
+me those letters. I asked him how he could think it consistent with his
+honour to retain them and to hold such an infamous threat over my head.
+Alas! he soon gave me to understand that I had but placed myself more
+deeply in his power."
+
+"The scoundrel!"
+
+"Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
+meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year."
+
+"And 'twas then you thanked me for the book."
+
+"I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing
+that I had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France
+together! But then--ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me--I
+cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
+rings I am in trepidation."
+
+"Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
+account?" cried Goldsmith.
+
+"Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?" she asked. "What did he
+say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me
+a fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
+letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who
+had written them."
+
+"And his terms?" asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
+
+"His terms? I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you. The very thought that
+I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
+such an insult offered to me makes me long for death."
+
+"By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!" cried Goldsmith, "for I
+shall kill him, even though the act be called murder."
+
+"No--no!" she said, laying a hand upon his arm. "No friend of mine must
+suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother for
+fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
+plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
+would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
+that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
+being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
+determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope--the forlorn
+hope--that you might be able to help me. Tell me--tell me, my dear
+friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that of which
+poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'"
+
+"Guilt? Who talks of guilt?" said he. "Oh, my poor innocent child, I
+knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought
+of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted
+foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your
+own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any
+monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against
+this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of
+escape for you."
+
+"Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to
+myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what
+direction lies my hope of escape?"
+
+He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said--
+
+"'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
+invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it
+is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one
+can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real
+life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts
+of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by
+halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from
+you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity
+as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as
+Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be
+saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you
+out of your present difficulty."
+
+"You give me hope," she said. "Yes--a little hope. But you must promise
+me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how
+brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday
+when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place
+yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause
+it to spring."
+
+"I feel now that I was foolish," said he humbly; "I ran the chance of
+forfeiting your friendship."
+
+"Oh, no, it was not so bad as that," she said. "But in this matter of
+mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save
+me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man
+on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what
+my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that
+if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
+arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged."
+
+"You have spoken truly," said he. "You are wiser than I have ever been.
+But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing
+that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be
+saved, whatever may happen."
+
+He took her hand and kissed it fondly. "You shall be saved," he
+repeated.
+
+"If not----" said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
+
+"No--no," he whispered. "I have given you my promise. You must give me
+yours. You will do nothing impious."
+
+She gave a wan smile.
+
+"I am a girl," she said. "My courage is as water. I promise you I will
+trust you, with all my heart--all my heart."
+
+"I shall not fail you--Heaven shall not fail you," said he, going to the
+door.
+
+He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
+white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
+more pallid!
+
+He bowed at the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none
+of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as
+the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company.
+He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he
+had been elected only a few days before the production of "She Stoops to
+Conquer," and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club
+would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard
+Burke was wittiest.
+
+While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
+the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
+assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
+attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
+Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
+town were talking.
+
+The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
+smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
+the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty
+of the press as that of which--according to the writer--the ingenious
+Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the
+room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
+worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
+with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
+
+He knew perfectly well--had he not good reason to know?--that the man
+who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
+nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
+notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
+and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the
+fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more
+eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day.
+That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of
+Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted,
+and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all
+that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius
+one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions--all they
+required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
+
+No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
+Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money
+that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called
+himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there
+would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people
+were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any
+one--especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been
+breathed--the result of the publication of the letters would mean
+practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
+
+Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
+at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
+regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
+the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in
+such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did,
+that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was
+not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
+possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should
+find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and
+he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was
+situated would be to forfeit their respect forever.
+
+She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and
+he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her
+sake.
+
+He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
+in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon--how often his
+friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
+not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some
+occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also
+remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned
+out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon.
+
+He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
+
+He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
+(which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
+shrewdness).
+
+How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required
+it, cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly
+wisdom? By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the
+world?
+
+He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
+reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
+waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
+short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
+not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly
+felt no vexation at being made so easy a victim of--he was accustomed to
+that position.
+
+When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between
+the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred
+at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning,
+coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast
+aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all,
+he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his
+property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary
+Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he
+had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of
+that which he had admitted to be foolishness.
+
+Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
+dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
+reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the
+truth, she would understand.
+
+And that time did come.
+
+In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to
+get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
+attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
+for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully
+aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of
+a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the
+discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
+
+It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
+would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
+affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
+defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
+
+That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the
+woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was
+accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should
+have considerable difficulty in finding her.
+
+He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
+question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
+knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to
+do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and
+he liked her.
+
+He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made
+it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
+while.
+
+He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became
+impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington
+until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced
+a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as
+Colonel Gwyn.
+
+Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
+recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at
+the Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit
+to Brick Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted
+Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be one of the most natural
+occurrences in the world for him to appear at that particular moment.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith," said the visitor when he had seated himself, "you
+have no doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of
+calling upon you without first communicating with you."
+
+"Not at all, sir," said Goldsmith. "'Tis a great compliment you offer to
+me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir."
+
+"You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
+have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men."
+
+"Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
+generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment."
+
+And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
+so successfully caricatured.
+
+"Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The
+fact is, sir, that I--I--i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
+how it is I appear before you in this fashion."
+
+"You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You
+are a friend of my best friend--Sir Joshua Reynolds."
+
+"Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
+Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem
+of--of--well, of all the members of the Horneck family."
+
+It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way
+his visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what
+reply to make to him.
+
+"I perceive that you are surprised, sir." said Gwyn.
+
+"No, no--not at all--that is--no, not greatly surprised--only--well,
+sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
+yourself, a soldier," stammered Goldsmith.
+
+"I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past
+week or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith," said Gwyn; "but upon no
+occasion have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me
+she was by no means well."
+
+"And they told you the truth, sir," said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
+
+"You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
+they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
+confess a headache was not specified."
+
+"Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination.
+But why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel
+Gwyn?"
+
+Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
+
+"I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking
+a liberty," he said somewhat awkwardly.
+
+"Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?" asked Goldsmith.
+
+"Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see--sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend
+of the lady's--I perceived long ago--nay, it is well known that she
+regards you with great affection as a--no, not as a father--no, as--as
+an elder brother, that is it--yes, as an elder brother; and therefore
+I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be
+quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate--as I am sure
+you could understand that any man must--before declaring myself to her.
+Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to
+be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of
+the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank
+with me, sir."
+
+Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel
+Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat
+upright on his chair--a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some
+people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat
+inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that
+they were the manners of a gentleman.
+
+Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
+Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
+
+He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last
+he gave a little start.
+
+"You should not have come to me, sir," he said slowly.
+
+"I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir," said Gwyn.
+
+"On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
+confidence. But--ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady
+would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?"
+
+"I thought it possible that she--Miss Horneck--might have let you know.
+You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she
+might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
+Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of--well, a sort of vested
+interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak."
+
+"Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate
+them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become
+accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the
+children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if
+they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose,
+that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers,
+which is quite apart from the world of letters."
+
+Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
+difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the
+exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted
+as much.
+
+"I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning," he said. "But for that
+matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
+plain to you."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Goldsmith, "I think I gathered from your words all that
+you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
+subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
+lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
+chances of success."
+
+"How admirably you put the matter!" said Gwyn. "And I fancied you did
+not apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?"
+
+"I cannot tell," said Goldsmith. "Miss Horneck has never told me that
+she loved any man."
+
+"Then I have still a chance?"
+
+"Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments
+to their fathers--no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
+consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
+advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself
+if you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to
+become attached. Add to the effect of your personality--which I think is
+great, sir--the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you have
+won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether your
+suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies."
+
+"You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
+some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
+Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
+that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex."
+
+"You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the
+man exist who would be worthy of her love?"
+
+"He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
+some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
+is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
+
+"It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
+consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr.
+Goldsmith--not as men go--there is in my lifetime nothing that I have
+cause to be ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness,
+her purity, her tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own
+presumption in aspiring to win her. You think me presumptuous in this
+matter, I am convinced, sir."
+
+"I do--I do. I know Mary Horneck."
+
+"I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with
+me in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me
+to thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me
+away without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that
+I have your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
+happiness."
+
+"Colonel Gwyn, my wishes--my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may
+be happy."
+
+"And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it."
+
+Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to
+him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men
+who were understood to be admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made
+humourous verses on some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic
+illustrations, and Mary and her sister had had their laugh. He could not
+even now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more
+eligible suitor than the majority whom he had met from time to time at
+the Hornecks' house. He knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the
+girl had no thoughts to give to love and suitors. If Gwyn were to go
+to her immediately and offer himself as a suitor he would meet with a
+disappointment.
+
+Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who
+had just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be
+exultant at the thought that it was he--he--Oliver Goldsmith--who had
+been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret--with the duty of saving
+her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
+
+Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
+enterprise had fallen.
+
+He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
+position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
+rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
+instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
+hand of the maiden?
+
+For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate
+all his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the
+struggle had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had
+become the most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor
+at the Royal Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most
+eminent men of the period. And then, although he was plain of face and
+awkward in manner--nearly as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as
+Johnson--he had been appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in
+England. He felt that he had reason to exult.
+
+But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with
+Colonel Gwyn--he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel
+Gwyn. What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in
+preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a
+mirror in order to learn what chance he would have of being accepted
+as the lover of a lovely girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to
+himself?
+
+He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he
+had--a glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
+
+He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from
+complete despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted
+with the task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
+destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
+too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
+him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
+
+He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
+evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
+Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his
+play--in which she did not appear--was being acted on the stage.
+
+He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that
+his design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should
+pursue in regard to the actress--how far he would be safe in confiding
+in her--was frustrated.
+
+The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
+with him--well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make
+a quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such
+a disaster. Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in
+Boswell's eyes he could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of
+a second person.
+
+"Psha! Sir," said Goldsmith, "you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you
+do of the Irish nation and their characteristics."
+
+"Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him," said
+Boswell. "But now all is over; he will never see me again."
+
+"Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
+order to give you a chance of knowing him better?" said Goldsmith.
+
+"For the life of me I cannot see how that could be," cried Boswell after
+a contemplative pause.
+
+"Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
+consciousness of his generosity."
+
+"What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
+again?"
+
+"No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
+feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
+secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
+talking together."
+
+"What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?"
+
+"Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
+biographer."
+
+Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which
+the Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
+
+"Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
+Goldsmith?" he cried anxiously.
+
+"I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir," replied Goldsmith, with
+an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
+that Shakespeare was pompous.
+
+"Now you are imitating him," said Boswell. "But I perceive that he has
+told you of our quarrel--our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
+sir."
+
+"Through me, sir?"
+
+"Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
+Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no
+one of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has
+lately been mimicking the Dean--yes, down to his very words, at the
+Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
+acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
+upbraided me for half an hour."
+
+"To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?"
+
+"To no human being, sir."
+
+"Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one."
+
+"To no one, sir--that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly have
+had the story."
+
+"Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
+expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
+perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail
+to make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
+Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
+accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
+Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
+in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson."
+
+"Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
+friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
+being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
+that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
+order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?"
+
+"Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
+biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick
+and choose the incidents with which he has to deal--that he may, if he
+please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his
+hero or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you
+frankly that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are
+mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I
+insist on your writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the
+very words that passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and
+you will also furnish me with a list of the persons--if you have not
+sufficient paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream
+at the stationer's at the corner--to whom you gave an account of the
+humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship
+with me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do
+not seek to avoid so obvious a duty."
+
+Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam
+of a smile on his face.
+
+He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a
+word.
+
+"Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom," muttered Goldsmith.
+"If I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
+hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight."
+
+(The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
+him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained
+his forgiveness. "You were right, sir," the letter concluded. "Dr.
+Johnson has still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.")
+
+But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to
+the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long
+practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give
+him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It
+was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
+not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
+his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
+
+The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
+which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
+only of "She Stoops to Conquer" had been reached, and as she did not
+appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
+piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town
+by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady
+of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
+a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
+loose about the neck and shoulders.
+
+"Ha, my little hero," cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
+his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then
+to Mrs. Abington. "Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last?
+Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all
+a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There
+was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith."
+
+"The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
+madam," said Goldsmith.
+
+"Not if he could avoid it, I am certain," said she. "Faith, sir,
+you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the
+playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about
+you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them
+all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it
+was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making
+an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional
+channel."
+
+"If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
+Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head," said Goldsmith. "Though, for
+that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
+before me in that dress--ay, or any other."
+
+"Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
+compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus," and she made an exquisite
+courtesy. "Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are
+as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?"
+
+"I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am
+extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most
+accomplished should be moved," said Goldsmith.
+
+"You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a
+comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than
+that of Miss Hardcastle."
+
+"I have the design of one in my head, madam."
+
+"Then, faith, sir,'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
+head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
+great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
+you have begun the comedy, sir?"
+
+"I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
+air. I want your assistance in that direction."
+
+"What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
+Goldsmith?"
+
+"Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic
+as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you
+give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?"
+
+"With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
+Goldsmith."
+
+"I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
+have to tell you."
+
+"Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir."
+
+"How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?"
+
+"Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
+him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his
+family--a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your
+face suggested."
+
+"I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for
+help."
+
+"Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
+think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
+the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light--which I take to be
+the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman--he is too powerful
+for me, I frankly confess."
+
+"Mine is a male fiend."
+
+"Not the manager of a theatre--another form of the same hue?"
+
+"Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness."
+
+"Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman."
+
+"If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
+greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to
+coffee house repeating it."
+
+"Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir."
+
+"How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was
+more than you could cope with?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+And now, sir, to face the particulars--to proceed from the fancy
+embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact--who or what is the
+aggressive demon that you want exorcised?"
+
+"His name is Jackson--he calls himself Captain Jackson," replied Oliver.
+He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's
+story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this
+point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
+any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
+had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
+
+"Jackson--Captain Jackson!" cried the actress. "Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this
+is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely,
+sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a
+battering-ram to overturn a house of cards--one does not requisition a
+park of artillery to demolish a sparrow."
+
+"Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of
+the power of a piece of ordnance," said Goldsmith. "The truth is, madam,
+that in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss."
+
+"If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
+you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
+doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me."
+
+"I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
+there is a lady in the question."
+
+"Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
+waiting for the lady."
+
+"She is the most charming of her sex, madam."
+
+"I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may
+be taken for granted."
+
+"Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men."
+
+"I wonder in what part of the world she lived--certainly not in London."
+
+"Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared
+upon the scene----"
+
+"Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
+the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
+even though the serpent be slaughtered."
+
+"Pardon me, Mrs. Abington"--Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely--"pardon
+me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
+has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction."
+
+In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
+of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let
+it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
+taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America;
+and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to
+him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them
+the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
+
+"The lady is prostrated with grief," he said, concluding his story. "The
+very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
+killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
+knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat."
+
+"'Tis a sad story indeed," said Mrs. Abington. "The man is as bad as
+bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
+Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
+meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
+the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
+been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
+possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know
+that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of
+Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of
+guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?"
+
+"That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
+think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl," said
+Goldsmith.
+
+"Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not
+in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,"
+cried the lady. "Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in
+a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego
+the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the
+coins."
+
+"You may be right," said he. "But whence are the guineas to come, pray?"
+
+"Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a
+couple of hundred pounds."
+
+"Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends!
+She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she
+had written letters of affection to such a man."
+
+"She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith."
+
+"If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have
+allowed herself to be imposed on by a stranger?"
+
+"Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
+who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
+your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return
+to the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters?
+How do you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?"
+
+"Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
+conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
+It occurred to me that perhaps--it might be possible--in short, Mrs.
+Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel could
+be entrapped."
+
+"You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary
+men--and of wary--is what nature and art have fitted me for--nature and
+practice?"
+
+"I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear
+madam. But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady
+with whom I am acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest
+intelligence. That is why you are our greatest actress. The highest
+intelligence is valueless on the stage unless it is associated with a
+heart that beats in sympathy with the sorrow and becomes exultant with
+the joy of others. That is why I regard myself as more than fortunate in
+having your promise to accept a part in my next comedy."
+
+Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
+author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him
+out of his difficulty.
+
+"I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir," said
+the actress. "Yes, in spite of your being--being--ah--innocent--a poet,
+and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, Dr.
+Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to--to--well, shall
+we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?"
+
+"That is the position I long for, dear madam."
+
+"Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know
+you, Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or
+two--that will give both of us a chance of still further considering the
+possibility of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe
+it was the lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were
+doubtless for running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his
+throat without the delay of a moment."
+
+"Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington."
+
+"Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
+about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
+'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?"
+
+"Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite
+perceive their bearing."
+
+"Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their
+little step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir,
+I perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress
+for my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used
+to term 'ructions.'"
+
+She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
+before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
+effective kiss.
+
+He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for
+he was not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had
+departed without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would
+have regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however,
+that clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt
+that it was a pleasure to do anything for such a man--especially as he
+was a writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she
+could so interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be
+the most notable success of the season.
+
+As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
+progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
+feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not
+been at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting
+with Mrs. Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs.
+Abington were associated.
+
+The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
+consolidated by a "command" performance at which the whole of his
+Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because
+it meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
+sentimentalists who were still harping upon the "low" elements of
+certain scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good
+augury. He felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan
+by which he should be able to get possession of the letters.
+
+When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
+not been unmindful of his interests.
+
+"The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
+yesterday," said she, "but I tolerated him--nay, I encouraged him--not
+for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me,
+but for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking
+fool of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly
+makes a fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of
+herself."
+
+"Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
+Mrs. Abing ton," said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
+laughter.
+
+"You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith," she
+said. "But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for
+I have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably
+the most effective."
+
+"You have found that by your experience of traps?" said Goldsmith. "The
+smile is the silken net?"
+
+"Even so," said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. "Ah,
+Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you."
+
+"Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
+but at me."
+
+"Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being
+smiled at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response
+to the encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my
+private address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when
+the fly begins to lure on the spider."
+
+"'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not--to the fly."
+
+"Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass.
+Sir, to be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private
+address, but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next
+Thursday night."
+
+"Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
+behalf----"
+
+"Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that
+I am only interested in my sister-fly--would she be angry if she were to
+hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?"
+
+There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
+upon Goldsmith's ear.
+
+"Madam," said he, "she is a Christian woman."
+
+"Ah, Dr. Goldsmith," said the actress, "a very small amount of Christian
+charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman.
+Let that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on
+Thursday night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round
+the corner, and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you
+to appear boldly, as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my
+hospitality. You must come into the room when we have begun, carrying
+with you a roll of manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene
+of your new comedy, upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you."
+
+"I shall not fail to recollect," said Goldsmith. "Why, 'tis like the
+argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
+elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it."
+
+"Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir," said the lady. "I think I
+know the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama
+of mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which
+you will not be able to play to perfection."
+
+"You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
+When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I
+trust, ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the
+pleasure of your society for even an hour."
+
+"I will ask you to join us at the table, and then--well, then I have
+a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
+friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known
+all his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters
+of his."
+
+Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
+possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity--the fact
+being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
+Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
+romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
+formed the basis of more than one comedy--he had a notion that if these
+comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
+been so clearly defined.
+
+She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
+
+"What, sir!" she cried. "Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity
+of my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt--not at
+scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play."
+
+"I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
+play, dear lady," said he. "But then, you see, it would be in my power
+to make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the
+right moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that
+was necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes
+quite hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most
+ordinary precepts of art."
+
+"Psha! sir," said the actress. "Nothing in this world is certain. I am
+a poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my
+life. At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully
+arranged plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the
+slovenliness of the actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain
+dialogue, yet in the end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama
+out of the ruins of our schemes than we originally designed. So, in this
+case, sir, I am not without hope that even though our gentleman's lips
+remain sealed--nay, even though our gentleman remain sober--a great
+calamity--we may still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep
+your ears open and I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if
+between us we cannot get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel."
+
+"I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam," said Oliver; "and I
+can only repeat what you have said so well--namely, that even the most
+clumsy of our schemes--which this one of yours certainly is not--may
+become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
+that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you
+on Thursday evening."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+Goldsmith for the next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a
+consciousness of having wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon
+Mrs. Abington and discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing
+the purpose which he had at heart; for he could not but perceive how
+shallow was the scheme which she had devised for the undoing of Mary
+Horneck's enemy. He felt that it would, after all, have been better for
+him to place himself in the hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had
+promised to find out for him, and to do his best to run the scoundrel
+through the body, than to waste his time listening to the crude scheme
+concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imitation of some third-class
+playwright.
+
+He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
+scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to
+join her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent
+his exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan
+for obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
+seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when
+he had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
+which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident
+to effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had
+suggested the possibility of such an accident taking place--in fact, she
+seemed to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than
+upon the ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think
+that she was right in this respect. He had a considerable experience
+of life and its vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a
+jesting mood the most judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be
+overturned by an accident apparently no less trivial than the raising of
+a hand, the fluttering of a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
+
+He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and
+a vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
+causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he
+met a young woman who changed--for a time--all his ideas of the sex. As
+he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
+Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
+factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
+accident is only another form of despair.
+
+In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he
+met Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an
+Italian fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
+
+"What!" cried Baretti. "Have you another affair on your hands in
+addition to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You
+do not need to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller."
+
+"I do not look forward to fighting booksellers," said Goldsmith. "They
+have stepped between me and starvation more than once."
+
+"Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
+to make money by his philanthropy?" asked Baretti in his usual cynical
+way.
+
+"I cannot say," replied Goldsmith. "I don't think that I can lay claim
+to the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
+rate, I do not mean ever to beat another."
+
+"'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
+mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
+swordsman in Europe," said Baretti.
+
+"Do so, my friend," said Goldsmith; "and when I succeed in killing a
+critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as
+a memento."
+
+"I shall look for them--yes, in five years, for it will certainly take
+that time to make you expert with a sword," said the Italian. "And,
+meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
+fighter as Kenrick."
+
+"In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
+may take a fancy to have."
+
+"And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
+martyr--a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other unclean
+beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
+within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
+should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
+as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not
+want a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear
+one of our friends would have no objection to a limb or two."
+
+"And who may that friend be?"
+
+"You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
+with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?"
+
+"Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?"
+
+"What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the
+little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur.
+Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than--than----"
+
+"A lioness robbed of her whelps?"
+
+"Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is
+the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that
+you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer;
+and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit
+into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles--reminiscent of
+his native land--ever since."
+
+Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
+Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
+Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
+evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
+the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time,
+his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
+flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
+every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
+said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit
+who had shouted: "Stick to the coo, mon!" On the whole, Garrick said, he
+thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
+many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion--whatever it might
+be worth--that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most
+successful in attempting.
+
+Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
+accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
+believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
+
+He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
+inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper,
+and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme
+which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of
+inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he
+was in the habit of keeping the letters.
+
+"These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,"
+said she; "and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may
+become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously.
+If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
+farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them."
+
+"What then is to be gained by our supping with him?" said Goldsmith.
+
+"Why, you are brought into contact with him," she replied. "You will
+then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take
+him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great?
+heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak--one
+cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
+and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
+fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting
+the letters into your pocket."
+
+"I'll hope for better luck than that," said Oliver.
+
+"Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything," said she. "But good
+luck is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
+cleverest people."
+
+"That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,"
+said Goldsmith. "But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs.
+Abington as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex."
+
+"Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me," said she.
+
+"Madam," said he, "I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
+your advice and reserve my compliments to you for--well, no, not a
+month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done
+very well."
+
+As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
+that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
+alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of
+an adroit scoundrel. He had heard--nay, he had written--of the wiles of
+women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of testing a
+woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his estimate
+of their value.
+
+It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare
+tavern at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll
+of manuscript in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the
+waiter to inform the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was
+very fluent up to this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave
+when he found himself face to face with the man who had made the life of
+Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered if he would be able to restrain his
+impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat.
+
+When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington
+that she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended
+the stairs to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved
+himself to play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not
+beyond his powers.
+
+Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her
+chair laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her
+_vis-à-vis_, for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting
+upon it and one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the
+points of his narrative.
+
+When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly,
+pleasantly, but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the
+story which Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with
+his fingers still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most
+inopportune entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other
+is in the act of telling a story to an appreciative audience--say, a
+beautiful actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be
+seen to the greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb
+and flow of that roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate
+wimplings, rising and falling between the porcelain of her throat and
+the curve of the ivory of her shoulders.
+
+The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition
+of Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs.
+Abington's tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned
+his head round as the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward
+the table, bowing profusely--rather too profusely for the part he was
+playing, the artistic perception of the actress told her.
+
+"Ha, my little author!" cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
+patron.
+
+"You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers--the best time
+for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served."
+
+"Ah, sir," said Goldsmith, "we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
+convenience of our betters."
+
+"Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
+convenience in an ante-room--ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that the
+scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets write
+best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals."
+
+"For shame, Captain!" cried Mrs Abington. "Dr. Goldsmith is a man as
+well as a poet. He has broken heads before now."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself
+back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had
+advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of
+the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady
+perceived.
+
+"Faith, my dear," laughed the Captain, "I would fain believe that he is
+a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head
+broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I
+swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is
+accustomed to spread terror around."
+
+"Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked," said Mrs.
+Abington.
+
+"Nay, my dear madam," cried her _vis-à-vis_, "you must pardon me for
+saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
+exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known
+kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a
+poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would
+overcome a sound head."
+
+"I meant nothing like that, Captain," said Mrs. Abington. Then she
+turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript.
+"Come, Dr. Goldsmith," she cried, "seat yourself by me, and partake of
+supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play
+which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped."
+
+"Nay, madam," stuttered Goldsmith; "I have already had my humble meal;
+still----"
+
+He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
+hoarse laugh, crying--
+
+"Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
+by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
+himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the
+romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a
+party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable
+kill-joy?"
+
+"You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain," said the actress in
+smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view
+of the poet's weakness. "You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of
+parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long;
+will you, Dr. Goldsmith?"
+
+She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast
+at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own
+part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was
+patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in
+a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's
+cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to
+seating himself.
+
+"Madam, I am your servant," he murmured; "Sir, I am your most obedient
+to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such
+distinguished company."
+
+"And so you should, sir," cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
+about, laying a fresh plate and glass, "so you should. Your grand
+patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you
+from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely
+to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity,
+General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I
+had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking
+me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the
+General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his
+dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn
+upon him."
+
+"Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends," said Mrs. Abington.
+"But I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being
+drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends."
+
+"If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
+swear," cried the Captain bowing over the table.
+
+"Good," she said. "And so I call upon you to drink to his health--a
+bumper, sir, a bumper!"
+
+The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With
+an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained
+it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
+Goldsmith.
+
+"Hang him!" he cried, when he had wiped his lips, "I bear Goldsmith no
+malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
+shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge
+after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health
+of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show
+does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous
+to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me."
+
+"Nay, Captain," said the lady, "I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain
+from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many
+healths during the day, sir."
+
+"What mean you by that, madam?" he cried. "Do you suggest that I cannot
+carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
+gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that
+you would have a chance of offering."
+
+"Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that," said the actress hastily. "I will
+prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr.
+Goldsmith's new comedy."
+
+"Now you are very much my dear," said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
+decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. "Yes,
+your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam,
+shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American
+rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be
+said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his
+name is--George Washington"--he had considerable difficulty over the
+name--"is accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not
+men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his
+Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what
+the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to
+the health of Colonel Washington!"
+
+"Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies," said Mrs.
+Abington, rising. "'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place;
+and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform."
+
+"The devil take the King's uniform!" shouted the man. "The devils of
+rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell
+you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
+drank----" Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and
+seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his
+cloak.
+
+"Hold, sir," cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
+upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. "Hold, sir, I
+perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured
+by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success
+to the cause that will triumph in America." Jackson, who was standing at
+the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
+half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
+him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
+
+"It sounds all right," he muttered as if he were trying to convince
+himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. "It sounds all
+right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
+little poet," he continued. "I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
+sir--drink to the success of the cause in America." Goldsmith got upon
+his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine.
+
+"Success to it!" he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his
+third tumbler of brandy.
+
+"Hark ye, my little poet!" whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
+across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not
+returned to her place. "Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a
+general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned
+me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from
+Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was
+mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you!
+If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to
+pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis,
+let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was
+ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the
+Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a
+man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy----
+Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the
+colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who
+would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's
+the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't
+everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got
+letters--letters----"
+
+"Yes, yes, you have letters--where?" cried Goldsmith, in the
+confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
+
+The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and
+then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
+half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
+chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
+
+"Letters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own
+matter--a secret," he murmured in vague tones. "The government would
+give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon
+itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary
+and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'"--he pronounced the word "Secrary"--"'I
+know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are
+the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir,
+my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the
+lady?"
+
+He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
+well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
+
+"I'm here," cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
+which Jackson's coat was thrown. "I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
+not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air."
+
+"Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?" cried the man with a lurch
+forward and a wave of the hand. "Madam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I
+wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that
+it contains--all that----"
+
+His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
+his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face;
+he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness
+that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the
+cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining
+until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the
+pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively
+into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was
+another packet.
+
+Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over
+her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that
+Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as "Miss Prue."
+She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed
+coarsely, saying huskily--
+
+"A handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of
+my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my
+charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll
+challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up
+your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call
+you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only
+knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the
+truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may
+be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!"
+
+Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
+remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
+man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass
+before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand
+on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring--
+
+"Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
+Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
+table, and to drink to your health, dear madam."
+
+He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had
+entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his
+chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
+
+[Illustration: 0315]
+
+"That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir," she cried,
+standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
+hand. "You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
+Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of
+my room, sir!"
+
+She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought
+it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
+watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
+stupour, his jaw fallen.
+
+Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
+
+"Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman," said the actress,
+pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated.
+
+"A coach? Certainly, madam," said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
+
+"Dr. Goldsmith," resumed Mrs. Abington, "may I beg of you to have the
+goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
+hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have
+a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is
+Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir."
+
+* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
+watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from
+uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to
+Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set
+herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet
+which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket
+of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great
+difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the
+coach.
+
+"They're full of their whimsies, these wenches," were the first words
+spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in
+his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. "What did I
+say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel
+hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour.
+What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley?
+Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged
+his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac
+flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few
+stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been
+their darling always." Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but
+husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and
+he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the
+high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter
+re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at
+the door of the tavern.
+
+At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
+it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
+the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord
+and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson.
+He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed
+him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord
+and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such
+persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith
+reached the street.
+
+"Hold on, sir," he cried, "I am accompanying that gentleman to his
+lodging."
+
+"Nay, Doctor," whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, "the
+fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach
+the Strand."
+
+"Nevertheless, I will go, my friend," said Oliver. "The lady has laid it
+upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards."
+
+He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the
+man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the
+cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours
+rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the
+starting coach made no impression upon him.
+
+Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
+arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
+he must act at once.
+
+He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
+detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All
+he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the
+pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
+
+The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted
+his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his
+breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened
+himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite
+unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him.
+
+"Dear madam, you do me great honour," he said, and then gave a little
+hiccupping laugh. "Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me
+all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give
+you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold
+the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to
+put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to
+a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever
+except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
+shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned,
+my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her
+own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer,
+in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents,
+for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the
+pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of
+accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend!
+and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars
+for them."
+
+Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
+man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
+
+Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he
+referred to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel
+had not only tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been
+endeavouring to sell the secrets of the King's forces to the American
+rebels. Goldsmith had, however, no doubt that the letters which he was
+desirous of getting into his hands were those which the man had within
+his waistcoat. His belief in this direction did not, however, assist him
+to devise a plan for transferring the letters from the place where they
+reposed to his own pocket.
+
+The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
+Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of
+the brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his
+fingers remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would
+be quite impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith
+could not claim to be, to open the garment.
+
+He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
+packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet
+that it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont
+Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any
+more attempts to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake,
+and Goldsmith knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough
+to cope with three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
+
+Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit
+so broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
+entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
+Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest
+did not end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide
+awake, and he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he
+spoke that he showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very
+far from sober.
+
+"Good Lord!" he cried, "how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
+be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me--grossly
+insulted me--turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, you
+rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you to
+look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for you.
+Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?"
+
+Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might
+not be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward
+attempt to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration
+of the question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open
+the door. He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the
+coach on to the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on
+its leathern straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the
+turnstile. At the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance
+to the court, almost coming in collision with Jackson.
+
+"You cursed, clumsy lout!" shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round
+as the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the
+other.
+
+"You low ruffian!" he said. "You cheated me last night, and left me
+to sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been
+waiting for you. Take that, you scoundrel--and that--and that----"
+
+He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
+forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
+fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
+street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
+
+Goldsmith shouted out, "Follow him--follow the murderer!" pointing
+wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
+
+In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
+pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
+hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the
+body in order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more
+adroitness than was necessary--for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp
+all the street was in darkness--slipped the wallet into his other hand
+and then under his coat.
+
+A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
+had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had
+been run through with a sword.
+
+"It was a knock-down blow," said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
+prostrate man; "and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great
+harm has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a
+beer barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
+recovery. Ah, he is recovering already."
+
+He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
+almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
+sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
+meant by choking him.
+
+A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith
+picked up his hat and straightened his sword, saying--
+
+"Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his
+physician in that way has small need of his services. I thought the
+fellow might be seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point
+recently; and so good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he
+relapse. By a casual savour of him I should say that he is not used to
+water."
+
+He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple,
+and as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on
+completely recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned
+him, would miss his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was
+greatly relieved when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the
+head porter, and he paid the driver with a liberality that called down
+upon him a torrent of thanks.
+
+As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
+cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no
+doubt that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands
+of his dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him--had
+alone trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
+
+He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
+room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
+wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
+and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
+chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
+taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of
+Mrs. Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that
+they were the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
+
+He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He
+was utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
+occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought.
