in his chambers compiling memoirs and histories in hot haste; now
the guest of Lord Clare, and figuring at Bath, and again delighting
some small domestic circle by his quips and cranks; playing jokes for
the amusement of children, and writing comic letters in verse to their
elders; everywhere and at all times merry, thoughtless, good-natured.
And, of course, we find also his humorous pleasantries being mistaken
for blundering stupidity. In perfect good faith Boswell describes how
a number of people burst out laughing when Goldsmith publicly
complained that he had met Lord Camden at Lord Clare's house in the
country, "and he took no more notice of me than if I had been an
ordinary man." Goldsmith's claiming to be a very extraordinary person
was precisely a stroke of that humorous self-depreciation in which he
was continually indulging; and the Jessamy Bride has left it on record
that "on many occasions, from the peculiar manner of his humour, and
assumed frown of countenance, what was often uttered in jest was
mistaken by those who did not know him for earnest." This would appear
to have been one of those occasions. The company burst out laughing at
Goldsmith's having made a fool of himself; and Johnson was compelled
to come to his rescue. "Nay, gentlemen, Dr. Goldsmith is in the right.
A nobleman ought to have made up to such a man as Goldsmith; and I
think it is much against Lord Camden that he neglected him."

Mention of Lord Clare naturally recalls the _Haunch of Venison_.
Goldsmith was particularly happy in writing bright and airy verses;
the grace and lightness of his touch has rarely been approached. It
must be confessed, however, that in this direction he was somewhat of
an Autolycus; unconsidered trifles he freely appropriated; but he
committed these thefts with scarcely any concealment, and with the
most charming air in the world. In fact some of the snatches of verse
which he contributed to the _Bee_ scarcely profess to be anything else
than translations, though the originals are not given. But who is
likely to complain when we get as the result such a delightful piece
of nonsense as the famous Elegy on that Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary
Blaize, which has been the parent of a vast progeny since Goldsmith's
time?

"Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,
From those who spoke her praise.

"The needy seldom passed her door,
And alwa