With submission at your shrine,
Comes a heart your Valentine;
From the side where once it grew,
See it panting flies to you.
Take it, fair one, to your breast,
Soothe the fluttering thing to rest;
Let the gentle, spotless toy,
Be your sweetest, greatest joy;
Every night when wrapp'd in sleep,
Next your heart the conquest keep.
Or if dreams your fancy move,
Hear it whisper me and love;
Then in pity to the swain,
Who must heartless else remain,
Soft as gentle dewy show'rs,
Slow descend on April flow'rs;
Soft as gentle riv'lets glide,
Steal unnoticed to my side;
If the gem you have to spare,
Take your own and place it there.
If this valentine was intended for the fair Jane, and expressive of a
tender sentiment indulged by the stripling poet, it was unavailing, as not
long afterward she was married to a Mr. Lawder. We trust, however, it was
but a poetical passion of that transient kind which grows up in idleness
and exhales itself in rhyme. While Oliver was thus piping and poetizing at
the parsonage, his uncle Contarine received a visit from Dean Goldsmith of
Cloyne; a kind of magnate in the wide but improvident family connection,
throughout which his word was law and almost gospel. This august dignitary
was pleased to discover signs of talent in Oliver, and suggested that as he
had attempted divinity and law without success, he should now try physic.
The advice came from too important a source to be disregarded, and it was
determined to send him to Edinburgh to commence his studies. The Dean
having given the advice, added to it, we trust, his blessing, but no money;
that was furnished from the scantier purses of Goldsmith's brother, his
sister (Mrs. Hodson), and his ever-ready uncle, Contarine.
It was in the autumn of 1752 that Goldsmith arrived in Edinburgh. His
outset in that city came near adding to the list of his indiscretions and
disasters. Having taken lodgings at haphazard, he left his trunk there,
containing all his worldly effects, and sallied forth to see the town.
After sauntering about the streets until a late hour, he thought of
returning home, when, to his confusion, he found he had not acquainted
himself with the name either of his landlady or of the street in which she
lived. Fortunately, in the height of his whimsical perplexity, he met the
cawdy or porter who had carried his trunk, and who now served him as a
guide.
He did not remain long in the lodgings in which he had put up. The hostess
was too adroit at that hocus-pocus of the table which often is practiced in
cheap boarding-houses. No one could conjure a single joint through a
greater variety of forms. A loin of mutton, according to Goldsmith's
account, would serve him and two fellow-students a whole week. "A brandered
chop was served up one day, a fried steak another, collops with onion sauce
a third, and so on until the fleshy parts were quite consumed, when finally
a dish of broth was manufactured from the bones on the seventh day, and the
landlady rested from her labors." Goldsmith had a good-humored mode of
taking things, and for a short time amused himself with the shifts and
expedients of his landlady, which struck him in a ludicrous manner; he
soon, however, fell in with fellow-students from his own country, whom he
joined at more eligible quarters.
He now attended medical lectures, and attached himself to an association of
students called the Medical Society. He set out, as usual, with the best
intentions, but, as usual, soon fell into idle, convivial, thoughtless
habits. Edinburgh was indeed a place of sore trial for one of his
temperament. Convivial meetings were all the vogue, and the tavern was the
universal rallying-place of good-fellowship. And then Goldsmith's
intimacies lay chiefly among the Irish students, who were always ready for
a wild freak and frolic. Among them he was a prime favorite and somewhat of
a leader, from his exuberance of spirits, his vein of humor, and his talent
at singing an Irish song and telling an Irish story.
His usual carelessness in money matters attended him. Though his supplies
from home were scanty and irregular, he never could bring himself into
habits of prudence and economy; often he was stripped of all his present
finances at play; often he lavished them away in fits of unguarded charity
or generosity. Sometimes among his boon companions he assumed a ludicrous
swagger in money matters, which no one afterward was more ready than
himself to laugh at. At a convivial meeting with a number of his
fellow-students, he suddenly proposed to draw lots with any one present
which of the two should treat the whole party to the play. The moment the
proposition had bolted from his lips his heart was in his throat. "To my
great though secret joy," said he, "they all declined the challenge. Had it
been accepted, and had I proved the loser, a part of my wardrobe must have
been pledged in order to raise the money."