+He could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers,
+covered with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own
+desk before starting for the tavern.
+
+What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
+the wallet?
+
+Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
+hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
+
+He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
+over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
+which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
+Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
+until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which
+he transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had
+had no time--at least, so Goldsmith thought--to put the sham act of the
+play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
+unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
+in the wallet?
+
+Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
+greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
+craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
+of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected
+Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the
+expense of the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on,
+and had fooled them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying
+that they were entrapping him.
+
+Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
+he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he
+was showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
+shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
+he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
+happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
+doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made
+by Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
+
+How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the
+length of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy
+that when they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on
+any subject. But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin
+to act, she had failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to
+place himself in her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
+
+He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
+would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
+consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
+to get the better.
+
+What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary,
+and tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him.
+She should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would
+have been ready to help her and capable of helping her--some man with a
+knowledge of men--some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver of
+fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. Nothing
+was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve
+success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
+
+He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a
+house of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his
+life, whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze
+that had swept down upon it.
+
+He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
+cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
+than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
+already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
+prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great
+a mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never
+have made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he
+said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious
+generosity of the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity
+that had led him to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was
+utterly unsuited; and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him
+in the reflection that his awakening had come before it was too late. He
+had not been led away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She
+had been saved the unhappiness which that confession would bring to
+a nature so full of feeling as hers. And he had been saved the
+mortification of the thought that he had caused her pain.
+
+The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees
+of the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had
+passed before he fell asleep.
+
+He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he
+found that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the
+letters which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with
+but a languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
+bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith
+had promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged
+the loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently,
+from its shape and bulk, a manuscript--one of the many which were
+submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned
+it over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
+convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
+perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
+accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
+
+He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when
+at the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The
+instant he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that
+the parcel contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's
+handwriting to a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire
+village where she had been staying the previous summer.
+
+On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
+Mrs. Abing ton--the spelling as well as the writing was hers--
+
+"'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few
+feathers pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in
+the capp of dear Dr. Goldsmith."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+He was so greatly amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the
+scattered letters on the table in front of him. He was even more amazed
+at finding them there than he had been the night before at not finding
+them in the wallet which he had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He
+thought he had arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to how he had
+come to find within the wallet the sheets of manuscript which he had had
+in his hand on entering the supper room; but how was he to account for
+the appearance of the letters in this parcel which he had received from
+Mrs. Abington?
+
+So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth--to
+appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his
+table. But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and
+happiness to Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy.
+She was saved. He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and
+who had the means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had
+caused him to go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing
+the task with which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been
+mistaken in applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish
+scheme of a pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken
+when she had singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most
+women would have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a
+knight-errant.
+
+His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
+despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
+knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
+morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him;
+but now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him--his
+imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
+happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to
+Mary and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
+Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
+Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
+
+He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of
+his formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest,
+but it was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion
+so delicate an enterprise as that which he--Goldsmith--had accomplished.
+Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. Abington to help
+him, and that was just where he would have made a huge mistake. Any man
+who thought to get the better of the devil without the aid of a woman
+was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of this as he
+stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been when he
+had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The previous
+half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
+Providence and the world.
+
+When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate
+some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
+obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
+thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
+the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to
+be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have
+felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it,
+substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his
+entrance to the supper-room.
+
+The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that
+the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
+recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair
+with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
+treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to
+turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had
+been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her
+glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as
+Mrs. Baddeley!
+
+He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
+particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
+acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
+the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
+perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
+the letters beyond the man's hands.
+
+Once again he laughed, saying out loud--
+
+"Ah, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a
+devil!"
+
+Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was
+at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
+letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself
+in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
+consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face
+would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
+would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
+that she was safe.
+
+That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
+bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on
+her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
+laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would
+be happy through witnessing her happiness.
+
+He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for
+the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his
+servant announced two visitors.
+
+Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered.
+The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a
+compatriot of his own, named Nicolo.
+
+"I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in
+my hands," said Baretti. "My friend Nicolo is a master of the art
+of fencing as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the
+impression, singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than
+once during your wanderings in Tuscany."
+
+"And now I am sure of it," said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
+spoke French rather better than English. "Yes, I was a student at
+Pisa when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in
+recognising him."
+
+"And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,"
+said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; "I cannot, however, recall the
+circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
+memory, sir?"
+
+"There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone," said Signor
+Nicolo.
+
+"I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,"
+said Goldsmith quickly. "You were one of the orators--quite reckless, if
+you will permit me to say so much."
+
+The man smiled somewhat grimly.
+
+"If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,"
+said Baretti. "Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
+climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
+government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back
+again."
+
+"It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor
+Nicolo," said Goldsmith. "Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of
+a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago."
+
+"Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
+now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir," said the man
+with another grim smile.
+
+"You are not quite right, my friend," laughed Goldsmith; "for if my
+memory serves me--and it does so usually on the matter of dress--I had
+no coat whatsoever to my back--that was of no importance in Pisa, where
+the air was full of patriotism."
+
+"The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country," said
+Baretti. "There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We
+are examples--Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a
+brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy
+Englishman--and there are a good number of them, too--into an expert
+swordsman in twelve lessons--yes, if the pupil will but practise
+sufficiently afterwards."
+
+"We need not talk of business just now," said Goldsmith. "I insist on
+my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
+'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
+excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo."
+
+He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple
+of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to
+him--very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not
+have remained.
+
+The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
+heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
+room.
+
+"I have found you, you rascal!" he shouted, swaggering across the room
+to where Goldsmith was seated. "Now, my good fellow, I give you just
+one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my
+pocket last night."
+
+"And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken
+blackguard," said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo,
+who was in the act of rising. "Come, sir," he continued, "I submitted
+to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I
+promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your
+carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils."
+
+Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
+gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
+cowardly to attack.
+
+"You cur!" he said through his set teeth. "I don't know what prevents me
+from running you through the body."
+
+"Do you not? I do," said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of
+wine off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
+
+"Come, sir," said the bully after a pause; "I don't wish to go to Sir
+John Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property,
+but, by the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will
+not spare you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an
+hour has passed."
+
+"Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American
+spy, is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith
+has at hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest
+scoundrels," said Goldsmith.
+
+Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
+second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons.
+The bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
+
+"My little poet," he said in a mocking voice, "you fancy that because
+you have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you
+for your information that I have something in my possession that I can
+use as I meant to use the letters."
+
+"And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall
+kill you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!" cried Goldsmith,
+leaping up.
+
+There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
+the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him
+behind a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
+
+"Pardon me, sir," said he, bowing to Jackson, "but we cannot permit you
+to stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend
+and I regard as a grave affront to us."
+
+"Then let one of you draw!" shouted the man. "I see that you are
+Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
+sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell."
+
+"Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive," said Baretti.
+"I do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a
+weaker man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a
+ruffian as you undoubtedly are."
+
+He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter
+had whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti,
+putting quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when
+Baretti had turned partly round.
+
+"Briccone! assassin!" hissed Baretti. "You saw that he meant to kill me,
+Nicolo," he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
+
+"He shall pay for it," whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
+foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
+of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
+
+"Don't kill him, friend Nicolo," he cried. "We used to enjoy a sausage
+or two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
+without absolutely killing the beast."
+
+The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
+
+Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
+laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian--it was not
+melodious--acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, trying to
+beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single inch.
+He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His expression
+resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has airily
+offered to play with him opens the game.
+
+After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to
+attack, Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
+
+"Take a chair, sir," said Baretti, grinning. "You will have need of one
+before my friend has finished with you."
+
+Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
+before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt
+him now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the
+man breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
+Italian.
+
+Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
+no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but
+his antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard
+breathing was a contrast to the only other sound in the room--the
+grating of steel against steel.
+
+Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed
+gradually to vanish. He became more than serious--surely his expression
+was one of apprehension.
+
+Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as
+one of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
+shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
+doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge
+of the other man.
+
+It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as
+he pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in
+touching Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once,
+and now it was plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was
+breathing hard, and the look of apprehension on his face had increased
+until it had actually become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to
+perceive this, and malignant triumph was in every feature of his face.
+Any one could see that he felt confident of tiring out the visibly
+fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with staring eyes, once again clutched
+Baretti.
+
+Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
+and forehead in smiles.
+
+"I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,"
+said he.
+
+In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
+paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
+head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying
+behind it like the little pennon on a lance.
+
+"Heavens!" whispered Goldsmith.
+
+"Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist," said Baretti. "For
+God's sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that
+last was like a bullet."
+
+Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat
+from which it was torn.
+
+And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
+face.
+
+"That is his fun," said Baretti. "Oh, body of Bacchus! A great
+humourist!"
+
+The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
+in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
+
+The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but
+his antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed
+him round the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing
+heavily, but apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his
+sword into his left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
+
+Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
+They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
+meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
+Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
+dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
+Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
+result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
+
+And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
+man's pocket fell on the floor.
+
+With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
+The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining
+by a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo
+had spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single
+flash. Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they
+were the batch of letters which he had received in the course of his
+traffic with the American rebels.
+
+"Come, Sandrino," said Baretti, affecting to yawn. "Finish the rascal
+off, and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us.
+Come, sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has
+kept us from our wine too long already."
+
+With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
+sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
+over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
+the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with
+an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
+thoroughly exhausted.
+
+[Illustration: 0349]
+
+Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
+the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
+guard.
+
+"John," shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
+witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
+exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) "John, give that
+man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked
+out of my house." When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to
+the half-naked panting man. "You are possibly the most contemptible
+bully and coward alive," said he. "You did not hesitate to try and
+accomplish the ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here
+with intent to murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your
+clutches. If I let you go now, it is because I know that in these
+letters, which I mean to keep, I have such evidence against you as will
+hang you whenever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to use it if
+you are in this country at the end of two days. Now, leave this house,
+and thank my servant for giving you his coat, and this gentleman"--he
+pointed to Nicolo--"for such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you
+never before received."
+
+The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which
+John Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
+
+"You contemptible cur!" he said, "I have not yet done with you. You have
+now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of
+them passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in
+pretty high places, let me tell you."
+
+"I do not doubt it," said Baretti. "The gallows is a high enough place
+for you and your friends."
+
+The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
+
+"Look to yourself, you foreign hound!" he said, his face becoming livid,
+and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare
+as before. "Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to
+be made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!"
+
+"Turn that rascal into the street, John," cried Goldsmith, and John
+bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
+flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
+powers--not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, but
+one which he was certain was more English in its style.
+
+"No one shall lay a hand on me," said Jackson. "Do you fancy that I am
+anxious to remain in such a company?"
+
+"Come, sir; you are in my charge, now," said John, hustling him to the
+door. "Come--out with you--sharp!"
+
+In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
+and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put
+on the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him
+walk in the direction of the Temple lodge.
+
+Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
+prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
+on his wall.
+
+"You came at an opportune moment, my friend," said he. "You have not
+only saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never
+have known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of
+your art."
+
+"The best swordsman is the best patriot," said Baretti.
+
+"That is why so many of your countrymen live in England," said
+Goldsmith.
+
+"Alas! yes," said Nicolo. "Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
+or you would not be able to live in England."
+
+"I am not an Englishman," said Goldsmith. "I am an Irish patriot, and
+therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it
+is not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than
+to starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
+dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
+Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor
+an hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects
+of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it
+will take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the
+fragments of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr.
+Johnson's friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh."
+
+"Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,"
+said Baretti. "Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
+engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either."
+
+"He has taken part in one engagement, at least," said Goldsmith,
+
+"And I am now at your service," said the fencing-master.
+
+They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his
+pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his
+desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and
+Anchor in an hour.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before
+known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All
+the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary
+exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with
+him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more
+than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance,
+Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing
+hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and
+allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded
+as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
+amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did
+not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon
+Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt
+which he owed to Jackson.
+
+And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life
+in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world
+the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that
+every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
+realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
+cheeks change to red once more.
+
+It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to
+Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him
+this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
+
+"I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
+Goldsmith," said the lady. "I believe that she was more than a little
+disappointed that you could not find time to come to her."
+
+"Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?" he asked. This
+fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was
+very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise
+on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in
+his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of
+his success.
+
+"She seemed very anxious to see you," said Mrs. Horneck. "I fear, dear
+Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
+sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
+secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
+Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly,
+girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
+neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
+with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely
+she has got over that foolishness!"
+
+"Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
+foolishness," said Goldsmith. "You may take my word for it that when she
+sees me the roses will return to her cheeks."
+
+"I do hope so," said Mrs. Horneck. "Yes, you could always contrive to
+make her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared
+that that disgraceful letter in the _Packet_ had affected you. That was
+why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
+nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship."
+
+"That was very kind of you, my dear madam," said he; "but I have seen
+Mary since that thing appeared."
+
+"To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?"
+
+"Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance
+that when I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to
+recovery. You have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor
+of medicine, and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in
+this direction may amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself
+have. Still, I think you will say something in my favour when you see
+Mary's condition begin to improve from the moment we have a little chat
+together."
+
+"That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr.
+Goldsmith. Your chat with her will do more for her than all the
+medicine the most skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very
+inopportune time for her to fall sick."
+
+"I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?"
+
+"Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
+steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
+attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you."
+
+"The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think."
+
+He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
+
+"Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman
+was drawn toward her?" said the lady smiling.
+
+"I have every reason to believe in his sincerity," said Goldsmith. "And
+you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she
+would have listened to his proposals, madam?"
+
+"Why should she not have done so, sir?" said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+"Why not, indeed?"
+
+"Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her," said she. "He is,
+to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing."
+
+"You think so--you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing in
+such a case?" said Oliver, rather eagerly.
+
+"How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?" cried Mrs.
+Horneck. "Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
+am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
+my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
+After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty--thirty-seven,
+I believe--but he does not look more than thirty-five."
+
+"No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
+you give emphasis, madam," said Goldsmith. "And you think that Mary will
+see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?"
+
+"I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
+so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks," said the lady.
+"That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring
+back the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly
+attracted to her."
+
+"I understand--I understand."
+
+He spoke slowly, gravely.
+
+"I knew you would help us," said Mrs. Horneck, "and so I hope that you
+will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
+Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
+passed."
+
+Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
+him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks--not for him, but
+for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days,
+the hours of thought--all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
+facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
+his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
+sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being
+for evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
+possession as her love.
+
+That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
+yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said--
+
+"Even so; I am satisfied--I am satisfied."
+
+It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and
+Goldsmith persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he
+succeeded in doing so, for he had felt it was quite possible that
+Baretti might inquire of him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to
+Brick Court, and he could not well explain to the Italian the nature of
+the enterprise which he had so successfully carried out by the aid
+of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. Abington into
+his confidence, and quite another to confide in Baretti. He was
+discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, while the
+secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it would be by
+no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some people might
+laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that which was
+generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and Baretti
+a man.
+
+He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn
+all about Jackson--that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
+become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
+for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes.
+He was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
+prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
+
+Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
+regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
+the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
+conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
+declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
+man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
+out--
+
+"Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am
+glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to
+make him certain you had stolen it from me."
+
+"Nay, sir,'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you," said
+Goldsmith.
+
+"Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "I did not say that it was good enough to have
+been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
+foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person,
+Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly,
+that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of
+stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which
+when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir,
+are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?"
+
+"Sir, I am more than satisfied," said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the
+cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face.
+This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
+
+After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
+to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington
+for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped
+to do.
+
+He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
+costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the
+less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee,
+holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to
+speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she
+was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew,
+were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
+
+"Well, my poet," she said at last, "have you need of my services to
+banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?"
+
+"I was right," he managed to say after another pause, "yes, I knew I was
+not mistaken in you, my dear lady."
+
+"Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest
+demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel," said
+she. "Well, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful
+compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her
+champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our
+friend in the hackney coach."
+
+"Nay," he cried, "it is you who have not yet told me by what means
+you became possessed of the letters which I wanted--by what magic you
+substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
+into the supper room."
+
+"Psha, sir!" said she, "'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered
+from a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair,
+that he had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He
+gave me a hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is
+not to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every
+document on which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty
+naturally received a great shock when he offered to drink to the
+American rebels, and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or
+so sufficed me to discover the wallet with the letters; but then I
+was at my wits' end to find something to occupy their place in the
+receptacle. Happily my eye caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay
+in your hat on the floor beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick
+was played. I had a sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep
+me hoping all the night that you would be able to get possession of the
+wallet, believing it contained the letters for which you were in search.
+Lord, sir! I tried to picture your face when you drew out your own
+papers." The actress lay back on her couch and roared with laughter,
+Goldsmith joining in quite pleasantly.
+
+"Ah!" he said; "I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression
+which my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
+humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but
+he paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
+termed his property."
+
+"Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?"
+
+At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
+Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
+
+"By my faith, sir!" she cried; "I would give ten guineas to have been
+there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith," she added a moment afterwards,
+"you will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the
+town."
+
+"Nay, my dear," said he. "It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left
+my room--not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
+as would hang him."
+
+"Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon
+your life?" cried the actress. "He may try to kill Baretti on a point
+of sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a
+matter of business."
+
+"Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
+something in what you say," said Goldsmith. "So I will e'en take a
+hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
+the very door of my chambers."
+
+"Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have
+yet to write for me in a comedy."
+
+"I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my
+dear friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude."
+
+"Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?" cried the actress, looking
+at him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua
+Reynolds could not quite translate to show the next century what manner
+of woman was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young
+wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country
+girl's smile of Mrs. Abington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was
+alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be
+waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any
+adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel
+of letters and set himself to peruse their contents.
+
+He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was
+sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
+perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
+rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
+themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which
+he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
+Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead
+of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to
+England as a suspected traitor.
+
+As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
+indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
+obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
+certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
+country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
+him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
+Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
+course.
+
+Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he
+ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have
+been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his
+honesty.
+
+He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour
+which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies
+of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself
+to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly
+weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the
+tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a
+woman, and therefore all the more to be loved.
+
+It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
+Hornecks.
+
+He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
+There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he
+would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock
+dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably
+be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with
+the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due
+precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be
+induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point
+in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's
+counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give
+the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might
+be.
+
+It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention
+in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not
+return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the
+Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
+
+He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
+communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not
+having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
+
+"You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper," said
+Reynolds. "I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if
+only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has
+promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well."
+
+Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in
+front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far,
+however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was
+engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly
+fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic
+style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the
+habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a
+painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from
+her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical
+traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman
+toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to
+be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.
+
+All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
+eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
+adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
+suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
+faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
+eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
+
+"What, sir!" cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
+anchor, and pursing out his lips, "would you contend that a member
+of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day
+clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?"
+
+"Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman," replied
+Goldsmith.
+
+Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
+to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
+than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
+phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
+
+"Sir," he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, "there is a very
+flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even
+depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted
+position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what
+would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after
+what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the
+advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in
+English."
+
+"And why not, sir?" said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added,
+"For my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
+Westminster Abbey written in English."
+
+Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to
+her--Angelica Kauffman.
+
+After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
+door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
+went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
+lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
+detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
+Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
+reason of his absence from the meeting.
+
+When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
+as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
+wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
+him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
+hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
+The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
+
+"If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent," said
+Goldsmith.
+
+In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
+the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out
+so as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
+
+"A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
+men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
+been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding
+in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no
+time coming to you."
+
+"Merciful heaven!" cried Goldsmith. "I was waiting for Baretti in order
+to warn him."
+
+"You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack
+as was made upon him," said Steevens. "It seems that the fellow whom
+Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable
+gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated
+what his name was."
+
+"And what was his name?" asked Reynolds.
+
+"Richard Jackson," replied Steevens. "Of course we never heard the name
+before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined."
+
+"The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal," said Goldsmith.
+
+"Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
+should a jury find him guilty," said Steevens. "We must make an effort
+to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to
+speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They
+carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to
+go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr.
+Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John
+Fielding at Bow street in the morning."
+
+"That we shall," said Sir Joshua. "He shall have the best legal advice
+available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him
+that he may depend on our help, such as it is."
+
+The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
+waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
+custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but
+they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have,
+and also to carry back to them his reply.
+
+Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an
+account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could
+not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They,
+however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the
+help of all his friends in his emergency.
+
+Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected,
+and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from
+reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
+and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
+the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in
+the surgeon's hands.
+
+Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
+meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through
+the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two
+men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with
+heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his
+sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself
+with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him,
+as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article
+of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great
+mischance he must have severed an artery.
+
+The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
+friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held
+a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being
+tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to
+England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months,
+and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house
+in Whetstone Park.
+
+"So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence,
+it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue," said
+Goldsmith.
+
+"If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the
+gentleman," said the Bow street runner. "But I fancy the judge will tell
+them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of
+its rogues."
+
+Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
+view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid
+of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having
+parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy.
+He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of
+his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked
+himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no
+concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted
+with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never
+forgive himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+After a very restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that
+Johnson had already gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house
+Goldsmith learned that Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's;
+so it was plain that Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting
+about helping him. They all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and
+Goldsmith found that Burke had already instructed a lawyer on behalf of
+Baretti. His tender heart was greatly moved at the sight of Baretti
+when the latter was brought into court, and placed in the dock, with a
+constable on each side. But the prisoner himself appeared to be quite
+collected, and seemed proud of the group of notable persons who had come
+to show their friendship for him. He smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith,
+and, when the witnesses were being examined, polished the glasses of his
+spectacles with the greatest composure. He appeared to be confident that
+Sir John Fielding would allow him to go free when evidence was given
+that Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad character, and he seemed
+greatly surprised when the magistrate announced that he was returning
+him for trial at the next sessions.
+
+Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the
+prisoner in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request
+was granted.
+
+He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on
+this melancholy drive, saying--
+
+"My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
+this."
+
+"Psha, sir!" said Baretti. "'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
+country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment.
+In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
+ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
+protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
+violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
+accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried
+for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice
+in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!"
+
+"Do not be alarmed," said Goldsmith. "When you appear before a judge and
+jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
+being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?"
+
+"I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
+responsible for this _contretemps_," said Baretti. "But I cannot forgive
+that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed
+to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
+considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
+whom I killed should be regarded sacred--as sacred as though he were an
+Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?"
+
+"You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,"
+said Goldsmith. "It is quite impossible that you could be convicted--oh,
+quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and
+Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you."
+
+But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
+railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
+Newgate.
+
+It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone
+in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house
+in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been
+uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to
+see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress
+of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the
+conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in
+respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for
+him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as
+he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy
+Bride.
+
+Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
+signs of recent tears were visible on it.
+
+"Dear Dr. Goldsmith," she said, "I am in deep distress about Mary."
+
+"How so, madam?" he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
+him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
+point of death?
+
+"She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
+when she left town," said Mrs. Horneck. "But who could fancy that her
+condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as
+was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor
+Baretti?"
+
+"It prostrated her?"
+
+"Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
+printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he
+read out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair
+to the floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her
+friends, instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met."
+
+"And now?"
+
+"Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming
+with strange impatience--I told her that you had been here yesterday and
+also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
+from her faint--accusing herself of bringing her friends into trouble,
+but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come--why does he not come
+to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
+Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her
+in this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
+acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
+the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition
+is the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to
+call to-day."
+
+"Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam," said Goldsmith, "Will
+you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
+am confident that I can restore her to health?"
+
+"Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!--ah, if you only could! But alas,
+alas!"
+
+He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
+interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of
+sobbing within the room came to his ears.
+
+"Now, my dear child," said her mother with an affectation of
+cheerfulness, "you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come
+to his Jessamy Bride."
+
+The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
+pathetically how weak she was.
+
+"Ah, he is come he is come!" she cried. "Leave him with me, mother; he
+has much to tell me."
+
+"Yes." said he; "I have much."
+
+Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
+
+She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
+spasmodically in both her own--he felt how they were trembling-as she
+cried--
+
+"The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead--you know it, of
+course? Oh, it is terrible--terrible! But the letters!--they will be
+found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be impossible
+to keep my secret longer. Will his friends--he had evil friends, I
+know--will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face that
+you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be undone--undone."
+
+"My dear," he said, "you might be able to bear the worst news that I
+could bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?"
+
+"The best! Ah, what is the best?"
+
+"It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
+child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness."
+
+She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
+more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to
+speak, but failing to utter a single word.
+
+He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet
+of her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for
+certainly a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only
+gaze mutely at the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the
+truth upon her meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not
+now be overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
+
+Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
+her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
+Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed--not hysterically,
+but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an effort and
+walked across the room to the window that looked upon the street. He
+followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she turned round
+with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long was it since
+he had heard her laugh in that way?
+
+She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for
+her cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June,
+and her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
+
+"Ah," she cried, putting out both her hands to him. "Ah, I knew that I
+was right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew
+that you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to
+me for evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like
+you, dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that--so good, so true,
+so full of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the
+greatest and best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear,
+dear friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted--a friend who would be
+ready to die for his friend. Gratitude--you do not want gratitude. It is
+well that you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you
+for what you have done? You have saved me from death--from worse than
+death--and I know that the thought that you have done so will be your
+greatest reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel
+that I live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me
+out of the deep waters--the waters that had well-nigh closed over my
+head."
+
+He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon
+him. His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him;
+but he felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since
+he had lived to see--even through the dimness of tears--so sweet a
+face looking into his own with eyes full of the light of--was it the
+gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
+
+He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the
+small hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the
+tendrils of a climbing flower.
+
+"Have you nothing to say to me--no word to give me at this moment?" she
+asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her fingers
+seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
+
+"What word?" said he. "Ah, my child, what word should come from such
+a man as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete
+happiness as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in
+words. You have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my
+life. You have understood me--you alone, and that to such as I means
+happiness."
+
+She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had
+flung them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the
+direction of the window.
+
+"You talk of my understanding you," she said in a voice that had a sob
+in it. "Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a
+man's nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy
+of a thought?"
+
+He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with
+a sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
+locked the fingers of both together.
+
+Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
+the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in
+the throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman
+well enough to have no thought of himself--no thought except for her
+happiness.
+
+"No," he said at last. "No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say
+to you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
+himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
+happy--watching your happiness--in silence. Perhaps I may understand
+you--I may understand something of the thought which gratitude suggests
+to you."
+
+"Ah, gratitude!" said she in a tone that was sad even in its
+scornfulness. She had not turned her head toward him.
+
+"Yes, I may understand something of your nature--the sweetest, the
+tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself
+better, and I know in what direction lies my happiness--in what
+direction lies your happiness."
+
+"Ah! are you sure that they are two--that they are separate?" said she.
+And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his face.
+
+There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
+still held them behind him. At last he said slowly--
+
+"I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were
+a chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to
+look on happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there
+is more happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not
+speak--for God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which
+are trembling on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us."
+
+She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she
+turned away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears,
+with her face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
+
+After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
+
+She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
+hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice--
+
+"You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that
+word; but I can never--never cease to think of you as the best--the
+noblest--the truest of men. You have been my best friend--my only
+friend--and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by a
+woman."
+
+He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
+
+A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
+
+"Oh, mother, mother!" cried the girl, starting up, "I knew that I was
+right--I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
+new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more--that
+I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!"
+
+"Why, what a transformation there is already!" said her mother. "Ah, Dr.
+Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!"
+
+"Friend--friend!" she said slowly, almost gravely. "Yes, he was always
+my friend, and he will be so forever--my friend--our friend."
+
+"Always, always," said Mrs. Horneck. "I am doubly glad to find that you
+have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
+just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
+May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
+seeing you?"
+
+"No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day," cried the girl. "Send him
+away--send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one but
+our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do for
+me that I should wish to see him?"
+
+"My dear Mary----"
+
+"Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
+sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has
+not yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing
+together as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am
+myself again."
+
+"I will not do anything against your inclinations, child," said Mrs.
+Horneck. "I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week."
+
+"Do, dear mother," cried the girl, laughing. "Say next week, or next
+year, sweetest of mothers, or--best of all--say that he had better come
+by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by and
+by is easily said.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+As he went to his chambers to dress before going to dine with the
+Dillys in the Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years.
+He had seen the light return to the face that he loved more than all
+the faces in the world, and he had been strong enough to put aside the
+temptation to hear her confess that she returned the love which he bore
+her, but which he had never confessed to her. He felt happy to know that
+the friendship which had been so great a consolation to him for several
+years--the friendship for the family who had been so good and so
+considerate to him--was the same now as it had always been. He felt
+happy in the reflection that he had spoken no word that would tend to
+jeopardise that friendship. He had seen enough of the world to be made
+aware of the fact that there is no more potent destroyer of friendship
+than love. He had put aside the temptation to speak a word of love; nay,
+he had prevented her from speaking what he believed would be a word of
+love, although the speaking of that word would have been the sweetest
+sound that had ever fallen upon his ears.
+
+And that was how he came to feel happy.
+
+And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he
+found a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had
+dedicated to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy.
+He added poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly
+interpreted--verses pulsating with the love that was in his
+heart--verses which Mary Horneck could not fail to interpret aright
+should they ever come before her eyes.
+
+"But they shall never come before her eyes," he said. "Ah, never--never!
+It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life."
+
+And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day
+she might read those verses of his--yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
+that day was far off or nigh.
+
+When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house,
+he had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did
+not, however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to
+entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's
+killing of Jackson as an accident.
+
+After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be
+well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be
+to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the
+threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it
+might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck.
+But Burke, after hearing the story--no mention of the name of Mary
+Horneck being made by Goldsmith--came to the conclusion that it would be
+unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part
+of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer--as,
+indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity
+on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered
+that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was
+most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal.
+If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently
+as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did,
+Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance
+of obtaining a verdict.
+
+The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of
+the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine
+nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's
+safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated
+trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this
+matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion
+of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of
+Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by
+the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of
+Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against
+a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an
+offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony,
+would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for
+stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the
+result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and
+yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against
+a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but
+commendable.
+
+Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson
+was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For
+all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable
+country--which, however, he found preferable to his own--he ridiculed
+the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered
+it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that,
+however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the
+likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such
+an excursion.
+
+He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
+Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty
+with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent
+authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition
+of the sage.
+
+It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
+of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste
+as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
+Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that
+if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat
+his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we
+know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the
+idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record
+of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably
+deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to
+silence.
+
+But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be--however
+insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may--according to Johnson--have been,
+there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
+until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
+Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained
+an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined
+to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit
+for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
+
+Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
+was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians,
+they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought
+by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had
+attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems
+rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law
+permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
+
+Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
+joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which
+was felt--or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
+simulated--by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
+the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
+circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had
+not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance
+that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the
+counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old
+Bailey.
+
+When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
+had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
+was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
+Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
+trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works
+which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
+addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of
+his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
+
+He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times
+to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
+friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in
+her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the
+fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too
+busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's
+country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in
+their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their
+practical jests.
+
+He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of
+the pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he
+would see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
+constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both
+of them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure
+that he would be as strong a second time.
+
+This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged--this constant endeavour
+to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life endurable to
+him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, when a coach
+drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had passed, and Mrs.
+Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the change which was
+apparent in his appearance.
+
+"Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!" she cried when she entered his little
+parlour, "you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
+was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
+you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
+despairing."
+
+"Nay, my dear madam," he said. "I am only suffering from a slight attack
+of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
+assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to
+give me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught
+sight of you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a
+moment; I feared that--ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared."
+
+"However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked
+as I was when you appeared before me," said the lady. "Why, dear sir,
+you are killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one
+here to give you the attention which your condition requires."
+
+"What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?" said the Doctor, making a
+pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
+
+"Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked," said she. "I will take you in
+hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now
+I will beg of you to go thither in your own."
+
+"To Barton? Oh, my dear madam----"
+
+"Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
+should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
+interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others
+than to help yourself."
+
+"How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?"
+
+"Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
+who could be of the same help to us as you."
+
+"There is no one who would be more willing, madam."
+
+"You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that
+mysterious indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced
+that it was you, and you only, who had brought her back to life."
+
+"Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again
+in need of my help."
+
+"It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
+you are interested in her future--in the happiness which we all are
+anxious to secure for her."
+
+"Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?"
+
+"I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family--nay, I can
+talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son."
+
+"You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck."
+
+"And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day.
+I know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
+Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent."
+
+"No; she has not told me that."
+
+He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
+emotion which he felt.
+
+"It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally
+settled, and so not worthy of another thought," said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+"Finally settled?" repeated Goldsmith. "Then she has accepted Colonel
+Gwyn's proposal?"
+
+"On the contrary, sir, she rejected it," said the mother.
+
+He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
+one of gladness?
+
+"Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible," said
+the lady. "Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character
+is irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
+convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him--and
+yet she sends him away from her."
+
+"That is possibly because she knows her own mind--her own heart, I
+should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world."
+
+"Alas! she is but a girl."
+
+"Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives
+is worthy of her."
+
+"That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
+rigidly on that assumption--an assumption which would condemn her to
+live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to
+take a practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely
+concerns the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you
+take a great interest."
+
+"I would do anything for her happiness."
+
+"I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards
+you with the greatest respect and esteem--nay, if I may say it, with
+affection as well."
+
+"Ah! affection--affection for me?"
+
+"You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
+for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to
+yield to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit.
+Mary is there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence
+with her on behalf of Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"What! I, madam?"
+
+"Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell
+you, my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
+yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for
+no one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
+convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion
+while turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
+influence, will you not, dear friend?"
+
+"I must have time to think--to think. How can I answer you at once in
+this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me."
+
+He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
+looking into the empty grate.
