Though pleas'd to see the dolphins play,
I mind my compass and my way.3
With store sufficient for belief,
And wisely still prepar'd to reef,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl
Of cloudy weather in the soul,
I make (may Heav'n propitious send
Such wind and weather to the end)
Neither becalm'd nor overblown,

Life's voyage to the world unknown.

1 The disorder here called the Spleen, was of old called Melancholy, or Hypochondria; then it became Vapours or the Hyp, then the Spleen, then the Nerves or Low Spirits. The designation now varies between Nerves and Biliousness. Melancholy signifies Black Bile, as Hypochondria does a region of the stomach; and there is no doubt that all the disorders, great and small, connected with low spirits, are traceable to the stomach and state of digestion, sometimes in consequence of anxiety or too much thought, oftener from excess, and want of exercise. Too much eating (sometimes wrongly exchanged for too little) is the unromantic cause of nine-tenths of the romantic melancholies in existence. Your piecrust is a greater caster of shadows over this life, than all the platonical "prison houses" the poets talk of.

2" By heads which are ador'd while on."-A felicitous allusion to the imposture of St. Januarius, a cheat still practised at Naples. Clotted blood is brought

forward in a vial; and at the approach of the head of the saint it is pretended to liquefy.

3 This couplet was quoted by Johnson in the course of some excellent advice given to Boswell.— See his Life, edit. 1839, vol. vii. p. 287.

Boswell. By associating with you, sir, I am always getting an accession of wisdom. But perhaps a man, after knowing his own character-the limited strength of his own mind-should not be desirous of having too much wisdom, considering, quid valeant humeri, how little he can carry.

Johnson. Sir, be as wise as you can; let a man be aliis lætus, sapiens sibi:

You may be wise in your study in the morning, and gay in company at a tavern in the evening. Every man is to take care of his own wisdom and his own virtue, without minding too much what others think.

GOLDSMITH.

BORN, 1729-DIED, 1774.

GOLDSMITH is so delightful a writer, that the general impression on his readers is that of his having been a perfect sort of man, at least for amiableness and bon hommie, and the consequence is, that when they come to be thoroughly acquainted with his life and works, especially the critical portion, they are startled to find him partaking of the frailties of his species and the jealousies of his profession. So much good, however, and honesty, and simplicity, and such an abundance of personal kindness, still remain, and it seems likely that so much of what was weak in him originated in a painful sense of his want of personal address and attractiveness, that all harsh conclusions appear as ungracious as they are uncomfortable: we feel even wanting in gratitude to one who has so much instructed and entertained us; and hasten, for the sake of what is weak as well as strong in ourselves, to give all the old praise and

honour to the author of the Vicar of Wakefield and the Deserted Village. We are obliged to confess that the Vicar, artless and delightful as he is, is an inferior brother of Parson Adams; and that there are great improbabilities in the story. But the family manners, and the Flamboroughs, and Moses, are all delicious; and the style of writing perfect. Again, we are forced to admit, that the Traveller and Deserted Village are not of the highest or subtlest order of poetry; yet they are charming of their kind, and as perfect in style as his prose. They are cabinets of exquisite workmanship, which will outlast hundreds of oracular shrines of oak ill put together. Goldsmith's most thoroughly original productions are his comedies and minor poems, particularly She Stoops to Conquer, and the two pieces of wit and humour extracted into this volume. His comic writing is of the class which is perhaps as much preferred to that of a staider sort by people in general, as it is by the writer of these pages, comedy running into farce; that is to say, truth richly coloured and overflowing with animal spirits. It is that of the prince of comic writers, Molière (always bearing in mind that Molière beats every one of them in expression, and is a great verse writer to boot). The English have no dramatists to compare in this respect with the Irish. Farquhar, Goldsmith, and Sheridan surpass them all; and O'Keefe, as a farce-writer, stands alone.

Goldsmith, with all his imprudences, never forgot the one thing needful to a good author,-the "Porro unum necessarium,"-style.

Observe in the following poems how all the words fall in their right places, and what an absence there is of the unfit and superfluous.

RETALIATION.'

Of old, when Scarron' his companions invited,
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united,
If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish:
Our Dean3 shall be venison, just fresh from the plains;
Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains;
Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour,
And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour;
Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall obtain,
And Douglas is pudding substantial and plain;
Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree;

To make out the dinner full certain I am
That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb,
That Hickey's a capon, and by the same rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
Here waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able,
Till all my companions fall under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder and tell what I think of the dead.

Here lies the good dean, re-united to earth,

Who mixt reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth :