Shakespeare, is humorously described by Cumberland. Dr. Johnson took the head of the table, and there were present the Burkes, Caleb Whitefoord, Major Mills, &c. &c.

I remember Dr. Goldsmith gave me an order soon after this, with which I went to see this comedy; and the next time I saw him he inquired of me what my opinion was of it. I told him that I would not presume to be a judge of its merits; he then said, 'Did it make you laugh?' I answered, 'Exceedingly,' 'Then,' said the Doctor, that is all I require.'

One day Dr. Johnson and Dr. Goldsmith meeting at Sir Joshua Reynolds's table, the conversation turned on the merits of that well-known tragedy, Otway's Venice Preserved, which Goldsmith highly extolled, asserting, that, of all tragedies it was the one nearest in excellence to Shakespeare; when Johnson, in his peremptory manner, contradicted him, and pronounced that there were not forty good lines to be found in the whole play; adding, Pooh! what stuff are these lines:

What feminine tales hast thou been listening to, of unaired shirts, catarrhs, and tooth-ache, got by thin soled shoes?'

"True,' replied Goldsmith, to be sure that is very like Shakespeare.'

Of this subject, however, I presume my readers will think I have given them enough; I shall, therefore, revert to another friend of Sir Joshua's, poor Goldsmith, who left this world on the 4th of April, 1774; the first too of those on whom the epitaphs had been so playfully written, as I have before alluded to in another place.

Just before his death, he had nearly completed a design for the execution of a Universal Dictionary of the Arts and Sciences. Of this he had published the Prospectus, or, at least, had distributed copies of it amongst his friends and acquaintances. It did not meet with any warm encouragement, however, from the booksellers, although Sir Joshua Reynolds, Johnson, Garrick, and several others of

his literary connexions had promised him their assistance on various subjects: and the design was, I believe, entirely given up even previous to his demise.

In the Dedication of his Deserted Village' to Sir Joshua Reynolds, already noticed, Goldsmith alludes to the death of his eldest brother, Henry, the clergyman; and his various biographers record another, Maurice, who was a younger brother, and of whom it is stated, by Bishop Percy, that having been bred to no business, he, upon some occasion, complained to Oliver that he found it difficult to live like a gentleman. To this Oliver wrote him an answer, begging that he would, without delay, quit so unprofitable a trade, and betake himself to some handicraft employment. Maurice wisely, as the bishop adds, took the hint, and bound himself apprentice to a cabinet-maker, and when out of his indentures set up in business for himself, in which he was engaged during the viceroyalty of the late Duke of Rutland; and his shop being in Dublin, he was noticed by Mr. Orde, since Lord Bolton, the Lord Lieutenant's Secretary, who recommended him to the patronage of the duke, out of regard to the memory of his brother.

In consequence of this, he received the appointment of inspector of licences in that metropolis, and was also employed as macebearer by the Royal Irish Academy, then just established. Both of these places were compatible with his business: and in the former he gave proof of great integrity by detecting a fraud committed on the revenue in his department, and one by which he himself might have profited, if he had not been a man of principle. He has now been dead not more than fifteen years; I enter more particularly into his history, from having seen the following passage in one of Oliver's letters to him: You talked of being my only brother-I don't understand you. Where is Charles?'

This, indeed, was a question which Maurice could not answer then, nor for many years afterwards; but as the anecdote is curious, and I have it from a friend, on whose authority I can rely, I shall have it a place here nearly in his own words.

My friend informed me, that whilst travelling in the stagecoach towards Ireland, in the autumu of 1791, he was joined at Oswestry by a venerable looking gentleman, who, in the course of the morning, mentioned that his name was Goldsmith, when one of the party observed, that if he was going to Ireland, that name would be a passport for him. The stranger smiled, and asked the reason why? to which the other replied, that the memory of Oliver was embalmed amongst his countrymen. A tear glistened in the stranger's eye, who immediately answered, 'I am his brother.' The gentleman who had first made the observation on the name looked doubtingly, and said, ' He has but one brother living; I know him well.' True,' replied the stranger, 'for it may be said that I am risen from the dead, having been for many years supposed to be no longer in the land of the living. I am Charles, the youngest of the family. Oliver I know is dead; but of Henry and Maurice I know nothing.'