+
+"You are wrong," she said in a low tone. "You are wrong; I know what is
+in your thoughts--in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
+would stand on a different footing in respect to you."
+
+"Ah! a different footing!"
+
+"I think that you are in error in that respect," said the lady.
+"Marriage is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is
+not Katherine the same to you now as she was before she married Charles
+Bunbury?"
+
+He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew
+of what was in his heart!
+
+"Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged," said he.
+
+"And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged," said Mrs. Horneck.
+
+"But where lies the need for her to marry at once?" he inquired. "If she
+were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
+not marry at once; but if she does not love him----"
+
+"Who can say that she does not love him?" cried the lady. "Oh, my dear
+Dr. Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world
+of whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir,
+I was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When
+I married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
+disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
+for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
+woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing
+a just opinion on the subject."
+
+"I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart."
+
+"Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous
+of seeing her married to a good man--a man with whom her future
+happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend;
+alas! that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates
+her life and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is
+ruled by her heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what
+her uncle, with whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her
+meeting a certain man there--my brother did not make me acquainted with
+his name--and being so carried away with some plausible story he told
+that she actually fancied herself in love with him--actually, until my
+brother, learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop
+to an affair that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her
+heart----"
+
+"Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart."
+
+"That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
+some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
+the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
+fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
+desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?"
+
+There was a long pause before he said--
+
+"Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to
+point out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend," cried the
+mother, catching his hand and pressing it. "But I would ask of you not
+to put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl
+with a heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
+direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to
+the ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love."
+
+"You are a woman."
+
+"I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts--her longings--her
+hopes--and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart--ah, Dr.
+Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
+life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?--
+
+               'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
+
+               And finds too late. . .'
+
+To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
+poor Olivia!" He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
+in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying--
+
+"I will go to her."
+
+"You will be saving her--ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,"
+cried Mrs. Horneck.
+
+He started slightly.
+
+"Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?"
+
+"I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and
+saw you," she replied. "You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and
+the change to the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been
+neglecting yourself--yes, and some one who will nurse you back to life.
+Oh, Barton is the place for you!"
+
+"There is no place I should like better to die at," said he.
+
+"To die at?" she said. "Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
+still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
+you."
+
+"Your daughter Mary is there," said he.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+He wrote that very evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure,
+one of his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had
+resolved to yield gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant
+to leave for Barton the next day. When that letter was written he gave
+himself up to his thoughts.
+
+All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between
+her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making
+it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought
+himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he,
+Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her
+sister--with the affection which exists between good friends.
+
+While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
+he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
+heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
+had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
+and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
+what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He
+knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done
+that day, she would have told him that she loved him.
+
+Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
+follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
+mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
+led in the future?
+
+Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was
+to be found only in marriage--marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
+undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit
+to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
+undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
+good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
+and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the
+dangers which surrounded her.
+
+Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He
+would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word
+duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his
+argument, tend to frustrate his intention.
+
+He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed,
+and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his
+visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought
+before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a
+moment's consideration.
+
+She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where
+the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was
+even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance.
+While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with
+pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward
+him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself
+painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement
+both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law.
+
+She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
+
+"Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?" he cried. "Why,
+you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?"
+
+Mary only shook her head.
+
+"I have been ill," said Oliver. "But I am better already, having seen
+you both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she
+ready to give me another lesson in loo?"
+
+"She will give you what you need most, you may be certain," said
+Bunbury, while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. "Oh! yes; we
+will take care that you get rid of that student's face of yours," he
+continued. "Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are!
+But we'll build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you
+and such as you, my friend."
+
+"I tell you I am better already," cried Goldsmith; and then, as the
+chaise drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her
+face had become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him;
+she was not even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and
+the ploughed fields.
+
+Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
+uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
+which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton;
+but though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the
+chaise arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her
+guest at the great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the
+depressing effect of her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not
+betray the shock which she experienced on observing how greatly changed
+was her friend since he had been with her and her sister at Ranelagh.
+She met him with a laugh and a cry of "You have never come to us without
+your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, you will e'en have to go back
+for it."
+
+The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
+last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
+at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
+vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
+became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for
+his friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
+harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
+Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
+his visit to the house he loved. He felt better--better than he had been
+for months.
+
+In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
+her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
+after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
+imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
+his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily
+the manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of
+the scene, especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she
+declared she had good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so
+greatly as to cause him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea,
+when he had meant to talk about love.
+
+She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much
+character into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to
+imitate, she never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating
+person would be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily
+than Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
+
+Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into
+the already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected
+to understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his
+rejection. A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary,
+and of course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely
+appropriate to Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and
+good-humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done in the
+house which humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done
+in the house which had ever been so delightful to at least one of the
+guests.
+
+He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
+fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
+incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
+extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat
+as the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day
+treated before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
+
+And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to
+him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her
+future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think
+what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only
+by her own sympathetic heart.
+
+He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
+Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
+laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
+of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no
+doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of
+gravity.
+
+The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
+afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with
+Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new
+covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of
+the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and
+jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with
+bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling,
+Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
+
+"What a housewife we have become!" he cried. "Quite right, my dear; the
+head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft."
+
+Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
+the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
+
+"I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride," said he, "that I do not enter into the
+spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
+husband."
+
+"'Tis foolish on their part," said she. "But Little Comedy is ever on
+the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active
+abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle
+threadbare by now."
+
+"Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,"
+said he.
+
+"Indeed, I agree with you," she cried. "I agree with you heartily. I do
+not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
+flattered by his attention?"
+
+"No--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
+man from the Prince down--or should I say up?" he replied.
+
+"'Twould be treason to say so," she laughed. "Well, let poor Colonel
+Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way
+of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
+valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never
+saved a poor woman a day's work."
+
+"I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be," said he quietly. "On the
+contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him."
+
+"Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother," said she,
+continuing her work.
+
+"Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,"
+said he.
+
+"Only of late!" she cried. "Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of
+your thoughts long ago as well."
+
+"I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
+latterly you have never been out of my thoughts." She ceased her work
+and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and
+went to her side.
+
+"My sweet Jessamy Bride," said he, "I have thought of your future with
+great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father
+might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent
+upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares."
+
+"I know that," she quietly said. "Ah, you know that I have had some
+experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame
+would have been mine!"
+
+"Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
+affair," said he. "It was your tender heart that led you astray at
+first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But
+alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for
+you."
+
+"Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions," said she. "Did not I send
+Colonel Gwyn away from me?"
+
+"You were wrong to do so, my Mary," he said. "Colonel Gwyn is a good
+man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able
+to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own
+heart may lead you again as it led you before."
+
+"You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?" said she.
+
+"Yes," he replied. "I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as
+his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a
+girl as you in the world."
+
+"Ah! my dear friend," she cried. "I have seen enough of the world to
+know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from
+the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only
+begin to beset her on that day?"
+
+"Often--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least,
+not if you marry Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly
+man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
+standpoint of her matchmaking mother."
+
+"Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
+way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think
+of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of
+all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
+position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have
+seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage."
+
+"And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?"
+
+"Yes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your
+happiness--yes, happiness in the future."
+
+"Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!" she cried. "You are
+ready to sacrifice yourself--I mean you are ready to forego all the
+pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
+the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
+happiness--or what you fancy will be happiness."
+
+"I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me."
+
+"I do," she said after a pause. "I do, because I know what it would mean
+to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
+marry Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"Nay--nay--do not speak so definitely," he said.
+
+"I will speak definitely," she cried. "Yes, the time is come for me to
+speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of
+being happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else
+with all my heart, I dare not--oh! I dare not even entertain the thought
+of marrying Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"You love some one else?" he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment
+there went through his mind the thought--
+
+"_Her heart has led her astray once again._'"
+
+"I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength," she cried;
+"I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
+world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
+heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long."
+
+Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
+in a hushed voice--
+
+"Ah, child--child--spare me that pain--let me go from you."
+
+"Not till you hear me," she said. "Ah! cannot you perceive that I love
+you--only you, Oliver Goldsmith?"
+
+"Hush--for God's sake!" he cried.
+
+"I will not hush," she said. "I will speak for love's sake--for the sake
+of that love which I bear you--for the sake of that love which I know
+you return."
+
+"Alas--alas!"
+
+"I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her
+love for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before
+heaven would be in my keeping silence--in marrying a man I do not love.
+Ah! I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood
+your nature--so sweet--so simple--so great--so true. I thought last year
+when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling which I had for
+you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to know the truth."
+
+He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper--
+
+"Stop--stop--for God's sake, stop! I--I--do not love you."
+
+She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
+died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes
+fixed upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
+
+"You do not love me?" she said in a slow whisper. "Will you say those
+words again with your eyes looking into mine?"
+
+"Do not humiliate me further," he said. "Have some pity upon me."
+
+"No--no; pity is not for me," she said. "If you spoke the truth when you
+said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not love
+me."
+
+"You say you know me," he cried, "and yet you think it possible that
+I could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and
+sympathetic heart has made for your own undoing. Look there--there--into
+that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made."
+
+He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
+exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
+and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark--a
+figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
+
+"Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child," he said, "and you will see
+what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which
+have been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the
+pain they gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in
+the future? Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who
+have been kinder than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune
+that could befall them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I
+could be so base."
+
+"I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
+worthy of being loved of all men in the world," said she. "Ah, sir,
+cannot you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my
+affection for you?"
+
+"Mary--Mary--this is madness!"
+
+"Listen to me," she said. "I feel that you return my affection; but I
+will put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that
+you do not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn."
+
+There was another pause before he said--
+
+"Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
+ordeal? Let me go--let me go."
+
+"Not until you answer me--not until I have proved you. Look into my
+eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
+now."
+
+"Ah, dear child----"
+
+"You cannot speak those words." There was another long silence. The
+terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
+are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
+maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
+whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
+before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
+expectation.
+
+He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
+way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
+said slowly--
+
+"It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover."
+
+"That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!"
+
+She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
+
+He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
+the room--out of the house.
+
+In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much
+of the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
+impulse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became
+alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went
+out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
+
+Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
+still-room, he inquired.
+
+She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell.
+
+"I am afraid that his running away was due to me," she said. "If so, I
+shall never forgive myself."
+
+"What can be your meaning, my dear?" he inquired. "I thought that you
+and he had always been the closest friends."
+
+"If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled," said
+she. "You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance
+of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and
+begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the
+proposal of Colonel Gwyn."
+
+"I heard nothing of that," said he, with a look of astonishment. "And so
+I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
+said something that offended him."
+
+She held down her head.
+
+"You should be ashamed of yourself," said he "Have you not seen long ago
+that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?"
+
+"I am ashamed of myself," said she. "I shall never forgive myself for my
+harshness."
+
+"That will not bring him back," said her brother-in-law. "Oh! it is
+always the best of friends who part in this fashion."
+
+Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
+so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
+felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
+induce him to return.
+
+But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
+back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
+face was very grave.
+
+"I saw the poor fellow," he said. "I found him at his chambers in Brick
+Court. He is very ill indeed."
+
+"What, too ill to be moved?" she cried. He shook his head.
+
+"Far too ill to be moved," he said. "I never saw a man in worse
+condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks
+before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love
+to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he
+says."
+
+"His rudeness! his rudeness!" said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
+tears. "Oh, my poor friend--my poor friend!" She did not tell her sister
+all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious
+to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen
+him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had
+promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to
+the country.
+
+The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the
+postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a
+letter from the doctor.
+
+No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
+Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
+
+When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
+sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand--poems addressed to her--the
+love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
+hopeless years.
+
+She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
+
+She started up, crying--
+
+"Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me--he loves me as I love him--only
+his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love--he loves me,
+and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
+sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself--nay, he has sacrificed
+himself for me--for me!"
+
+She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
+
+"My dear--dear sister," said Katherine, "is it possible that
+you--you----"
+
+"That I loved him, do you ask?" cried Mary, raising her head. "Yes, I
+loved him--I love him still--I shall never love any one else, and I am
+going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good--God will be good. My
+love shall live until I go to him."
+
+"My poor child!" said her sister. "I could never have guessed your
+secret. Come away. We will go to him together."
+
+They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
+together to Brick Court.
+
+A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
+Abington.
+
+"Do not tell me that I am too late--for God's sake say that he still
+lives!" cried Mary.
+
+The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
+
+She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at
+the girl, and the girl understood.
+
+She threw herself into her sister's arms.
+
+"He is dead!" she cried. "But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
+that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake."
+
+"That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
+Presence," said Mrs. Abington. "Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but
+I know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the
+thought of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever
+lived. Ah, there was none like him--a man of such sweet simplicity
+that every word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his
+works; you and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not
+less than those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the
+Son who on earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love."
+
+Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
+
+She went with her sister among the weeping men and women--he had been a
+friend to all--up the stairs and into the darkened room.
+
+She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+
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+
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+  </head>
+  <body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+Title: The Jessamy Bride
+
+Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
+
+Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951]
+Last Updated: March 13, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger from page images generously
+provided by the Internet Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <div style="height: 8em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      By Frank Frankfort Moore
+    </h2>
+    <h4>
+      Author Of &ldquo;The Impudent Comedian,&rdquo; Etc.
+    </h4>
+    <h3>
+      With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
+    </h3>
+    <h4>
+      New York
+    </h4>
+    <h4>
+      Duffield &amp; Company
+    </h4>
+    <h3>
+      1906
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <h3>
+      THE JESSAMY BRIDE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <b>CONTENTS</b>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir,&rdquo; said Dr.
+      Johnson, &ldquo;we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are a company of
+      intelligent men&mdash;although I allow that we should have difficulty in
+      proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down with a
+      Scotchman&mdash;and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
+      intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
+      ignorance and maintained by sophistry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even the
+      most intelligent of men&mdash;whom I take to be myself&mdash;is interfered
+      with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
+      another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
+      Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced&mdash;with some
+      care&mdash;that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile
+      in the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
+      faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
+      conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, and
+      the latter&mdash;as Burke perceived in a moment&mdash;was solemn in
+      mimicry of Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on
+      his chair and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell
+      turned an eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so
+      that he might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon
+      Garrick's face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right
+      hand that he put behind his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
+      Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious and
+      unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their heads in
+      the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces were identical
+      as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who is greatly
+      grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures worked by the
+      same machinery, they turned their heads again toward Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;your endeavour to evade the consequences of
+      maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching upon
+      mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
+      intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I cannot
+      permit to pass unrebuked.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; cried Boswell, eagerly, &ldquo;I cannot believe that Dr. Goldsmith's
+      intention was so monstrous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
+      positive proof that the contrary is the case,&rdquo; roared Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men have been hanged on less,&rdquo; remarked Burke. &ldquo;But, to return to the
+      original matter, I should like to know upon what facts&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art would
+      indeed be a departure,&rdquo; said Goldsmith solemnly. &ldquo;I cannot countenance a
+      proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
+      you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?&rdquo; said
+      Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so&mdash;that's not just
+      the same thing,&rdquo; laughed Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
+      imagination,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;That is the most satisfactory arrangement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, for the author,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Some time ago it was the book which
+      was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These sallies are all very well in their way,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;but their
+      brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that Dr.
+      Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
+      included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses no
+      more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with the
+      exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
+      statesman&mdash;another branch of the same profession&mdash;and therefore
+      we are vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,&rdquo; said
+      Johnson. &ldquo;It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence&mdash;nay, even
+      to Boswell's&mdash;that acting is a trick, not a profession&mdash;a
+      diversion, not an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended
+      to the contrary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must only have been in sport, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,&rdquo; cried Johnson, &ldquo;but he
+      has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
+      having you as his advocate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce an
+      opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;His fine sense of humour&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
+      return from Corsica?&rdquo; shouted Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,&rdquo; said Garrick,
+      &ldquo;but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of a
+      wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied by Mr.
+      Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as outcasts
+      because we happen to be actors?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,&rdquo; cried Johnson. &ldquo;And good enough for
+      you too, you rascal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
+      become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who have
+      relations in the church, to make such an assertion,&rdquo; said Johnson sternly.
+      &ldquo;What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in your
+      estimation?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither could
+      the stage look for another Garrick?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street delighted
+      the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,&rdquo; cried Johnson; and when he
+      perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay back in his
+      chair and roared with laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reynolds took snuff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the puppets&mdash;I
+      heard him myself,&rdquo; said Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
+      that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,&rdquo; said
+      Burke. &ldquo;You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. Boswell. But
+      to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; surely, Dr. Johnson,
+      you will allow that an actor of genius is at least on a level with a
+      musician of genius.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
+      satisfy you,&rdquo; replied Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that of
+      Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and Piozzi
+      the ill luck to be an Italian,&rdquo; replied Johnson. &ldquo;Sir, 't is no use
+      affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the arts.
+      I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that you
+      actually believe what your words would imply.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,&rdquo; said Goldsmith: &ldquo;whether you will
+      have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, just as
+      there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really interesting
+      to me personally,&rdquo; said Garrick, rising; &ldquo;but the fact is that I rashly
+      made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for perhaps twenty
+      minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some agreement on a
+      matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. Burke and
+      myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal education
+      in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I can
+      bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The dog is well enough,&rdquo; said Johnson; &ldquo;but he has need to be kept in his
+      place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him in
+      his place he will tolerate as he does mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
+      as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
+      we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Dr. Johnson, &ldquo;your question is as ridiculous as anything you
+      have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say a
+      good deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his attempts
+      to shine,&rdquo; whispered Boswell to Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice heard
+      in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?&rdquo; asked Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Niagara?&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it in
+      his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a Niagara
+      is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
+      undertone. &ldquo;Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he conversation
+      took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the Strand, where the party
+      had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as good company as usual. There
+      was a general feeling that he had rarely insulted Boswell so frequently in
+      the course of a single evening&mdash;but then, Boswell had rarely so laid
+      himself open to insult as he had upon this evening&mdash;and when he had
+      finished with the Scotchman, he turned his attention to Garrick, the
+      opportunity being afforded him by Oliver Goldsmith, who had been unguarded
+      enough to say a word or two regarding that which he termed &ldquo;the art of
+      acting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,&rdquo; cried the great dictator. &ldquo;Who
+      gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
+      acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler who
+      kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. Madame
+      Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight rope,
+      will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter&mdash;nay, every poodle that
+      dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission of
+      acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as Johnson
+      asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; it was in
+      vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included among the
+      arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the standing of
+      artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose that the
+      tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their claims to be on a
+      level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of humanity. Dr.
+      Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to him most
+      courteously by his friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told Burke
+      he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was thoroughly
+      Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and eminently
+      capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements of a
+      clubable man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
+      in reducing the others of the party to silence&mdash;all except Boswell,
+      who, as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point
+      of theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
+      he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
+      successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
+      distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what Dr.
+      Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, sir,&rdquo; said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
+      ear-trumpet and his oracle&mdash;his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet
+      was as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. &ldquo;Pray, sir, is there any
+      evidence among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of
+      man was imperishable?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, &ldquo;there is evidence that the
+      ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a <i>memento mori</i>
+      at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir?&rdquo; said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such an
+      object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to accept
+      the offer of a dinner,&rdquo; said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. He
+      felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,&rdquo; he murmured, but in no
+      deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every one
+      present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was necessary
+      for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he was the
+      recipient.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Goldy,&rdquo; cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, &ldquo;you must not
+      be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
+      better of you in the argument.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Argument, sir?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I protest that I was not aware that any
+      argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
+      argument, Doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. Boswell,
+      sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, with a twinkle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
+      the wolf,&rdquo; muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
+      for his Animated Nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
+      to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
+      to obtain permission to join the party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?&rdquo; said Goldsmith,
+      who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell, &ldquo;you have told us more than once that you had a
+      cousin who was a dignitary of the church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I, indeed?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Then I suppose, if I said so, this must
+      be the very man. A Dean, is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common room
+      of a tavern,&rdquo; said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any sudden
+      addition to his audience of an evening. &ldquo;If your relation were an
+      Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
+      the order to show him into this room.&rdquo; Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
+      He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone told
+      the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face undoubtedly
+      wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any of his friends,
+      before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and somewhat undersized
+      clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands and apron of a
+      dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect carriage that
+      gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was white, but his
+      eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in one eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. It
+      contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table twenty
+      minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, perceived
+      in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to that with which
+      Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A little jerk which the
+      visitor gave in raising his head was laughably like a motion made by
+      Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, &ldquo;I entreat of you
+      to be seated.&rdquo; His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
+      although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made an
+      attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have regarded
+      him as sincere. &ldquo;Nay, gentlemen, I insist,&rdquo; continued the stranger; &ldquo;you
+      embarrass me with your courtesy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you will not find that any company over which I have
+      the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, with a
+      deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
+      of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. &ldquo;Ah! I do not need to ask which of
+      this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly&mdash;I beg your pardon,
+      Oliver&mdash;ah, old times&mdash;old times!&rdquo; He had caught Goldsmith's
+      hands in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
+      Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of a
+      smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long silence
+      that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an element of
+      pathos.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
+      all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was now
+      worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ask your pardon, sir,&rdquo; he said, gravely, &ldquo;but&mdash;sir, I am a painter&mdash;my
+      name is Reynolds&mdash;and&mdash;well, sir, the family resemblance between
+      you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith&mdash;a resemblance that perhaps
+      only a painter's eye could detect&mdash;seemed to me so extraordinary as
+      you stood together, that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,&rdquo; cried the visitor. &ldquo;My cousin
+      Oliver and I have not met for&mdash;how many years is it, Nolly? Not
+      eleven&mdash;no, it cannot be eleven&mdash;and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir,&rdquo; said Oliver, &ldquo;time is fugitive&mdash;very fugitive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
+      wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,&rdquo; said the stranger.
+      &ldquo;But you must present me to your friends, Noll&mdash;Oliver, I mean. You,
+      sir&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Reynolds&mdash;&ldquo;have told me your name. Am I
+      fortunate enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there
+      can be no doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am
+      your servant. And you, sir&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Burke&mdash;&ldquo;I seem to have
+      seen your face somewhere&mdash;it is strangely familiar&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
+      recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of pride,
+      as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The clergyman made
+      precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty&mdash;the friend of the
+      people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same, sir,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he is my friend also,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;Sir, to be in a position
+      to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do me great honor, sir,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
+      Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so far
+      neglected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Burke, you are our countryman&mdash;Oliver's and mine&mdash;and I
+      know you are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have
+      a talk with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all my power, sir,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Give me your hand again, sir. Mrs.
+      Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an honour upon
+      the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
+      you work with your arm that way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They can wait,&rdquo; cried Mr. Dean. &ldquo;They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
+      Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
+      mortified at what I have said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is Mr. Boswell, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell&mdash;of where, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell, of&mdash;of Scotland, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. Your
+      clergymen might be better employed, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boswell, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you ever
+      visit your country again&mdash;a remote possibility, from all that I can
+      learn of your countrymen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+       began Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, you would condone his offence?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;The fact of your having
+      a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still sadly lax
+      in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
+      bowing profoundly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I have long desired to meet you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am your servant, Mr. Dean,&rdquo; said Johnson, towering above him as he got&mdash;somewhat
+      awkwardly&mdash;upon his feet. &ldquo;No gentleman of your cloth, sir&mdash;leaving
+      aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in the church to
+      which you have attained&mdash;fails to obtain my respect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad of that, sir,&rdquo; said the Dean. &ldquo;It shows that you, though a
+      Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal on behalf
+      of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not disposed to
+      relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration for the
+      church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
+      &ldquo;Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. I am
+      not a Non-conformist&mdash;on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
+      quarter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke to a
+      subordinate. &ldquo;Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened country
+      and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you in the
+      company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe that you were
+      the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of conscience. I regret
+      that I was mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, in great consternation&mdash;for Johnson was
+      rendered speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked,
+      instead of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. &ldquo;Sir, this is
+      the great Dr. Johnson&mdash;nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
+      weak,&rdquo; said the clergyman, smiling. &ldquo;Well, well, we will take the honest
+      gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one sense:
+      he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one scale. To
+      such greatness we would do well to bow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens, sir!&rdquo; said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in it.
+      &ldquo;Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;I am but a country parson. I cannot be
+      expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
+      Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;ah!
+      you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though I doubt not you
+      are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you written that
+      entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence of such gentlemen
+      as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and&mdash;I add with pride&mdash;Oliver
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,&rdquo; muttered Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he has doubtless greatness enough&mdash;avoirdupois&mdash;to serve
+      for both! Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to
+      speak for himself, tell me what he has written.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
+      Corsica,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy altitude
+      in literature?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are surely jesting, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The world is familiar with
+      Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no need
+      for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the work
+      appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0037.jpg" alt="0037 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up a
+      volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown and
+      Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his wont,
+      until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
+      with greater tenderness,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;I would fain hope that the
+      purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the work of
+      others. When did he bring out his dictionary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eighteen years ago,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what books has he written within the intervening years?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
+      our authors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
+      eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, cousin,
+      have written many works that the world would not willingly be without; and
+      I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable list; but your
+      friend&mdash;oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!&mdash;he is no true worker
+      in literature, or he would&mdash;nay, he could not, have remained idle all
+      these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not use his
+      pen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has a pension from the King, sir,&rdquo; stuttered Oliver. &ldquo;I tell you, sir,
+      he is the most learned man in Europe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His is a sad case,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;To refrain from administering to
+      him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious duty.&rdquo; He
+      took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. Goldsmith fell into
+      a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke and
+      Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. &ldquo;Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said the
+      stranger, &ldquo;I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to urge upon you to
+      amend your way of life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; shouted Johnson, &ldquo;if you were not a clergyman I would say that you
+      were a very impertinent fellow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience&mdash;if you have
+      one&mdash;tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure
+      the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
+      room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
+      acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
+      have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
+      friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
+      friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
+      though they are workers&mdash;not without honour&mdash;at that profession
+      of letters which you despise&mdash;nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you
+      did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your
+      life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that
+      a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
+      of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson,
+      if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be
+      regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners
+      at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ
+      from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness
+      and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray
+      you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen,
+      Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made a general bow&mdash;an awkward bow&mdash;and walked with some
+      dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he had
+      disappeared, the room was very silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
+      buried in his hands, started up, crying out, &ldquo;'Rasse-las, Prince of
+      Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he published
+      'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?&rdquo; He ran to the door and opened it,
+      calling downstairs: &ldquo;'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!&rdquo; &ldquo;Rasselas, Prince of
+      Abyssinia'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; came the roar of Dr. Johnson. &ldquo;Close that door and return to your
+      chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
+      which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
+      decently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith shut the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did you a gross injustice, sir,&rdquo; said he, returning slowly to the
+      table. &ldquo;I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book since
+      your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the moment I
+      forgot your 'Rasselas.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force of
+      your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;If I am
+      suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
+      volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
+      industry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those who know you, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;do not need any evidence of
+      your industry. As for that man&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let the man alone, sir,&rdquo; thundered Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?&rdquo; said Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next to
+      a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; and,
+      in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, sir,&rdquo; said Boswell. &ldquo;We deny your generous plea of justification.
+      Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written even within the
+      year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the&mdash;well, the less I think of
+      them, if you will allow me the paradox,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;Sir, the man is
+      right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my
+      compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can forgive
+      him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my Dictionary.
+      Pray what is his name, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name, sir, his name?&rdquo; faltered Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,&rdquo; said Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name, sir, is&mdash;is&mdash;God help me, sir, I know not what is his
+      name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell tells
+      me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did so in a
+      spirit of boasting, you erred.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
+      in a low tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,&rdquo; cried Boswell. &ldquo;You boasted of
+      him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Burke with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
+      nature are maintained when one hears his voice,&rdquo; remarked Goldsmith in a
+      low tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,&rdquo; said Reynolds as the door was opened and
+      Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced to
+      the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. &ldquo;Mr.
+      Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whatever he may be on some other points,&rdquo; remarked Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
+      you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May I
+      inquire the reason of the difference?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may not, sir!&rdquo; shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
+      acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that it
+      would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he knew
+      that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick were to
+      hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene for the
+      entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had heard more
+      than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield had created by
+      his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, played an important
+      part. He had been congratulating himself upon the fortunate absence of the
+      actor during the visit of the clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,&rdquo; he repeated, as Garrick looked
+      with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Boswell, &ldquo;my veracity is called in question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
+      that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?&rdquo; cried Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, one question,&rdquo; said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
+      &ldquo;Mr. Garrick&mdash;have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for
+      a relative?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, sir,&rdquo; replied Garrick; &ldquo;but I heard him say that he had a
+      brother who deserved to be a Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so I had,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
+      poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
+      concerned,&rdquo; said Johnson; &ldquo;but it seemed to me that some of the man's
+      gestures&mdash;nay, some of the tones of his voice as well&mdash;resembled
+      those of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table
+      noticed the similarity to which I allude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I certainly noticed it,&rdquo; cried Boswell eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your evidence is not admissible, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;What does Sir
+      Joshua Reynolds say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, &ldquo;I
+      confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
+      regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
+      was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if not, sir, how can you account for&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be silent, sir,&rdquo; he thundered. &ldquo;If you have left your manners in Scotland
+      in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for the gift
+      was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country in that
+      respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken touching
+      this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in the light of
+      a personal affront.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the past
+      half-hour than any of this company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Davy,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
+      dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, sir,
+      and of what nature was your diversion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;I have been with a poet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So have we, sir&mdash;with the greatest poet alive&mdash;the author of
+      'The Deserted Village'&mdash;and yet you enter to find us immoderately
+      glum,&rdquo; said Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he
+      did not regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he
+      quite believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
+      relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Mine
+      was only a sort of poet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?&rdquo; asked Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,&rdquo; replied
+      Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
+      for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who was
+      anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just written.
+      The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house in the
+      Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was short,
+      it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated by
+      Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman&mdash;he wore
+      the bands and apron of a Dean,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;not seeming to notice the
+      little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
+      grasped me by the arm,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;doubtless recognising me from my
+      portraits&mdash;for he said he had never seen me act&mdash;and then began
+      an harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
+      that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction than my
+      neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, gentlemen,
+      he took it quite as a family grievance.&rdquo; Suddenly he paused, and looked
+      around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest were grave. A
+      thought seemed to strike the narrator. &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is not
+      possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, the Dean,
+      regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'tis an extraordinary
+      coincidence that I should have encountered him&mdash;unless&mdash;good
+      heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here when I had thrown him
+      off?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried Oliver, &ldquo;I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no Dean,
+      entered this room!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court on
+      your return,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Oh, yes, Doctor!&mdash;a small man with the
+      family bow of the Goldsmiths&mdash;something like this.&rdquo; He gave a comical
+      reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of mine,&rdquo;
+       protested Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And let that be the end of the matter,&rdquo; declared Johnson, with no lack of
+      decisiveness in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman again,&rdquo;
+       laughed Garrick. &ldquo;I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was endeavouring
+      to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version of 'The Deserted
+      Village'&mdash;he said he had the version at his lodging, and meant to
+      read it to his cousin&mdash;I ask your pardon, sir, but he said 'cousin.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, let us have no more of this&mdash;cousin or no cousin,&rdquo; roared
+      Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is my prayer, sir&mdash;I utter it with all my heart and soul,&rdquo; said
+      Garrick. &ldquo;It was about my poet I meant to speak&mdash;my poet and his
+      play. What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as
+      the subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme of
+      theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that scoundrel
+      Foote,&rdquo; said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite himself again,
+      and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with that finality which
+      carried conviction with it&mdash;yes, to James Boswell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details of
+      his interview with the poet who&mdash;according to his account&mdash;had
+      designed the drama of &ldquo;Otaheite&rdquo; in order to afford Garrick an opportunity
+      of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in feathers, and
+      beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while he delivered a
+      series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to Mars, Vulcan and
+      Diana.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;My poet
+      explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to his
+      advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; and
+      when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite could
+      know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea Islanders
+      were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights in the Pagan
+      mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that the Romans should
+      claim a monopoly of Diana.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's contention
+      was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief to his mind to
+      have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the argument, though
+      he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in the poet's argument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
+      question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
+      of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
+      mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
+      hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
+      force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
+      originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
+      tragedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson apart&mdash;greatly
+      to the pique of Boswell&mdash;and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
+      will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You deserve no favour, Goldy,&rdquo; said Johnson, laying his hand on the
+      little man's shoulder, &ldquo;and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants you
+      one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your debtor.
+      Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting you a
+      favour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say everything better than any living man, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
+      suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am anxious
+      to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I have
+      written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;we have been good friends for several
+      years now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Undoubtedly, sir&mdash;long before you became recognised as the most
+      melodious of our poets&mdash;the most diverting of our play-writers. I
+      wrote the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for
+      your second&mdash;nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and
+      if it be damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my
+      tragedy of 'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
+      his eyes and his voice as he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your generosity overpowers me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>oswell, who was
+      standing to one side watching&mdash;-his eyes full of curiosity and his
+      ears strained to catch by chance a word&mdash;the little scene that was
+      being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care that Johnson should
+      be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's house necessitated a
+      walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; but this was nothing to
+      Boswell, who had every confidence in his own capability to extract from
+      his great patron some account of the secrets which had been exchanged in
+      the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object&mdash;nay,
+      when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
+      Johnson turned upon him, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell you
+      that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, woman
+      or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be a
+      friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, who had
+      every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by you,
+      sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
+      good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month of
+      inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during the
+      summer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
+      Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house in
+      Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through Goldsmith's,
+      and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was very eloquent in
+      his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, he said, in spite of
+      the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an impostor calling himself
+      his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to receive the dedication of the
+      new comedy. Burke, who understood the temperament of his countryman, felt
+      that he himself might surpass in eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he
+      took for his text the magnanimity of the author of &ldquo;The Good Natured Man.&rdquo;
+       He, however, refrained from the attempt to prove to his companion that
+      there were other ways by which a man could gain a reputation for
+      generosity than by permitting the most distinguished writer of the age to
+      dedicate a comedy to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
+      quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds was
+      as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at a corner
+      so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of ear-shot, he laid
+      his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
+      friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy&mdash;the
+      greatest genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy,
+      and there never will be another such.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon his
+      face, every gesture that he made corresponding. &ldquo;Sir, I protest that you
+      are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, but
+      as for the rascality&mdash;well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both a
+      great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
+      example, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
+      device as that bow which you made, Davy,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;It presented
+      before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths&mdash;all made in the same
+      fashion as our friend on in front, and all striving&mdash;-and not
+      unsuccessfully, either&mdash;to maintain the family tradition of the
+      Goldsmith bow. And then your imitation of your imitation of the same
+      movement&mdash;how did we contain ourselves&mdash;Burke and I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm convinced that he did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
+      tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
+      certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to him
+      and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson and
+      never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
+      David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, my
+      friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
+      Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are others
+      who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man to offer
+      an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
+      attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
+      man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow a bad
+      word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole dozen
+      could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our friend Mr.
