force impartial readers to admit that poor Goldsmith’s foibles were real, however amply compensated by rare and admirable qualities.  Garrick’s assertion, that he “wrote like an angel but talked like poor Poll,” expresses the unanimous opinion of all who had actually seen him.  Undoubtedly some of the stories of his childlike vanity, his frankly expressed envy, and his general capacity for blundering, owe something to Boswell’s feeling that he was a rival near the throne, and sometimes poor Goldsmith’s humorous self-assertion may have been taken too seriously by blunt English wits.  One may doubt, for example, whether he was really jealous of a puppet tossing a pike, and unconscious of his absurdity in saying “Pshaw!  I could do it better myself!” Boswell, however, was too good an observer to misrepresent at random, and he has, in fact, explained very well the true meaning of his remarks.  Goldsmith was an excitable Irishman of genius, who tumbled out whatever came uppermost, and revealed the feelings of the moment with utter want of reserve.  His self-controlled companions wondered, ridiculed, misinterpreted, and made fewer hits as well as fewer misses.  His anxiety to “get in and share,” made him, according to Johnson, an “unsocial” companion.  “Goldsmith,” he said, “had not temper enough for the game he played.  He staked too much.  A man might always get a fall from his inferior in the chances of talk, and Goldsmith felt his falls too keenly.”  He had certainly some trials of temper in Johnson’s company.  “Stay, stay,” said a German, stopping him in the full flow of his eloquence, “Toctor Johnson is going to say something.”  An Eton Master called Graham, who was supping with the two doctors, and had got to the pitch of looking at one person, and talking to another, said, “Doctor, I shall be glad to see you at Eton.”  “I shall be glad to wait on you,” said Goldsmith.  “No,” replied Graham, “’tis not you I mean, Doctor Minor; ’tis Doctor Major there.”  Poor Goldsmith said afterwards, “Graham is a fellow to make one commit suicide.”

Boswell who attributes some of Goldsmith’s sayings about Johnson to envy, said with probable truth that Goldsmith had not more envy than others, but only spoke of it more freely.  Johnson argued that we must be angry with a man who had so much of an odious quality that he could not keep it to himself, but let it “boil over.”  The feeling, at any rate, was momentary and totally free from malice; and Goldsmith’s criticisms upon Johnson and his idolators seem to have been fair enough.  His objection to Boswell’s substituting a monarchy for a republic has already been mentioned.  At another time he checked Boswell’s flow of panegyric by asking, “Is he like Burke, who winds into a subject like a serpent?” To which Boswell replied with charming irrelevance, “Johnson is the Hercules who strangled serpents in his cradle.”  The last of Goldsmith’s hits was suggested by Johnson’s shaking his sides with laughter because Goldsmith admired the skill with which the little fishes in the fable were made to talk in character.  “Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think,” was the retort, “for if you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales.”