t the
poem, considered merely as a poem, is not necessarily the worse on
that account. The finest poem in the Latin language, indeed the finest
didactic poem in any language, was written in defence of the silliest
and meanest of all systems of natural and moral philosophy. A poet may
easily be pardoned for reasoning ill; but he cannot be pardoned for
describing ill, for observing the world in which he lives so carelessly
that his portraits bear no resemblance to the originals, for exhibiting
as copies from real life monstrous combinations of things which never
were and never could be found together. What would be thought of a
painter who should mix August and January in one landscape, who should
introduce a frozen river into a harvest scene? Would it be a sufficient
defence of such a picture to say that every part was exquisitely
coloured, that the green hedges, the apple-trees loaded with fruit, the
waggons reeling under the yellow sheaves, and the sun-burned reapers
wiping their foreheads, were very fine, and that the ice and the boys
sliding were also very fine? To such a picture the "Deserted Village"
bears a great resemblance. It is made up of incongruous parts. The
village in its happy days is a true English village. The village in its
decay is an Irish village. The felicity and the misery which Goldsmith
has brought close together belong to two different countries; and to two
different stages in the progress of society. He had assuredly never
seen in his native island such a rural paradise, such a seat of plenty,
content, and tranquillity, as his "Auburn." He had assuredly never seen
in England all the inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of their
homes in one day and forced to emigrate in a body to America. The hamlet
he had probably seen in Kent; the ejectment he had probably seen in
Munster: but, by joining the two, he has produced something which never
was and never will be seen in any part of the world.

In 1773 Goldsmith tried his chance at Covent Garden with a second play,
"She Stoops to Conquer." The manager was not without great difficulty
induced to bring this piece out. The sentimental comedy still reigned;
and Goldsmith's comedies were not sentimental. The "Goodnatured Man" had
been too funny to succeed; yet the mirth of the "Goodnatured Man" was
sober when compared with the rich drollery of "She Stoops to Conquer,"
which is, in truth, an incomparable farce in five acts. On this
occasion, however