+      Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of generosity
+      because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at them, but
+      preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I would
+      rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of a dozen
+      yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such as Bunbury. On
+      the same principle, I have no particular liking to be preserved to make
+      sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that literary three-decker,
+      Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
+      schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up my
+      mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an actor being
+      a degrading-one&mdash;about an actor being on the level with a fiddler&mdash;nay,
+      one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old schoolmaster a
+      more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it is probable that
+      he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain truths which were
+      told to him by the Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
+      Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled by
+      that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
+      characteristics of the Goldsmith family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour&mdash;declaring that he had
+      never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
+      magnanimous, David&mdash;as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an
+      arm, plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a
+      grain or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I
+      have seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
+      commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
+      force the immorality of the whole proceeding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
+      and Burke&mdash;the former still talking eagerly&mdash;having waited for
+      them to come up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Reynolds, &ldquo;you have all gone out of your accustomed way
+      to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
+      refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
+      opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
+      Betty Hamilton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>O matre pulchra filia pulchrior</i>&rdquo; said Goldsmith; but there was not
+      much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been the
+      loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
+      Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
+      servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out by
+      the servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I have to entreat your forgiveness
+      for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
+      absence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;I
+      cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
+      picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made a
+      point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside when
+      she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
+      to your Lordship's eye,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,&rdquo; said the young man, but
+      with no great show of ardour. &ldquo;It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also a
+      beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side of
+      the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick&mdash;two birds with the one stone, you
+      know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,&rdquo; said the young man.
+      &ldquo;Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at the
+      Pantheon to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it not a mask?&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, finer sport even than that,&rdquo; laughed the youth. &ldquo;We are going to do
+      more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in twenty
+      years, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?&rdquo; inquired Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,&rdquo;
+       cried Lord Stanley. &ldquo;Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
+      acquainted with them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have often longed for that privilege,&rdquo; said Lord Stanley, bowing in
+      reply to the salutation of the others. &ldquo;Mr. Burke's speech on the Marriage
+      Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always been my
+      favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, Dr.
+      Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
+      distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
+      invite you all to the Pantheon&mdash;here are tickets to the show. You
+      will give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night
+      when Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, my Lord,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;that privilege will be in the hands of Mr.
+      Col-man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
+      you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to act
+      my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with an
+      air of mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does he mean?&rdquo; asked Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what I have been asking myself,&rdquo; replied Garrick. &ldquo;By heavens, I
+      have it!&rdquo; he cried after a pause of a few moments. &ldquo;I have heard rumours
+      of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers of the
+      Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of Vauxhall
+      and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the entrance
+      of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the leader of the
+      scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also one of the plot. Let
+      us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss being-present for the
+      world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not so eager,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;I have my work to engage me early
+      in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to be
+      on foot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not, thank heaven!&rdquo; cried Garrick; &ldquo;nor has Dr. Goldsmith, I'll
+      swear. As for Burke&mdash;well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
+      seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We need a frolic,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;God knows we had a dull enough
+      dinner at the Crown and Anchor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An Irishman and a frolic are like&mdash;well, let us say like Lady Betty
+      and your macaw, Sir Joshua,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;They go together very
+      naturally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir Joshua entered
+      his house, and the others hastened northward to the Oxford road, where the
+      Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a year for the entertainment
+      of the fashionable world&mdash;a more fashionable world, it was hoped,
+      than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. From a
+      hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and fashion sought their
+      entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly Rooms when the weather
+      failed to allow of their meeting at the two great public gardens. But as
+      the government of the majority of these places invariably became lax&mdash;there
+      was only one Beau Nash who had the cleverness to perceive that an
+      autocracy was the only possible form of government for such assemblies&mdash;the
+      committee of the Pantheon determined to frame so strict a code of rules,
+      bearing upon the admission of visitors, as should, they believed, prevent
+      the place from falling to the low level of the gardens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
+      there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
+      excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
+      maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
+      most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed to
+      enter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions as
+      eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
+      sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going to
+      those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such persons
+      understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be optimists in
+      regard to the question of the possibility of combining Puritanism and
+      promiscuous entertainments terminating long after midnight. They hailed
+      the arrival of the time when innocent recreation would not be incompatible
+      with the display of the richest dresses or the most sumptuous figures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
+      the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
+      best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
+      the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
+      published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
+      artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility of
+      actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually scandalous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
+      declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
+      resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
+      affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying out
+      of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make the
+      management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in endeavouring
+      to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the thoroughfare
+      was then called, the result of this meeting was making itself felt. The
+      road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for something unusual to
+      occur, though of what form it was to assume no one seemed to be aware. The
+      crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They cheered heartily every coach
+      that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed ladies to the Pantheon and to
+      other and less public entertainments. They waved their hats over the
+      chairs which, similarly burdened, went swinging along between the bearers,
+      footmen walking on each side and link-boys running in advance, the glare
+      of their torches giving additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows
+      who had the chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an
+      officer of the Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and
+      occasionally a jostling match took place between some supercilious young
+      beau and the apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force
+      his way. More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of
+      the lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
+      next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
+      with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
+      Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, drew
+      his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the crowd.
+      It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a space
+      was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was thrown
+      to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy dropped
+      upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the crowd
+      cheered and jeered in turn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
+      frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
+      dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
+      use both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, all
+      the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, and
+      there was a cry of, &ldquo;Here they come&mdash;here she comes&mdash;a cheer for
+      Mrs. Baddeley!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Lord,&rdquo; cried Garrick, &ldquo;they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
+      Baddeley for their experiment!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. Baddeley.
+      There are many gradations in colour between black and white.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But not between black and White's,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;This notion is well
+      worthy of the wit of White's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,&rdquo; said
+      Garrick. &ldquo;But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
+      cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene as
+      this,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week after
+      to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my soul!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;she looks as if she would give double that
+      sum to be safe at home in bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
+      the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
+      through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance in
+      front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold and
+      silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
+      gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, and
+      they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one side was
+      the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. Hanger,
+      equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was immediately
+      behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of the lady's
+      escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was seated,
+      smiling&mdash;&mdash;&ldquo;Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,&rdquo; Burke
+      remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;she was always the better actress. I am
+      fortunate in having her in my new comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,&rdquo; said
+      Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
+      several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
+      the Duchesses,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
+      sway,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
+      will emancipate him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so he is in error,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;The Duchess of Argyll will never let
+      him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady Betty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till then, do you say?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Faith, sir, if he fancies he
+      will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had a
+      very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady is
+      most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
+      Reynolds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to Lady
+      Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be a <i>fait
+      accompli</i>; but there were rumours that the young man had of late been
+      making an effort to release himself&mdash;that it was only with difficulty
+      the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon her daughter,
+      whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
+      crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
+      friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
+      dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
+      gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
+      plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
+      that a voice cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow them
+      to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!&rdquo; The discordant
+      note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment a seasonable
+      one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up a
+      shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a Methodist
+      service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with which the
+      early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another direction a
+      ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as well as men; but
+      above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the preacher was heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my soul,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;that effect is strikingly dramatic. I should
+      like to find some one who would give me a play with such a scene.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in the
+      act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned suddenly
+      round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll take your order, sir,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Only you will have to pay me
+      handsomely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
+      escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,&rdquo; cried Captain Horneck&mdash;Goldsmith's
+      &ldquo;Captain in lace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
+      would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to my
+      Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
+      happen.&rdquo; Then he turned to Goldsmith. &ldquo;Come along, Nolly, my friend,&rdquo; he
+      cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; &ldquo;if you want a scene for your new
+      comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not wearing the
+      peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to be resisted,
+      whatever you wear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
+      stop at the porch of the Pantheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a matter of course you will come,&rdquo; said young Horneck. &ldquo;Let us hasten
+      out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin to
+      preach!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
+      arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as they
+      could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his companion,
+      that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but for the fact
+      that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord Albemarle, and that
+      his mother had entreated him not to do anything that might jeopardise the
+      match.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,&rdquo; said Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
+      means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
+      would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that his
+      act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,&rdquo; said the Captain.
+      &ldquo;Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
+      But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty and
+      the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,&rdquo; said Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party found, on
+      approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being under the guidance of
+      Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have had considerable
+      difficulty getting near the porch of the building, where the crowds were
+      most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed his way quite
+      good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the people, and was
+      followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little way behind. But as
+      soon as the latter couple came within the light of the hundred lamps which
+      hung around the porch, they were recognised and cheered by the crowd, who
+      made a passage for them to the entrance just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was
+      set down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed in
+      front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a line on
+      each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped out&mdash;she
+      could not be persuaded to do so for some time&mdash;and walked between the
+      ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered the points of
+      their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy than they would
+      have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at that period were
+      doing their best to obtain some recognition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the &ldquo;business&rdquo; of the part which she had to
+      play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding herself
+      confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick standing at one
+      side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he bowed with exquisite
+      irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit was too much for her.
+      Forgetting that she was playing the part of a <i>grande dame</i>, she
+      turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her hands&mdash;one
+      holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan&mdash;crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's the
+      prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,&rdquo; said Garrick
+      gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
+      porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
+      serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
+      collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
+      side of the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
+      What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
+      visitor?&rdquo; he shouted to the liveried porter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,&rdquo;
+       replied the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,&rdquo; said the young
+      gentleman. &ldquo;Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,&rdquo; replied the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Mr. Hanger,&rdquo; replied the frightened actress, &ldquo;I wish not to be the
+      cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, &ldquo;I know that it is not your
+      will that we should come in active contest with the representatives of
+      authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that our
+      honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?&rdquo; When the cries
+      of assent came to an end he continued, &ldquo;Then, sirs, the responsibility for
+      bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords to the front! You will
+      touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. Should a constable assault
+      any of this company you will run him through without mercy. Now,
+      gentlemen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and in
+      that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
+      moments stood irresolute, but then&mdash;the points of a dozen swords were
+      within a yard of their breasts&mdash;lowered their staves and slipped
+      quietly aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt
+      to withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
+      went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from the
+      thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort walked
+      through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being sheathed
+      at the entrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
+      rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
+      of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to look
+      scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave the
+      assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose first
+      husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively plain, in
+      spite of their masks of paint and powder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of her
+      daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
+      twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess of
+      Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of a
+      body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
+      anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had no
+      touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her complexion,
+      and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add to their
+      silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the cold
+      whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. The
+      solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that she made
+      with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that lovely
+      woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
+      small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
+      Duchess's elegance and distinction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at the
+      lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her body
+      guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, they
+      exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess even
+      smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster shrugged
+      her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a Frenchwoman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
+      also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
+      her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
+      frightened away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Horneck had gone up to his <i>fiancee</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were not in that creature's train, I hope,&rdquo; said the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Dear child, for what do you take me?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No, I certainly was
+      not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
+      you the impropriety,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than a
+      year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and now
+      returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where Mrs.
+      Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Lord Conway, &ldquo;these gentlemen are anxious to offer you their
+      sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and to
+      express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour them by
+      your patronage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the management,
+      with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling actress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,&rdquo; said Lord Stanley. &ldquo;She agreed
+      to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She can take very good care of herself,&rdquo; said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
+      curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to underrate
+      the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to divide the
+      honours attached to her position with another woman, much less with one
+      who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. &ldquo;Mrs. Abington is
+      a little timid, my Lord,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;she may not find herself quite
+      at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, to be sure; but for
+      my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better taste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was conveyed
+      to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of the honours
+      which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, and when this
+      news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through the porch to
+      the side of her sister actress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll and
+      Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two actresses,
+      offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them frequently at
+      the assemblies in the rotunda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
+      condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
+      their shoulders once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
+      disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew that
+      the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the Duchess's
+      daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity of mothers
+      with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible suitors were
+      growing scarce?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played under
+      his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, and he was
+      compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more highly
+      finished exhibition of this form of art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
+      Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
+      liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to remain
+      in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious to see
+      what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and his
+      friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the part of
+      the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, he heard a
+      merry voice behind him saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the Pantheon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; cried another voice, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing of
+      a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
+      century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on the
+      Oxford road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
+      handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride&mdash;and my sweet Little Comedy!&rdquo; he cried, as
+      the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act of
+      making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
+      Katherine&mdash;the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. &ldquo;Mrs. Horneck, madam,
+      I am your servant&mdash;and don't I look your servant, too,&rdquo; he added,
+      remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You look always the same good friend,&rdquo; said the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; laughed Mrs. Bunbury, &ldquo;if he were your servant he would take care,
+      for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it is not
+      that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something gorgeous.
+      What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
+      Bun-burys.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
+      company, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. &ldquo;But a
+      peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
+      to-night.&rdquo; He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses and
+      their admirers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The air is tainted,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, solemnly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. &ldquo;'T is as you
+      say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said not so, madam,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. &ldquo;As amusing&mdash;-amusing&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,&rdquo;
+       protested Little Comedy. &ldquo;Were they not, Mary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, undoubtedly those were his words&mdash;only he did not utter them,&rdquo;
+       replied the Jessamy Bride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
+      witnesses!&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could deny nothing to two such faces,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;even though one
+      of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius weeping
+      over the Pantheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
+      it?&rdquo; she inquired, with her chin in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,&rdquo; cried the young
+      lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,&rdquo; remarked
+      Mary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the Pantheon
+      without the knowledge of his biographer,&rdquo; cried her sister, with an air of
+      worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well qualified to be an
+      exponent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to the
+      Royal Academy of Arts,&rdquo; said a lady who had come up with Burke at that
+      moment&mdash;a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
+      movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith bowed low&mdash;again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
+      Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
+      unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,&rdquo; Goldsmith began, but seeing the
+      ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and the
+      compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thrale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
+      declining to argue out the matter with you,&rdquo; said the Professor of Ancient
+      History.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
+      quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed in
+      her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention to the
+      words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, moreover,
+      declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in accepting her
+      patronage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms&mdash;most
+      of which had been said at least once before&mdash;at the expense of the
+      Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
+      busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
+      injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her <i>jeux d'esprit</i>,
+      she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the benefit
+      of her remarks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, pointing
+      out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, suddenly turning
+      in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing behind her mother, the
+      jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the expression of dismay&mdash;worse
+      than dismay&mdash;which was on the girl's face as she gazed across the
+      rotunda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith followed
+      the direction of her eyes and saw that their object was a man in the
+      uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. Abingdon. He was a
+      showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence of some dissipated
+      years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his bearing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and
+      gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant&mdash;only for an
+      instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
+      the girl across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
+      white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after the
+      lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy of
+      feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been a
+      witness of a <i>rencontre</i> which evidently was painful to her; but he
+      spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely noticeable
+      imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; and, professing
+      himself woefully ignorant as to the <i>personnel</i> of the majority of
+      the people who were present, inquired first what was the name of a
+      gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently interested
+      ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that elaborate bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, but
+      after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have never seen him before,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don't think he can be any one
+      in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually nobodies&mdash;until
+      we come to know them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is quite reasonable,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It is a distinction to become your
+      friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor at
+      the Academy are forgotten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
+      attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens, child!&rdquo; she whispered to her, &ldquo;what is the matter with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What should be the matter with me?&rdquo; said Mary. &ldquo;What, except&mdash;oh,
+      this place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
+      well ventilated at all times!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,&rdquo; said
+      Bunbury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
+      moment,&rdquo; said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. &ldquo;For heaven's
+      sake don't stare so, child,&rdquo; she added to her sister, making a pitiful
+      attempt to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by
+      Mary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I will not have our mother alarmed, and&mdash;well,
+      every one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the
+      faintness has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's
+      company? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a
+      fuss. Lend me your arm, if you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all pleasure in life,&rdquo; cried Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
+      greatly she was trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister and
+      Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
+      immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
+      who had bowed to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Take me
+      somewhere&mdash;some place away from here&mdash;any place away from here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one sconce
+      with wax candles was alight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you tremble, my dear girl?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What is there to be
+      afraid of? I am your friend&mdash;you know that I would die to save you
+      from the least trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I am in no trouble&mdash;only
+      for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you did not come in
+      the bloom-tinted coat after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was broken
+      only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's song&mdash;the
+      hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the rotunda and
+      around the galleries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend&mdash;I wonder
+      what you think of your Jessamy Bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,&rdquo; said he tenderly. &ldquo;But
+      if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may be able
+      to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a moment. Why,
+      what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry in France
+      together?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;nothing has happened&mdash;I give you my word upon it,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
+      frightened&mdash;no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting,
+      have not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could
+      not understand&mdash;psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith; girls are foolish creatures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?&rdquo; said
+      he. &ldquo;Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? Think if
+      it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs are
+      concerned, but I feel that for others&mdash;for you, my dear&mdash;ah,
+      child, don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
+      poignancy is blunted?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have never had consolation except from you,&rdquo; said the girl. &ldquo;But this&mdash;this&mdash;oh,
+      my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's soul to enable you to
+      write those lines&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      And finds too late. . . '?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to his
+      forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked slowly
+      away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than a dozen
+      steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of indecision,
+      hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;it is only a woman who can think everything that is evil
+      about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their own
+      destruction, but by women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go away,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am sick of this place. There is no corner
+      of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever any
+      singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! I would pay
+      fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her efforts.&rdquo; Her laugh
+      had a shrill note that caused it to sound very pitiful to the man who
+      heard it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
+      standing with Burke and her son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+      Horneck. &ldquo;We have been entranced with its melody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no; I have missed no note of it&mdash;no note. Was there ever
+      anything so delicious&mdash;so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went
+      homeward, mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!&rdquo; said
+      Burke. &ldquo;It is the young miss in these days who insists on her mother's
+      keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary was always a wise little person,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wise? Oh, let us go home!&rdquo; said the girl wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,&rdquo; said her
+      mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the janitor
+      to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
+      lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
+      girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
+      hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went out into
+      the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While Goldsmith was
+      in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was furtively glancing
+      around, and before she had got into a position for seating herself by the
+      side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so clumsy a way that several of
+      the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, bowing awkwardly, and, to crown
+      his stupidity, he turned round so rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran
+      violently full-tilt against a gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to
+      the side of the chariot as if to take leave of the ladies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
+      staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
+      the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, was
+      barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his awkwardness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse you for a lout!&rdquo; cried the officer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look you, sir!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have offered you my humblest apologies for
+      the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to say
+      as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir&mdash;Oliver
+      Goldsmith&mdash;and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that
+      we are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
+      may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
+      cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, shouted
+      &ldquo;Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke forever!&rdquo; For
+      both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as they were in
+      society.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
+      in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
+      stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. Then
+      he turned to his opponent, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you can
+      let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or if it suits you better, sir,&rdquo; said another gentleman coming to
+      Goldsmith's side, &ldquo;you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
+      Clare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, &ldquo;I have no quarrel
+      with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in the heat
+      of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman might not
+      make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I have the
+      honour to wish your Lordship good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed and made his exit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Goldsmith
+      reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting him a letter from
+      Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let him know that Woodward
+      and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his comedy which had been in
+      rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, felt they were right in doing
+      so, as the failure of the piece was so inevitable. He hoped that Dr.
+      Goldsmith would be discreet enough to sanction its withdrawal while its
+      withdrawal was still possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He read this letter&mdash;one of several which he had received from Colman
+      during the week prophesying disaster&mdash;without impatience, and threw
+      it aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save
+      the expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
+      his lines&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      &ldquo;When lovely woman stoops to folly,
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      And finds too late....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too late&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had
+      broken, as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had
+      broken, when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is
+      enshrined for all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress
+      of tears. It would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in
+      her eyes. Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl who
+      had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other human
+      being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had shown
+      themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing himself on
+      the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when Little Comedy
+      married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him which had begun at
+      Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he spent at the
+      Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his &ldquo;Jessamy
+      Bride,&rdquo; drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt from
+      the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature&mdash;that in
+      her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy which he
+      sought. More than once she had proved to him that she recognised the
+      greatness of his nature&mdash;his simplicity, his generosity, the
+      tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his trustfulness,
+      that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his intolerance of
+      hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was the note of the
+      most successful productions of the day. Above all, he felt that she
+      recognised his true attitude in relation to English literature. If he was
+      compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order to earn his daily
+      bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English literature. How
+      nobly he discharged this debt his &ldquo;Traveller,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield,&rdquo;
+       &ldquo;The Deserted Village,&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Good Natured Man&rdquo; testified at intervals.
+      He felt that he was the truest poet, the sincerest dramatist, of the
+      period, and he never allowed the work which he was compelled to do for the
+      booksellers to turn him aside from his high aims.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood what
+      his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of the world.
+      She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she understood him
+      and sympathised with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
+      her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
+      time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
+      her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
+      how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a long
+      visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look of
+      gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her with
+      a letter. &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield&rdquo; was the book, and she had said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can never, never know what it has been to me&mdash;what it has done
+      for me.&rdquo; Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude&mdash;of
+      affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes had
+      overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not be
+      easily severed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0105.jpg" alt="0105 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0105.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
+      song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was he to think of her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, on
+      glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
+      changed from one of merriment to one of despair&mdash;the despair of a
+      bird that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was he to think of her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of her,
+      but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
+      certain, brought about her change of mood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
+      guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
+      going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
+      means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep the
+      man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
+      rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary it had
+      proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the girls, and
+      he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to regard the
+      occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run the man
+      through some vital part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the very
+      sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, and his
+      too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number of answers
+      to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no ill of her.
+      He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly good. He felt
+      that her concern was on account of some one else who might be in the power
+      of that man. He knew how generous she was&mdash;how sympathetic. He had
+      told her some of his own troubles, and though he did so lightly, as was
+      his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing of them. Might it not
+      then be that the trouble which affected her was not her own, but
+      another's?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
+      incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow whose
+      appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had escaped
+      with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an ordinary
+      shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how he had
+      declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a man he would
+      have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but design, and would
+      have been ready to fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of the
+      man would be a step in the right direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the morning
+      that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which contained some
+      unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the details of the news,
+      but he was certain that on receiving it he had a definite idea that it was
+      unpleasant. When he now read Colman's letter for the second time he found
+      that his recollection of his first impression was not at fault. It was
+      just his luck: no man was in the habit of writing more joyous letters or
+      receiving more depressing than Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
+      mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
+      to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
+      could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
+      dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
+      stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
+      interests to be connected with a failure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
+      not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It might be in respect to most plays, sir,&rdquo; replied Colman; &ldquo;but in
+      regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
+      anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
+      this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall try to bear both with fortitude,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quietly, though
+      he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his gratuitous
+      predictions of failure&mdash;predictions which from the first his attitude
+      in regard to the play had contributed to realise. &ldquo;I should like to have a
+      talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are in the green room,&rdquo; said the manager. &ldquo;I must say that I was in
+      hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work would
+      enable you to see your way to withdraw it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I decline to withdraw it, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been a manager now for some years,&rdquo; said Colman, &ldquo;and, speaking
+      from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
+      hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
+      complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that was
+      ever wrote.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
+      appreciate,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
+      what the people want nowadays is a novelty?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of yours
+      is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's the
+      novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, sir, the
+      bringing on of that vulgar young boor&mdash;what's the fellow's name?&mdash;Lumpkin,
+      in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the refinement and
+      sensibility of the period&mdash;the fellow who talks of his bear only
+      dancing to the genteelest of tunes&mdash;all this, Dr. Goldsmith, I pledge
+      you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an early fall of
+      the curtain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An early fall of the curtain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
+      beyond that of your pothouse to be set.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not a
+      pothouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
+      apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
+      through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
+      Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of <i>your</i> play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
+      share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
+      having anything to do with its production.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
+      respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
+      with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's office
+      and went to the green room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he attitude of
+      Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping with the traditions of
+      the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it so contrary to the
+      traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like the rest of his
+      profession&mdash;not even excepting Garrick&mdash;possessed only a small
+      amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented to
+      them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his own
+      acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted blank
+      verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional lines,
+      with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack of human
+      nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and he could see
+      no reason why he should substitute for them anything more natural. He had
+      no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure a comedy founded
+      upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious sentimentality of an
+      artificial age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had produced &ldquo;The Good Natured Man&rdquo; some years before, and had made
+      money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who had
+      condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that play were
+      still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
+      characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but actually
+      intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named provisionally
+      &ldquo;The Mistakes of a Night,&rdquo; he at first declined to have anything to do
+      with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential friends&mdash;friends
+      who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised his genius when he
+      was living in a garret and before he had written anything beyond a few
+      desultory essays&mdash;and they brought all their influence to bear upon
+      the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the comedy, but laid it aside for
+      several months, and only grudgingly, at last, consented to put it in
+      rehearsal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best to
+      depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging his
+      shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant to allow
+      certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
+      than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
+      soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
+      half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young Marlow,
+      threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was serious in
+      his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment Goldsmith
+      assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract with the
+      manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same contract
+      by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was handed
+      over to Lee Lewes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
+      the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
+      chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
+      manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
+      possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
+      to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
+      provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
+      encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
+      regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said he
+      was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up their
+      parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
+      rehearsing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
+      conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He knew
+      that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could not doubt
+      what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round and go back
+      to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw the play. The
+      temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of determination which
+      had carried him through many difficulties&mdash;that spirit which Reynolds
+      appreciated and had embodied in his portrait&mdash;came to his aid. He
+      walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with both Woodward and
+      Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
+      Colman,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but I am sure that you have not taken this serious step
+      without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. Colman will
+      be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an agreement with me
+      to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he will therefore
+      sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick will, I hope, honour
+      me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. Bulk-ley that of Miss
+      Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the rehearsal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
+      the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and who
+      had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now began
+      to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had been a
+      fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched garret knew
+      what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate to kick
+      downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him employment as
+      a libeller.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to him&mdash;&ldquo;Sir,
+      you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will not be my
+      fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. You have been
+      badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your ill-treatment nobly.
+      For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to appear in your piece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
+      ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
+      gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to assert
+      that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I shall regard
+      as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has passed I know
+      that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection of the
+      opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the success of
+      this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
+      circumstances incidental to its birth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly that
+      he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: they
+      reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, caused
+      them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,&rdquo; said Shuter, who
+      was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Lord,
+      sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident was to
+      happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned to a
+      certainty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
+      Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
+      influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
+      acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith that
+      none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet the
+      members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption that
+      its failure was inevitable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
+      since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers to
+      dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at a
+      wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
+      during the greater part of the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her eyes
+      at the same moment had yet to be explained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his elbow resting
+      on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After half-an-hour's thought
+      his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. Picking one up with a
+      sigh, he began to write.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verse after verse appeared upon the paper&mdash;the love-song of a man who
+      feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
+      consolation in life is love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again rested
+      his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he had written.
+      His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected sincerity when
+      every one around him was engaged in composing verses which were regarded
+      worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were artificial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
+      Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would she
+      be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
+      delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
+      known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
+      enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
+      feeling?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?&rdquo; he muttered.
+      &ldquo;Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is the
+      chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should he
+      himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life that the
+      man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to live in
+      loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was struck blind&mdash;a
+      great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from love receives no pity&mdash;no
+      pity on earth&mdash;no pity in heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for an
+      hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper which he
+      had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. He did not
+      tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand to the desk
+      and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making the torn edge
+      rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of a woman whose
+      lover was beside her&mdash;that was what the quivering motion suggested to
+      the poet who watched it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
+      where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
+      men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
+      that friendship could afford him no solace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
+      giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or the next two
+      days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes in his play as were
+      suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. The alterations were not
+      radical, but he felt that they would be improvements, and his judgment was
+      rarely at fault. Moreover, he was quick to perceive in what direction the
+      strong points and the weak points of the various members of the company
+      lay, and he had no hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them
+      a better chance of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman
+      called the &ldquo;pot-house scene&rdquo; would he change, not a word of the scene
+      where the farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow
+      to be omitted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
+      to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee house
+      talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the fate that
+      was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he not adopted
+      this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become aware, as
+      they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. When it was
+      produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the manager up to
+      ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a new set of
+      lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some of
+      them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
+      hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he might
+      not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not possibly
+      be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a pity, one
+      of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be so easily
+      avoided?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
+      or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written it,
+      he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the medium of
+      these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the verdict of the
+      playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on those scenes so
+      early in the play was that the playgoers might know not to expect a
+      sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a natural school of
+      comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of the manners of the
+      day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only the broadest and
+      heartiest fun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the scenes are ungenteel,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it is because nature is made up
+      of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
+      interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
+      when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a greater
+      favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest gentleman who
+      ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely on the ear of a
+      boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not interfere with his
+      romping.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
+      on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when he
+      did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from his
+      over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others&mdash;a disability
+      which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
+      consequence, delightfully fluent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
+      he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that the
+      Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some degree of
+      apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might think he
+      looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he was by her
+      side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. The words
+      still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it would pain her
+      to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite content that matters
+      should remain as they were. Whatever the words might have meant, it was
+      impossible that they could mean anything that might cause him to think of
+      her with less reverence and affection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to find
+      out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom there
+      came to his ears the sound of laughter&mdash;such laughter as caused him
+      to remark to the servant&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
+      sir,&rdquo; replied Ralph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
+      entertaining them,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
+      entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
+      keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits of
+      laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
+      amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him much
+      manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
+      imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
+      details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
+      entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
+      laboriously at his &ldquo;Animated Nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, sir, good morning,&rdquo; he cried, pretending to take off his
+      gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect self-possession,
+      previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. &ldquo;Now mind you don't sit
+      there, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; he continued, raising a warning finger. A little
+      motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, with his mincing ways, was
+      transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy and self-conscious in the
+      presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy politeness to get him a
+      chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very one on which the man had
+      placed his hat. &ldquo;Now, now, now, what are you about?&rdquo;&mdash;once more
+      Garrick was the amanuensis. &ldquo;Did not I warn you to be careful about that
+      chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? Sir, that excuse is a
+      mere quibble&mdash;a mere quibble. This must not occur again, or I shall
+      be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, my good sir? Now to
+      business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man to make me a cup of
+      chocolate&mdash;with milk, sir&mdash;plenty of milk, and two lumps of
+      sugar&mdash;plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a patriot&mdash;none
+      of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think on't, your
+      laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for me; and mind you
+      tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in it&rdquo;&mdash;this shouted
+      half-way out of the door through which he had shown Goldsmith hurrying
+      with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. Then came the monologue
+      of the amanuensis strolling about the room, passing his sneering remarks
+      at the furniture&mdash;opening a letter which had just come by post, and
+      reading it <i>sotto voce</i>. It was supposed to be from Filby, the
+      tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform in which Dr.
+      Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the Haymarket would
+      be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith had made up his
+      mind as to the exact orders which he meant to wear, ending with a
+      compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and discrimination in choosing
+      a costume which was so well adapted to his physique, and a humble
+      suggestion that it should be worn upon the occasion of the first
+      performance of the new comedy, when the writer hoped no objection would be
+      raised to the hanging of a board in front of the author's box with &ldquo;Made
+      by Filby&rdquo; printed on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain words&mdash;giving
+      an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here and there, and
+      finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a postscript alluding to
+      the length of time that had passed since the writer had received a payment
+      on account, could not have been surpassed. The effect of the comedy upon
+      the people in the room was immeasurably heightened by the entrance of
+      Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, as the amanuensis, immediately
+      walked to him gravely with the scrap of paper which had done duty as the
+      letter, in his hand, asking him if what was written there in black and
+      white about the field-marshal's uniform was correct, and if he meant to
+      agree to Filby's request to wear it on the first night of the comedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
+      entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
+      of the scene, saying-&ldquo;Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
+      more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful issue
+      a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager of a
+      playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why should
+      not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew that
+      Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, and would
+      not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In an instant,
+      however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious amanuensis, and
+      became David Garrick, crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to reply
+      to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of your
+      experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
+      nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated at
+      the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much what
+      might follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the amanuensis, &ldquo;we have no time to waste over empty
+      civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we cannot keep
+      the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the booksellers, 'tis
+      the world we think of. What is this?&rdquo;&mdash;picking up an imaginary paper&mdash;&ldquo;'The
+      derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed the ingeniousness of many
+      able writers, but there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who has
+      seen that noble creature, as I have, in its native woods, careering nimbly
+      from branch to branch of the largest trees in search of the butterflies,
+      which form its sole food, that the name elephant is but a corruption of
+      elegant, the movements of the animal being as singularly graceful as its
+      shape is in accordance with all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is
+      mighty fine, but your style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature'
+      should be himself both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon
+      should himself be a buffoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
+      leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis as
+      to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer and
+      warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
+      Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
+      imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
+      the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! Lord!
