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charged with cowardice. His mind was made up in an instant. Prince," said he, smiling, "that is an excellent joke; but we do it much better in England." So saying he threw a whole glass of wine in the Prince's face. "Il a bien fait, mon Prince,” cried an old General present, "vous l'avez commencé." (He 5 has done right, my Prince; you commenced it.) The Prince had the good sense to acquiesce in the decision of the veteran, and Oglethorpe's retort in kind was taken in good part.

It was probably at the close of this story that the officious Boswell, ever anxious to promote conversation for the benefit 10 of his note-book, started the question whether duelling were consistent with moral duty. The old General fired up in an instant. 66 Undoubtedly," said he, with a lofty air; " undoubtedly a man has a right to defend his honor." Goldsmith immediately carried the war into Boswell's own quarters, and 15 pinned him with the question, "what he would do if affronted?" The pliant Boswell, who for the moment had the fear of the General rather than of Johnson before his eyes, replied, "he should think it necessary to fight." "Why, then, that solves the question," replied Goldsmith. "No, sir!" thundered out 20 Johnson; "it does not follow that what a man would do, is therefore right." He, however, subsequently went into a discussion to show that there were necessities in the case arising out of the artificial refinement of society, and its proscription of any one who should put up with an affront without fighting 25 a duel. He then," concluded he, "who fights a duel does not fight from passion against his antagonist, but out of self-defence, to avert the stigma of the world, and to prevent himself from being driven out of society. I could wish there were not that зuperfluity of refinement; but while such notions prevail, no 30 doubt a man may lawfully fight a duel.”

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Another question started was, whether people who disagreed on a capital point could live together in friendship. Johnson said they might. Goldsmith said they could not, as they had not the idem velle atque idem nolle - the same likings and 35 aversions. Johnson rejoined, that they must shun the subject on which they disagreed. But, sir," said Goldsmith, "when people live together who have something as to which they disagree, and which they want to shun, they will be in the situation

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mentioned in the story of Blue Beard: 'you may look into all the chambers but one;' but we should have the greatest inclination to look into that chamber, to talk of that subject." "Sir," thundered Johnson, in a loud voice, "I am not saying 5 that you could live in friendship with a man from whom you differ as to some point; I am only saying that I could do it."

Who will not say that Goldsmith had the best of this petty contest? How just was his remark! how felicitous the illus tration of the blue chamber! how rude and overbearing was the 10 argumentum ad hominem of Johnson, when he felt that he had the worst of the argument!

The conversation turned upon ghosts. General Oglethorpe told the story of a Colonel Prendergast, an officer in the Duke of Marlborough's army, who predicted among his comrades that 15 he should die on a certain day. The battle of Malplaquet took place on that day. The Colonel was in the midst of it, but came out unhurt. The firing had ceased, and his brother officers jested with him about the fallacy of his prediction. "The day is not over," replied he, gravely; "I shall die notwithstanding 20 what you see.' His words proved true. The order for a cessation of firing had not reached one of the French batteries, and a random shot from it killed the Colonel on the spot. Among his effects was found a pocket-book in which he had made a solemn entry, that Sir John Friend, who had been executed for 25 high treason, had appeared to him, either in a dream or vision, and predicted that he would meet him on a certain day (the very day of the battle). Colonel Cecil, who took possession of the effects of Colonel Prendergast, and read the entry in the pocket-book, told this story to Pope, the poet, in the presence 30 of General Oglethorpe.

This story, as related by the General, appears to have been well received, if not credited, by both Johnson and Goldsmith, each of whom had something to relate in kind. Goldsmith's brother, the clergyman in whom he had such implicit confi35 dence, had assured him of his having seen an apparition. Johnson also had a friend, old Mr. Cave, the printer, at St. John's Gate, " an honest man, and a sensible man," who told him he had seen a ghost; he did not, however, like to talk of it, and seemed to be in great horror whenever it was mentioned. "And

pray, sir," asked Boswell, "what did he say was the appearance?" "Why, sir, something of a shadowy being."

The reader will not be surprised at this superstitious turn in the conversation of such intelligent men, when he recollects that, but a few years before this time, all London had been agi- 5 tated by the absurd story of the Cock-lane ghost; a matter which Dr. Johnson had deemed worthy of his serious investigation, and about which Goldsmith had written a pamphlet.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Mr. Joseph Cradock. An Author's Confidings. - An Amanuensis. Life at Edgeware. Goldsmith Conjuring. — George Colman. — The Fantoccini.

