ely appointed
protectresses of genius--ordinarily are. Mrs. Piozzi says that when
Johnson came back with the money, Goldsmith "called the woman of the
house directly to partake of punch, and pass their time in merriment."
This would be a dramatic touch; but, after Johnson's quietly corking
the bottle of Madeira, it is more likely that no such thing occurred;
especially as Boswell quotes the statement as an "extreme inaccuracy."

The novel which Johnson had taken away and sold to Francis Newbery, a
nephew of the elder bookseller, was, as every one knows, the _Vicar of
Wakefield_. That Goldsmith, amidst all his pecuniary distresses,
should have retained this piece in his desk, instead of pawning or
promising it to one of his bookselling patrons, points to but one
conclusion--that he was building high hopes on it, and was determined
to make it as good as lay within his power. Goldsmith put an anxious
finish into all his better work; perhaps that is the secret of the
graceful ease that is now apparent in every line. Any young writer who
may imagine that the power of clear and concise literary expression
comes by nature, cannot do better than study, in Mr. Cunningham's big
collection of Goldsmith's writings, the continual and minute
alterations which the author considered necessary even after the first
edition--sometimes when the second and third editions--had been
published. Many of these, especially in the poetical works, were
merely improvements in sound as suggested by a singularly sensitive
ear, as when he altered the line

"Amidst the ruin, heedless of the dead,"

which had appeared in the first three editions of the _Traveller_,
into

"There in the ruin, heedless of the dead,"

which appeared in the fourth. But the majority of the omissions and
corrections were prompted by a careful taste, that abhorred everything
redundant or slovenly. It has been suggested that when Johnson carried
off the _Vicar of Wakefield_ to Francis Newbery, the manuscript was
not quite finished, but had to be completed afterwards. There was at
least plenty of time for that. Newbery does not appear to have
imagined that he had obtained a prize in the lottery of literature. He
paid the L60 for it--clearly on the assurance of the great father of
learning of the day, that there was merit in the little
story--somewhere about the end of 1764; but the tale was not issued to
the public until March, 1766. "And, sir," remarked Johnson to B