+      what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to dictate
+      to his amanuensis?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, around
+      the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household in roars
+      of laughter&mdash;as one delightful member of the household has recorded&mdash;over
+      his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of Dr. Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And all this,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;came out of the paltry story which I told
+      him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment he sat
+      down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I knew he
+      saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea and send
+      him away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith was
+      delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from care. He had
+      gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear that she was
+      unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry a mood as he
+      had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at dinner, and he
+      was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the mysterious mood
+      that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
+      him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though she said
+      that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the intention of
+      the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go together to the
+      theatre and demand its immediate production on the finest scale possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
+      Colman in that respect,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Only to-day, when I ventured to
+      talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not his
+      intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be played
+      for longer than a small portion of one evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monster!&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;I should like to talk to him as I feel
+      about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will tolerate
+      his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs some one to
+      be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him how contemptible he
+      is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. The occasion is one that
+      demands the powers of a man who has a whole dictionary at his back&mdash;yes,
+      Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten that if he does not behave
+      handsomely he will, in his next edition of the Dictionary, define a
+      scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps an author in suspense for
+      months, and then produces his comedy so ungenerously as to make its
+      failure a certainty. But, no, your play will be the greater success on
+      account of its having to overcome all the obstacles which Mr. Colman has
+      placed in its way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be the
+      greatest success of the century,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so it will be&mdash;oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will&mdash;oh,
+      we shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
+      and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
+      upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to the
+      remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
+      suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
+      upon an ill-treated author.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
+      one of the two enterprises&mdash;the first being the changing of the
+      mistakes of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the
+      changing of the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager&mdash;ay,
+      and of an author as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Admirably spoke!&rdquo; cried the author. &ldquo;I have a mind to let the name 'The
+      Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Oh,
+      do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot hit upon
+      a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath of laurel.&rdquo;
+       Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not far away, had
+      put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a word or two of
+      the girl's sentence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,&rdquo; said
+      he. &ldquo;You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
+      Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
+      Knight!'&rdquo; said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
+      not like too many people to hear him make one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get a
+      better,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
+      Horneck to discover the better one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
+      and damn the play,&rdquo; said Reynolds. &ldquo;I have given it its proper name, and
+      if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
+      reprobation of all honest folk who detest an <i>alias</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then that name shall stand,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I give you my word, Sir
+      Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have it
+      damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is very well said, indeed,&rdquo; remarked Sir Joshua. &ldquo;It gives evidence
+      of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all should respect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for
+      she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, but from the
+      other end of the table there came quite an outburst of laughter. Garrick
+      sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was telling an
+      imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
+      question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
+      story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
+      not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner&mdash;his name was Colonel
+      Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck&mdash;took
+      up the question quite seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I admit frankly that I have never heard the story
+      of Grouse in the gun-room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it possible, sir?&rdquo; cried Garrick. &ldquo;What, you mean to say that you are
+      not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who asked
+      him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was locked&mdash;that
+      about every gun having a lock, and so forth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; cried Colonel Gwyn. &ldquo;I had no idea that the story was a
+      familiar one. It seems interesting, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;But you are an army man,
+      Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the mess-table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, sir,&rdquo; said Colonel Gwyn, &ldquo;I know so little about it that I
+      fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog&mdash;I have myself known of
+      sporting dogs called Grouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,&rdquo; cried Garrick. &ldquo;Ould Grouse a dog! Pray do
+      not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, and would
+      feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. Goldsmith was
+      an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death severely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he is dead?&rdquo; said Gwyn. &ldquo;That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
+      the narrative.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A particularly pathetic interest, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick, shaking his head.
+      &ldquo;I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that that
+      dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us&mdash;that the gunroom door is
+      now open, but that within there is silence&mdash;no sound of the dear old
+      feet that were wont to patter and potter&mdash;you will pardon my emotion,
+      madam&rdquo;&mdash;He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
+      became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured to
+      assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, did him
+      honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now without
+      seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had too high
+      an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face perfectly grave,
+      while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to suppress came from the
+      napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti said something in
+      Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the melancholy nature of the
+      party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'T is selfish to repine, and he himself&mdash;dear old soul!&mdash;would
+      be the last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in
+      the gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
+      I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
+      delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
+      known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had no
+      particular character in the neighbourhood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,&rdquo; said the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if the truth must be told&mdash;but no, the man is dead and gone
+      now,&rdquo; cried Garrick, &ldquo;and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
+      do, the nimbleness of his wit&mdash;the genial mirth which ran through the
+      gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
+      is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse or
+      two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
+      thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
+      comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
+      afraid to joke, sir, and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
+      read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
+      actually narrated, but only hinted at,&rdquo; said Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That makes little matter, sir,&rdquo; said Garrick. &ldquo;The untold story of Ould
+      Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
+      year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury, &ldquo;after the pains which Mr.
+      Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of the
+      story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.&rdquo; Colonel
+      Gwyn looked puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that up to the present&mdash;ah! I fear that
+      the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to be
+      led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind you&mdash;I
+      fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with laughter,
+      which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was
+      taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and then at Little
+      Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make out what
+      was going on around her in that strange household where she had been
+      thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the ultra-grave Garrick, and
+      then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of assuring him that
+      she understood perfectly how he came to be merry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn,&rdquo; said Garrick, &ldquo;these gentlemen seem to have their own
+      reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate when
+      to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet&mdash;ah, I perceive
+      they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
+      sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
+      the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
+      don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
+      some years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
+      in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
+      the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
+      embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who was
+      hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends every
+      evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which chanced to be
+      broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of port-glasses at his end
+      of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom he cheered by telling him
+      that he had already given a lesson to Woodward regarding the speaking of
+      the prologue which he, Garrick, had written for the comedy. He said he
+      believed Woodward would repeat the lines very effectively. When Goldsmith
+      mentioned that Colman declined to have a single scene painted for the
+      production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,&rdquo; said the
+      latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the play
+      to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Davy, my friend,&rdquo; Goldsmith replied, &ldquo;I feel more at my ease in
+      reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst&mdash;or the best.
+      If the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
+      for the next year or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
+      entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
+      and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting long
+      sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was supposed
+      to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment has survived,
+      and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with Garrick repeating
+      the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous change of
+      expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with Goldsmith
+      burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly amusing gestures
+      the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed that Sir Joshua's
+      guests were convulsed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
+      playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
+      did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines after
+      the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous than that of
+      the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an affecting passage
+      from Addison's &ldquo;Cato,&rdquo; Goldsmith began to sing the song which he had been
+      compelled to omit from the part of Miss Hardcastle, owing to Mrs.
+      Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course Garrick's gestures during the
+      delivery of the song were marvellously ingenious, and an additional
+      element of attraction was introduced by Dr. Burney, who hastily seated
+      himself at the pianoforte and interwove a medley accompaniment,
+      introducing all the airs then popular, but without prejudice to the
+      harmonies of the accompaniment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
+      marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
+      caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees&mdash;he begged
+      the lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was
+      accustomed to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica
+      shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua to the
+      Jessamy Bride. &ldquo;Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
+      hearing her sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
+      Angelica.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Will your Majesty condescend
+      to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned to captivate
+      our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to conquer our
+      savage hearts by the exercise of another?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
+      thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
+      springing to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Lord, I've got it!&rdquo; shouted Goldsmith. &ldquo;The Jessamy Bride has
+      given it to me, as I knew she would&mdash;the title of my comedy&mdash;she
+      has just said it: '<i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s a matter of
+      course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith communicated it to
+      him the next day; but the latter was firm on this particular point. He had
+      given the play its name, he said, and he would not alter it now on any
+      consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play gave
+      him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret at not
+      being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he believed
+      the manager would play to perfection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the whole
+      Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his customary
+      emphasis, that no better title than &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer&rdquo; could be found
+      for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and the rehearsal was
+      proceeded with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
+      in order to go upon the stage, &ldquo;Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
+      must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we may
+      be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
+      filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said Miss
+      Horneck&mdash;Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
+      topics of the hour. &ldquo;I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as will
+      enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but to a
+      whole archipelago of wit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Otaheite is a name of good omen,&rdquo; said Cradock. &ldquo;It is suggestive of
+      palms, and '<i>palmam qui meruit ferat.</i>'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you should know better than to quote Latin in the
+      presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
+      it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
+      is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
+      playgoers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,&rdquo; laughed
+      Cradock. &ldquo;Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, and
+      Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
+      critics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
+      Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
+      opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
+      his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
+      critics.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
+      servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
+      outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
+      broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed and
+      applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons&mdash;especially the
+      satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists&mdash;but it was
+      the drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of
+      Miss Horneck&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
+      Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much amazed
+      as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage out of
+      compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority regarding
+      the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in the estimation
+      of his company, remarked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
+      generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
+      playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
+      your wit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent the
+      instruction of Dr. Johnson,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed it
+      during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it became
+      understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit their
+      regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been originally
+      cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the prologue, which
+      Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told Goldsmith, he had
+      already given a hint or two to Woodward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
+      Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
+      threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
+      thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
+      epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
+      declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
+      herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
+      ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
+      were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; but
+      Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
+      epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding the first
+      performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was eventually spoken
+      by Mrs. Bulkley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an epilogue
+      which will never be spoke,&rdquo; sneered Colman when the last difficulties had
+      been smoothed over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
+      consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
+      Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
+      of the play&mdash;when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
+      niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
+      either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
+      almost caused him to break down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
+      She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
+      hesitate for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;my dress
+      would be ruined.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour of
+      the play,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their dusters,
+      and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one of the
+      candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years contained
+      such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. Col-man for a
+      curmudgeon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and I
+      only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
+      play, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;The credit of your friends, who insisted on
+      Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And above all,&rdquo; said Reynolds pleasantly, &ldquo;the play must be a success in
+      order to put Colman in the wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
+      important to us all,&rdquo; said Mary. &ldquo;It would never do for Colman to be in
+      the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
+      saved by Monday night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a sense
+      of my own unworthiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,&rdquo; cried
+      Johnson. &ldquo;Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
+      hear your play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
+      when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care to
+      send a guinea in advance,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, and every one present knew that
+      he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by Johnson on
+      the day that &ldquo;The Vicar of Wakefield&rdquo; was sold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Reynolds, &ldquo;I have to prove how certain we are of the
+      future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday previous
+      to the performance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
+      success of the play,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;To proffer such an invitation would
+      be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public had
+      attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who know
+      your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that our
+      esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday night,
+      sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour to have
+      you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what you
+      mean better,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;A compliment is doubly a compliment coming
+      from Dr. Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
+      walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter of
+      a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character of Young
+      Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had sufficiently
+      recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how remarkable a
+      character he had created.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the St.
+      James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found the
+      author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
+      salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered with
+      silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any mistake
+      on this point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; cried the visitor. &ldquo;Have you forgot that you cannot wear
+      colours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith. &ldquo;Because Woodward is to appear in mourning to
+      speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy should
+      also be in black?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;that is not the reason. How is it possible that you
+      forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat of
+      yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in front
+      of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you hope
+      that the King will command a performance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
+      garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
+      dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
+      before throwing it over the back of a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,&rdquo; said
+      he. &ldquo;I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with his
+      friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
+      Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
+      assembled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook hands
+      twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the King of
+      Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for regret with
+      him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He expressed a
+      hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have so depressing
+      an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their enjoyment of his
+      comedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did not
+      think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would be
+      quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
+      frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
+      all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose name
+      they had probably never heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
+      the best, but still....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
+      Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
+      heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
+      merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
+      concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
+      become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
+      of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the clock
+      and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time to allow
+      of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds that
+      Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his nervousness,
+      began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken at Lord
+      Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took place daily
+      in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave all his
+      attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to him&mdash;not
+      even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity College to his
+      friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
+      theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
+      had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
+      to have the omission repaired without delay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He never returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party remained
+      in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter from the bar was sent
+      for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was having his hat brushed,
+      that his party were ready to leave the house, the man stated that Dr.
+      Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall Mall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said Johnson to Burke, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a
+      fool.&rdquo; Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Burke, &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
+      ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
+      let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say the
+      best comedy of a century.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the playhouse?&rdquo;
+       said Richard Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
+      concerned,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;I think that the best course we can adopt is
+      for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
+      looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
+      Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
+      burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
+      playhouse, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I know anything of him, sir,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;the playhouse is just
+      the place which he would most persistently avoid.&rdquo; There was a long pause
+      before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is very kind of you, sir,&rdquo; replied Steevens. &ldquo;But you may rest
+      assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
+      hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
+      Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting alone in
+      some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable failure of
+      his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled him to hold out
+      against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, suffer a relapse
+      when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and his naturally
+      sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his life give place to
+      a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him to put in an
+      appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his friends. Steevens
+      actually made up his mind that if he failed to find Goldsmith during the
+      next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage on the Edgware road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house&mdash;from Jack's, in
+      Dean street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster&mdash;but he failed to
+      discover his friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this
+      way; and all this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse&mdash;except
+      the one box that held Cumberland and his friends&mdash;were greeting the
+      brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
+      contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
+      authors had witnessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens have
+      imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous figure of
+      Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with a hand
+      behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and as phrase
+      after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and vivified with
+      numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, he seems to
+      shake the theatre with his laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
+      of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two notable
+      figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
+      frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
+      Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the most
+      notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
+      occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
+      laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
+      she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
+      Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
+      Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
+      lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
+      every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, &ldquo;looking glum,&rdquo; as one
+      witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
+      having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth the
+      resentment of the pit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
+      years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's &ldquo;Good-Natured Man&rdquo; at &ldquo;the other
+      house,&rdquo; sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
+      &ldquo;Ossian.&rdquo; He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
+      an impostor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
+      younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
+      for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from the
+      pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact that
+      Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his eyes
+      fixed upon her&mdash;earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his <i>fiancÃ©e</i>
+      are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important box in the house
+      Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may be gratified by
+      beholding her. It does not so much matter about her husband, who once
+      thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a concern whose
+      operations represented the potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams of
+      avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the Gunnings when she
+      first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever recorded to the
+      eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, mindful of that trick
+      which the cleverness of her mother turned to so good account, does not
+      condescend to notice from her box, where she sits with Lady Betty
+      Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though she is acquainted
+      with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising between the acts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a play! What spectators!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought to
+      those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with delight
+      at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the little man
+      with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality upon
+      their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
+      biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
+      down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
+      nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in St.
+      James's Park.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching for
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't speak, man, for God's sake,&rdquo; cried Oliver. &ldquo;'Tis not so dark but
+      that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
+      the comedy is ended&mdash;that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in
+      the middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is
+      ended.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
+      what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at the
+      coffee house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know what you speak of,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;But I beg of you to
+      hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play&mdash;don't fear
+      to tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly
+      twenty years; I am not easily dismayed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;I have no intention of going to the
+      playhouse unless you are in my company&mdash;I promised so much to Dr.
+      Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
+      yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
+      sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise on
+      the stage that you, and you only, can decide&mdash;are you willing to
+      allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, who
+      is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
+      prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great man,
+      too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I am
+      convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall not&mdash;it shall not!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
+      &ldquo;I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I have
+      something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in this battle
+      have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my friend&mdash;I'll
+      go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to avert disaster.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
+      obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
+      Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of the
+      play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence to
+      insist on a scene being omitted&mdash;or, perhaps, a whole act; and
+      nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his head
+      out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the playhouse&mdash;that
+      his worst fears were realized.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other window.
+      &ldquo;The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental to any
+      performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on their
+      boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy has yet
+      to be damned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage door,
+      looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as if to
+      see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the back of
+      the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, in the
+      part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had driven her
+      forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was within twenty
+      yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights were far too strong;
+      unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have failed to recognise
+      the familiar features of the scene. The next moment there came a hiss&mdash;a
+      solitary hiss from the boxes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that, Mr. Colman?&rdquo; whispered the excited author.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said Colman brutally. &ldquo;Why trouble yourself about a squib
+      when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a lie,&rdquo; said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
+      Mr. Hardcastle. &ldquo;'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
+      assured from the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
+      while I live!&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a lie, and
+      surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever uttered. Goldsmith was
+      soon made aware of this. The laughter that followed Tony Lumpkin's
+      pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle was a highwayman was not the
+      laugh of playgoers who have endured four acts of a dull play; it was the
+      laugh of people who have been in a good humour for over two hours, and
+      Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from their laughter that the people in
+      every part of the house were following the comedy with extraordinary
+      interest. Every point in the dialogue was effective&mdash;the exquisite
+      complications, the broad fun, the innumerable touches of nature, all were
+      appreciated by an audience whose expression of gratification fell little
+      short of rapture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not return
+      to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue was spoken
+      by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of speaking
+      to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, and from
+      them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the first scene
+      to the one which was being represented, the performance had been a
+      succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every member of
+      the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and scenery
+      familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary success of
+      the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the offensive terms of
+      the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the audience, several of
+      the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and cheering for some time&mdash;so
+      much Goldsmith learned little by little at intervals from the actors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
+      word; he has treated me cruelly&mdash;more cruelly than he has any idea
+      of,&rdquo; said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. &ldquo;But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
+      anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes much
+      to you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith then, sir,&rdquo; cried Lewes, &ldquo;I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
+      will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so he had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
+      Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
+      Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, and
+      affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through half-closed
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, &ldquo;I
+      hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
+      foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you
+      not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having
+      resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
+      sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might
+      have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Nay, I have a
+      part in my mind for you already&mdash;that is, if you will be good enough
+      to accept it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!&rdquo; cried the actress, offering him both
+      her hands. &ldquo;I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0173.jpg" alt="0173 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company and
+      the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
+      congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
+      had filled the theatre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You
+      dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
+      indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On
+      the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty
+      good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make you a
+      coxcomb.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I hope not, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;No, you don't hope it, sir,&rdquo; cried
+      Johnson. &ldquo;You are thinking at this moment how much better you are than
+      your betters&mdash;I see it on your face, you rascal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he has a right to think so,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunbury. &ldquo;Come, Dr. Goldsmith,
+      speak up, say something insulting to your betters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Where are they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well said!&rdquo; cried Edmund Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson. &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. We
+      expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
+      garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake on
+      the walls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. She
+      knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she was
+      not mistaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit and
+      gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in the
+      green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived the
+      moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly imagined was
+      an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the points in his
+      comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian into Reynolds's
+      ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the background with the
+      Bunburys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in uniform
+      had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind Mr.
+      Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, saying
+      a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, though it
+      was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the girl, and
+      perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes were turned
+      upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out her
+      inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
+      people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing was
+      paying no attention to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought it
+      advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;We have given you our ears for more
+      than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Yes, you
+      were remarking that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be compared
+      to a boy who has robbed an orchard,&rdquo; said the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True&mdash;very true, madam,&rdquo; said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
+      involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
+      beside her. She was not smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, 'tis true; but why?&rdquo; cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
+      did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; that's just it&mdash;why?&rdquo; said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
+      from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and Henry
+      Bunbury were standing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. &ldquo;Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
+      suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because his
+      booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in his
+      pockets what he is not entitled to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
+      did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
+      successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
+      attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
+      gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
+      more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo; said Mr. Thrale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir!&rdquo; cried Bunbury; &ldquo;mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
+      some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did I say, Goldy?&rdquo; cried Johnson. &ldquo;Was it not that, after the
+      presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
+      of them I accepted some days ago,&rdquo; said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
+      hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
+      conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
+      laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of the
+      Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
+      involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious to
+      explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this form
+      of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that refers
+      to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
+      Garrick's lines in proof&mdash;proof positive, mind&mdash;that he &ldquo;talked
+      like poor Poll.&rdquo; He is the first man on record who has been condemned
+      solely because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
+      couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
+      thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
+      expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
+      given utterance to some delightful witticism&mdash;which the recording
+      demons around him delighted to turn against himself&mdash;was the
+      expression which makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The
+      man who &ldquo;talked like poor Poll&rdquo; was the man who, even before he had done
+      anything in literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by
+      Bishop Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase
+      and a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the
+      fastidious Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put
+      himself to great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the
+      man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. Abington,
+      had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying to supper had
+      left the room he remained for a few moments to make his adieux to the
+      players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall take good care that you don't, sir,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!&rdquo; he cried, bowing as
+      he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he suddenly
+      returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. &ldquo;Why, if I wasn't
+      going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman in uniform
+      who was speaking with you just now,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I fancy I have met him
+      somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name is Jackson,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord
+      only knows what he is captain of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis
+      as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by professing
+      to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
+      affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the occasion,
+      she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in their coach&mdash;her
+      mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
+      produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
+      eaten no dinner&mdash;Johnson and his friends had been by no means
+      reticent on the subject of the dinner&mdash;he was without an appetite for
+      the delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
+      in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
+      endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
+      almost speechless the whole evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been quite
+      obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with us at
+      Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a little
+      comedy may become a great tragedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
+      play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
+      Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as he
+      could without being rude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick Court.
+      But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All his life he had been looking forward to this night&mdash;the night
+      that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him an
+      incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his period.
+      And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with destiny was
+      within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever felt in his
+      garret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat did it all
+      mean?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
+      refer to the reception given to &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer,&rdquo; which had placed
+      him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to the
+      strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had been
+      speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
+      reputation&mdash;he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
+      reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
+      room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
+      glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the eyes of
+      such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. Woffington,
+      showed that he was a person of no position in society. This conclusion to
+      which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no persons of any
+      distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the playhouse had
+      shown that they were acquainted with him&mdash;no one person save only
+      Mary Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and Mrs.
+      Bulk-ley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have been
+      incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had invariably
+      shunned in society those persons&mdash;women as well as men&mdash;who had
+      shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested the man&mdash;he
+      was popular enough at that period&mdash;who had allowed innuendoes to do
+      duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman&mdash;she is popular
+      enough now&mdash;who had laughed at and made light of the innuendoes,
+      bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
+      fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
+      The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands with
+      the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for her own
+      ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary Horneck
+      stood in a very different position from that occupied by the Duchess.
+      While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the lead of any
+      leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from the actresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one of
+      these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor&mdash;a man
+      who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What could this curious incident mean?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
+      the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
+      had arrived&mdash;not a post had been missed&mdash;from persons who
+      professed the most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to
+      borrow from him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom
+      he had rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
+      consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would continue
+      his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so marked a
+      way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their letters lay
+      unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he sent his
+      guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That was how he
+      contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had earned since
+      leaving his garret.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
+      left his chambers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
+      no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed to
+      notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain Jackson&mdash;he
+      would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared to him more
+      than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to another girl all
+      that he had noticed, he would have said that such a matter required no
+      explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young girls with men of the
+      stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, however, the matter was
+      not so easily explained. The shrug and the raising of the eyebrows were
+      singularly inappropriate to any consideration of an incident in which she
+      was concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
+      success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several of
+      the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on terms of
+      the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a cordiality,
+      the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. Among them was
+      one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had early found a friend
+      in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this early friendship of his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
+      word, and whose wife was his laundress&mdash;not wholly above suspicion as
+      regards her honesty&mdash;stammered his congratulations, and received the
+      crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he had
+      always suspected&mdash;that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
+      world for men who have become successful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
+      that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
+      another hour would pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
+      alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
+      time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of such
+      intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to inquire if
+      Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to ear as he
+      admitted the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,&rdquo; he said,
+      his grin expanding genially.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the table&mdash;and
+      Mr. Marlow's man, sir&mdash;as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what more
+      you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says he quite
+      cool-like and satisfied&mdash;and it's the gentleman's own private house,
+      after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh till he
+      thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then sent us
+      off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some fools about us
+      said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. Northcote&mdash;Sir
+      Joshua's young man, sir&mdash;he up and says that nature isn't always
+      genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth&mdash;I beg
+      your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
+      couldn't ha' done worse than me&mdash;talking so familiar-like, instead of
+      showing you up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;the patron has the privilege of addressing
+      his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
+      George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; and,
+      to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for my
+      benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,&rdquo; whispered the man, for he had led the
+      way to the drawingroom door. &ldquo;I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If I
+      told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
+      without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls this
+      year, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
+      that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
+      smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
+      ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
+      sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them that
+      touched him deeply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
+      honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,&rdquo; she said,
+      giving him her hand. &ldquo;But it was impossible&mdash;oh, quite impossible,
+      for me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
+      how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I was looking forward to
+      that night also&mdash;I don't know for how many years&mdash;all my life,
+      it seems to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind!&rdquo; she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. &ldquo;Never mind!
+      your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you now;
+      every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
+      single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
+      miserable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; she said, giving him her hand once more. &ldquo;I know it, and
+      knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter, Mary?&rdquo; he asked her after a pause. &ldquo;Once before I
+      begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
+      able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man of
+      many resources.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot tell you,&rdquo; she said slowly, but with great emphasis. &ldquo;There are
+      some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree that a
+      woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with another&mdash;either
+      with a sister or with a brother&mdash;even so good a friend as Oliver
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,&rdquo; said he.
+      &ldquo;I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its origin
+      to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I see everything but too plainly,&rdquo; she cried, throwing herself down
+      on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. &ldquo;Why, all my
+      misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
+      Oh, I have said too much,&rdquo; she cried piteously. She had sprung to her feet
+      and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. &ldquo;Pray forget what I
+      have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; oh, pray
+      go away&mdash;go away and leave me alone with my sorrow&mdash;it is my own&mdash;no
+      one has a right to it but myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
+      little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You shall tell
+      me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room last
+      night has to do with your sorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a curious
+      look of cunning in her eyes&mdash;a look that made him shudder, so foreign
+      was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man? Did I speak to a man?&rdquo; she said slowly, affecting an endeavour to
+      recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. &ldquo;Oh, yes, I suppose I
+      spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded it was! And
+      it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked in their paint!&mdash;almost
+      as terrible as a lady of quality!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor child!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
+      everything from me you have told me all&mdash;all except&mdash;listen to
+      me, Mary. Nothing that I can hear&mdash;nothing that you can tell me&mdash;will
+      cause me to think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to
+      make me aware that that man&mdash;Captain Jackson, he calls himself&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you find out his name?&rdquo; she said in a whisper. &ldquo;I did not tell
+      you his name even at the Pantheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
+      why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
+      as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
+      rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How has he got you in his power&mdash;that is what you are going to tell
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not know
+      me, or you would not ask me to tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you have me think, child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think the worst&mdash;the worst that your kind heart can think&mdash;only
+      leave me&mdash;leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I
+      may soon die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything ill
+      of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have written so
+      much as I have written about men and women without being able to know when
+      a woman is altogether good&mdash;a man altogether bad? I know you, my
+      dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? Think of the
+      friends you have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but if
+      they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
+      loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
+      fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch who
+      stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being thrust
+      out behind to push her over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
+      thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind you,
+      there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from slipping.
+      There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, or else those
+      who hold them out to you will go over the brink with you. Ah, my dear,
+      dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In another year&mdash;perhaps
+      in another month&mdash;you will wonder how you could ever have taken so
+      gloomy a view of the present hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained there,
+      however. Then she shook her head, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! Alas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his own,
+      laying his other caressingly on her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You fill
+      with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that it
+      would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my dying
+      could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What I do say
+      is that I should like to live for you&mdash;to live to see happiness once
+      again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing&mdash;you will not
+      give me a chance of helping you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare not&mdash;I dare not,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I dare not run the chance of
+      forfeiting your regard forever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; he said after a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
+      and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
+      beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again&mdash;that
+      you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
+      company of such a man&mdash;talking to him as I saw you last night&mdash;what
+      would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
+      construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
+      dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas!&rdquo; she cried piteously. &ldquo;I cannot make you such a promise. You
+      will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my own free
+      will?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
+      you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
+      power over me&mdash;he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot
+      speak to you more! Leave me&mdash;leave me! I have been a fool and I must
+      pay the penalty of my folly.&rdquo; Before he could make a reply, the door was
+      opened and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
+      sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear Mamma,&rdquo; cried Little Comedy. &ldquo;What Mary needs is some one
+      who will raise her spirits&mdash;Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I am
+      sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? Nay,
+      you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain that you
+      would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but I protest it would
+      seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your attention. He doesn't look
+      particularly like our agreeable Rattle at the present moment, does he,
+      Mamma? And it was the same at supper last night. It might have been
+      fancied that he was celebrating a great failure instead of a huge
+      success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
+      the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the author
+      some account of what the friends whom she had met that day said of the
+      piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a perpetually
+      sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her gaiety was out of
+      tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the first breathing
+      space that the girl permitted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e felt that the
+      result of his interview with Mary was to render more mysterious than ever
+      the question which he had hoped to solve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
+      had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd enough
+      to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed account
+      of his interview with the girl&mdash;a detailed account of his observation
+      of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the Pantheon, then
+      in the green room of Covent Garden&mdash;would have no trouble whatever in
+      accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could see the shrugs
+      of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed to be vastly
+      grieved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all womankind
+      together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one woman to be
+      swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind generally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe that
+      she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think anything
+      evil regarding her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is not as others,&rdquo; was the phrase that was in his mind&mdash;the
+      thought that was in his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance that
+      when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not as other
+      women are.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that when
+      a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from other
+      women, he loves that woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out the
+      heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that had
+      occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in the same
+      apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that the killing
+      of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question which was
+      puzzling him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he went
+      to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of the
+      author's nights for &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer.&rdquo; Baretti was a well known
+      personage in the best literary society in London, having consolidated his
+      reputation by the publication of his English and Italian dictionary. He
+      had been Johnson's friend since his first exile from Italy, and it was
+      through his influence Baretti, on the formation of the Royal Academy, had
+      been appointed Secretary for Foreign Correspondence. To Johnson also he
+      owed the more remunerative appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'.
+      He had frequently dined with Goldsmith at his chambers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
+      author of the play upon his success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it creates
+      in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,&rdquo; said the Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Goldsmith quickly, &ldquo;that is just what I wish to have a word
+      with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
+      should be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What,&rdquo; cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who had
+      certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. &ldquo;What, do you mean to
+      fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be your
+      weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen you
+      should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty certain
+      of victory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; but there are cases&mdash;well, one never knows what may happen,
+      and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can do a
+      little sword play&mdash;enough to enable me to face a moderately good
+      antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
+      in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you retort?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised as
+      gentlemen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bacchus! An effective retort! And then&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
+      making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout of
+      swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
+      compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
+      any first-rate master of the art in London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you into
+      a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better make it five years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five years?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
+      express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be made
+      a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell you
+      that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front place among
+      swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so short-sighted I
+      could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I shall never kill a
+      man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have made up my mind to have some lessons,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;and I know
+      there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha!&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
+      are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
+      teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
+      you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
+      such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
+      fiber than yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men&mdash;nay,
+      even an Irishman&mdash;to show himself adroit with a sword,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith; &ldquo;and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services
+      towards this end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no further
+      than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular wish to place
+      myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I fancy I can
+      see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a fencing master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall keep it a secret,&rdquo; laughed Baretti; &ldquo;but mind, sir, when you run
+      your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the court
+      as a witness as to your pacific character.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called as
+      a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with the
+      murder of a man.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had taken
+      at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own nature so
+      imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel with Captain
+      Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him through a vital
+      part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
+      containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon Colman
+      for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic of the
+      town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and so
+      strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
+      express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
+      posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
+      care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement with
+      whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
+      scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
+      the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
+      lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
+      enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many months
+      of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his triumph in
+      another direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
+      several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with him
+      were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all clearly
+      ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was unaware; and
+      when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had received, the
+      uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
+      was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were talking about me just before I entered,&rdquo; said he: &ldquo;I always know
+      on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, may I
+      ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to me in
+      your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I hold to
+      be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all that you can
+      tell&mdash;as simply as you can&mdash;without prejudice to your own
+      reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
+      fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
+      which he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may trust&mdash;whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
+      Goldsmith&mdash;we are your unalterable friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;don't I know that already? Were you not all
+      my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
+      overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
+      bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Steevens, &ldquo;we received a copy of the <i>London Packet</i>
+      half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
+      attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
+      assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
+      is none other than myself,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;It is
+      the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;You
+      know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once I
+      made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
+      caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that it
+      is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where is
+      the <i>Packet?</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,&rdquo; said Cradock. &ldquo;Take
+      my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise nature of
+      that scoundrel's slanders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to sting
+      me,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith. &ldquo;And so, sir, let me have the <i>Packet</i>, and
+      you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
+      Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
+      detraction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
+      garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,&rdquo; said Steevens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sirs, I insist,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;Why do I waste time with you?&rdquo;
+       he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. &ldquo;I waste time
+      here when I can read the <i>Packet</i> in the bar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold, sir,&rdquo; said Burke. &ldquo;Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
+      would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched forth
+      to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the paper and
+      here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English writers&mdash;the
+      truest of English poets&mdash;the best of Englishmen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick flings
+      himself upon me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took the <i>Packet</i>. It opened automatically, where an imaginary
+      letter to himself, signed &ldquo;Tom Tickle,&rdquo; appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
+      nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
+      from it&mdash;he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing&mdash;but
+      suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
+      crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
+      flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the room
+      with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword and
+      placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a word to
+      any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane only.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>enrick's article
+      in the <i>London Packet</i> remains to this day as the vilest example of
+      scurrility published under the form of criticism. All the venom that can
+      be engendered by envy and malice appears in every line of it. It contains
+      no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains no clever phrase. It is
+      the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the demon of jealousy. The note
+      of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, strident and strenuous. It exists
+      as the worst outcome of the period when every garret scribbler emulated
+      &ldquo;Junius,&rdquo; both as regards style and method, but only succeeded in
+      producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead of the thunder of the unknown
+      master of vituperation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; but
+      when he came to that vile passage&mdash;&ldquo;For hours the <i>great</i>
+      Goldsmith will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
+      pier-glass. Was but the lovely H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;k as much enamoured,
+      you would not sigh, my gentle swain&rdquo;&mdash;his hands tore the paper in
+      fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did not
+      know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him aware of
+      the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He did not mind
+      any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have the name that he
+      most cherished of all names associated with his in an insult that seemed
+      to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was more than he could
+      bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind him and had struck
+      from thence the one who had been kindest to him of all the people in the
+      world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
+      There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him and
+      the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck in the
+      face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to whom he had
+      been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would undoubtedly
+      feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself was to blame
+      for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt that if the
+      attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have escaped. Yes,
+      that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over him to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
+      upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his sword
+      he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
+      assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink from
+      running him through the body with his sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
+      counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew that
+      he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a corner; he
+      felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was made up as to
+      what he should do, and all that he now feared was that some circumstance
+      might prevent his realising his intention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, the
+      publisher of the <i>London Packet</i>. He arrived almost breathless at the
+      place&mdash;it was in Little Queen street&mdash;and entered the shop
+      demanding to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises.
