cannot
augment it, nor his censure diminish it." And he went on to
say--Goldsmith having died and got beyond the reach of all critics and
creditors some three or four years before this time "Goldsmith was a
man who, whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do.
He deserved a place in Westminster Abbey; and every year he lived
would have deserved it better."

Presently people began to talk about the new poem. A second edition
was issued; a third; a fourth. It is not probable that Goldsmith
gained any pecuniary benefit from the growing popularity of the little
book; but he had "struck for honest fame," and that was now coming to
him. He even made some slight acquaintance with "the great;" and here
occurs an incident which is one of many that account for the love that
the English people have for Goldsmith. It appears that Hawkins,
calling one day on the Earl of Northumberland, found the author of the
_Traveller_ waiting in the outer room, in response to an invitation.
Hawkins, having finished his own business, retired, but lingered about
until the interview between Goldsmith and his lordship was over,
having some curiosity about the result. Here follows Goldsmith's
report to Hawkins. "His lordship told me he had read my poem, and was
much delighted with it; that he was going to be Lord-lieutenant of
Ireland; and that, hearing that I was a native of that country, he
should be glad to do me any kindness." "What did you answer?" says
Hawkins, no doubt expecting to hear of some application for pension or
post. "Why," said Goldsmith, "I could say nothing but that I had a
brother there, a clergyman, that stood in need of help,"--and then he
explained to Hawkins that he looked to the booksellers for support,
and was not inclined to place dependence on the promises of great men.
"Thus did this idiot in the affairs of the world," adds Hawkins, with
a fatuity that is quite remarkable in its way, "trifle with his
fortunes, and put back the hand that was held out to assist him! Other
offers of a like kind he either rejected or failed to improve,
contenting himself with the patronage of one nobleman, whose mansion
afforded him the delights of a splendid table and a retreat for a few
days from the metropolis." It is a great pity we have not a
description from the same pen of Johnson's insolent ingratitude in
flinging the pair of boots down stairs.

CHAPTER X.

MISCELLANEOUS WRITING.

But one pecuniary resu