At another of these meetings there was an earnest dispute on the question
of ghosts, some being firm believers in the possibility of departed spirits
returning to visit their friends and familiar haunts. One of the disputants
set sail the next day for London, but the vessel put back through the
stress of weather. His return was unknown except to one of the believers in
ghosts, who concerted with him a trick to be played off on the opposite
party. In the evening, at a meeting of the students, the discussion was
renewed; and one of the most strenuous opposers of ghosts was asked whether
he considered himself proof against ocular demonstration? He persisted in
his scoffing. Some solemn process of conjuration was performed, and the
comrade supposed to be on his way to London made his appearance. The effect
was fatal. The unbeliever fainted at the sight, and ultimately went mad. We
have no account of what share Goldsmith took in this transaction, at which
he was present.
The following letter to his friend Bryanton contains some of Goldsmith's
impressions concerning Scotland and its inhabitants, and gives indications
of that humor which characterized some of his later writings.
"_Robert Bryanton, at Ballymahon, Ireland_.
"EDINBURGH, September 26, 1753.
"MY DEAR BOB--How many good excuses (and you know I was ever good at an
excuse) might I call up to vindicate my past shameful silence. I might tell
how I wrote a long letter on my first coming hither, and seem vastly angry
at my not receiving an answer; I might allege that business (with business
you know I was always pestered) had never given me time to finger a pen.
But I suppress those and twenty more as plausible, and as easily invented,
since they might be attended with a slight inconvenience of being known to
be lies. Let me then speak truth. An hereditary indolence (I have it from
the mother's side) has hitherto prevented my writing to you, and still
prevents my writing at least twenty-five letters more, due to my friends in
Ireland. No turn-spit-dog gets up into his wheel with more reluctance than
I sit down to write; yet no dog ever loved the roast meat he turns better
than I do him I now address.
"Yet what shall I say now I am entered? Shall I tire you with a description
of this unfruitful country; where I must lead you over their hills all
brown with heath, or their valleys scarcely able to feed a rabbit? Man
alone seems to be the only creature who has arrived to the natural size in
this poor soil. Every part of the country presents the same dismal
landscape. No grove, nor brook, lend their music to cheer the stranger, or
make the inhabitants forget their poverty. Yet with all these disadvantages
to call him down to humility, a Scotchman is one of the proudest things
alive. The poor have pride ever ready to relieve them. If mankind should
happen to despise them, they are masters of their own admiration, and that
they can plentifully bestow upon themselves.
"From their pride and poverty, as I take it, results one advantage this
country enjoys--namely, the gentlemen here are much better bred than among
us. No such character here as our fox-hunters; and they have expressed
great surprise when I informed them that some men in Ireland of one
thousand pounds a year spend their whole lives in running after a hare, and
drinking to be drunk. Truly if such a being, equipped in his hunting dress,
came among a circle of Scotch gentry, they would behold him with the same
astonishment that a countryman does King George on horseback.
"The men here have generally high cheek bones, and are lean and swarthy,
fond of action, dancing in particular. Now that I have mentioned dancing,
let me say something of their balls, which are very frequent here. When a
stranger enters the dancing-hall, he sees one end of the room taken up by
the ladies, who sit dismally in a group by themselves; in the other end
stand their pensive partners that are to be; but no more intercourse
between the sexes than there is between two countries at war. The ladies
indeed may ogle, and the gentlemen sigh; but an embargo is laid on any
closer commerce. At length, to interrupt hostilities, the lady directress,
or intendant, or what you will, pitches upon a lady and gentleman to walk a
minuet; which they perform with a formality that approaches to despondence.
