Johnson had interfered, had pointed out the disadvantage to the play in any formal withdrawal from Covent Garden, and had himself gone to talk to Colman about it. This letter to Garrick was written early in February.

"DEAR SIR, I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yesterday. Upon more mature deliberation, and the advice of a sensible friend, I began to think it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium of confirming Mr. Colman's sentence. I therefore request you will send my play back by my servant; for having been assured of having it acted at the other house, though I confess yours in every respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in me to forego an advantage which lies in my power of appealing from Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment of the town. I entreat if not too late, you will keep this affair a secret for some time. I am, dear Sir, your very humble servant, OLIVER GOLDSMITH.”

Johnson described the spirit of his interview with Colman many years later, when, talking of the steep and thorny road through which his friend Goldsmith had had to make his way to fame, he reminded Reynolds that both his comedies had been once refused, his first by Garrick, 'his second by Colman, who was prevailed on at last

by much solicitation, nay, a kind of force, to bring it 'on'. Reynolds replied with a striking illustration of the strange crotchets of judgment in such things, to the effect that Burke could see no merit in the Beggars' Opera but in behalf of the new comedy, it is certain, the three distinguished friends were in hearty agreement ; and it is from one of Johnson's letters to Boswell, on the 22nd of February, that we learn it is at last about

to be performed. 'Doctor Goldsmith has a new comedy, 'which is expected in the spring. No name is yet given it. 'The chief diversion arises from a stratagem by which a 'lover is made to mistake his future father-in-law's house 'for an inn. This, you see, borders upon farce. The dialogue is quick and gay, and the incidents are so pre'pared as not to seem improbable.' But though Colman had consented, it was with reservation of his original opinion. 'Doctor Goldsmith,' wrote Johnson ten days later to an American divine, afterwards a bishop, 'has a new comedy in rehearsal at Covent Garden, to which the 'manager predicts ill success. I hope he will be mistaken. I think it deserves a very kind reception.'

Its chances of a kind reception had received strong reinforcement not many days before. It had been some time noised about that Foote had a novelty in preparation at the Haymarket, founded on the Panton Street puppets, and the town was all on tip-toe to welcome it. Will your figures 'be as large as life, Mr. Foote,' asked a titled dame. 'Oh 'no, my lady,' said Foote, 'not much larger than Garrick.' The night of The Primitive Puppet-Show, the 15th of February, arrived; the whole length of the Haymarket was crammed with carriages; such was the impatience of the less fashionable crowd in waiting, that the doors were burst open from without; and to an audience breathless with expected merriment, Foote in due time presented himself. He had to offer them on that occasion, he said, a comedy called the Handsome Housemaid, or Piety in

Pattens; which was to illustrate how a maiden of low degree, by the mere effects of morality and virtue, raised herself to riches and honours. But they would not, he added, discover much wit or humour in it, because, agreeing with the most fashionable of his brother writers, that any signs of joyful satisfaction were beneath the dignity of such an assembly as he saw before him (roars of laughter interrupted him here), he had given up the sensual for the sentimental style. The Puppet-Show proceeded, and sentimental comedy never recovered the shock of that night. Garrick set himself at once to laugh at it, as loudly as though he never had supported it; and to that end sent Goldsmith a very humorous prologue descriptive of its unhappy fate, a tribute to the better prospects of his unsentimental comedy.

Not yet in the theatre itself, however, were these felt or understood. Mortification still attended Goldsmith there. The actors had taken their tone from the manager. Gentleman Smith threw up Young Marlow; Woodward refused Tony Lumpkin; and in the teeth of his own misgivings, Colman could not contest with theirs. So alarming was the defection, to some of Goldsmith's friends, that they urged the postponement of the comedy. 'No,' he said, giving to his necessity the braver look of independence, I'd rather my play were damned by bad players, than merely saved by good acting.' Tony was cast to Quick, the actor who had played the trifling part of the Postboy in his first comedy; and Shuter (still true to the cause of humour and character, which he admirably supported in

Mr. Hardcastle) suggested Lewes for Young Marlow. He was afterwards better known as Lee Lewes; to distinguish him from the exquisite light comedian whom Cumberland had just discovered at Dublin, and was writing about (in a capital critical style) to Garrick, but who subsequently made his appearance at Covent Garden. Lewes was the harlequin of the theatre; but on Shuter protesting in his vehement odd way that the boy could patter,' and 'use 'the gob-box as quick and smart as any of them,' Goldsmith consented to the trial; and before the second rehearsal was over, felt sure he would succeed. Famous was the company at these rehearsals. Shuter quite lost his presence of mind, and quaint talkativeness, when so many ladies appeared. Johnson attended them; Reynolds, his sister, and the whole Horneck party; Cradock, Murphy, and Colman. But not a jot of the latter's evil prediction, could all the hopeful mirth of the rest abate. He had set his face against success. He would not suffer a new scene to be painted for the play, refused to furnish even a new dress, and was careful to spread his forebodings as widely as he could. He was certainly not a false or ill-natured man; but appears unaccountably to have despaired of the comedy from the first, and to have thought it a kind of mercy to help it out of, rather than into, the world. With a manager so disposed, at almost every step taken within the theatre there was of course a stumble. Murphy volunteered an epilogue, but the lady who was not to speak it made objection to the lady who was; the author wrote an epilogue

to bring in both, and the lady first objected-to, objected in her turn; a third epilogue was then written by poor Goldsmith, to which Colman himself thought proper to object as too bad to be spoken; Cradock meanwhile sent a fourth from the country, rejected for a similar reason (though politely printed with the comedy as having 'arrived 'too late '); and Goldsmith finally tried his hand at a fifth, which, though permitted to be spoken, he thought 'a mawkish thing.' The history of these petty annoyances would be incredible, but that Mr. Cradock has preserved a letter in which Goldsmith describes them; and the epilogues survive in proof, collected with his poems. The letter was written immediately after the performance, but will most properly be quoted here.

"MY DEAR SIR, The play has met with a success much beyond your expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your epilogue, which however could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this. Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley, and which she approved; Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part" (Miss Hardcastle) "unless according to the custom of the theatre she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a quarrelling epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue; but then Mrs. Catley refused after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged therefore to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing as you'll shortly see. Such is the history of my Stage adventures, and which I have