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country at a farmer's house, quite alone, trying to write a comedy," is the first indication of his having again turned his attention to the stage. The new play was now finished, but when or how it would be acted, or whether it would be acted at all, were questions he could not resolve.

The occurrences which intervened between its completion and production may be rapidly abridged. One of the occasional pieces of this date was a prologue to "Zobeide," a translation or adaptation of an unfinished tragedy by Voltaire called "Les Scythes." Its author was a gentleman of Leicestershire named Joseph Cradock, who, about this time, had been introduced to Goldsmith by Yates, the actor, and maintained a fast friendship for him during the remainder of his life—a friendship concerning which Cradock, in his old age, published some rather mythical recollections. In February, 1772, the death of the Princess Dowager of Wales prompted Goldsmith, for some unexplained reason, to prepare a lamentto-order, which he entitled "Threnodia Augustalis." It was sung and recited at the famous Mrs. Cornelys' in Soho Square, but has little more than the merit of opportunism, and was very hastily composed. Between these two comes, in all probability, the lively letter in prose and verse to Catherine Horneck, now Mrs. Bunbury of Barton, first published by Prior in 1837, from the Bunbury papers. Under cover of a reply to an invitation to spend Christmas in the country, the letter goes off into a charming piece of rhyming banter, in which Mrs. Bunbury and her sister are arraigned at the Old Bailey for giving disingenuous counsel to the poet at Loo:

I

"Both are placed at the bar, with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before 'em ; '
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncover'd, a buzz of inquiry runs round-

'Pray what are their crimes?'-' They've been pilfering found.'
'But, pray, who[m] have they pilfer'd ?’—‘A doctor, I hear.'
'What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near!'
'The same.'-'What a pity! how does it surprise one,
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!'

Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,
To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.

First Sir Charlés advances with phrases well strung,
'Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young ;'
'The younger the worse,' I return him again,

'It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.'
'But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves.'
'What signifies handsome, when people are thieves?'
'But where is your justice? their cases are hard.'
'What signifies justice? I want the reward.'

And then the letter, with its ingenuity of compliment, heightened by the touch as to that "solemn-faced, oddlooking man," the writer, drops into parish-beadle recitative and ends :

"But consider their case,—it may yet be your own!

And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone?'

This moves :-so at last I agree to relent,

For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent."

I challenge you all to answer this: I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep; but now for the rest of the letter: and next--but I want room-so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week. "I don't value you all!

"O. G."

A practice dating from the gaol-fever of 1750. Compare the Old Bailey scene in Cruikshank's "Drunkard's Children," 1848, plate v.

By this time, retouched and revised, the comedy of which Goldsmith had written to Langton, was in Colman's hands. Unhappily, in Colman's hands it remained. At the end of 1772 he had not made up his mind whether he would say "yes" or no" to Goldsmith's repeated applications for his decision-applications which the poet's necessities made upon each occasion more importunate. In January, 1773, referring to these, he pressed urgently for a final reply. He petitioned for at least the same measure which had been given to as bad plays as his," and he even humbled himself so far as to offer to make alterations. Thereupon Colman took him at his word, and suggested numerous frivolous amendments, under the momentary irritation of which the smarting poet offered the manuscript to Garrick, withdrawing it again as speedily. Then stout old Johnson took the matter up, using the strongest persuasions (even "a kind of force ") to Colman, the result being that a definite promise to produce the play was at length wrung from that potentate, although against his judgment. "Dr. Goldsmith," wrote Johnson shortly afterwards, “has a new comedy in rehearsal at Covent Garden, to which the manager predicts ill-success. I hope he will be mistaken. I think it deserves a very kind reception."

The production at the Haymarket in February of Foote's famous Primitive Puppet Show of the "Handsome Housemaid; or, Piety in Pattens," which certainly counts as an important factor in the story of the crusade against sentimental comedy, opportunely aided in preparing the popular taste. But the fates were, even now, too much against Goldsmith to make his success

an easy one.

The prejudice of Colman communicated itself to the company, and one after another of the leading actors threw up their parts. That of the first gentleman fell to Lee Lewes, the theatrical harlequin, while the best character in the piece was assigned to Quick, who, in "The Good Natur'd Man," had filled no more important office than that of a 'post-boy. Fresh troubles arose respecting the epilogue, of which no less than four different versions were written, in consequence of objections raised by the manager and the actresses. Finally, until a few days before the play appeared, it was still without a name. Reynolds advocated "The Belle's Stratagem," a title afterwards used by Mrs. Cowley; some one else "The Old House a New Inn," which certainly summarized the main idea, borrowed from Goldsmith's Ardagh experiences as narrated in chapter i.; while for some time "The Mistakes of a Night" found a measure of favour. Then Goldsmith, perhaps remembering, as Mr. Forster suggests, a line from Dryden, fixed upon "She Stoops to Conquer," to which "The Mistakes of a Night" was added as a subtitle. On the 15th of March, 1773, the play was acted at Covent Garden, and a few days afterwards published in book form, with a dedication to its firm friend, Johnson. "I do not, mean," wrote the grateful author, "so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety."

To the very last Colman maintained his unhopeful attitude, in spite of the steady enthusiasm of the author's friends, who, after dining together at a tavern, had, under Johnson's generalship, proceeded in a body to the theatre, determined to make a stubborn fight for the piece. But, according to the best accounts, there was no necessity for any advocacy, hostile or otherwise, for, "quite the reverse to everybody's expectation," the play was received "with the utmost applause." Even Horace Walpole, who sneered aristocratically at its "lowness," and wrote flippantly about the author's draggled Muse, could not deny that it "succeeded prodigiously." "All eyes," he told Lady Ossory, "were upon Johnson, who sat in a front row in a side box; and when he laughed, everybody thought himself warranted to roar." In the mean time, the poor author, who had not dared to accompany his party to Covent Garden, was wandering disconsolately in the Mall. Here he was discovered by a friend, who pointed out to him that, in the event of any sudden alterations being required, his absence from the theatre might have serious results, and prevailed upon him to go there. He entered the stage door," Cooke tells us, "just in the middle of the fifth Act, when there was a hiss at the improbability of Mrs. Hardcastle supposing herself forty miles off, though on her own grounds, and near the house. 'What's that?' says the Doctor, terrified at the sound. 'Psha! Doctor,' says Colman, who was standing by the side of the scene, 'don't be fearful of squibs, when we have been sitting almost these two hours upon a barrel of gunpowder." Goldsmith, adds Cooke, never forgave Colman this gratuitous piece of malice.