After five or six couple have thus walked the gantlet, all stand up to
country dances; each gentleman furnished with a partner from the aforesaid
lady directress; so they dance much, say nothing, and thus concludes our
assembly. I told a Scotch gentleman that such profound silence resembled
the ancient procession of the Roman matrons in honor of Ceres; and the
Scotch gentleman told me (and, faith, I believe he was right) that I was a
very great pedant for my pains.
"Now I am come to the ladies; and to show that I love Scotland, and
everything that belongs to so charming a country, I insist on it, and will
give him leave to break my head that denies it--that the Scotch ladies are
ten thousand times finer and handsomer than the Irish. To be sure, now, I
see your sisters Betty and Peggy vastly surprised at my partiality--but
tell them flatly, I don't value them--or their fine skins, or eyes, or good
sense, or----, a potato;--for I say, and will maintain it; and as a
convincing proof (I am in a great passion) of what I assert, the Scotch
ladies say it themselves. But to be less serious; where will you find a
language so prettily become a pretty mouth as the broad Scotch? And the
women here speak it in its highest purity; for instance, teach one of your
young ladies at home to pronounce the 'Whoar wull I gong?' with a becoming
widening of mouth, and I'll lay my life they'll wound every hearer.
"We have no such character here as a coquette, but alas! how many envious
prudes! Some days ago I walked into my Lord Kilcoubry's (don't be
surprised, my lord is but a glover), [Footnote: William Maclellan, who
claimed the title, and whose son succeeded in establishing the claim in
1773. The father is said to have voted at the election of the sixteen Peers
for Scotland, and to have sold gloves in the lobby at this and other public
assemblages.] when the Duchess of Hamilton (that fair who sacrificed her
beauty to her ambition, and her inward peace to a title and gilt equipage)
passed by in her chariot; her battered husband, or more properly the
guardian of her charms, sat by her side. Straight envy began, in the shape
of no less than three ladies who sat with me, to find faults in her
faultless form.--'For my part,' says the first, 'I think what I always
thought, that the duchess has too much of the red in her complexion.'
'Madam, I am of your opinion,' says the second; 'I think her face has a
palish cast too much on the delicate order.' 'And let me tell you,' added
the third lady, whose mouth was puckered up to the size of an issue, 'that
the duchess has fine lips, but she wants a mouth.'--At this every lady drew
up her mouth as if going to pronounce the letter P.
"But how ill, my Bob, does it become me to ridicule women with whom I have
scarcely any correspondence! There are, 'tis certain, handsome women here;
and 'tis certain they have handsome men to keep them company. An ugly and
poor man is society only for himself, and such society the world lets me
enjoy in great abundance. Fortune has given you circumstances, and nature a
person to look charming in the eyes of the fair. Nor do I envy my dear Bob
such blessings, while I may sit down and laugh at the world and at
myself--the most ridiculous object in it. But you see I am grown downright
splenetic, and perhaps the fit may continue till I receive an answer to
this. I know you cannot send me much news from Ballymahon, but such as it
is, send it all; everything you send will be agreeable to me.
"Has George Conway put up a sign yet; or John Binley left off drinking
drams; or Tom Allen got a new wig? But I leave you to your own choice what
to write. While I live, know you have a true friend in yours, etc., etc.
"OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
"P.S.--Give my sincere respects (not compliments, do you mind) to your
agreeable family, and give my service to my mother, if you see her; for, as
you express it in Ireland, I have a sneaking kindness for her still. Direct
to me, ----, Student in Physic, in Edinburgh."
Nothing worthy of preservation appeared from his pen during his residence
in Edinburgh; and indeed his poetical powers, highly as they had been
estimated by his friends, had not as yet produced anything of superior
merit. He made on one occasion a month's excursion to the Highlands. "I set
out the first day on foot," says he, in a letter to his uncle Contarine,
"but an ill-natured corn I have on my toe has for the future prevented that
cheap mode of traveling; so the second day I hired a horse about the size
of a ram, and he walked away (trot he could not) as pensive as his master."
