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diff --git a/old/51951-8.txt b/old/51951-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2feaa5b..0000000 --- a/old/51951-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9537 +0,0 @@ -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 - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - -***** This file should be named 51951-8.txt or 51951-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51951/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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