+      Evans, the publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and
+      hearing a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
+      Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was in
+      the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon me
+      which appeared in the <i>Packet</i> of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!&rdquo; said
+      the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shopkeeper smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does anything appear about you in the <i>Packet</i>, sir?&rdquo; he said,
+      over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith,
+      stung by the supercilious smile of the man; &ldquo;you are the publisher of this
+      gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote it
+      struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with his
+      cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
+      opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a small
+      wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, and
+      had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and all the
+      noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his paymaster. It
+      was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back from the cane
+      of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a missile to fling
+      at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a table and hurled
+      it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it struck Evans on the
+      chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over him. This Kenrick
+      perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small shop chairs and
+      rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; but, before he could
+      carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop from the street, and,
+      flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught Goldsmith, who had risen,
+      by the shoulder and hurried him into a hackney-coach, which drove away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
+      room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became uneasy
+      regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving the tavern,
+      had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent the assault which
+      he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the person of Kenrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of the
+      occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his conduct. A
+      lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when delivered in a
+      broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain Higgins's counsel
+      of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have abstained
+      from doing,&rdquo; cried the still breathless man. &ldquo;I did what my manhood
+      prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done yourself, my
+      friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans&mdash;it was that reptile
+      Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to shelter him,
+      what was left to me, I ask you, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were a fool, Oliver,&rdquo; said his countryman; &ldquo;you made a great mistake.
+      Can't you see that you should never go about such things single-handed?
+      You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who would not
+      hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why the devil,
+      sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when you left the
+      tavern?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith.
+      &ldquo;And, besides,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with me
+      to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. I have
+      taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. Kenrick
+      won't attack me again so long as I am alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
+      Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
+      which he was a master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
+      Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
+      Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
+      like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
+      that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies a
+      lesson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
+      insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
+      been less gracious to him&mdash;if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
+      example, had been accustomed to treat him&mdash;regarding him and his
+      defects merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have
+      escaped all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause
+      of her being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
+      forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
+      think about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that he
+      had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
+      years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
+      despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
+      that could not be surmounted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her forgiveness
+      for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be responsible. He
+      could not, he added, expect that in the future it would be allowed to him
+      to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and her family as had
+      been permitted to him in the past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
+      when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
+      which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only had
+      seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent Garden,
+      and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had originated with
+      that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if he was justified
+      in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not asked him to be her
+      champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it was a very poor champion
+      that he would have made; but still he knew more of her grief than any one
+      else, and he believed he might be able to help her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not leave her,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Whatever may happen&mdash;whatever
+      blame people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave
+      her until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother had no
+      reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and Kenrick.
+      But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation passed away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, my little hero!&rdquo; Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
+      threshold. &ldquo;What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what are
+      things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
+      booksellers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have heard of it?&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;You have heard of the quarrel, but
+      you cannot have heard of the reason for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, there is something behind the <i>London Packet</i>, after all?&rdquo;
+       cried Captain Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something behind it&mdash;something behind that slander&mdash;the mention
+      of your sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists between
+      my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as this&mdash;a
+      strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as you are
+      concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which he was
+      holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the words
+      never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of his own,
+      and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped it, and
+      burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
+      affected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, old friend,&rdquo; he said at last, placing his hand affectionately
+      on Goldsmith's shoulder. &ldquo;Come, come; this will not do. There is nothing
+      to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little aware of your own
+      position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck family regard your
+      friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good heavens, Dr. Goldsmith,
+      don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid for immortality through
+      our names being associated with yours? Who in a hundred years&mdash;in
+      fifty years&mdash;would know anything of the Horneck family if it were not
+      for their association with you? The name of Oliver Goldsmith will live so
+      long as there is life in English letters, and when your name is spoken the
+      name of your friends the Hornecks will not be forgotten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
+      chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day the
+      news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by Goldsmith in respect of
+      the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the literary circle of which
+      Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling was one of regret that
+      Kenrick had not received the beating instead of Evans. Of course, Johnson,
+      who had threatened two writers with an oak stick, shook his head&mdash;and
+      his body as well&mdash;in grave disapproval of Goldsmith's use of his
+      cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes were of the opinion that a
+      cane had never been more appropriately used.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands of
+      pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
+      afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
+      which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
+      Colman's management.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
+      had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl of
+      indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period&mdash;some
+      in the pay of the government others of the opposition&mdash;solely by
+      stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person of
+      the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in the form
+      of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded Junius.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
+      public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest in
+      the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling audience.
+      When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the <i>Daily Advertiser</i>&mdash;surely
+      the manliest manifesto ever printed&mdash;the howls became attenuated, and
+      shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, even by Dr. Johnson&mdash;and
+      so emphatically, too, that his biographer could not avoid recording his
+      judgment&mdash;that Goldsmith had increased his reputation by the
+      incident.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account of
+      this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
+      received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
+      Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
+      search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
+      him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel when
+      he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
+      of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
+      found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
+      responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Johnson, after he had made some of those grotesque
+      movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably accompanied&mdash;&ldquo;Dr.
+      Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
+      that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
+      come rather sooner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
+      to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,&rdquo; said Johnson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you were right in assuming that you could say
+      nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a fool&mdash;at
+      many times&mdash;in many ways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
+      and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
+      my suspicion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he do
+      after having seen me?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; resumed Johnson, &ldquo;it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
+      to me to find, as I did in this room&mdash;on that desk&mdash;such
+      evidence of your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean, sir? My folly&mdash;evidence&mdash;on that desk? Ah, I
+      know now what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I
+      suppose for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas,
+      sir, who could resist Filby's flatteries?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, &ldquo;you gave me permission several years ago to read any
+      manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been
+      advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect for your
+      criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you suggested?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
+      waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,&rdquo;
+       said Johnson sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I forget now what work was last under my hand,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but whatever it
+      was, sir&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have it here, sir,&rdquo; said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
+      noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
+      laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived that it
+      consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the Jessamy
+      Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had them before
+      him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would be the result
+      of sending them to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
+      friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
+      matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, those verses, sir,&rdquo; he stammered; &ldquo;they are poor things. You will, I
+      fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they resemble
+      my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my man, but
+      Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the cost of
+      repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man of
+      determination with his own future&mdash;with his own happiness and the
+      happiness of others.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, sir, I scarcely understand&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
+      character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
+      heart speaks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that may
+      come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your heart
+      throbs in every line.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise the
+      feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more happy than
+      I fancied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I protest that I&mdash;that is&mdash;no, I shall protest nothing.
+      You have spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I
+      wrote those verses out of my own heart&mdash;God knows if they are the
+      first that came from my heart&mdash;I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed
+      to own it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
+      did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been the
+      sweetest&mdash;the only consolation of a life that has known but few
+      consolations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
+      as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
+      Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
+      family have extended to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
+      What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
+      remain unspoken by either of us&mdash;what if I do love her? Where is the
+      indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? Does
+      one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself&mdash;yes,
+      and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to know&mdash;and,
+      indeed, I think she must&mdash;that she has been the cause, even though
+      the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she will not be
+      free from unhappiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens all
+      my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, if I know your character&mdash;and I believe I have known it
+      for some years&mdash;you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my
+      dear friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but
+      a battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
+      come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
+      it to flight before it prove your ruin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there is of
+      beauty&mdash;everything there is of sweetness&mdash;in the life of man&mdash;you
+      call it our enemy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I call it <i>your</i> enemy, Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from other
+      men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for evermore
+      from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he has proved to the
+      world that he is most capable of all mankind of appreciating tenderness
+      and grace? What trick of nature is this? What paradox for men to vex their
+      souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from men, evermore looking on
+      happiness through another man's eyes? If you answer 'yes,' then I say that
+      men who are not poets should go down on their knees and thank Heaven that
+      they are not poets. Happy it is for mankind that Heaven has laid on few
+      men the curse of being poets. For myself, I feel that I would rather be a
+      man for an hour than a poet for all time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us look
+      at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate enough
+      to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be brought to
+      think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish enough to regard
+      their kindness to you&mdash;their acceptance of you as a friend&mdash;as
+      encouragement in your mad aspirations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
+      only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
+      not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you as
+      a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to her?
+      Answer me that question, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
+      hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,&rdquo; resumed Johnson. &ldquo;I
+      will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
+      only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but I
+      ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on your
+      side as ridiculous&mdash;nay, worse&mdash;a gross affront.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
+      resumed his discourse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
+      desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, and of
+      forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your infatuation?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith started up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,&rdquo; he cried almost
+      piteously. &ldquo;Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
+      hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
+      the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
+      which I wrote&mdash;I could not help writing them&mdash;but she does not
+      know that they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it
+      from me. My history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover&mdash;a
+      blank&mdash;a blank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor friend,&rdquo; said Johnson after a pause&mdash;he had laid his hand
+      upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
+      table&mdash;&ldquo;My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups
+      which are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I
+      have drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
+      others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means to have
+      double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself before now
+      worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have faced life,
+      by your independence of the patronage of the great. You dedicated 'The
+      Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. You did not
+      hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to offer you money
+      for the prostitution of the talents which God has given you. Dr.
+      Goldsmith, you have my respect&mdash;you have the respect of every good
+      man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your detractors
+      who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would give them an
+      opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will not do
+      anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and show all
+      those who are your friends that their friendship for you is well founded.
+      I am assured that I can trust you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his visitor
+      had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and gave way to the bitter
+      reflections of the hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
+      which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception&mdash;to his
+      hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion might
+      be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of vain dreams
+      that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his straightforwardness
+      there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that made any appeal from
+      his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in the utterances of his
+      phrases when forcing his contentions upon any audience; but Goldsmith knew
+      that he only spoke strongly because he felt strongly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson had
+      said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake the
+      sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
+      content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
+      Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
+      house&mdash;a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting
+      his father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
+      Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were to
+      present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his hearing
+      to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. The tragedy
+      of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their prospects in
+      the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he felt, the most
+      cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who make music of the
+      passions of men&mdash;who have surrounded the passion of love with a
+      glorifying halo&mdash;should be doomed to spend their lives looking on at
+      the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of the music which
+      the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy of life, and Goldsmith
+      had often found himself face to face with it, feeling himself to be one of
+      those with whom destiny is only on jesting terms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
+      Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
+      that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only of
+      all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his cause,
+      he would be regarded&mdash;and rightly, too&mdash;as both presumptuous and
+      ridiculous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
+      letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking to
+      themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to look
+      forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
+      contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
+      poet for the loss of home&mdash;the grateful companionship of a wife&mdash;the
+      babble of children&mdash;all that his fellow-men associated with the
+      gladness and glory of life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
+      surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
+      such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation&mdash;he had
+      sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness of
+      having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
+      envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
+      sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval of
+      his friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He had
+      sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his ills
+      during the past few years had departed from him. He would never see Mary
+      Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the burden of
+      his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide by it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
+      resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
+      one consolation of his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt down
+      and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the manuscript
+      into it between the bars when the light that it made fell upon one of the
+      lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he had read the
+      remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a sigh, he hastily
+      thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little blaze had fallen
+      again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could raise it by a breath or
+      two, his servant entered the room. He started to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A letter for you, sir,&rdquo; said John Eyles. &ldquo;It came by a messenger lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fetch a candle, John,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too dark
+      for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on the
+      seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines that
+      the letter contained&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
+      only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if not,
+      then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride.</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
+      He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
+      to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
+      that he was about to stand face to face with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
+      small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
+      of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer.&rdquo; Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
+      cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
+      walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
+      between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and her
+      sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put her
+      hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you would come,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I knew that I could trust you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may trust me, indeed,&rdquo; he said. He held her hand in his own, looking
+      into her pale face and sunken eyes. &ldquo;I knew the time would come when you
+      would tell me all that there is to be told,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Whether I can
+      help you or not, you will find yourself better for having told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
+      was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, and,
+      after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the mantelpiece,
+      leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into the smouldering
+      fire in the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I to tell you&mdash;what am I to tell you?&rdquo; she cried at last,
+      resuming her pacing of the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. She
+      went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking with
+      vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the sconces.
+      Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a great effort
+      she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil when she spoke,
+      seating herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of that
+      man,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You alone were observant. Did you also see him call me to
+      his side in the green room at the playhouse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw you in the act of speaking to him there&mdash;he calls himself
+      Jackson&mdash;Captain Jackson,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved me from him once!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You saved me from becoming his&mdash;body
+      and soul.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
+      me to do so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you if it had not been for you&mdash;for the book which you wrote,
+      I should be to-day a miserable castaway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot quite understand,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar of
+      Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
+      complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which I had
+      presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of reading
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was that which saved me,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Oh, what fools girls are! They
+      are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
+      child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of men&mdash;some
+      men&mdash;so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge of
+      womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told all
+      that we should guard against?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
+      Jessamy Bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you will err,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You will have to think ill of me. Thank
+      God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
+      from all&mdash;to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
+      I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
+      village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
+      received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and feted
+      in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love with him, and I&mdash;innocent
+      fool that I was&mdash;considered myself the most favoured creature in the
+      world because he made love to me. Any day we failed to meet I wrote him a
+      letter&mdash;a foolish letter such as a school miss might write&mdash;full
+      of protestations of undying affection. I sometimes wrote two of these
+      letters in the day. More than a month passed in this foolishness, and then
+      it came to my uncle's ears that we had meetings. He forbade my continuing
+      to see a man of whom no one knew anything definite, but about whom he was
+      having strict inquiries made. I wrote to the man to this effect, and I
+      received a reply persuading me to have one more meeting with him. I was so
+      infatuated that I met him secretly, and then in impassioned strains he
+      implored me to make a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When
+      he had been fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies
+      had been active, and he feared that their malice would come between us,
+      and he should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I
+      consented to leave my uncle's house by his side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you cannot have done so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved me,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I had been reading your book, and, by God's
+      mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him I
+      came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With the
+      suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The scales
+      fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to Damascus,
+      only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited me. I knew
+      that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a single hour&mdash;thanks
+      to the genius that wrote that book&mdash;my love for that man, or what I
+      fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet him. I returned
+      to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote to me reproaching me
+      for disappointing him; and the very next day my uncle's suspicions
+      regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted in proof positive of
+      the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself Captain Jackson, He had
+      left the army in America with a stain on his character, and it was known
+      that since his return to England at least two young women had been led
+      into the trap which he laid for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God you were saved, my child,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, as she paused,
+      overcome with emotion. &ldquo;But being saved, my dear, you have no further
+      reason to fear that man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was my belief, too,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But alas! it was a delusion. So soon
+      as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in his true
+      colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I had been foolish
+      enough to write to him, to my friends&mdash;he was even scoundrel enough
+      to point out that I had in my innocence written certain passages which
+      were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of guilt&mdash;nay, his
+      letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had been guilty, so
+      that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. What was left for
+      me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to me those letters. I
+      asked him how he could think it consistent with his honour to retain them
+      and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. Alas! he soon gave me to
+      understand that I had but placed myself more deeply in his power.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The scoundrel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
+      meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing that I
+      had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France together!
+      But then&mdash;ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me&mdash;I
+      cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
+      rings I am in trepidation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
+      account?&rdquo; cried Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;What did he
+      say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me a
+      fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
+      letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who had
+      written them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And his terms?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His terms? I cannot tell you&mdash;I cannot tell you. The very thought
+      that I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
+      such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, &ldquo;for I
+      shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no!&rdquo; she said, laying a hand upon his arm. &ldquo;No friend of mine
+      must suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother
+      for fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
+      plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
+      would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
+      that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
+      being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
+      determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope&mdash;the
+      forlorn hope&mdash;that you might be able to help me. Tell me&mdash;tell
+      me, my dear friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that
+      of which poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guilt? Who talks of guilt?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew
+      that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought of you
+      except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted foolishly;
+      you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your own pure
+      heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any monster. Dear
+      child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against this stroke of
+      fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of escape for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to myself a
+      score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what direction
+      lies my hope of escape?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
+      invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it is
+      the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one can in
+      a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real life, my
+      dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts of fiction.
+      But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by halves. He
+      will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from you and then
+      permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity as that which
+      you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as Heaven directed my
+      pen to write that book in order that you might be saved from the fate of
+      my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you out of your present
+      difficulty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You give me hope,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;a little hope. But you must
+      promise me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I
+      know how brave you are&mdash;my brother told me what prompt action you
+      took yesterday when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish
+      to place yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only
+      cause it to spring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel now that I was foolish,&rdquo; said he humbly; &ldquo;I ran the chance of
+      forfeiting your friendship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But in this matter of mine
+      I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save me, if
+      I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man on the
+      night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what my
+      feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that if you
+      had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
+      arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have spoken truly,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You are wiser than I have ever been.
+      But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing that
+      shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be saved,
+      whatever may happen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her hand and kissed it fondly. &ldquo;You shall be saved,&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If not&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I have given you my promise. You must give
+      me yours. You will do nothing impious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave a wan smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a girl,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My courage is as water. I promise you I will
+      trust you, with all my heart&mdash;all my heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not fail you&mdash;Heaven shall not fail you,&rdquo; said he, going to
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
+      white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
+      more pallid!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e went for supper
+      to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none of his friends. He had
+      no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned Boswell
+      into ridicule to make sport for the company. He knew that Garrick would be
+      at the club in Gerrard street, to which he had been elected only a few
+      days before the production of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer,&rdquo; and it was not at
+      all unlikely that on this account the club would be a good deal livelier
+      than it usually was even when Richard Burke was wittiest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
+      the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
+      assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
+      attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
+      Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
+      town were talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
+      smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
+      the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty of
+      the press as that of which&mdash;according to the writer&mdash;the
+      ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across
+      the room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
+      worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
+      with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew perfectly well&mdash;had he not good reason to know?&mdash;that
+      the man who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
+      nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
+      notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
+      and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the fact
+      that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more eagerly
+      read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. That was one
+      of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of Junius: the
+      appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, and there was no
+      lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that the public
+      demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius one of the conditions
+      of their acceptance of such compositions&mdash;all they required was that
+      the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
+      Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money that
+      he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called himself
+      Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there would be no
+      difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people were always much
+      more ready to believe evil than good regarding any one&mdash;especially a
+      young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been breathed&mdash;the
+      result of the publication of the letters would mean practically ruin to
+      the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
+      at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
+      regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
+      the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in such
+      matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, that
+      because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was not
+      sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
+      possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should find
+      it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and he believed,
+      with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was situated would be
+      to forfeit their respect forever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and he
+      felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her sake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
+      in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon&mdash;how often his
+      friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
+      not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some occasions
+      he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also remembered how, when
+      he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned out that he had never
+      been more clearly imposed upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
+      (which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
+      shrewdness).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required it,
+      cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly wisdom?
+      By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the world?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
+      reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
+      waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
+      short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
+      not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly felt
+      no vexation at being made so easy a victim of&mdash;he was accustomed to
+      that position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between the
+      bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred at the
+      end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, coals, all
+      thoughts of guile&mdash;all his prospects of shrewdness were cast aside.
+      He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, he had no
+      right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his property. They
+      either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary Horneck, as&mdash;as
+      what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he had promised
+      Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of that which he
+      had admitted to be foolishness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
+      dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
+      reproach put those verses into the girl's hand&mdash;when, learning the
+      truth, she would understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that time did come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to get
+      possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
+      attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
+      for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully aware
+      that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of a criminal
+      prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the discovery of all
+      that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
+      would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
+      affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
+      defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the woman
+      to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was accustomed
+      to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should have
+      considerable difficulty in finding her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
+      question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
+      knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to do
+      so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and he
+      liked her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him&mdash;if he made
+      it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
+      while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became impatient
+      at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington until the
+      evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced a visitor&mdash;one
+      with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as Colonel Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
+      recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at the
+      Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit to Brick
+      Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted Colonel Gwyn
+      as if he considered it to be one of the most natural occurrences in the
+      world for him to appear at that particular moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the visitor when he had seated himself, &ldquo;you have no
+      doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of calling
+      upon you without first communicating with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;'Tis a great compliment you offer to
+      me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
+      have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
+      generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
+      so successfully caricatured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The fact
+      is, sir, that I&mdash;I&mdash;i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
+      how it is I appear before you in this fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You are
+      a friend of my best friend&mdash;Sir Joshua Reynolds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem of&mdash;of&mdash;well,
+      of all the members of the Horneck family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way his
+      visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what reply
+      to make to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I perceive that you are surprised, sir.&rdquo; said Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;not at all&mdash;that is&mdash;no, not greatly surprised&mdash;only&mdash;well,
+      sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
+      yourself, a soldier,&rdquo; stammered Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past week
+      or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said Gwyn; &ldquo;but upon no occasion
+      have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me she was by
+      no means well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they told you the truth, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
+      they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
+      confess a headache was not specified.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. But
+      why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking a
+      liberty,&rdquo; he said somewhat awkwardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo; asked Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see&mdash;sir, you are, I know, a favoured
+      friend of the lady's&mdash;I perceived long ago&mdash;nay, it is well
+      known that she regards you with great affection as a&mdash;no, not as a
+      father&mdash;no, as&mdash;as an elder brother, that is it&mdash;yes, as an
+      elder brother; and therefore I thought that I would venture to intrude
+      upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but
+      I hesitate&mdash;as I am sure you could understand that any man must&mdash;before
+      declaring myself to her. Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you
+      might not conceive it to be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to
+      ask you if you knew of the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope
+      you will be frank with me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was
+      a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat upright on
+      his chair&mdash;a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some people, but
+      that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat inclined to be
+      pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that they were the
+      manners of a gentleman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
+      Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last he
+      gave a little start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should not have come to me, sir,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,&rdquo; said Gwyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
+      confidence. But&mdash;ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a
+      lady would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought it possible that she&mdash;Miss Horneck&mdash;might have let
+      you know. You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so
+      she might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
+      Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of&mdash;well, a sort of
+      vested interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate them for
+      the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become accustomed. I
+      have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the children of their
+      happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if they were their own
+      offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, that poets become
+      sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, which is quite apart
+      from the world of letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
+      difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the exact
+      appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted as
+      much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But for that
+      matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
+      plain to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;I think I gathered from your words all that
+      you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
+      subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
+      lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
+      chances of success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How admirably you put the matter!&rdquo; said Gwyn. &ldquo;And I fancied you did not
+      apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot tell,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Miss Horneck has never told me that she
+      loved any man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I have still a chance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments to
+      their fathers&mdash;no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
+      consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
+      advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself if
+      you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to become
+      attached. Add to the effect of your personality&mdash;which I think is
+      great, sir&mdash;the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you
+      have won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether
+      your suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
+      some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
+      Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
+      that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the man
+      exist who would be worthy of her love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
+      some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
+      is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
+      consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. Goldsmith&mdash;not
+      as men go&mdash;there is in my lifetime nothing that I have cause to be
+      ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, her purity, her
+      tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own presumption in aspiring
+      to win her. You think me presumptuous in this matter, I am convinced,
+      sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do&mdash;I do. I know Mary Horneck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with me
+      in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me to
+      thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me away
+      without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that I have
+      your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
+      happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn, my wishes&mdash;my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck
+      may be happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever for a moment
+      had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men who were understood to be
+      admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made humourous verses on some of
+      them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic illustrations, and Mary and her
+      sister had had their laugh. He could not even now feel jealous of Colonel
+      Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more eligible suitor than the majority
+      whom he had met from time to time at the Hornecks' house. He knew that
+      since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the girl had no thoughts to give to love
+      and suitors. If Gwyn were to go to her immediately and offer himself as a
+      suitor he would meet with a disappointment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who had
+      just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be exultant
+      at the thought that it was he&mdash;he&mdash;Oliver Goldsmith&mdash;who
+      had been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret&mdash;with the duty of
+      saving her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
+      enterprise had fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
+      position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
+      rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
+      instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
+      hand of the maiden?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate all
+      his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the struggle
+      had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had become the
+      most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor at the Royal
+      Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most eminent men of
+      the period. And then, although he was plain of face and awkward in manner&mdash;nearly
+      as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as Johnson&mdash;he had been
+      appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in England. He felt that he
+      had reason to exult.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with Colonel
+      Gwyn&mdash;he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel Gwyn.
+      What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in preference to
+      Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a mirror in order to
+      learn what chance he would have of being accepted as the lover of a lovely
+      girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he had&mdash;a
+      glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from complete
+      despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted with the
+      task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
+      destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
+      too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
+      him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
+      evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
+      Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his play&mdash;in
+      which she did not appear&mdash;was being acted on the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that his
+      design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should pursue
+      in regard to the actress&mdash;how far he would be safe in confiding in
+      her&mdash;was frustrated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
+      with him&mdash;well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make a
+      quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such a disaster.
+      Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in Boswell's eyes he
+      could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of a second person.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! Sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you do
+      of the Irish nation and their characteristics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,&rdquo; said
+      Boswell. &ldquo;But now all is over; he will never see me again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
+      order to give you a chance of knowing him better?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,&rdquo; cried Boswell after a
+      contemplative pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
+      consciousness of his generosity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
+      again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
+      feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
+      secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
+      talking together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
+      biographer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which the
+      Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo; he cried anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith, with
+      an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
+      that Shakespeare was pompous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you are imitating him,&rdquo; said Boswell. &ldquo;But I perceive that he has
+      told you of our quarrel&mdash;our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
+      sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Through me, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
+      Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no one
+      of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has lately
+      been mimicking the Dean&mdash;yes, down to his very words, at the
+      Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
+      acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
+      upbraided me for half an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To no human being, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To no one, sir&mdash;that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly
+      have had the story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
+      expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
+      perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail to
+      make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
+      Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
+      accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
+      Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
+      in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
+      friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
+      being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
+      that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
+      order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
+      biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick and
+      choose the incidents with which he has to deal&mdash;that he may, if he
+      please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his hero
+      or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you frankly
+      that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are mischievous.
+      Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I insist on your
+      writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the very words that
+      passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and you will also
+      furnish me with a list of the persons&mdash;if you have not sufficient
+      paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream at the
+      stationer's at the corner&mdash;to whom you gave an account of the
+      humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship with
+      me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do not seek
+      to avoid so obvious a duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam of
+      a smile on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,&rdquo; muttered Goldsmith. &ldquo;If
+      I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
+      hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
+      him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained his
+      forgiveness. &ldquo;You were right, sir,&rdquo; the letter concluded. &ldquo;Dr. Johnson has
+      still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.&rdquo;)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to the
+      playhouse in order to consult with the lady who&mdash;through long
+      practice&mdash;was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to
+      give him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel.
+      It was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
+      not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
+      his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
+      which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
+      only of &ldquo;She Stoops to Conquer&rdquo; had been reached, and as she did not
+      appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
+      piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers&mdash;one which had taken the
+      town by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every
+      lady of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
+      a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
+      loose about the neck and shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, my little hero,&rdquo; cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
+      his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then to
+      Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? Oh,
+      lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all a-dying
+      of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There was a
+      rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
+      madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Faith, sir, you gave
+      him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I
+      give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr.
+      Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For
+      instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the
+      first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt
+      upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
+      Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Though, for
+      that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
+      before me in that dress&mdash;ay, or any other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
+      compliment&mdash;I sink under it, sir&mdash;thus,&rdquo; and she made an
+      exquisite courtesy. &ldquo;Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses'
+      heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely
+      anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should
+      be moved,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy
+      as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of
+      Miss Hardcastle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have the design of one in my head, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
+      head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
+      great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
+      you have begun the comedy, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
+      air. I want your assistance in that direction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic as
+      Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you give
+      me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
+      Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
+      have to tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
+      him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his family&mdash;a
+      critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your face
+      suggested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
+      think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
+      the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light&mdash;which I take to
+      be the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman&mdash;he is too
+      powerful for me, I frankly confess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine is a male fiend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the manager of a theatre&mdash;another form of the same hue?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
+      greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to coffee
+      house repeating it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was more
+      than you could cope with?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd now, sir, to
+      face the particulars&mdash;to proceed from the fancy embroidery of wit to
+      the solid fabric of fact&mdash;who or what is the aggressive demon that
+      you want exorcised?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name is Jackson&mdash;he calls himself Captain Jackson,&rdquo; replied
+      Oliver. He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary
+      Horneck's story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of
+      this point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
+      any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
+      had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jackson&mdash;Captain Jackson!&rdquo; cried the actress. &ldquo;Why, Dr. Goldsmith,
+      this is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy.
+      Surely, sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for
+      a battering-ram to overturn a house of cards&mdash;one does not
+      requisition a park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of the
+      power of a piece of ordnance,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The truth is, madam, that
+      in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
+      you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
+      doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
+      there is a lady in the question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
+      waiting for the lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is the most charming of her sex, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may be
+      taken for granted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder in what part of the world she lived&mdash;certainly not in
+      London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared upon
+      the scene&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
+      the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
+      even though the serpent be slaughtered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, Mrs. Abington&rdquo;&mdash;Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely&mdash;&ldquo;pardon
+      me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
+      has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
+      of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let it
+      be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
+      taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; and
+      how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to him, but
+      had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them the
+      appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lady is prostrated with grief,&rdquo; he said, concluding his story. &ldquo;The
+      very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
+      killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
+      knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis a sad story indeed,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;The man is as bad as bad
+      can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
+      Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
+      meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
+      the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
+      been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
+      possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know that all
+      the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of Scotland
+      'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of guineas, Dr.
+      Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
+      think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not in
+      the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,&rdquo;
+       cried the lady. &ldquo;Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in a
+      bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego the
+      dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the coins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may be right,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But whence are the guineas to come, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a couple
+      of hundred pounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! She
+      would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she had
+      written letters of affection to such a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have allowed
+      herself to be imposed on by a stranger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
+      who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
+      your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return to
+      the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? How do
+      you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
+      conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
+      It occurred to me that perhaps&mdash;it might be possible&mdash;in short,
+      Mrs. Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel
+      could be entrapped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary men&mdash;and
+      of wary&mdash;is what nature and art have fitted me for&mdash;nature and
+      practice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear madam.
+      But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady with whom I am
+      acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest intelligence. That
+      is why you are our greatest actress. The highest intelligence is valueless
+      on the stage unless it is associated with a heart that beats in sympathy
+      with the sorrow and becomes exultant with the joy of others. That is why I
+      regard myself as more than fortunate in having your promise to accept a
+      part in my next comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
+      author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him out
+      of his difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,&rdquo; said the
+      actress. &ldquo;Yes, in spite of your being&mdash;being&mdash;ah&mdash;innocent&mdash;a
+      poet, and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man,
+      Dr. Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to&mdash;to&mdash;well,
+      shall we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the position I long for, dear madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know you,
+      Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or two&mdash;that
+      will give both of us a chance of still further considering the possibility
+      of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe it was the
+      lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were doubtless for
+      running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his throat without
+      the delay of a moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
+      about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
+      'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite perceive
+      their bearing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their little
+      step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, I
+      perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress for
+      my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used to
+      term 'ructions.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
+      before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
+      effective kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for he was
+      not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had departed
+      without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would have
+      regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, that
+      clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt that it
+      was a pleasure to do anything for such a man&mdash;especially as he was a
+      writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she could so
+      interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be the most
+      notable success of the season.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
+      progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
+      feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not been
+      at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting with Mrs.