On being informed of various particulars of his family, the stranger then told his simple tale; which was. that having heard of his brother Noll mixing in the first society in London, he took it for granted that his fortune was made, and that he could soon make a brother's also; he therefore left home without notice, but soon found, on his arrival in London, that the picture he had formed of his brother's situation was too highly coloured; that Noll would not introduce him to his great friends, and, in fact, that, although out of a jail, he was also often out of a lodging.

Disgusted with this entrance into high life, and ashamed to return home, the young man left London without acquainting his brother with his intentions, or even writing to his friends in Ireland; and proceeded, a poor adventurer, to Jamaica, where he lived, for many years, without ever renewing an intercourse with his friends, and by whom he was, of course, supposed to be dead; though Oliver may, at first, have imagined that he had returned to Ireland. Years now passed on, and young Charles, by industry and perseverance, began to save some property; soon after which he married a widow lady of some fortune, when his young family requiring

the advantages of further education, he determined to return to England, to examine into the state of society, and into the propriety of bringing over his wife and family; on this project he was then engaged, and was proceeding to Ireland to visit his native home, and with the intention of making himself known to such of his relatives as might still be living. His plan, however, was to conceal his good fortune until he should ascertain their affection and esteem for him.

On arriving at Dublin the party separated; and my friend, a few weeks afterwards, returning from the north, called at the Hotel where he knew Mr. Goldsmith intended to reside. There he met him: when the amiable old man, for such he really was, told him that he had put his plan in execution; had given himself as much of the appearance of poverty as he could with propriety, and thus proceeded to the shop of his brother Maurice, where he inquired for several articles, and then noticed the name over the door, asking if it had any connexion with the famous Dr. Goldsmith.

I am his brother, his sole surviving brother,' said Maurice.

What, then,' replied the stranger, is become of the others?'

Henry has long been dead; and poor Charles has not been heard of for many years.'

But suppose Charles were alive,' said the stranger, 'would his friends acknowledge him?' Oh, yes!' replied Maurice, gladly indeed!' 'He lives, then; but as poor as when he left you.'

Maurice instantly leaped over his counter, hugged him in his arms, and weeping with pleasure, cried, Welcome, welcome, here you shall find a home and a brother.'

It is needless to add, that this denouement was perfectly agreeable to the stranger, who was then preparing to return to Jamaica to make his proposed family arrangement, but my friend having been engaged for the next twenty years in traversing the four quarters of the globe, being himself a wanderer, has never, since that period, had an opportunity of making inquiries into the welfare of the stranger, for whoni

he had. indeed, formed a great esteem, even on a few days' acquaintance.

Sir Joshua was much affected by the death of Goldsmith, to whom he had been a very sincere friend. He did not touch the pencil for that day, a circumstance most extraordinary for him, who passed no day without a line. He acted as executor, and managed in the best manner the confused state of the Doctor's affairs. At first he intended, as I have already stated, to have made a grand funeral for him, assisted by several subscriptions to that intent, and to have buried him in the Abbey, his pallbearers to have been Lord Shelburne, Lord Louth, Sir Joshua himself, Burke, Garrick, &c.; but, on second thoughts, he resolved to have him buried in the plainest and most private manner possible, observing, that the most pompous funerals are soon past and forgotten; and that it would be much more prudent to apply what money could be procured, to the purpose of a more substantial and more lasting memorial of his departed friend, by a monument; and he was accordingly privately interred in the Temple burying ground.

Sir Joshua went himself to Westminster Abbey, and fixed upon a place where Goldsmith's monument now stands, over a door in the Poet's Corner. He thought himself lucky in being able to find so conspicuous a situation for it, as there scarcely remained another so good.

Nollekens, the sculptor, was employed to make the monument, and Dr. Johnson composed the epitaph.

There is a very fine portrait, which is the only original one of Dr. Goldsmith, now at Knowle, the seat of the Duke of Dorset, painted by Sir Joshua.

A lady, who was a great friend of Dr. Goldsmith, earnestly desired to have a lock of his hair to keep as a memorial of him; and his coffin was opened again, after it had been closed up, to procure this lock of hair from his head; this relic is still in the possession of the family, and is the only one of the kind which has been preserved of the Doctor. An observation of Dr. Beattie, respecting the deceased poet, in a letter to Mr. Montagu, must not be passed over.