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When fainting nature called for aid, His virtues walked their narrow round,
And hovering der.th prepared the blow, Nor made a pause, nor left a void; His vigorous remedy displayed
And sure the Eternal Master found The power of art without the show. The single talept well employed. In misery's darkest cavern known, The busy day-the peaceful night, His useful care was ever nigh.
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; [bright, Where hopeless anguish poured his groan, His frame was firm - his powers were And lovely want retired to die,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh. No summons mocked by chill delay, Then with no fiery throbbing pain,
No petty gain disdained by pride; No cold gradations of decay, The modest wants of every day,
Death broke at once the vital chain, The toil of every day supplied.
Aud freed his soul the nearest way.
MRS. THRALE. MRS. THRALE is author of an interesting little moral poem, the "Three Warnings,' which is so superior to her other compositions, that it was supposed to have been partly written, or at least corrected, by Johnson. It first appeared in a volume of' Miscellanjes,' published by Mrs. Anna Williams (the blind inmate of Johnson's house) in 1766. Hester Lynch Salusbury (afterwards Mrs. Thrale) was a native of Bodvel. Carnarvonshire, born in 1739. In 1763 she was married to Mr Henry Thrale, an eminent brewer, who had taste enough to appreciate the rich and varied conversation of Jolinson, and whose hospitality and wealth afforded the great moralist an asylum in lus house After the death of this excellent man in 1781, iris widow in 1781 married Signior Piozzi, an Italian music-master, a step which Johnson never couid forgive. The lively lady proceeded with her husband on a continentai tour and they took up their abade for some time on the banks of the Arno In 1785, she published a volume of miscellaneous pieces, entitled The Florence Miscellany, and afforded a subjeet for the satire of Gifford, whose · Baviad and Mæviad,' was written to lash the Della Cruscan songsters with whom Mrs. Piozzi was associated. Returning to England, she became a rather voluminOus writer In 1786 she issued · Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson;' in 1788,
Lettters to and from Dr. Johnson ;' in 1789, A Journey through France, Italy, and Germany ;' in 1794, ‘British Synonymy, or an åttempt at regulating the Choice of Words in faniiliar Conversation ;' in 1801, ‘Retrospection, or a Review of the most striking and important Events, &c. which the late 1800 years have presented to the view of Mankind, &c'
In her 80th year Mrs. Piozzi had a flirtation with a young actor, William Augustus Conway, aged 27. A collection of her loveletters' was surreptitiously published in 1843. She died at Clifton, May 2, 1821. Mrs. Piozzi's eldest daughter, Viscountess Keith (Johnson's Queeny'), lived to the age of 95, and one of her sisters to the age of 90. The anecdotes and letters of Dr. Johnson, by Mrs. Piozzi, are the only valuable works which proceeded from her pen. She was a minute and clever observer of men and manners, but deficient in judgment, and not particular as to the accuracy of her relations. In 1861, the Autobiography, Letters, and Literary Remains' of Mrs. Piozzi were published, with notes and memoir, by A. Hayward.
The Three Warnings. The tree of deepest root is found How roundly he pursued his course, Least willing still to quit the ground; And smoked his pipe, and stroked his 'Twas there fore said by ancient sages,
horse, That love of life increased with years The willing muse shall tell : So much, that in our latter stages, He chaffered, ihen he bought and sold, When pains grow sharp, and sickness Nor once perceived his wing old, rages,
Nor thought of Death as near : The greatest love of life appears. His friends not false, his wife no shrew, This great affection to believe,
Many his gains, his children few, Which all coufese, but few perceive, He passed his hours in peace. If old assertions can't prevail,
But while he viewed his wealth increase, Be pleased to hear a modern tale. While thus along life’s dusty road,
The beaten track content he trod, When sports went round, and all were · Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, gay,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,
As all alone he sate,
Since I was here before
And you are now fourscore.'
His reasons could not well be stronger; "So much the worse,' the clown reSo Death the poor delinquent spared,
joined ; And left to live a little longer.
• To spare the aged would be kind : Yet calling up a serious look,
However, see your search be legal;
Neighbour,' he said, “ farewell! no more Else you come on a fool's errand,
Beside, you promised me Three WarnOf cruelty upon my name,
ings, To give you time for preparation, Which I have looked for nights and mor And fit you for your future station,
"I know,' cries Death, 'that at tlie best, In hopes you'll have no more to say ; I seldom am a welcome guest; But, when I call again this way,
But don't be captious, friend, at least; Well pleased the world will leave.' I little thought you'd s:ill be able To these conditions both conscnted, To stump about your farm and stable: And parted perfectly contented.
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength! What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he lived, how wise, how well, • Hold ! says the farmer; 'not so fast !
* An allusion to the illegal warrant used against Wilkes, which was the cause of so much contention in its day.
I have been lame these four years past.'
· Ard no great wonder,' Death replies ; • However, you still keep your eyes ; And sure, to see one's loves and friends, For legs and arms would make amends.'
• Perhaps,' says Dodson, so it might, But latterly I've lost my sight.'
• This is a shocking tale, tis true ; But still there's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news.'
• There's none,' cries he; "and if there
were, I'm growu so deaf, I could not bear.'