+      Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. Abington were
+      associated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
+      consolidated by a &ldquo;command&rdquo; performance at which the whole of his
+      Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because it
+      meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
+      sentimentalists who were still harping upon the &ldquo;low&rdquo; elements of certain
+      scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good augury. He
+      felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan by which he
+      should be able to get possession of the letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
+      not been unmindful of his interests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
+      yesterday,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I tolerated him&mdash;nay, I encouraged him&mdash;not
+      for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, but
+      for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking fool
+      of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly makes a
+      fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
+      Mrs. Abing ton,&rdquo; said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
+      laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for I
+      have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably the
+      most effective.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have found that by your experience of traps?&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;The
+      smile is the silken net?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even so,&rdquo; said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. &ldquo;Ah,
+      Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
+      but at me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being smiled
+      at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response to the
+      encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my private
+      address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when the fly
+      begins to lure on the spider.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not&mdash;to the fly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. Sir, to
+      be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private address,
+      but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next Thursday
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
+      behalf&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that I
+      am only interested in my sister-fly&mdash;would she be angry if she were
+      to hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
+      upon Goldsmith's ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;she is a Christian woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the actress, &ldquo;a very small amount of Christian
+      charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. Let
+      that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on Thursday
+      night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round the corner,
+      and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you to appear boldly,
+      as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my hospitality. You must
+      come into the room when we have begun, carrying with you a roll of
+      manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene of your new comedy,
+      upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not fail to recollect,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Why, 'tis like the
+      argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
+      elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;I think I know
+      the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama of
+      mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which you
+      will not be able to play to perfection.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
+      When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I trust,
+      ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the pleasure of
+      your society for even an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will ask you to join us at the table, and then&mdash;well, then I have
+      a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
+      friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known all
+      his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters of
+      his.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
+      possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity&mdash;the fact
+      being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
+      Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
+      romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
+      formed the basis of more than one comedy&mdash;he had a notion that if
+      these comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
+      been so clearly defined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, sir!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity of
+      my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt&mdash;not at
+      scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
+      play, dear lady,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But then, you see, it would be in my power to
+      make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the right
+      moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that was
+      necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes quite
+      hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most ordinary
+      precepts of art.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha! sir,&rdquo; said the actress. &ldquo;Nothing in this world is certain. I am a
+      poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my life.
+      At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully arranged
+      plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the slovenliness of the
+      actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain dialogue, yet in the
+      end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama out of the ruins of our
+      schemes than we originally designed. So, in this case, sir, I am not
+      without hope that even though our gentleman's lips remain sealed&mdash;nay,
+      even though our gentleman remain sober&mdash;a great calamity&mdash;we may
+      still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep your ears open and
+      I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if between us we cannot
+      get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,&rdquo; said Oliver; &ldquo;and I
+      can only repeat what you have said so well&mdash;namely, that even the
+      most clumsy of our schemes&mdash;which this one of yours certainly is not&mdash;may
+      become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
+      that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you on
+      Thursday evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith for the
+      next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a consciousness of having
+      wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon Mrs. Abington and
+      discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing the purpose which he
+      had at heart; for he could not but perceive how shallow was the scheme
+      which she had devised for the undoing of Mary Horneck's enemy. He felt
+      that it would, after all, have been better for him to place himself in the
+      hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had promised to find out for him,
+      and to do his best to run the scoundrel through the body, than to waste
+      his time listening to the crude scheme concocted by Mrs. Abington, in
+      close imitation of some third-class playwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
+      scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to join
+      her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent his
+      exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan for
+      obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
+      seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when he
+      had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
+      which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident to
+      effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had suggested
+      the possibility of such an accident taking place&mdash;in fact, she seemed
+      to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than upon the
+      ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think that she was
+      right in this respect. He had a considerable experience of life and its
+      vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a jesting mood the most
+      judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be overturned by an accident
+      apparently no less trivial than the raising of a hand, the fluttering of a
+      piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and a
+      vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
+      causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he met
+      a young woman who changed&mdash;for a time&mdash;all his ideas of the sex.
+      As he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
+      Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
+      factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
+      accident is only another form of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he met
+      Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an Italian
+      fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; cried Baretti. &ldquo;Have you another affair on your hands in addition
+      to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You do not need
+      to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;They
+      have stepped between me and starvation more than once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
+      to make money by his philanthropy?&rdquo; asked Baretti in his usual cynical
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot say,&rdquo; replied Goldsmith. &ldquo;I don't think that I can lay claim to
+      the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
+      rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
+      mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
+      swordsman in Europe,&rdquo; said Baretti.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do so, my friend,&rdquo; said Goldsmith; &ldquo;and when I succeed in killing a
+      critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as a
+      memento.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall look for them&mdash;yes, in five years, for it will certainly
+      take that time to make you expert with a sword,&rdquo; said the Italian. &ldquo;And,
+      meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
+      fighter as Kenrick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
+      may take a fancy to have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
+      martyr&mdash;a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other
+      unclean beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
+      within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
+      should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
+      as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not want
+      a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear one of
+      our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who may that friend be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
+      with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the little
+      Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. Sir,
+      Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than&mdash;than&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lioness robbed of her whelps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is the
+      bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that you had
+      boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; and the
+      best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit into the
+      jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles&mdash;reminiscent of his
+      native land&mdash;ever since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
+      Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
+      Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
+      evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
+      the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, his
+      first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
+      flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
+      every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
+      said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit who
+      had shouted: &ldquo;Stick to the coo, mon!&rdquo; On the whole, Garrick said, he
+      thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
+      many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion&mdash;whatever it
+      might be worth&mdash;that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was
+      most successful in attempting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
+      accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
+      believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
+      inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, and
+      he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme which she
+      had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of inducing the
+      man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he was in the habit
+      of keeping the letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,&rdquo;
+       said she; &ldquo;and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may become
+      dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. If he
+      suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
+      farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then is to be gained by our supping with him?&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you are brought into contact with him,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You will then
+      be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take him
+      unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? heavens,
+      sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak&mdash;one
+      cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
+      and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
+      fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting the
+      letters into your pocket.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll hope for better luck than that,&rdquo; said Oliver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But good luck
+      is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
+      cleverest people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. Abington
+      as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
+      your advice and reserve my compliments to you for&mdash;well, no, not a
+      month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done very
+      well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
+      that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
+      alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of an
+      adroit scoundrel. He had heard&mdash;nay, he had written&mdash;of the
+      wiles of women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of
+      testing a woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his
+      estimate of their value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare tavern
+      at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll of manuscript
+      in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the waiter to inform
+      the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was very fluent up to
+      this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave when he found himself
+      face to face with the man who had made the life of Mary Horneck miserable.
+      He wondered if he would be able to restrain his impulse to fly at the
+      scoundrel's throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington that
+      she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended the stairs
+      to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved himself to
+      play a part, and he was convinced that the rÃ´le was not beyond his powers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her chair
+      laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>,
+      for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting upon it and
+      one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the points of his
+      narrative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, pleasantly,
+      but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the story which
+      Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with his fingers
+      still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most inopportune
+      entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other is in the act
+      of telling a story to an appreciative audience&mdash;say, a beautiful
+      actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be seen to the
+      greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb and flow of that
+      roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate wimplings, rising and
+      falling between the porcelain of her throat and the curve of the ivory of
+      her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition of
+      Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. Abington's
+      tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned his head round as
+      the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward the table, bowing
+      profusely&mdash;rather too profusely for the part he was playing, the
+      artistic perception of the actress told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, my little author!&rdquo; cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
+      patron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers&mdash;the best
+      time for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
+      convenience of our betters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
+      convenience in an ante-room&mdash;ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that
+      the scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets
+      write best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For shame, Captain!&rdquo; cried Mrs Abington. &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith is a man as well
+      as a poet. He has broken heads before now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Jackson
+      laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself back in his chair
+      and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had advanced to the side
+      of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of the bookseller's hack.
+      He played the part very indifferently, the lady perceived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith, my dear,&rdquo; laughed the Captain, &ldquo;I would fain believe that he is a
+      terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head broke
+      by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I swear that I
+      never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is accustomed to
+      spread terror around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my dear madam,&rdquo; cried her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>, &ldquo;you must pardon me for
+      saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
+      exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known kitchen
+      principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a poet's pate,
+      being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would overcome a
+      sound head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I meant nothing like that, Captain,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned
+      to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. &ldquo;Come, Dr.
+      Goldsmith,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;seat yourself by me, and partake of supper. I vow
+      that I will not even glance at that act of your new play which I perceive
+      you have brought to me, until we have supped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, madam,&rdquo; stuttered Goldsmith; &ldquo;I have already had my humble meal;
+      still&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
+      hoarse laugh, crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
+      by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
+      himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the romance
+      which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a party. Has he
+      never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable kill-joy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,&rdquo; said the actress in smiling
+      remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view of the
+      poet's weakness. &ldquo;You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of parts. He
+      is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; will you, Dr.
+      Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast at
+      him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own part
+      he was acting to perfection the rÃ´le of the hack author who was patronised
+      till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way
+      as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's cloak was
+      flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to seating
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam, I am your servant,&rdquo; he murmured; &ldquo;Sir, I am your most obedient to
+      command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such distinguished
+      company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you should, sir,&rdquo; cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
+      about, laying a fresh plate and glass, &ldquo;so you should. Your grand patrons,
+      my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you from
+      slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely to
+      feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, General
+      Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I had half a
+      mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking me over! May I
+      die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the General a lesson which
+      he would have remembered to his dying hour&mdash;his dying hour&mdash;that
+      is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn upon him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;But
+      I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being drawn on
+      his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
+      swear,&rdquo; cried the Captain bowing over the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And so I call upon you to drink to his health&mdash;a
+      bumper, sir, a bumper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With an
+      air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained it
+      with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hang him!&rdquo; he cried, when he had wiped his lips, &ldquo;I bear Goldsmith no
+      malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
+      shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge after
+      charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health of a little
+      man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show does his
+      bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous to my
+      heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Captain,&rdquo; said the lady, &ldquo;I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain from
+      challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many healths
+      during the day, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What mean you by that, madam?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Do you suggest that I cannot
+      carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
+      gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that you
+      would have a chance of offering.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,&rdquo; said the actress hastily. &ldquo;I will prove
+      to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. Goldsmith's
+      new comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you are very much my dear,&rdquo; said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
+      decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. &ldquo;Yes, your
+      confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, shall it
+      be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American rebels&mdash;curse
+      'em!&mdash;turn as green as their own coats&mdash;shall it be said that
+      Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel&mdash;Washington his name is&mdash;George
+      Washington&rdquo;&mdash;he had considerable difficulty over the name&mdash;&ldquo;is
+      accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men&mdash;not men, but
+      lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his Majesty's forces
+      into the Potomac'&mdash;shall it be said that&mdash;that&mdash;what the
+      devil was I about to say&mdash;shall it be said?&mdash;never mind&mdash;here's
+      to the health of Colonel Washington!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+      Abington, rising. &ldquo;'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; and,
+      sir, you still wear the King's uniform.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil take the King's uniform!&rdquo; shouted the man. &ldquo;The devils of
+      rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell you,
+      madam, that&mdash;nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
+      drank&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the
+      room and seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung
+      his cloak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold, sir,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
+      upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. &ldquo;Hold, sir, I
+      perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured by
+      your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success to the
+      cause that will triumph in America.&rdquo; Jackson, who was standing at the
+      table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
+      half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
+      him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It sounds all right,&rdquo; he muttered as if he were trying to convince
+      himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. &ldquo;It sounds all
+      right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
+      little poet,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
+      sir&mdash;drink to the success of the cause in America.&rdquo; Goldsmith got
+      upon his feet and raised his glass&mdash;it contained only a light wine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Success to it!&rdquo; he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his third
+      tumbler of brandy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hark ye, my little poet!&rdquo; whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
+      across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not returned
+      to her place. &ldquo;Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a general of
+      generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned me out of the
+      regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from Boston port, that
+      he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was mistaken, sir, and that
+      one of these days&mdash;&mdash;Mum's the word, mind you! If you open your
+      lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to pieces. I'll flay you
+      alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, let me tell you. What
+      message did he send me when he heard that I was ready to blow Cornwallis's
+      brains out and march my company across the Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to
+      man&mdash;though a poet isn't quite a man&mdash;but that's my generosity.
+      Said Washy&mdash;Washy&mdash;Wishy&mdash;Washy&mdash;&mdash; Washington:
+      'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the colonists,
+      Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who would make the
+      attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's the message I
+      got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't everybody. Mark me,
+      my friend&mdash;whatever your name is&mdash;I've got letters&mdash;letters&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, you have letters&mdash;where?&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, in the
+      confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and then
+      across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
+      half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
+      chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Letters&mdash;oh, yes&mdash;plenty of letters&mdash;but where?&mdash;where?&mdash;that's
+      my own matter&mdash;a secret,&rdquo; he murmured in vague tones. &ldquo;The government
+      would give a guinea or two for my letters&mdash;one of them came from
+      Mount Vernon itself, Mr.&mdash;whatever your name maybe&mdash;and if you
+      went to Mr. Secretary and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      pronounced the word &ldquo;Secrary&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;'I know that Dick Jackson is a
+      rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are the letters to prove it?' where
+      would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, my brains are not like
+      Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
+      well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm here,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
+      which Jackson's coat was thrown. &ldquo;I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
+      not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?&rdquo; cried the man with a lurch forward
+      and a wave of the hand. &ldquo;Madam, I'm shocked&mdash;quite shocked! I wear
+      the King's coat, though that cloak is my own&mdash;my own, and all that it
+      contains&mdash;all that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
+      his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; he
+      saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness that
+      only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the cloak lay.
+      He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining until he
+      came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the pocket a
+      leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively into the
+      bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was another packet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over her
+      chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that Sir
+      Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as &ldquo;Miss Prue.&rdquo; She gave
+      a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed coarsely,
+      saying huskily&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A handkerchief&mdash;I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket
+      of my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure&mdash;that's my motto. And now,
+      my charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for
+      I'll challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill
+      up your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.&mdash;Mr. Killjoy, we'll
+      call you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend
+      only knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that
+      the truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast&mdash;whatever it
+      may be&mdash;or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
+      remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
+      man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass before
+      Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand on the
+      table, into a standing attitude, murmuring&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
+      Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
+      table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He swallowed the contents of the tumbler&mdash;his fourth since he had
+      entered the room&mdash;and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into
+      his chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0315.jpg" alt="0315 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0315.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,&rdquo; she cried,
+      standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
+      hand. &ldquo;You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
+      Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of my
+      room, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought it
+      down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
+      watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
+      stupour, his jaw fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,&rdquo; said the actress,
+      pointing to the man who alone remained&mdash;for the best of reasons&mdash;seated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A coach? Certainly, madam,&rdquo; said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; resumed Mrs. Abington, &ldquo;may I beg of you to have the
+      goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
+      hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have a wish
+      to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is Whetstone
+      Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      * She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
+      watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from uttering
+      a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to Goldsmith that
+      she was acting her part admirably&mdash;that she had set herself to give
+      him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet which she, as
+      well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket of his cloak to that
+      of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great difficulty in extracting
+      the bundle from the man's pocket when in the coach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,&rdquo; were the first words
+      spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in his
+      repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. &ldquo;What did I say?&mdash;what
+      did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel hurt, sir,
+      more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. What's her name&mdash;I'm
+      not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? Anyhow, she insulted
+      me grossly&mdash;me, sir&mdash;me, an officer who has charged his
+      Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac flows
+      down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few stories
+      about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been their darling
+      always.&rdquo; Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but husky tone, for
+      the brandy had done its work very effectively, and he had now reached what
+      might be called&mdash;somewhat paradoxically&mdash;the high-water mark of
+      intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter re-entered the room to
+      announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at the door of the tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
+      it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
+      the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord and
+      a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. He
+      made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed him
+      down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord and
+      his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such persons,
+      and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith reached the
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, sir,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I am accompanying that gentleman to his
+      lodging.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Doctor,&rdquo; whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, &ldquo;the
+      fellow is a brawler&mdash;he will involve you in a quarrel before you
+      reach the Strand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;The lady has laid it
+      upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he instant he had
+      seated himself he found to his amazement that the man beside him was fast
+      asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the cushions one might have
+      fancied that he had been sleeping for hours rather than minutes, so
+      composed was he. Even the jolting of the starting coach made no impression
+      upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
+      arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
+      he must act at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
+      detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All he had
+      to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the pocket, and
+      then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted his
+      position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his breast
+      to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened himself in
+      some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite unaware of the
+      fact that some one was seated beside him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear madam, you do me great honour,&rdquo; he said, and then gave a little
+      hiccupping laugh. &ldquo;Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me all
+      the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give you the
+      plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold the
+      documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to put pen
+      to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to a fool.
+      Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them&mdash;no price whatever
+      except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
+      shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, my
+      lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her own
+      letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, in case
+      of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, for I
+      know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the pocket of
+      my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em&mdash;in case of accidents,
+      Ned&mdash;to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! and
+      here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars for
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
+      man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he referred
+      to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel had not only
+      tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been endeavouring to sell
+      the secrets of the King's forces to the American rebels. Goldsmith had,
+      however, no doubt that the letters which he was desirous of getting into
+      his hands were those which the man had within his waistcoat. His belief in
+      this direction did not, however, assist him to devise a plan for
+      transferring the letters from the place where they reposed to his own
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
+      Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of the
+      brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his fingers
+      remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would be quite
+      impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith could not
+      claim to be, to open the garment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
+      packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet that
+      it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont Blanc, was
+      maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any more attempts
+      to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, and Goldsmith
+      knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough to cope with
+      three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit so
+      broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
+      entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
+      Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest did not
+      end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide awake, and
+      he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he spoke that he
+      showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very far from sober.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
+      be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me&mdash;grossly
+      insulted me&mdash;turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too,
+      you rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you
+      to look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for
+      you. Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might not
+      be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward attempt
+      to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration of the
+      question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open the door.
+      He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the coach on to
+      the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on its leathern
+      straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the turnstile. At
+      the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance to the court,
+      almost coming in collision with Jackson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cursed, clumsy lout!&rdquo; shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round as
+      the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You low ruffian!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You cheated me last night, and left me to
+      sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been waiting
+      for you. Take that, you scoundrel&mdash;and that&mdash;and that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
+      forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
+      fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
+      street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith shouted out, &ldquo;Follow him&mdash;follow the murderer!&rdquo; pointing
+      wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
+      pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
+      hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the body in
+      order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more adroitness
+      than was necessary&mdash;for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp all the
+      street was in darkness&mdash;slipped the wallet into his other hand and
+      then under his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
+      had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had been
+      run through with a sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a knock-down blow,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
+      prostrate man; &ldquo;and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great harm
+      has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a beer
+      barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
+      recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
+      almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
+      sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
+      meant by choking him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith picked
+      up his hat and straightened his sword, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his physician
+      in that way has small need of his services. I thought the fellow might be
+      seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point recently; and so
+      good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he relapse. By a casual
+      savour of him I should say that he is not used to water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, and
+      as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on completely
+      recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned him, would miss
+      his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was greatly relieved
+      when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the head porter, and he
+      paid the driver with a liberality that called down upon him a torrent of
+      thanks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
+      cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no doubt
+      that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands of his
+      dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him&mdash;had alone
+      trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
+      room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
+      wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
+      and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
+      chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
+      taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of Mrs.
+      Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that they were
+      the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He was
+      utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
+      occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. He
+      could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, covered
+      with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own desk before
+      starting for the tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
+      the wallet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
+      hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
+      over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
+      which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
+      Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
+      until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which he
+      transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had had
+      no time&mdash;at least, so Goldsmith thought&mdash;to put the sham act of
+      the play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
+      unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
+      in the wallet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
+      greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
+      craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
+      of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected Mrs.
+      Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the expense of
+      the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, and had fooled
+      them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying that they were
+      entrapping him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
+      he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he was
+      showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
+      shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
+      he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
+      happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
+      doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made by
+      Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the length
+      of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy that when
+      they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on any subject.
+      But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin to act, she had
+      failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to place himself in
+      her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
+      would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
+      consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
+      to get the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, and
+      tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. She
+      should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would have been
+      ready to help her and capable of helping her&mdash;some man with a
+      knowledge of men&mdash;some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver
+      of fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper.
+      Nothing was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn
+      achieve success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a house
+      of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his life,
+      whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze that
+      had swept down upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
+      cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
+      than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
+      already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
+      prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great a
+      mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never have
+      made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he said that
+      he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious generosity of
+      the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity that had led him
+      to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was utterly unsuited;
+      and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him in the reflection
+      that his awakening had come before it was too late. He had not been led
+      away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She had been saved the
+      unhappiness which that confession would bring to a nature so full of
+      feeling as hers. And he had been saved the mortification of the thought
+      that he had caused her pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees of
+      the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had passed
+      before he fell asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he found
+      that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the letters
+      which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with but a
+      languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
+      bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith had
+      promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged the
+      loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, from
+      its shape and bulk, a manuscript&mdash;one of the many which were
+      submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned it
+      over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
+      convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
+      perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
+      accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when at
+      the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The instant
+      he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that the parcel
+      contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's handwriting to a
+      certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire village where she had
+      been staying the previous summer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
+      Mrs. Abing ton&mdash;the spelling as well as the writing was hers&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few feathers
+      pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in the capp of
+      dear Dr. Goldsmith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was so greatly
+      amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the scattered letters on the
+      table in front of him. He was even more amazed at finding them there than
+      he had been the night before at not finding them in the wallet which he
+      had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He thought he had arrived at a
+      satisfactory explanation as to how he had come to find within the wallet
+      the sheets of manuscript which he had had in his hand on entering the
+      supper room; but how was he to account for the appearance of the letters
+      in this parcel which he had received from Mrs. Abington?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth&mdash;to
+      appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his table.
+      But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and happiness to
+      Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. She was saved.
+      He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and who had the
+      means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had caused him to
+      go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing the task with
+      which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been mistaken in
+      applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish scheme of a
+      pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken when she had
+      singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most women would
+      have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rÃ´le of a knight-errant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
+      despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
+      knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
+      morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; but
+      now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him&mdash;his
+      imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
+      happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to Mary
+      and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
+      Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
+      Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of his
+      formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, but it
+      was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion so
+      delicate an enterprise as that which he&mdash;Goldsmith&mdash;had
+      accomplished. Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs.
+      Abington to help him, and that was just where he would have made a huge
+      mistake. Any man who thought to get the better of the devil without the
+      aid of a woman was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of
+      this as he stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been
+      when he had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The
+      previous half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
+      Providence and the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate some
+      breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
+      obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
+      thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
+      the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to be
+      shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest&mdash;she must have felt
+      the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, substituting
+      for them the sham act of the play which excused his entrance to the
+      supper-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that the
+      wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
+      recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair with
+      the cloak&mdash;much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
+      treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to turn
+      him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had been
+      to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her glass of
+      wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as Mrs.
+      Baddeley!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
+      particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
+      acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
+      the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
+      perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
+      the letters beyond the man's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again he laughed, saying out loud&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I was right&mdash;a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy
+      of a devil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was at
+      hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
+      letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself in
+      connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
+      consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face would
+      lighten&mdash;how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
+      would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
+      that she was safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
+      bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on her
+      face&mdash;if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
+      laughter. And then&mdash;then she would be happy for evermore, and he
+      would be happy through witnessing her happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for the
+      letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his servant
+      announced two visitors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. The
+      former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a compatriot
+      of his own, named Nicolo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in my
+      hands,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;My friend Nicolo is a master of the art of fencing
+      as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the impression,
+      singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than once during
+      your wanderings in Tuscany.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now I am sure of it,&rdquo; said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
+      spoke French rather better than English. &ldquo;Yes, I was a student at Pisa
+      when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in recognising
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; &ldquo;I cannot, however, recall the
+      circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
+      memory, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,&rdquo; said Signor
+      Nicolo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith quickly. &ldquo;You were one of the orators&mdash;quite reckless,
+      if you will permit me to say so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man smiled somewhat grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,&rdquo;
+       said Baretti. &ldquo;Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
+      climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
+      government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith. &ldquo;Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of a beard
+      and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
+      now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,&rdquo; said the man
+      with another grim smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not quite right, my friend,&rdquo; laughed Goldsmith; &ldquo;for if my memory
+      serves me&mdash;and it does so usually on the matter of dress&mdash;I had
+      no coat whatsoever to my back&mdash;that was of no importance in Pisa,
+      where the air was full of patriotism.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,&rdquo; said
+      Baretti. &ldquo;There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We are
+      examples&mdash;Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a brewer's
+      daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy Englishman&mdash;and
+      there are a good number of them, too&mdash;into an expert swordsman in
+      twelve lessons&mdash;yes, if the pupil will but practise sufficiently
+      afterwards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We need not talk of business just now,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I insist on my
+      old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
+      'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
+      excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple of
+      bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to him&mdash;very
+      recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not have
+      remained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
+      heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have found you, you rascal!&rdquo; he shouted, swaggering across the room to
+      where Goldsmith was seated. &ldquo;Now, my good fellow, I give you just one
+      minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my pocket
+      last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken blackguard,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, who was in the
+      act of rising. &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;I submitted to your insults
+      last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I promise you that I
+      give you no such license in my own house. Take your carcase away, sir; my
+      friends have fastidious nostrils.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
+      gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
+      cowardly to attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cur!&rdquo; he said through his set teeth. &ldquo;I don't know what prevents me
+      from running you through the body.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you not? I do,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of wine
+      off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the bully after a pause; &ldquo;I don't wish to go to Sir John
+      Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, but, by
+      the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will not spare
+      you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an hour has
+      passed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American spy,
+      is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith has at
+      hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest scoundrels,&rdquo;
+       said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
+      second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. The
+      bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My little poet,&rdquo; he said in a mocking voice, &ldquo;you fancy that because you
+      have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you for your
+      information that I have something in my possession that I can use as I
+      meant to use the letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall kill
+      you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, leaping
+      up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
+      the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him behind
+      a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, sir,&rdquo; said he, bowing to Jackson, &ldquo;but we cannot permit you to
+      stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend and
+      I regard as a grave affront to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then let one of you draw!&rdquo; shouted the man. &ldquo;I see that you are
+      Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
+      sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;I
+      do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a weaker
+      man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a ruffian as
+      you undoubtedly are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter had
+      whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, putting
+      quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when Baretti had
+      turned partly round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Briccone! assassin!&rdquo; hissed Baretti. &ldquo;You saw that he meant to kill me,
+      Nicolo,&rdquo; he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He shall pay for it,&rdquo; whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
+      foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
+      of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;We used to enjoy a sausage or
+      two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
+      without absolutely killing the beast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
+      laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian&mdash;it was
+      not melodious&mdash;acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo,
+      trying to beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single
+      inch. He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His
+      expression resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has
+      airily offered to play with him opens the game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to attack,
+      Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take a chair, sir,&rdquo; said Baretti, grinning. &ldquo;You will have need of one
+      before my friend has finished with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
+      before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt him
+      now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the man
+      breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
+      Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
+      no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but his
+      antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard breathing
+      was a contrast to the only other sound in the room&mdash;the grating of
+      steel against steel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed gradually
+      to vanish. He became more than serious&mdash;surely his expression was one
+      of apprehension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as one
+      of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
+      shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
+      doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge of
+      the other man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as he
+      pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in touching
+      Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, and now it was
+      plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was breathing hard, and
+      the look of apprehension on his face had increased until it had actually
+      become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to perceive this, and malignant
+      triumph was in every feature of his face. Any one could see that he felt
+      confident of tiring out the visibly fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with
+      staring eyes, once again clutched Baretti.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
+      and forehead in smiles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,&rdquo; said
+      he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
+      paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
+      head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying behind
+      it like the little pennon on a lance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; whispered Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;For God's
+      sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that last was
+      like a bullet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat from
+      which it was torn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is his fun,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;Oh, body of Bacchus! A great humourist!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
+      in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but his
+      antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed him round
+      the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing heavily, but
+      apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his sword into his
+      left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
+      They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
+      meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
+      Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
+      dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
+      Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
+      result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
+      man's pocket fell on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
+      The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining by
+      a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo had
+      spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single flash.
+      Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they were the
+      batch of letters which he had received in the course of his traffic with
+      the American rebels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Sandrino,&rdquo; said Baretti, affecting to yawn. &ldquo;Finish the rascal off,
+      and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. Come,
+      sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has kept us
+      from our wine too long already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
+      sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
+      over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
+      the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with an
+      oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
+      thoroughly exhausted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+      <img src="images/0349.jpg" alt="0349 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h5>
+      <a href="images/0349.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
+      the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
+      guard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;John,&rdquo; shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
+      witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
+      exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) &ldquo;John, give that
+      man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked out
+      of my house.&rdquo; When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to the
+      half-naked panting man. &ldquo;You are possibly the most contemptible bully and
+      coward alive,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You did not hesitate to try and accomplish the
+      ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here with intent to
+      murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your clutches. If I let
+      you go now, it is because I know that in these letters, which I mean to
+      keep, I have such evidence against you as will hang you whenever I see fit
+      to use it, and I promise you to use it if you are in this country at the
+      end of two days. Now, leave this house, and thank my servant for giving
+      you his coat, and this gentleman&rdquo;&mdash;he pointed to Nicolo&mdash;&ldquo;for
+      such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you never before received.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which John
+      Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You contemptible cur!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have not yet done with you. You have
+      now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of them
+      passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in pretty high
+      places, let me tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not doubt it,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;The gallows is a high enough place for
+      you and your friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look to yourself, you foreign hound!&rdquo; he said, his face becoming livid,
+      and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare as
+      before. &ldquo;Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to be
+      made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn that rascal into the street, John,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith, and John
+      bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
+      flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
+      powers&mdash;not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian,
+      but one which he was certain was more English in its style.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one shall lay a hand on me,&rdquo; said Jackson. &ldquo;Do you fancy that I am
+      anxious to remain in such a company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,&rdquo; said John, hustling him to the
+      door. &ldquo;Come&mdash;out with you&mdash;sharp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
+      and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put on
+      the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him walk
+      in the direction of the Temple lodge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
+      prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
+      on his wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You came at an opportune moment, my friend,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You have not only
+      saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never have
+      known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of your
+      art.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best swordsman is the best patriot,&rdquo; said Baretti.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! yes,&rdquo; said Nicolo. &ldquo;Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
+      or you would not be able to live in England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not an Englishman,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;I am an Irish patriot, and
+      therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it is
+      not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than to
+      starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
+      dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
+      Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor an
+      hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects of
+      the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it will
+      take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the fragments
+      of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. Johnson's
+      friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,&rdquo; said
+      Baretti. &ldquo;Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
+      engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has taken part in one engagement, at least,&rdquo; said Goldsmith,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I am now at your service,&rdquo; said the fencing-master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his pocket&mdash;the
+      second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his desk&mdash;and,
+      parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and Anchor in an
+      hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was with a
+      feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before known, that
+      Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All the exhilaration
+      that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary exhibition of
+      adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with him. The
+      exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more than a
+      suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, Nicolo's
+      pretence of being overmatched early in the contest&mdash;breathing hard
+      and assuming a terrified expression&mdash;yielding his ground and allowing
+      his opponent almost to run him through&mdash;could only be regarded as
+      theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
+      amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not
+      prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith,
+      more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt which he owed
+      to Jackson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life in
+      having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world the
+      terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that every
+      step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
+      realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
+      cheeks change to red once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to Barton
+      with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him this with
+      a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
+      Goldsmith,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;I believe that she was more than a little
+      disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?&rdquo; he asked. This fresh
+      proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was very
+      dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise on the
+      chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in his
+      ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of his
+      success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She seemed very anxious to see you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;I fear, dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
+      sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
+      secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
+      Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, girlish
+      fancy&mdash;my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
+      neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
+      with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely she
+      has got over that foolishness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
+      foolishness,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;You may take my word for it that when she
+      sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do hope so,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;Yes, you could always contrive to make
+      her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared that
+      that disgraceful letter in the <i>Packet</i> had affected you. That was
+      why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
+      nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was very kind of you, my dear madam,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but I have seen Mary
+      since that thing appeared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance that when
+      I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to recovery. You
+      have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor of medicine,
+      and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in this direction may
+      amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself have. Still, I think
+      you will say something in my favour when you see Mary's condition begin to
+      improve from the moment we have a little chat together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. Goldsmith.
+      Your chat with her will do more for her than all the medicine the most
+      skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very inopportune time for
+      her to fall sick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
+      steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
+      attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman was
+      drawn toward her?&rdquo; said the lady smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;And
+      you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she would
+      have listened to his proposals, madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should she not have done so, sir?&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not, indeed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;He is,
+      to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think so&mdash;you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing
+      in such a case?&rdquo; said Oliver, rather eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?&rdquo; cried Mrs.
+      Horneck. &ldquo;Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
+      am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
+      my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
+      After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty&mdash;thirty-seven,
+      I believe&mdash;but he does not look more than thirty-five.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
+      you give emphasis, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;And you think that Mary will
+      see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
+      so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,&rdquo; said the lady.
