key-hole and back-door element in human nature; there were no
libels and gross personalities to delight the mean and envious; there
were no fine airs of fashion to charm milliners anxious to know how
the great talked, and posed, and dressed; and there was no solemn and
pompous erudition to impress the minds of those serious and sensible
people who buy literature as they buy butter, by its weight. At the
beginning of No. IV. he admits that the new magazine has not been a
success; and, in doing so, returns to that vein of whimsical, personal
humour with which he had started: "Were I to measure the merit of my
present undertaking by its success or the rapidity of its sale, I
might be led to form conclusions by no means favourable to the pride
of an author. Should I estimate my fame by its extent, every newspaper
and magazine would leave me far behind. Their fame is diffused in a
very wide circle--that of some as far as Islington, and some yet
farther still; while mine, I sincerely believe, has hardly travelled
beyond the sound of Bow Bell; and, while the works of others fly like
unpinioned swans, I find my own move as heavily as a new-plucked
goose. Still, however, I have as much pride as they who have ten times
as many readers. It is impossible to repeat all the agreeable
delusions in which a disappointed author is apt to find comfort. I
conclude, that what my reputation wants in extent is made up by its
solidity. _Minus juvat gloria lata quam magna._ I have great
satisfaction in considering the delicacy and discernment of those
readers I have, and in ascribing my want of popularity to the
ignorance or inattention of those I have not. All the world may
forsake an author, but vanity will never forsake him. Yet,
notwithstanding so sincere a confession, I was once induced to show my
indignation against the public, by discontinuing my endeavours to
please; and was bravely resolved, like Raleigh, to vex them by burning
my manuscript in a passion. Upon recollection, however, I considered
what set or body of people would be displeased at my rashness. The
sun, after so sad an accident, might shine next morning as bright as
usual; men might laugh and sing the next day, and transact business as
before, and not a single creature feel any regret but myself."

Goldsmith was certainly more at home in this sort of writing, than in
gravely lecturing people against the vice of gambling; in warning
tradesmen how ill it became them to be s