Nay, then,' the spectre stern rejoived,
These are unjustifiable yearnings :
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. OLIVER GOLDSMITA (1728–1774), whose writings range over every department of miscellaneous literature, challenges attention as a poet chiefly for the unaffected ease, grace, and tenderness of his descriptions of rural and domestic life, and for a certain vein of pensive philosophic reflection. His countryman Burke said of himself, that he had taken his ideas of liberty not too higb, that they might last him through life. Goldsmith seems to have pitched his poetry in a subdued undertone, that he might luxuriate at will among those images of quiet beauty, comfort, benevolence, and simple pathos, which were most congenial to his own character, his liopes, or his experience. This popular poet was born at Pallas, a small village in the parish of Forney, county of Longford, Ireland, on the 10th of November 1728. He was the fourth of a family of seven children, and his father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, was a poor curate, who eked out the scauty funds which he derived from his profession, by renting and cultivating some land. The poet's father afterwards succeeded to the rectory of Kilkenny West, and removed to the house and farm of Lissoy, in his former parish. Here Goldsmith's youth was spent, and here he found the materials for his ‘Deserted Village.' Having been taught his letters by a maid-servant, Oliver was sent to the village-school, which was kept by an old soldier named Byrne, who liad been a quarter-master in the wars of Queen Anne, and was fond of relating his adventures Byrne had also a large store of Irish traditions, fairy tales, and ghost stories, which were eagerly listened to by his pupils, and are supposed to have had some effect in giving to Goldsmith that wandering unsettled disposition which marked him through life. A severe attack of small-pox, which left traces of its ravages on his face ever after, caused his removal from school. He was, however, placed at better seminaries of education, and in his seventeeth year was sent to Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizar. The expense of his education was chiefly defrayed by his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Contarine, an excellent man, son to an Italian of the Contarini family at Venice, and a clergyman of the established church. At college the poet was thoughtless and irregular. His tutor was a man of fierce and brutal passions, and having struck him on one occasion before a party of friends, the poet left college, and wandered about
the country for some time in the utmost poverty. His brother Henry
How often have I led thy sportive choir,
Traveller, Scenes of this kind formed an appropriate school for the poet. He brooded with delight over these pictures of humble happiness, and his imagination loved to invest them with the charms of poetry. Goldsmith afterwards visited Germany and the Rhine. From Switzerland he sent the first sketch of the “Traveller' to his brother. The loftier charms of nature in these Alpine scenes seem to have had no permanent effect on the character or direction of his genius. He visited Florence, Verona, Venice, and stopped at Padua some months, where he is supposed to have taken his medical degree. In 1756 the poet reached England, after one year of wandering, lonely, and in poverty, yet buoyed up by dreams of hope and fame. Many a hard struggle he had yet to encounter! He was some time assistant to a
chemist in a shop at the corner of Monument Yard on Fish Street Hill, A college-friend, Dr. Sleigh, enabled him to commence practice as a humble physician in Bankside, Southwark, but this failed; and after serving for a short time as a reader and corrector of the press to Richardson the novelist, he was engaged as usher in a school at Peckham, kept by Dr. Milner. At Milner's table he met Griffiths the bookseller, proprietor of the Monthly Review, and in April 1757, Goldsmith agreed to leave Dr. Milner's, to board and lodge with Griffiths, to have a small salary, and devote himself to the Review.' Whatever he wrote is said to have been tampered with by Griffiths and his wife! In five months the engagement abruptly closed. For a short time he was again at Dr. Milner's as usher." In 1758 he presented himself at Surgeons' Hall for examination as an hospital mate, with the view of entering the army or navy ; but he had the mortification of being rejected as unqualified. That he might appear before thie examining surgeon suitably dressed, Goldsmithi obtained a new suit of clothes, for wbich Griffiths became security. The clothes were immediately to be returned when the purpose was served, or the debt was to be discharged.
Poor Goldsmith, having failed in his object, and probably distressed by urgent want, pawned the clothes. The publisher threatened, and the poet replied: 'I know of no misery but a jail, to which my own imprudences and your letter seem to point. I have seen it inevitable these three or four weeks, and, by heavens! request it as a favour-as a favour that may prevent somewhat more fatal. I have been some years struggling with a wretched being—with all that contempt and indigence brings with it, with all those strong passions which make contempt insupportable. Wbat, then, has a jail that is formidable ?? Such was the almost hopeless condition, the deep despair, of this imprudent but amiable author, who has added to the delight of millions, and to the glory of English literature.
Henceforward the life of Goldsmith was that of a man of letters. He lived solely by his pen. Besides numerous contributions to the • Monthly’and Critical Reviews,'the' Lady's Magazine,' the British Magazine,' &c. he published anonymously an Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe’ (1759), his admirable Chinese Letters' (contributed 10 Newbery's Public Ledger,' and for which he was paid a guinea each), afterwards published with the title of 'The Citizen of the World,' a Life of Beau Nash,' and a ‘History of Eng. land' (1762), in a series of letters from a nobleman to his son. The latter was highly successful, and was popularly attributed to Lord Lyttelton. In December 1764 appeared his poem of the 'Traveller, or Prospect of Society,' the chief corner-stone of his fame, 'without one bad line,' as has been said; 'without one of Dryden's careless Verses.'
Charles Fox pronounced it one of the finest poems in the English language; and Dr. Johnson-then numbered among Goldsmith's friends said that the merit of the Traveller' was so well