In the hands of that bookseller, who purchased the novel as much out of charity as in hope of profit, the “Vicar of Wakefield” remained neglected, until the publication of “The Traveler” had made the author famous.  This interval would have afforded Goldsmith ample time to correct the obvious inconsistencies and faults which his work contained.  But in the spirit of a man who depended on his pen for his bread, he made no effort to improve what had already brought him all this remuneration for which he could hope.  This is the more to be regretted, that very little revision would have been sufficient, to make the “Vicar of Wakefield” as perfect in its construction as in its style and spirit.  “There are a hundred faults in this thing,” says the preface, “and a hundred things might be said to prove them beauties.  But it is needless.  A book may be amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very dull without a single absurdity.  The hero of this piece unites in himself the three greatest characters upon earth;—­he is a priest, a husbandman, and the father of a family.  He is drawn as ready to teach, and ready to obey—­as simple in affluence, and majestic in adversity.”

These few words are not an inaccurate statement of the merits and demerits of the “Vicar of Wakefield.”  Faults there are, certainly.  The improbability of Sir William Thornhill’s being able to go about among his own tenantry incognito, without other disguise than a change of dress; the inconsistency of the philanthropist’s allowing his villainous nephew to retain possession of the wealth which he used only to assist him in his crimes; and, finally, the impossibility of that nephew’s being so nearly of an age with Sir William himself, when he must have been the son of a younger brother, are all blemishes which Goldsmith might easily have removed, had he not relied on the opinion which he expressed in Chapter xv, “the reputation of books is raised, not by their freedom from defect, but by the greatness of their beauties.”

Such a rule would be an obviously dangerous one for an author to follow.  But Goldsmith’s confidence in the beauties of his novel was fully justified by the verdict of the world.  No novelist has more deeply imbued his work with his own genius and spirit, and none have had a more beneficent genius, nor a more beautiful spirit to impart than the author of “The Deserted Village.”  The exquisite style, the delicate choice of words, the amiability of sentiment, so peculiarly his own, and so well suited to express the simple beauty of his thoughts, give a charm to the work which familiarity can only endear.  Dr. Primrose, preserving his simplicity, his modesty, and his nobility of character alike when surrounded by the pleasures of his early and prosperous home, when struggling with the hardships of his ruined fortune, and when rewarded at last by the surfeit of good-fortune which follows his trial, stands high among the most noble conceptions of English fiction.  “We read the ‘Vicar of Wakefield,’” said the great Sir Walter, “in youth and in age.  We return to it again and again, and bless the memory of an author who contrives so well to reconcile us to human nature.”