Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind;
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart :
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,

140

When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing:

When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

POSTSCRIPT.

After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord, from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith.

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Though he merrily lived, he is now a grave man :
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun !
Who relished a joke, and rejoiced in a pun ;
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere ;
A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear;
Who scattered around wit and humour at will;
Whose daily bons mots half a column might fill :
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free;
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind
Should so long be to newspaper essays confined !
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content "if the table be set on a roar;"
Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall confessed him a wit.

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!
Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes ;
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb :
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,
And copious libations bestow on his shrine;
Then strew all around it (you can do no less)
Cross readings, Ship news, and Mistakes of the press.

Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit
That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said wit :
This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse,

"Thou best-humoured man with the worst-humoured muse,"

ΙΟ

20

NOTES.

THE TRAVELLER.

ACCORDING to the statement made in the Dedication, Goldsmith commenced this poem in Switzerland, when he was travelling there in 1755, but it was not ready for the press till nearly ten years afterwards (December, 1764). It is probable that, during the interval, it gradually grew under the poet's hand, the original plan being fre quently modified, and the versification retouched, as more mature experience suggested. When nearly finished, it was submitted to Dr. Johnson, the chief literary critic of that day, who immediately recognized its merits, urged its publication, and condescended to add a few lines of his own at the close of the poem.

The time at which it appeared was favourable to its success. There were no living poets of special eminence. The career of Churchill, the famous satirist, was drawing to its close; Young, the author of the "Night Thoughts," had published his collected works two years before, and had composed nothing since; Johnson himself had long been silent; and the Odes of Gray were regarded by both critics and public with suspicion and disapproval, as exhibiting a dangerous departure from the traditions of English poetry. Against the innovations of the last-named poet, Goldsmith on more than one occasion protested, though he did justice to the talent which marked the "Bard." For himself, he had chosen the path marked out by Addison and Pope, whom he regarded as his models both in versification and in diction; and very gratifying to him must have been the praise of Johnson in the " Critical Review," where the great man declared his opinion that the new poem was "a production to which, since the death of Pope, it would not be easy to find anything equal."

The plan of the "Traveller" has been deservedly commended for

its simplicity and grandeur,1 and the further merit of originality may fairly be claimed for its author. Addison had indeed traversed part of the same ground in his "Letter from Italy," but his purpose was rather to describe the scenes he visited than to indulge in philo sophical reflection upon them. Nearly half-a-century after Goldsmith, Lord Byron gave to the world a poem, of which it has been remarked that "in all its leading points it may be considered a kind of Traveller' on a more extended scale." In Childe Harold's Pilgrimage the reader is conducted through the chief countries of Europe with much more variety and minuteness of detail than are found in the earlier work, and by a guide of infinitely greater poetic talent. But if we compare the morality of the two poems, it must be acknowledged that Goldsmith takes the higher ground. His purpose is to show that, however dissimilar the outward conditions of life may be in different countries, all alike are capable of administering to the happiness of the individual; the tendency of Byron is to disparage all human institutions and to ridicule all human interests. Goldsmith justifies Providence; Byron assails it.

The sum paid by the publisher for the manuscript of the "Traveller" appears to have been only twenty guineas; but perhaps further payments were made for later editions. Of these, no fewer than nine were demanded during the author's lifetime,-a sufficient proof of the popularity of the work. It at once raised Goldsmith to the first rank in the literature of his age; some of his earlier writings were republished and eagerly read; and a certain and remunerative sale was secured for all that he might afterwards choose to send to the booksellers.

DEDICATION.

The Rev. Henry Goldsmith, to whom the letter that follows is addressed, was a brother of the poet, and upwards of six years his senior. He appears to have possessed considerable talents, and at an early age distinguished himself at Trinity College, Dublin; but having married young, he sacrificed all prospects of university advancement, and settled down in the retirement of a country life. The parsonage of Pallasmore, which had formerly been his father's,

(1) "No philosophical poem, ancient or modern, has a plan so noble, and at the same time so simple. An English wanderer, seated on a crag among the Alps, near the point where three great countries meet, looks down on the boundless prospect, reviews his long pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of scenery, of climate, of government, of religion, of national character, which he has observed, and comes to the conclusion, just or unjust, that our happiness depends little on political institutions, and much on the temper and regulation of our own minds."-Lord Macaulay, Biography of Oliver

Goldsmith.