LIFE OP A PEDAGOGUE--KINDNESS TO SCHOOLBOYS--PERTNESS IN RETURN--EXPENSIVE
CHARITIES--THE GRIFFITHS AND THE "MONTHLY REVIEW"--TOILS OF A LITERARY
HACK--RUPTURE WITH THE GRIFFITHS
Among the most cordial of Goldsmith's intimates in London during this time
of precarious struggle were certain of his former fellow-students in
Edinburgh. One of these was the son of a Dr. Milner, a dissenting minister,
who kept a classical school of eminence at Peckham, in Surrey. Young Milner
had a favorable opinion of Goldsmith's abilities and attainments, and
cherished for him that good will which his genial nature seems ever to have
inspired among his school and college associates. His father falling ill,
the young man negotiated with Goldsmith to take temporary charge of the
school. The latter readily consented; for he was discouraged by the slow
growth of medical reputation and practice, and as yet had no confidence in
the coy smiles of the muse. Laying by his wig and cane, therefore, and once
more wielding the ferule, he resumed the character of the pedagogue, and
for some time reigned as vicegerent over the academy at Peckham. He appears
to have been well treated by both Dr. Milner and his wife, and became a
favorite with the scholars from his easy, indulgent good nature. He mingled
in their sports, told them droll stories, played on the flute for their
amusement, and spent his money in treating them to sweetmeats and other
schoolboy dainties. His familiarity was sometimes carried too far; he
indulged in boyish pranks and practical jokes, and drew upon himself
retorts in kind, which, however, he bore with great good humor. Once,
indeed, he was touched to the quick by a piece of schoolboy pertness. After
playing on the flute, he spoke with enthusiasm of music, as delightful in
itself, and as a valuable accomplishment for a gentleman, whereupon a
youngster, with a glance at his ungainly person, wished to know if he
considered himself a gentleman. Poor Goldsmith, feelingly alive to the
awkwardness of his appearance and the humility of his situation, winced at
this unthinking sneer, which long rankled in his mind.
As usual, while in Dr. Milner's employ, his benevolent feelings were a
heavy tax upon his purse, for he never could resist a tale of distress, and
was apt to be fleeced by every sturdy beggar; so that, between his charity
and his munificence, he was generally in advance of his slender salary.
"You had better, Mr. Goldsmith, let me take care of your money," said Mrs.
Milner one day, "as I do for some of the young gentlemen."--"In truth,
madam, there is equal need!" was the good-humored reply.
Dr. Milner was a man of some literary pretensions, and wrote occasionally
for the "Monthly Review," of which a bookseller, by the name of Griffiths,
was proprietor. This work was an advocate for Whig principles, and had been
in prosperous existence for nearly eight years. Of late, however,
periodicals had multiplied exceedingly, and a formidable Tory rival had
started up in the "Critical Review," published by Archibald Hamilton, a
bookseller, and aided by the powerful and popular pen of Dr. Smollett.
Griffiths was obliged to recruit his forces. While so doing he met
Goldsmith, a humble occupant of a seat at Dr. Milner's table, and was
struck with remarks on men and books which fell from him in the course of
conversation. He took occasion to sound him privately as to his inclination
and capacity as a reviewer, and was furnished by him with specimens of his
literary and critical talents. They proved satisfactory. The consequence
was that Goldsmith once more changed his mode of life, and in April, 1757,
became a contributor to the "Monthly Review," at a small fixed salary, with
board and lodging, and accordingly took up his abode with Mr. Griffiths, at
the sign of the Dunciad, Paternoster Row. As usual we trace this phase of
his fortunes in his semi-fictitious writings; his sudden transmutation of
the pedagogue into the author being humorously set forth in the case of
"George Primrose," in the Vicar of "Wakefield." "Come," says George's
adviser, "I see you are a lad of spirit and some learning; what do you
think of commencing author like me? You have read in books, no doubt, of
men of genius starving at the trade; at present I'll show you forty very
dull fellows about town that live by it in opulence. All honest, jog-trot
men, who go on smoothly and dully, and write history and politics, and are
praised: men, sir, who, had they been bred cobblers, would all their lives
only have mended shoes, but never made them." "Finding" (says George) "that
there is no great degree of gentility affixed to the character of an usher,
I resolved to accept his proposal; and having the highest respect for
literature, hailed the _antiqua mater_ of Grub Street with reverence.
I thought it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before
me. Alas, Dryden struggled with indigence all his days; and Otway, it is
said, fell a victim to famine in his thirty-fifth year, being strangled by
a roll of bread, which he devoured with the voracity of a starving man."
In Goldsmith's experience the track soon proved a thorny one. Griffiths was
a hard business man, of shrewd, worldly good sense, but little refinement
or cultivation. He meddled, or rather muddled with literature, too, in a
business way, altering and modifying occasionally the writings of his
contributors, and in this he was aided by his wife, who, according to
Smollett, was "an antiquated female critic and a dabbler in the 'Review.'"
Such was the literary vassalage to which Goldsmith had unwarily subjected
himself. A diurnal drudgery was imposed on him, irksome to his indolent
habits, and attended by circumstances humiliating to his pride. He had to
write daily from nine o'clock until two, and often throughout the day;
whether in the vein or not, and on subjects dictated by his taskmaster,
however foreign to his taste; in a word, he was treated as a mere literary
hack. But this was not the worst; it was the critical supervision of
Griffiths and his wife which grieved him: the "illiterate, bookselling
Griffiths," as Smollett called them, "who presumed to revise, alter, and
amend the articles contributed to their 'Review.' Thank heaven," crowed
Smollett, "the 'Critical Review' is not written under the restraint of a
bookseller and his wife. Its principal writers are independent of each
other, unconnected with booksellers, and unawed by old women!"
This literary vassalage, however, did not last long. The bookseller became
more and more exacting. He accused his hack writer of idleness; of
abandoning his writing-desk and literary workshop at an early hour of the
day; and of assuming a tone and manner _above his situation_.
Goldsmith, in return, charged him with impertinence; his wife with meanness
and parsimony in her household treatment of him, and both of literary
meddling and marring. The engagement was broken off at the end of five
months, by mutual consent, and without any violent rupture, as it will be
found they afterward had occasional dealings with each other.
Though Goldsmith was now nearly thirty years of age, he had produced
nothing to give him a decided reputation. He was as yet a mere writer for
bread. The articles he had contributed to the "Review" were anonymous, and
were never avowed by him. They have since been, for the most part,
ascertained; and though thrown off hastily, often treating on subjects of
temporary interest, and marred by the Griffith interpolations, they are
still characterized by his sound, easy, good sense, and the genial graces
of his style. Johnson observed that Goldsmith's genius flowered late; he
should have said it flowered early, but was late in bringing its fruit to
maturity.