stead of this, it seems you are contented to be merely a happy man: to be esteemed only by your acquaintance; to cultivate your paternal acres; to take unmolested a nap under one of your own hawthorns, or in Mrs. Mills' bedchamber, which even a Poet must confess is rather the most comfortable place of the two.

But however your resolutions may be altered with respect to your situation in life, I persuade myself they are unalterable with regard to your friends in it. I cannot think the world has taken such entire possession of that heart (once so susceptible of friendship), as not to have left a corner there for a friend or two; but I flatter myself that I even have my place among the number. This I have a claim to from the similitude of our disposition; or, setting that aside, I can demand it as my right by the most equitable law in nature, I mean that of retaliation; for indeed you have more than your share in mine. I am a man of few professions; and yet this very instant I cannot avoid the painful apprehension, that my present professions (which speak not half my feelings,) should be considered only as a pretext to cover a request, as I have a request to make. No my dear Ned, I know you are too generous to think so; and you know me too proud to stoop to mercenary insincerity. I have a request, it is true, to make; but, as I know to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without diffi

dence or confusion.

It is in short this; I am

agoing to publish a book in London, entitled, 'An Essay on the present State of Taste and Literature in Europe.' Every work published here the printers in Ireland republish there, without giving the author the least consideration for his copy. I would in this respect disappoint their avarice, and have all the additional advantages that may result from the sale of my performance there to myself. The book is now printing in London, and I have requested Dr. Radcliff, Mr. Lauder, Mr. Bryanton, my brother, Mr. Henry Goldsmith, and brother-in-law Mr. Hodson, to circulate my proposals among their acquaintance. The same request I now make to you; and have accordingly given directions to Mr. Bradley, bookseller in Dame Street, Dublin, to send you a hundred proposals. Whatever subscriptions, pursuant to these proposals, you may receive, when collected, may be transmitted to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the money, and be accountable for the books. I shall not, by a paltry apology, excuse myself for putting you to this trouble. Were I not convinced that you found more pleasure in doing good natured things, than uneasiness at being employed in them, I should not have singled you out on this occasion. It is probable you would comply with such a request, if it tended to the encouragement of any man of learning

whatsoever; what then may he not expect who has claims of family and friendship to enforce

his?

I am, dear sir,

Your sincere Friend and humble Servant,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

London, Temple Exchange Coffee House,

Temple Bar, August 7, 1759.

TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH, AT LOWFIELD, NEAR BALLYMORE, IN WESTMEATH, IRELAND. (A second letter, subsequent to the preceding, evidently written in 1759.)

DEAR SIR, YOUR punctuality in answering a man whose trade is writing, is more than I had reason to expect, and yet you see me generally fill a whole sheet, which is all the recompense I can make for being so frequently troublesome. The behaviour of Mr. Mills and Mr. Lauder is a little extraordinary. However, their answering neither you nor me is a sufficient indication of their disliking the employment which I assigned them. As their conduct is different from what I had expected, so I have made an alteration in mine. I shall the beginning of next month send over two hundred and fifty books,18 which are all that

18 The present State of Polite Literature in Europe,' subscription price, 5s.

1 fancy can be well sold among you, and I would have you make some distinction in the persons who have subscribed. The money, which will amount to £60, may be left with Mr. Bradley as soon as possible. I am not certain but I shall quickly have occasion for it. I have met with no disappointment with respect to my East India voyage, nor are my resolutions altered; though, at the same time, I must confess it gives me some pain to think I am almost beginning the world at the age of thirty-one. Though I never had a day's sickness since I saw you, yet I am not that strong active man you once knew me. You scarcely can conceive how much eight years of disappointment, anguish, and study, have worn me down. If I remember right, you are seven or eight years older than me, yet I dare venture to say, if a stranger saw us both, he would pay me the honours of seniority. Imagine to yourself a pale melancholy visage, with two great wrinkles between the eyebrows, with an eye disgustingly severe, and a bag wig, and you may have a perfect picture of my present appearance. On the other hand, I conceive you as perfectly sleek and healthy, passing many a happy day among your own children, or those who knew you a child. Since I knew what it was to be a man, this is a pleasure I have not known. I have passed my days among a parcel of cool designing beings, and have contracted all their sus

picious manner in my own behaviour.19 I should actually be as unfit for the society of my friends at home, as I detest that which I am obliged to partake of here. I can now neither partake of the pleasure of a revei, nor contribute to raise its jollity. I can neither laugh nor drink, have contracted an hesitating disagreeable manner of speaking, and a visage that looks ill nature itself; in short, I have brought myself into a settled melancholy, and an utter disgust of all that life brings with it. Whence this romantic turn, that all our family are possessed with? Whence this love for every place and every country but that in which we reside? For every occupation but our own? This desire of fortune, and yet this eagerness to dissipate? I perceive, my dear sir, that I am at intervals for indulging this splenetic manner, and following my own taste regardless of yours.

The reasons you have given me for breeding up your son a scholar are judicious and convincing. I should, however, be glad to know for what particular profession he is designed. If he be assiduous, and divested of strong passions (for passions in youth always lead to pleasure), he may do very well in your college; for it must be owned that the industrious poor have good encourage

19 This is all gratis dictum: never was a character so devoid of suspicion, and so marked by unguarded simplicity, as Goldsmith's.