AMONG the agreeable acquaintances made by Goldsmith about this time was a Mr. Joseph Cradock, a young gentleman 10 of Leicestershire, living at his ease, but disposed to "make himself uneasy," by meddling with literature and the theatre; in fact, he had a passion for plays and players, and had come up to town with a modified translation of Voltaire's tragedy of Zobeide, in a view to get it acted. There was no great diffi- 15 culty in the case, as he was a man of fortune, had letters of introduction to persons of note, and was altogether in a different position from the indigent man of genius whom managers might harass with impunity. Goldsmith met him at the house of Yates, the actor, and finding that he was a friend of Lord 20 Clare, soon became sociable with him. Mutual tastes quickened the intimacy, especially as they found means of serving each other. Goldsmith wrote an epilogue for the tragedy of Zobeide; and Cradock, who was an amateur musician, arranged the music for the Threnodia Augustalis, a Lament on the death 25 of the Princess Dowager of Wales, the political mistress and patron of Lord Clare, which Goldsmith had thrown off hastily to please that nobleman. The tragedy was played with some success at Covent Garden; the Lament was recited and sung

at Mrs. Cornelys' rooms a very fashionable resort in Soho Square, got up by a woman of enterprise of that name. It was in whimsical parody of those gay and somewhat promiscuous assemblages that Goldsmith used to call the motley evening 5 parties at his lodgings "little Cornelys."

The Threnodia Augustalis was not publicly known to be by Goldsmith until several years after his death.

Cradock was one of the few polite intimates who felt more disposed to sympathize with the generous qualities of the poet 10 than to sport with his eccentricities. He sought his society whenever he came to town, and occasionally had him to his seat in the country. Goldsmith appreciated his sympathy, and unburdened himself to him without reserve. Seeing the lettered ease in which this amateur author was enabled to live, and the 15 time he could bestow on the elaboration of a manuscript, "Ah! Mr. Cradock," cried he, " think of me, that must write a volume every month!" He complained to him of the attempts made by inferior writers, and by others who could scarcely come under that denomination, not only to abuse and depre20 ciate his writings, but to render him ridiculous as a man; perverting every harmless sentiment and action into charges of absurdity, malice, or folly. Sir," said he, in the fulness of his heart, "I am as a lion baited by curs!"

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Another acquaintance, which he made about this time, was a 25 young countryman of the name of M'Donnell, whom he met in a state of destitution, and, of course, befriended. The following grateful recollections of his kindness and his merits were furnished by that person in after years:

"It was in the year 1772," writes he, "that the death of my 30 elder brother - when in London, on my way to Ireland — left me in a most forlorn situation; I was then about eighteen; I possessed neither friends nor money, nor the means of getting to Ireland, of which or of England I knew scarcely anything, from having so long resided in France. In this situation I had 35 strolled about for two or three days, considering what to do, but unable to come to any determination, when Providence directed me to the Temple Gardens. I threw myself on a seat, and, willing to forget my miseries for a moment, drew out a book; that book was a volume of Boileau. I had not been there long

when a gentleman, strolling about, passed near me, and observing, perhaps, something Irish or foreign in my garb or countenance, addressed me: Sir, you seem studious; I hope you find this a favorable place to pursue it.'Not very studious, sir; I fear it is the want of society that brings me hither; I am soli-5 tary and unknown in this metropolis;' and a passage from Cicero Oratio pro Archia — occurring to me, I quoted it: Hæc studia pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.' You are a scholar, too, sir, I perceive.' A piece of one, sir; but I ought still to have been in the college where I had the 10 good fortune to pick up the little I know.' A good deal of conversation ensued; I told him part of my history, and he, in return, gave his address in the Temple, desiring me to call soon, from which, to my infinite surprise and gratification, I found that the person who thus seemed to take an interest in my fate was 15 my countryman and a distinguished ornament of letters.

"I did not fail to keep the appointment, and was received in the kindest manner. He told me, smilingly, that he was not rich; that he could do little for me in direct pecuniary aid, but would endeavor to put me in the way of doing something for 20 myself; observing, that he could at least furnish me with advice not wholly useless to a young man placed in the heart of a great metropolis. 'In London,' he continued,' nothing is to be got for nothing; you must work; and no man who chooses to be industrious need be under obligations to another, for here 25 labor of every kind commands its reward. If you think proper to assist me occasionally as amanuensis, I shall be obliged, and you will be placed under no obligation, until something more permanent can be secured for you.' This employment, which I pursued for some time, was to translate passages from 30 Buffon, which were abridged or altered, according to circumstances, for his Natural History."

Goldsmith's literary tasks were fast getting ahead of him, and he began now to "toil after them in vain."

Five volumes of the Natural History here spoken of had long 35 since been paid for by Mr. Griffin, yet most of them were still to be written. His young amanuensis bears testimony to his embarrassments and perplexities, but to the degree of equanimity with which he bore them: :