During his residence in Scotland his convivial talents gained him at one
time attentions in a high quarter, which, however, he had the good sense to
appreciate correctly. "I have spent," says he, in one of his letters, "more
than a fortnight every second day at the Duke of Hamilton's; but it seems
they like me more as a jester than as a companion, so I disdained so
servile an employment as unworthy my calling as a physician." Here we again
find the origin of another passage in his autobiography, under the
character of the "Man in Black," wherein that worthy figures as a flatterer
to a great man. "At first," says he, "I was surprised that the situation of
a flatterer at a great man's table could be thought disagreeable; there was
no great trouble in listening attentively when his lordship spoke, and
laughing when he looked round for applause. This, even good manners might
have obliged me to perform. I found, however, too soon, his lordship was a
greater dunce than myself, and from that moment flattery was at an end. I
now rather aimed at setting him right, than at receiving his absurdities
with submission: to flatter those we do not know is an easy task; but to
flatter our intimate acquaintances, all whose foibles are strongly in our
eyes, is drudgery insupportable. Every time I now opened my lips in praise,
my falsehood went to my conscience; his lordship soon perceived me to be
very unfit for his service: I was therefore discharged; my patron at the
same time being graciously pleased to observe that he believed I was
tolerably good-natured, and had not the least harm in me."
After spending two winters at Edinburgh, Goldsmith prepared to finish his
medical studies on the Continent, for which his uncle Contarine agreed to
furnish the funds. "I intend," said he, in a letter to his uncle, "to visit
Paris, where the great Farheim, Petit, and Du Hammel de Monceau instruct
their pupils in all the branches of medicine. They speak French, and
consequently I shall have much the advantage of most of my countrymen, as I
am perfectly acquainted with that language, and few who leave Ireland are
so. I shall spend the spring and summer in Paris, and the beginning of next
winter go to Leyden. The great Albinus is still alive there, and 'twill be
proper to go, though only to have it said that we have studied in so famous
a university.
"As I shall not have another opportunity of receiving money from your
bounty till my return to Ireland, so I have drawn for the last sum that I
hope I shall ever trouble you for; 'tis £20. And now, dear sir, let me here
acknowledge the humility of the station in which you found me; let me tell
how I was despised by most, and hateful to myself. Poverty, hopeless
poverty, was my lot, and Melancholy was beginning to make me her own. When
you--but I stop here, to inquire how your health goes on? How does my
cousin Jenny, and has she recovered her late complaint? How does my poor
Jack Goldsmith? I fear his disorder is of such a nature as he won't easily
recover. I wish, my dear sir, you would make me happy by another letter
before I go abroad, for there I shall hardly hear from you.... Give my--how
shall I express it? Give my earnest love to Mr. and Mrs. Lawder."
Mrs. Lawder was Jane, his early playmate--the object of his valentine--his
first poetical inspiration. She had been for some time married.
Medical instruction, it will be perceived, was the ostensible motive for
this visit to the Continent, but the real one, in all probability, was his
long-cherished desire to see foreign parts. This, however, he would not
acknowledge even to himself, but sought to reconcile his roving
propensities with some grand moral purpose. "I esteem the traveler who
instructs the heart," says he, in one of his subsequent writings, "but
despise him who only indulges the imagination. A man who leaves home to
mend himself and others is a philosopher; but he who goes from country to
country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is only a vagabond." He,
of course, was to travel as a philosopher, and in truth his outfits for a
continental tour were in character. "I shall carry just £33 to France,"
said he, "with good store of clothes, shirts, etc., and that with economy
will suffice." He forgot to make mention of his flute, which it will be
found had occasionally to come in play when economy could not replenish his
purse, nor philosophy find him a supper. Thus slenderly provided with
money, prudence, or experience, and almost as slightly guarded against
"hard knocks" as the hero of La Mancha, whose head-piece was half iron,
half pasteboard, he made his final sally forth upon the world; hoping all
things; believing all things; little anticipating the checkered ills in
store for him; little thinking when he penned his valedictory letter to his
good uncle Contarine that he was never to see him more; never to return
after all his wandering to the friend of his infancy; never to revisit his
early and fondly-remembered haunts at "sweet Lissoy" and Ballymahon.