+      &ldquo;That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring back
+      the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly attracted
+      to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand&mdash;I understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke slowly, gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you would help us,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck, &ldquo;and so I hope that you
+      will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
+      Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
+      passed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
+      him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks&mdash;not for him, but
+      for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, the
+      hours of thought&mdash;all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
+      facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
+      his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
+      sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being for
+      evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
+      possession as her love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
+      yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even so; I am satisfied&mdash;I am satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and Goldsmith
+      persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he succeeded in doing
+      so, for he had felt it was quite possible that Baretti might inquire of
+      him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to Brick Court, and he could
+      not well explain to the Italian the nature of the enterprise which he had
+      so successfully carried out by the aid of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing
+      to take Mrs. Abington into his confidence, and quite another to confide in
+      Baretti. He was discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that,
+      while the secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it
+      would be by no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some
+      people might laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that
+      which was generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and
+      Baretti a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn all
+      about Jackson&mdash;that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
+      become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
+      for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. He
+      was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
+      prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
+      regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
+      the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
+      conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
+      declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
+      man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
+      out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here&mdash;and indeed, sir, I
+      am glad that he is not&mdash;he would say that your definition was so good
+      as to make him certain you had stolen it from me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Dr. Johnson, &ldquo;I did not say that it was good enough to have
+      been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
+      foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, that you
+      would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of stealing
+      from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which when it
+      comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, are you
+      satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I am more than satisfied,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning
+      master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. This was
+      a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
+      to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington for
+      managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped to
+      do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
+      costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the less
+      subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, holding her
+      hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to speak, and she
+      knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she was quite
+      accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, were of
+      equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my poet,&rdquo; she said at last, &ldquo;have you need of my services to banish
+      any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was right,&rdquo; he managed to say after another pause, &ldquo;yes, I knew I was
+      not mistaken in you, my dear lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest demon
+      that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Well,
+      sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment&mdash;a more doubtful compliment
+      than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her champion. But you
+      have not told me of your adventurous journey with our friend in the
+      hackney coach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is you who have not yet told me by what means you
+      became possessed of the letters which I wanted&mdash;by what magic you
+      substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
+      into the supper room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered from
+      a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, that he
+      had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He gave me a
+      hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is not to be
+      trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every document on
+      which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty naturally
+      received a great shock when he offered to drink to the American rebels,
+      and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or so sufficed me to
+      discover the wallet with the letters; but then I was at my wits' end to
+      find something to occupy their place in the receptacle. Happily my eye
+      caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay in your hat on the floor
+      beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick was played. I had a
+      sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep me hoping all the
+      night that you would be able to get possession of the wallet, believing it
+      contained the letters for which you were in search. Lord, sir! I tried to
+      picture your face when you drew out your own papers.&rdquo; The actress lay back
+      on her couch and roared with laughter, Goldsmith joining in quite
+      pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression which
+      my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
+      humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but he
+      paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
+      termed his property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
+      Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my faith, sir!&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;I would give ten guineas to have been
+      there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she added a moment afterwards, &ldquo;you
+      will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my dear,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left my
+      room&mdash;not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
+      as would hang him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon your
+      life?&rdquo; cried the actress. &ldquo;He may try to kill Baretti on a point of
+      sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a matter
+      of business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
+      something in what you say,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;So I will e'en take a
+      hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
+      the very door of my chambers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have yet
+      to write for me in a comedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my dear
+      friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?&rdquo; cried the actress, looking at
+      him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua Reynolds
+      could not quite translate to show the next century what manner of woman
+      was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young wife of
+      the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country girl's
+      smile of Mrs. Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith kept his
+      word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was alert all the time he
+      was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be waiting to make an
+      attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any adventure, however,
+      and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel of letters and set
+      himself to peruse their contents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had no need to read them all&mdash;the first that came to his hand was
+      sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
+      perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
+      rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
+      themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which he
+      had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
+      Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead of
+      merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to England as
+      a suspected traitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
+      indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
+      obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
+      certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
+      country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
+      him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
+      Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
+      course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he ask
+      himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have been so
+      blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his honesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour which
+      attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies of his
+      country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself to be, he
+      would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly weaknesses were
+      dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the tenderness of her
+      heart only made him feel that she was all the more a woman, and therefore
+      all the more to be loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
+      Hornecks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
+      There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he would
+      attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner.
+      It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably be at the
+      meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with the dangerous
+      character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due precautions against
+      any attack that the desperate man might be induced to make upon him. No
+      doubt Baretti would make a good point in conversation with his friends of
+      the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution to any one; but the
+      latter was determined to give the Italian his advice on this matter,
+      whatever the consequences might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention in
+      full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not return
+      from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the Academy
+      Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
+      communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not having
+      a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,&rdquo; said Reynolds.
+      &ldquo;I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if only to
+      apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has promised to
+      come, and I have secured Johnson as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in front,
+      he followed with Reynolds some distance behind&mdash;not so far, however,
+      as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was engaged in a
+      discourse with his sweet companion&mdash;he was particularly fond of such
+      companionship&mdash;on the dignity inseparable from a classic style in
+      painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the habiliments of
+      their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who required
+      any considerable amount of remonstrance from her preceptors to keep her
+      feet from straying in regard to classical traditions. The artist who gave
+      the purest Greek features and the Roman toga alike to the Prodigal Son and
+      King Edward III could not be said to be capable of greatly erring from Dr.
+      Johnson's precepts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
+      eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
+      adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
+      suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
+      faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
+      eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, sir!&rdquo; cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
+      anchor, and pursing out his lips, &ldquo;would you contend that a member of
+      Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day clothes&mdash;that
+      the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,&rdquo; replied
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
+      to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
+      than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
+      phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, &ldquo;there is a very flagrant
+      example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even depicted in
+      his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted position, is
+      not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what would he be if
+      shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after what you call the
+      natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the advisability of the
+      epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in English.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why not, sir?&rdquo; said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, &ldquo;For
+      my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
+      Westminster Abbey written in English.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one laughed, including&mdash;when the bull had been explained to her&mdash;Angelica
+      Kauffman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
+      door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
+      went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
+      lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
+      detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
+      Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
+      reason of his absence from the meeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
+      as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
+      wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
+      him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
+      hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
+      The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
+      the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out so
+      as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
+      men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
+      been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding in
+      the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no time
+      coming to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Merciful heaven!&rdquo; cried Goldsmith. &ldquo;I was waiting for Baretti in order to
+      warn him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack as
+      was made upon him,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;It seems that the fellow whom Baretti
+      was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable gang well
+      known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated what his
+      name was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what was his name?&rdquo; asked Reynolds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Richard Jackson,&rdquo; replied Steevens. &ldquo;Of course we never heard the name
+      before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
+      should a jury find him guilty,&rdquo; said Steevens. &ldquo;We must make an effort to
+      avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to speak
+      to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They carried
+      my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to go without
+      delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. Garrick. He
+      hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John Fielding at Bow
+      street in the morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That we shall,&rdquo; said Sir Joshua. &ldquo;He shall have the best legal advice
+      available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him that
+      he may depend on our help, such as it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
+      waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
+      custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but they
+      offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, and
+      also to carry back to them his reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an account
+      of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could not induce the
+      constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, however, bore in
+      his message to the effect that he might depend on the help of all his
+      friends in his emergency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, and
+      they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd&mdash;afar from
+      reputable crowd&mdash;so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
+      and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
+      the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in the
+      surgeon's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
+      meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through the
+      Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two men rushed
+      out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with heavy sticks.
+      One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his sword, but he
+      succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself with the small
+      fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, as was the custom
+      in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article of diet, he had
+      undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great mischance he must have
+      severed an artery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
+      friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held a
+      commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being tried
+      by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to England by
+      Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, and had
+      recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house in
+      Whetstone Park.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, it seems
+      to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,&rdquo; said Goldsmith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the gentleman,&rdquo;
+       said the Bow street runner. &ldquo;But I fancy the judge will tell them that
+      it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of its rogues.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
+      view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid of
+      the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having parted
+      from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. He could not
+      help feeling that Baretti was the victim of his&mdash;Goldsmith's&mdash;want
+      of consideration. What right had he, he asked himself, to drag Baretti
+      into a matter in which the Italian had no concern? He felt that a man of
+      the world would certainly have acted with more discretion, and if anything
+      happened to Baretti he would never forgive himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter a very
+      restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that Johnson had already
+      gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house Goldsmith learned that
+      Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; so it was plain that
+      Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting about helping him. They
+      all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and Goldsmith found that Burke had
+      already instructed a lawyer on behalf of Baretti. His tender heart was
+      greatly moved at the sight of Baretti when the latter was brought into
+      court, and placed in the dock, with a constable on each side. But the
+      prisoner himself appeared to be quite collected, and seemed proud of the
+      group of notable persons who had come to show their friendship for him. He
+      smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, and, when the witnesses were being
+      examined, polished the glasses of his spectacles with the greatest
+      composure. He appeared to be confident that Sir John Fielding would allow
+      him to go free when evidence was given that Jackson had been a man of
+      notoriously bad character, and he seemed greatly surprised when the
+      magistrate announced that he was returning him for trial at the next
+      sessions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the prisoner
+      in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request was granted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on this
+      melancholy drive, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
+      this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Psha, sir!&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
+      country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. In
+      what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
+      ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
+      protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
+      violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
+      accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried for
+      my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice in
+      this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not be alarmed,&rdquo; said Goldsmith. &ldquo;When you appear before a judge and
+      jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
+      being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
+      responsible for this <i>contretemps</i>,&rdquo; said Baretti. &ldquo;But I cannot
+      forgive that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and
+      failed to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
+      considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
+      whom I killed should be regarded sacred&mdash;as sacred as though he were
+      an Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so
+      ridiculous?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,&rdquo; said
+      Goldsmith. &ldquo;It is quite impossible that you could be convicted&mdash;oh,
+      quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and Reynolds
+      and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
+      railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
+      Newgate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone in the
+      coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house in
+      Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been uncertain
+      whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to see Mary
+      Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress of mind
+      from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the conclusion
+      that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in respect of the
+      man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for him, Goldsmith. Now,
+      however, that he had discharged his duty so far as he could in regard to
+      Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy Bride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
+      signs of recent tears were visible on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Dr. Goldsmith,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am in deep distress about Mary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How so, madam?&rdquo; he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
+      him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
+      point of death?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
+      when she left town,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;But who could fancy that her
+      condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as was
+      brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor Baretti?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It prostrated her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
+      printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he read
+      out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair to the
+      floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her friends,
+      instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming with
+      strange impatience&mdash;I told her that you had been here yesterday and
+      also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
+      from her faint&mdash;accusing herself of bringing her friends into
+      trouble, but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come&mdash;why does he
+      not come to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her in
+      this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
+      acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
+      the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition is
+      the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to call
+      to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,&rdquo; said Goldsmith, &ldquo;Will
+      you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
+      am confident that I can restore her to health?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!&mdash;ah, if you only could! But alas,
+      alas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
+      interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of sobbing
+      within the room came to his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, my dear child,&rdquo; said her mother with an affectation of cheerfulness,
+      &ldquo;you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come to his Jessamy
+      Bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
+      pathetically how weak she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, he is come he is come!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Leave him with me, mother; he has
+      much to tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;I have much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
+      spasmodically in both her own&mdash;he felt how they were trembling-as she
+      cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead&mdash;you know it, of
+      course? Oh, it is terrible&mdash;terrible! But the letters!&mdash;they
+      will be found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be
+      impossible to keep my secret longer. Will his friends&mdash;he had evil
+      friends, I know&mdash;will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by
+      your face that you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be
+      undone&mdash;undone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you might be able to bear the worst news that I could
+      bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best! Ah, what is the best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
+      child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
+      more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to speak,
+      but failing to utter a single word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet of
+      her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for certainly
+      a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only gaze mutely at
+      the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the truth upon her
+      meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not now be
+      overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
+      her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
+      Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed&mdash;not
+      hysterically, but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an
+      effort and walked across the room to the window that looked upon the
+      street. He followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she
+      turned round with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long
+      was it since he had heard her laugh in that way?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for her
+      cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, and
+      her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; she cried, putting out both her hands to him. &ldquo;Ah, I knew that I was
+      right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew that
+      you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to me for
+      evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like you, dear
+      Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that&mdash;so good, so true, so full
+      of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the greatest and
+      best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, dear friend! O,
+      you are a friend to be trusted&mdash;a friend who would be ready to die
+      for his friend. Gratitude&mdash;you do not want gratitude. It is well that
+      you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you for what
+      you have done? You have saved me from death&mdash;from worse than death&mdash;and
+      I know that the thought that you have done so will be your greatest
+      reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel that I
+      live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me out of the
+      deep waters&mdash;the waters that had well-nigh closed over my head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon him.
+      His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; but he
+      felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since he had
+      lived to see&mdash;even through the dimness of tears&mdash;so sweet a face
+      looking into his own with eyes full of the light of&mdash;was it the
+      gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the small
+      hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the tendrils
+      of a climbing flower.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you nothing to say to me&mdash;no word to give me at this moment?&rdquo;
+       she asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her
+      fingers seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What word?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Ah, my child, what word should come from such a man
+      as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete happiness
+      as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in words. You
+      have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my life. You have
+      understood me&mdash;you alone, and that to such as I means happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had flung
+      them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the direction of
+      the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You talk of my understanding you,&rdquo; she said in a voice that had a sob in
+      it. &ldquo;Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a man's
+      nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy of a
+      thought?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with a
+      sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
+      locked the fingers of both together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
+      the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in the
+      throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman well enough
+      to have no thought of himself&mdash;no thought except for her happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said at last. &ldquo;No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say to
+      you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
+      himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
+      happy&mdash;watching your happiness&mdash;in silence. Perhaps I may
+      understand you&mdash;I may understand something of the thought which
+      gratitude suggests to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, gratitude!&rdquo; said she in a tone that was sad even in its scornfulness.
+      She had not turned her head toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I may understand something of your nature&mdash;the sweetest, the
+      tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself better,
+      and I know in what direction lies my happiness&mdash;in what direction
+      lies your happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! are you sure that they are two&mdash;that they are separate?&rdquo; said
+      she. And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
+      still held them behind him. At last he said slowly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were a
+      chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to look on
+      happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there is more
+      happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not speak&mdash;for
+      God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which are trembling
+      on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she turned
+      away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, with her
+      face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
+      hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that word; but
+      I can never&mdash;never cease to think of you as the best&mdash;the
+      noblest&mdash;the truest of men. You have been my best friend&mdash;my
+      only friend&mdash;and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by
+      a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, mother, mother!&rdquo; cried the girl, starting up, &ldquo;I knew that I was
+      right&mdash;I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
+      new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more&mdash;that
+      I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, what a transformation there is already!&rdquo; said her mother. &ldquo;Ah, Dr.
+      Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend!&rdquo; she said slowly, almost gravely. &ldquo;Yes, he was
+      always my friend, and he will be so forever&mdash;my friend&mdash;our
+      friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always, always,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck. &ldquo;I am doubly glad to find that you
+      have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
+      just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
+      May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
+      seeing you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;Send him
+      away&mdash;send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one
+      but our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do
+      for me that I should wish to see him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Mary&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
+      sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has not
+      yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing together
+      as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am myself
+      again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+      Horneck. &ldquo;I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do, dear mother,&rdquo; cried the girl, laughing. &ldquo;Say next week, or next year,
+      sweetest of mothers, or&mdash;best of all&mdash;say that he had better
+      come by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by
+      and by is easily said.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s he went to his
+      chambers to dress before going to dine with the Dillys in the Poultry,
+      Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. He had seen the light
+      return to the face that he loved more than all the faces in the world, and
+      he had been strong enough to put aside the temptation to hear her confess
+      that she returned the love which he bore her, but which he had never
+      confessed to her. He felt happy to know that the friendship which had been
+      so great a consolation to him for several years&mdash;the friendship for
+      the family who had been so good and so considerate to him&mdash;was the
+      same now as it had always been. He felt happy in the reflection that he
+      had spoken no word that would tend to jeopardise that friendship. He had
+      seen enough of the world to be made aware of the fact that there is no
+      more potent destroyer of friendship than love. He had put aside the
+      temptation to speak a word of love; nay, he had prevented her from
+      speaking what he believed would be a word of love, although the speaking
+      of that word would have been the sweetest sound that had ever fallen upon
+      his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that was how he came to feel happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he found
+      a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had dedicated
+      to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. He added
+      poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly interpreted&mdash;verses
+      pulsating with the love that was in his heart&mdash;verses which Mary
+      Horneck could not fail to interpret aright should they ever come before
+      her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they shall never come before her eyes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ah, never&mdash;never!
+      It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day she
+      might read those verses of his&mdash;yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
+      that day was far off or nigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, he
+      had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did not,
+      however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to entertain
+      his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's killing of
+      Jackson as an accident.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be well
+      for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be to the
+      advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the threats
+      made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it might be
+      possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. But Burke,
+      after hearing the story&mdash;no mention of the name of Mary Horneck being
+      made by Goldsmith&mdash;came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to
+      introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part of the man
+      who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer&mdash;as, indeed,
+      they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity on
+      Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered that a
+      defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was most
+      likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. If it
+      could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently as some of
+      the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, Burke and his
+      legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining a
+      verdict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of the
+      acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine nature
+      had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's safety, and any
+      one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated trial would
+      undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this matter was fully
+      justified. That there should have been any suggestion of premeditation in
+      the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of Baretti seems amazing
+      to a modern reader of the case as stated by the Crown. But as Edmund Burke
+      stated about that time in the House of Commons, England was a gigantic
+      shambles. The barest evidence against a prisoner was considered sufficient
+      to bring him to the gallows for an offence which nowadays, if proved
+      against him on unmistakable testimony, would only entail his incarceration
+      for a week. Women were hanged for stealing bread to keep their children
+      from that starvation which was the result of the kidnapping of their
+      husbands to serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the only influential
+      voice that was lifted up against a system in comparison with which slavery
+      was not only tolerable, but commendable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson was
+      the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For all his
+      railing against the detestable laws of the detestable country&mdash;which,
+      however, he found preferable to his own&mdash;he ridiculed the possibility
+      of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered it within the
+      bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, however absurd was
+      the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the likelihood was that he
+      would experience the feelings incidental to such an excursion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
+      Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty with
+      his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent authority of
+      Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition of the sage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
+      of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste as
+      well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
+      Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that if
+      one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat his
+      dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we know
+      something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the idiotic
+      insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record of
+      Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably deceived
+      no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be&mdash;however
+      insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may&mdash;according to Johnson&mdash;have
+      been, there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
+      until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
+      Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained an
+      envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined to
+      mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit for
+      appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
+      was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, they
+      might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought by the
+      prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had attacked
+      him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a
+      strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law permitted
+      men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
+      joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which was
+      felt&mdash;or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
+      simulated&mdash;by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
+      the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
+      circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had not
+      been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance that he
+      would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the counsel, as
+      well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old Bailey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
+      had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
+      was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
+      Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
+      trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works which
+      he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
+      addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of his
+      promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times to
+      see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
+      friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in her
+      usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the fun in
+      which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too busy to
+      reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's country house
+      wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in their pranks, and
+      to submit, as he did with such good will, to their practical jests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of the
+      pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he would
+      see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
+      constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both of
+      them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure that he
+      would be as strong a second time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged&mdash;this constant
+      endeavour to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life
+      endurable to him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that,
+      when a coach drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had
+      passed, and Mrs. Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the
+      change which was apparent in his appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!&rdquo; she cried when she entered his little
+      parlour, &ldquo;you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
+      was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
+      you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
+      despairing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my dear madam,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am only suffering from a slight attack
+      of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
+      assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to give
+      me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught sight of
+      you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a moment; I
+      feared that&mdash;ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked as
+      I was when you appeared before me,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;Why, dear sir, you are
+      killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one here to
+      give you the attention which your condition requires.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?&rdquo; said the Doctor, making a
+      pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I will take you in
+      hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now I
+      will beg of you to go thither in your own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Barton? Oh, my dear madam&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
+      should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
+      interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others than
+      to help yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
+      who could be of the same help to us as you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no one who would be more willing, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that mysterious
+      indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced that it was
+      you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again in
+      need of my help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
+      you are interested in her future&mdash;in the happiness which we all are
+      anxious to secure for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family&mdash;nay, I can
+      talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. I
+      know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
+      Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; she has not told me that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
+      emotion which he felt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally settled,
+      and so not worthy of another thought,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Finally settled?&rdquo; repeated Goldsmith. &ldquo;Then she has accepted Colonel
+      Gwyn's proposal?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,&rdquo; said the mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
+      one of gladness?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,&rdquo; said
+      the lady. &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character is
+      irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
+      convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him&mdash;and
+      yet she sends him away from her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is possibly because she knows her own mind&mdash;her own heart, I
+      should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! she is but a girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives is
+      worthy of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
+      rigidly on that assumption&mdash;an assumption which would condemn her to
+      live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to take a
+      practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely concerns
+      the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you take a
+      great interest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would do anything for her happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards you
+      with the greatest respect and esteem&mdash;nay, if I may say it, with
+      affection as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! affection&mdash;affection for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
+      for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to yield
+      to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. Mary is
+      there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence with her on
+      behalf of Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! I, madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell you,
+      my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
+      yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for no
+      one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
+      convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion while
+      turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
+      influence, will you not, dear friend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have time to think&mdash;to think. How can I answer you at once in
+      this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
+      looking into the empty grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are wrong,&rdquo; she said in a low tone. &ldquo;You are wrong; I know what is in
+      your thoughts&mdash;in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
+      would stand on a different footing in respect to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! a different footing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you are in error in that respect,&rdquo; said the lady. &ldquo;Marriage
+      is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is not Katherine
+      the same to you now as she was before she married Charles Bunbury?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew of
+      what was in his heart!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,&rdquo; said Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But where lies the need for her to marry at once?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;If she
+      were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
+      not marry at once; but if she does not love him&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who can say that she does not love him?&rdquo; cried the lady. &ldquo;Oh, my dear Dr.
+      Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world of
+      whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, I
+      was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When I
+      married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
+      disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
+      for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
+      woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing a
+      just opinion on the subject.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous of
+      seeing her married to a good man&mdash;a man with whom her future
+      happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; alas!
+      that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates her life
+      and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is ruled by her
+      heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what her uncle, with
+      whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her meeting a certain
+      man there&mdash;my brother did not make me acquainted with his name&mdash;and
+      being so carried away with some plausible story he told that she actually
+      fancied herself in love with him&mdash;actually, until my brother,
+      learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop to an affair
+      that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her heart&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
+      some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
+      the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
+      fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
+      desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause before he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to point
+      out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,&rdquo; cried the
+      mother, catching his hand and pressing it. &ldquo;But I would ask of you not to
+      put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl with a
+      heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
+      direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to the
+      ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts&mdash;her longings&mdash;her
+      hopes&mdash;and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart&mdash;ah, Dr.
+      Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
+      life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
+    </p>
+    <p class="indent15">
+      And finds too late. . .'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
+      poor Olivia!&rdquo; He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
+      in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will go to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will be saving her&mdash;ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,&rdquo;
+       cried Mrs. Horneck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and saw
+      you,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and the change to
+      the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been neglecting yourself&mdash;yes,
+      and some one who will nurse you back to life. Oh, Barton is the place for
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no place I should like better to die at,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To die at?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
+      still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your daughter Mary is there,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e wrote that very
+      evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, one of his merry
+      letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had resolved to yield
+      gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant to leave for Barton
+      the next day. When that letter was written he gave himself up to his
+      thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between her
+      and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making it
+      impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought himself
+      to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, Oliver
+      Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her sister&mdash;with
+      the affection which exists between good friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
+      he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
+      heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
+      had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
+      and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
+      what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He knew
+      that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done that
+      day, she would have told him that she loved him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
+      follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
+      mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
+      led in the future?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was to
+      be found only in marriage&mdash;marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
+      undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit to
+      himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
+      undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
+      good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
+      and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the dangers
+      which surrounded her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He would,
+      moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word duty, which
+      would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his argument, tend to
+      frustrate his intention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, and
+      he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his visit
+      would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought before leaving
+      was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a moment's
+      consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the
+      coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was even
+      more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. While
+      still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure the
+      instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward him, and
+      Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself painfully and
+      laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement both on her face
+      and on that of her brother-in-law.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Why,
+      you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary only shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been ill,&rdquo; said Oliver. &ldquo;But I am better already, having seen you
+      both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she ready
+      to give me another lesson in loo?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,&rdquo; said Bunbury,
+      while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. &ldquo;Oh! yes; we will take
+      care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,&rdquo; he continued.
+      &ldquo;Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! But we'll
+      build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you and such as
+      you, my friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I am better already,&rdquo; cried Goldsmith; and then, as the chaise
+      drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her face had
+      become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; she was not
+      even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and the ploughed
+      fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
+      uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
+      which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; but
+      though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the chaise
+      arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her guest at the
+      great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the depressing effect of
+      her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not betray the shock which she
+      experienced on observing how greatly changed was her friend since he had
+      been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. She met him with a laugh and a
+      cry of &ldquo;You have never come to us without your scratch-wig? If you have
+      forgot it, you will e'en have to go back for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
+      last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
+      at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
+      vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
+      became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for his
+      friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
+      harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
+      Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
+      his visit to the house he loved. He felt better&mdash;better than he had
+      been for months.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
+      her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
+      after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
+      imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
+      his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily the
+      manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of the scene,
+      especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she declared she had
+      good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so greatly as to cause
+      him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, when he had meant to talk
+      about love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much character
+      into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to imitate, she
+      never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating person would
+      be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily than Goldsmith at
+      the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into the
+      already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected to
+      understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his rejection.
+      A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, and of
+      course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely appropriate to
+      Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and good-humoured mirth, the
+      hours passed as they had always done in the house which humoured mirth,
+      the hours passed as they had always done in the house which had ever been
+      so delightful to at least one of the guests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
+      fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
+      incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
+      extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat as
+      the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day treated
+      before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to him&mdash;that
+      Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her future such
+      as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think what might be in
+      store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only by her own
+      sympathetic heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
+      Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
+      laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
+      of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no doubt
+      that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
+      afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with Mary
+      in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new covers
+      on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the
+      many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and jars of
+      preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with bundles of
+      sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, Charles
+      Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a housewife we have become!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Quite right, my dear; the
+      head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
+      the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that I do not enter into the
+      spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
+      husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis foolish on their part,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But Little Comedy is ever on the
+      watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active abettor of her
+      in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle threadbare by
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,&rdquo; said
+      he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, I agree with you,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I agree with you heartily. I do
+      not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
+      flattered by his attention?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
+      man from the Prince down&mdash;or should I say up?&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twould be treason to say so,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn
+      be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way of
+      treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
+      valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never saved
+      a poor woman a day's work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,&rdquo; said he quietly. &ldquo;On the contrary,
+      I came down here specially to talk of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,&rdquo; said she,
+      continuing her work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,&rdquo;
+       said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only of late!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of your
+      thoughts long ago as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
+      latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.&rdquo; She ceased her work and
+      looked towards him gratefully&mdash;attentively. He left his seat and went
+      to her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My sweet Jessamy Bride,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I have thought of your future with
+      great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as&mdash;as&mdash;perhaps a
+      father might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is
+      dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of
+      snares.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; she quietly said. &ldquo;Ah, you know that I have had some
+      experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame would
+      have been mine!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
+      affair,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It was your tender heart that led you astray at first,
+      and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But alas! 'tis
+      just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Did not I send
+      Colonel Gwyn away from me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were wrong to do so, my Mary,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Colonel Gwyn is a good man&mdash;he
+      is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able to shelter
+      you from all dangers&mdash;from the dangers into which your own heart may
+      lead you again as it led you before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as his
+      wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a girl as
+      you in the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! my dear friend,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I have seen enough of the world to know
+      that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from the day
+      she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only begin to
+      beset her on that day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Often&mdash;often. But it would not be so with you, dear child&mdash;at
+      least, not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly man
+      all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
+      standpoint of her matchmaking mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
+      way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think of
+      you always as I think of you know&mdash;bound to no man&mdash;the dearest
+      of all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
+      position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have seen
+      that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your&mdash;your
+      happiness&mdash;yes, happiness in the future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You are ready
+      to sacrifice yourself&mdash;I mean you are ready to forego all the
+      pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
+      the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
+      happiness&mdash;or what you fancy will be happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; she said after a pause. &ldquo;I do, because I know what it would mean
+      to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
+      marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;nay&mdash;do not speak so definitely,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will speak definitely,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Yes, the time is come for me to
+      speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of being
+      happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else with all
+      my heart, I dare not&mdash;oh! I dare not even entertain the thought of
+      marrying Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You love some one else?&rdquo; he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment there
+      went through his mind the thought&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Her heart has led her astray once again.</i>'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,&rdquo; she cried;
+      &ldquo;I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
+      world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
+      heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
+      in a hushed voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, child&mdash;child&mdash;spare me that pain&mdash;let me go from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till you hear me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Ah! cannot you perceive that I love you&mdash;only
+      you, Oliver Goldsmith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush&mdash;for God's sake!&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not hush,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I will speak for love's sake&mdash;for the
+      sake of that love which I bear you&mdash;for the sake of that love which I
+      know you return.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas&mdash;alas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her love
+      for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before heaven
+      would be in my keeping silence&mdash;in marrying a man I do not love. Ah!
+      I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood your
+      nature&mdash;so sweet&mdash;so simple&mdash;so great&mdash;so true. I
+      thought last year when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling
+      which I had for you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to
+      know the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop&mdash;stop&mdash;for God's sake, stop! I&mdash;I&mdash;do not love
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
+      died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes fixed
+      upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not love me?&rdquo; she said in a slow whisper. &ldquo;Will you say those
+      words again with your eyes looking into mine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not humiliate me further,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have some pity upon me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no; pity is not for me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If you spoke the truth when
+      you said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not
+      love me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say you know me,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;and yet you think it possible that I
+      could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and sympathetic
+      heart has made for your own undoing. Look there&mdash;there&mdash;into
+      that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
+      exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
+      and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark&mdash;a
+      figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and you will see
+      what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which have
+      been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the pain they
+      gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in the future?
+      Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who have been kinder
+      than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune that could befall
+      them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I could be so base.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
+      worthy of being loved of all men in the world,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Ah, sir, cannot
+      you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my affection
+      for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary&mdash;Mary&mdash;this is madness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I feel that you return my affection; but I will
+      put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that you do
+      not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was another pause before he said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
+      ordeal? Let me go&mdash;let me go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not until you answer me&mdash;not until I have proved you. Look into my
+      eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, dear child&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cannot speak those words.&rdquo; There was another long silence. The
+      terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
+      are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
+      maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
+      whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
+      before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
+      expectation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
+      way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
+      said slowly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
+      the room&mdash;out of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much of
+      the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
+      impulse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXII.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="pfirst">
+      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he did not
+      return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became alarmed. He had
+      only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went out; he had left no
+      line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
+      still-room, he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She told him the truth&mdash;as much of the truth as she could tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid that his running away was due to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If so, I
+      shall never forgive myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can be your meaning, my dear?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;I thought that you and
+      he had always been the closest friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,&rdquo; said
+      she. &ldquo;You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance of
+      Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and begged
+      of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the proposal of
+      Colonel Gwyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I heard nothing of that,&rdquo; said he, with a look of astonishment. &ldquo;And so I
+      suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
+      said something that offended him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She held down her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should be ashamed of yourself,&rdquo; said he &ldquo;Have you not seen long ago
+      that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ashamed of myself,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I shall never forgive myself for my
+      harshness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will not bring him back,&rdquo; said her brother-in-law. &ldquo;Oh! it is always
+      the best of friends who part in this fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
+      so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
+      felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
+      induce him to return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
+      back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
+      face was very grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw the poor fellow,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I found him at his chambers in Brick
+      Court. He is very ill indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, too ill to be moved?&rdquo; she cried. He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Far too ill to be moved,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never saw a man in worse condition.
+      He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks before now,
+      and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love to you and to
+      Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His rudeness! his rudeness!&rdquo; said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
+      tears. &ldquo;Oh, my poor friend&mdash;my poor friend!&rdquo; She did not tell her
+      sister all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very
+      anxious to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had
+      seen him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him
+      had promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change
+      to the country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the postboy's
+      horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a letter from the
+      doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
+      Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
+      sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand&mdash;poems addressed to her&mdash;the
+      love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
+      hopeless years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She started up, crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me&mdash;he loves me as I love him&mdash;only
+      his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love&mdash;he loves
+      me, and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
+      sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself&mdash;nay, he has
+      sacrificed himself for me&mdash;for me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear&mdash;dear sister,&rdquo; said Katherine, &ldquo;is it possible that you&mdash;you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I loved him, do you ask?&rdquo; cried Mary, raising her head. &ldquo;Yes, I
+      loved him&mdash;I love him still&mdash;I shall never love any one else,
+      and I am going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good&mdash;God will
+      be good. My love shall live until I go to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor child!&rdquo; said her sister. &ldquo;I could never have guessed your secret.
+      Come away. We will go to him together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
+      together to Brick Court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
+      Abington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not tell me that I am too late&mdash;for God's sake say that he still
+      lives!&rdquo; cried Mary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at the
+      girl, and the girl understood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw herself into her sister's arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is dead!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
+      that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
+      Presence,&rdquo; said Mrs. Abington. &ldquo;Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but I
+      know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the thought
+      of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever lived. Ah,
+      there was none like him&mdash;a man of such sweet simplicity that every
+      word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his works; you
+      and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not less than
+      those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the Son who on
+      earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went with her sister among the weeping men and women&mdash;he had been
+      a friend to all&mdash;up the stairs and into the darkened room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      THE END.
+    </h3>
+    <div style="height: 6em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
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+</pre>
+
+  </body>
+</html>
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diff --git a/old/51951-h.htm.2021-01-24 b/old/old/51951-h.htm.2021-01-24
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-05 20:11:52 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-05 20:11:52 -0800
commit	ef6a7c1931ff148847f7c85c1f0321c47c2032e9 (patch)
tree	548e9093908519779fa7d4b5133f14dff242cf2c
parent	7758a7e131bfde6367781cfa6aa44733dc278293 (diff)