| Citation |
RAG.779.151
28 Dec 1779:21,22 (239)
Authentic Anecdotes of the late Dr. Goldsmith.
It is an undoubted fact, that this ingenious, unfortunate
man, in the tour which he made abroad to Flanders,
Switzerland, &c. travelled on foot most part of the way. . .
He had some knowledge of the French language, and of music;
and he played tolerable well on the German flute; which from
an amusement, became at some times the means of subsistence.
. . "Whenever I approached (he used to say) a peasant's
house towards nightfall, I played one of my most merry
tunes, and that procured me not only as lodging, but
subsistence for the next day: but in truth (his constant
expression) I must own, whenever I attempted to entertain
persons of a higher rank they always thought my performance
odious, and never made me any return for my endeavours to
please them."
During Mr. Goldsmith's continuance in Switzerland, he
assiduously cultivated his poetical talents, of which he had
given some striking proofs while at the college of
Edinburgh. It was here he sent the first sketch of his
delightful poem, called the Traveller, to his brother the
clergyman in Ireland, . . .
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Schield, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Corrinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
. . . [18 more lines]
. . . [2 paragraphs of discussion]
During the last rehearsal of his comedy, entitled, She
Stoops to Conquer, which Mr. Colman had no opinion would
succeed, on the Doctor's objecting to the repetition of one
of Tony Lumpkin's speeches, being apprehensive it might
injure the play, the Manager, with great keenness, replied,
"Psha, my dear Doctor, do not be fearful of squibs, when we
have been sitting almost these two hours upon a barrel of
gunpowder." This piece, however, contrary to Mr. Colman's
expectations, was received with uncommon applause by the
audience; and Goldsmith's pride was so hurt by the severity
of the above observation, that it entirely put an end to his
friendship for the gentleman that made it. . .
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