every dinner he gave them, they returned him an equivalent in praise. . . . He told the story of the ivy-tree, and that was laughed at; he repeated the jest of the two scholars and one pair of breeches, and the company laughed at that; but the story of Taffy in the sedan chair was sure to set the table in a roar." Neither his practice nor his precepts were those which make rich men. Learning, he held, was better than silver or gold, and benevolence than either. In this way he brought up his children to be "mere machines of pity," and "perfectly instructed them in the art of giving away thousands before they were taught the more necessary qualifications of getting a farthing."

In the meantime little Oliver was transferred to the care of Elizabeth Delap, a relative and dependant, who taught him his letters. Years afterwards, when she was an old woman of ninety, she described this as no easy task. Her pupil, she affirmed, was exceedingly dull and stupid, although she admitted that he was easily managed. From this unflattering instructress he passed to the far more congenial tuition of the village schoolmaster, Thomas Byrne. Byrne was a character in his way, some of whose traits reappear in the pedagogue of "The Deserted Village." He had been a soldier in Queen Anne's wars in Spain, and had led a wandering adventurous life, of which he was always willing to talk. He was besides something of a bookman, dabbled in rhyme, and was even capable of extemporizing a respectable Irish version of Virgil's eclogues. Furthermore, in addition to being an adept in all the fairy lore of Ireland, he was deeply read in the records of its pirates, robbers, and

smugglers. One can imagine little Oliver hanging upon the lips of this entrancing teacher, when he discoursed, not only of "the exploits of Peterborough and Stanhope, the surprise of Monjuich, and the glorious disaster of Brihuega," but also of ghosts and banshees, and of "the great Rapparee chiefs, Baldearg O'Donnell and galloping Hogan." No wonder the boy's friends traced to these distracting narratives his aimless, vagrant future. He, too, began to scribble doggerel, to devour the chap-book histories of "Fair Rosamond" and the "Seven Champions," or to study with avidity the less edifying chronicles of "Moll Flanders" and "Jack the Bachelor."

There were, moreover, other influences at this time to stir his childish imagination, which could scarcely have found him the "impenetrably stupid" pupil of his first mistress. There were the songs of the blind harper, O'Carolan, to awaken in him a love of music which he never lost, and there was Peggy Golden, his father's dairy-maid, to charm his ears with "Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night," or "The Cruelty of Barbara Allen." But an untoward circumstance served to interrupt, if not to end, these "violent delights." So severely was he attacked by confluent small-pox that he nearly lost his life, and ever afterwards bore the traces of that disorder deeply scored upon his features. Indeed, it may be said to have also left its mark upon his character. Always" subject to particular humours," alternating often between extreme reserve and boisterous animal spirits, his natural tendencies were not improved by his changed appearance. One of the earliest anecdotes recorded of him turns upon this misfortune. "Why,

Noll!" said an inconsiderate male relative, not particularly distinguished for his wisdom or integrity, "you are become a fright! When do you mean to get handsome again?" The boy moved uneasily to the window without replying, and the question was sneeringly repeated. "I mean to get better, sir, when you do," he answered at last. Upon another occasion, when there was a party at his uncle's house, little Oliver capered forth, in the pause between two country dances, and indulged the company with a hornpipe. His seamed face and his ungainly figure for he was short and thick of stature-excited considerable amusement, and the fiddler, a youth named Cumming, called out "Esop." But to the surprise of the guests, the dancer promptly retorted—

"Heralds! proclaim aloud! all saying,

See Esop dancing, and his Monkey playing

a couplet which, even if it were based upon a recollection, as is most probable, at all events served its purpose by turning the laugh against the musician.

When these events took place he had already, for some obscure reason, been transferred from Byrne's care to the school at Elphin, of which his grandfather had once been master; and he was living with his father's brother, John Goldsmith of Ballyoughter. The aforementioned instances of his quickness, no doubt carefully preserved and repeated by admiring relatives, were held to be significant of latent parts; and it was decided that, notwithstanding the expenses of his elder brother Henry's education, which were draining his father's scanty means,

he should have all attainable advantages. From Elphin, relatives apparently aiding, he was sent to Athlone to a school kept by a Mr. Campbell. It does not appear that he presented himself to his schoolfellows in the same light as to those of his family who saw him at his best. Dr. Annesley Strean, who, in later days, became curate of Kilkenny West, and conversed with many of Goldsmith's contemporaries, found him to have been regarded by them "as a stupid, heavy blockhead, little better than a fool, whom every one made fun of. But his corporal powers differed widely from this apparent state of his mind, for he was remarkably active and athletic; of which he gave proofs in all exercises among his playmates, and eminently in ball-playing, which he was very fond of, and practised whenever he could."

After he had been two years at Athlone, Mr. Campbell gave up the school from ill-health, and Oliver passed to the care of the Rev. Patrick Hughes of Edgeworthstown, a friend of his father. His happiest schooldays must have been with this master. Mr. Hughes understood him. He penetrated his superficial obtuseness, recognized his morbidly sensitive nature, and managed at any rate to think better of him than his playmates, many of whom only succeeded in growing up to be blockheads. At Edgeworthstown there were traditions of his studies, of his love for Ovid and Horace, of his hatred for Cicero and his delight in Livy and Tacitus, of his prowess in boyish sports and the occasional robbing of orchards. But the best anecdote of this time is one which belongs to the close of his last holidays, when he was between fourteen and fifteen years of age. Having

set off for school on a borrowed hack, and equipped with boundless riches in the shape of a guinea given him by a friend, he amused himself by viewing the neighbouring country seats on the road, intending ultimately to put up like a gentleman at an inn. Night fell, and he found himself at Ardagh, half way on his journey. Casting about for information as to "the best house," that is to say, the best inn in the neighbourhood, he unluckily lit upon one Cornelius Kelly, who had been fencing-master to the Marquis of Granby, but, what is more to the purpose, was a confirmed wag and practical joker. Amused with Oliver's schoolboy swagger, he gravely directed him to the mansion of the local magnate, Squire Featherston. To Squire Featherston's the lad accordingly repaired, and called lustily for some one to take his horse. Being ushered into the presence of the supposed landlord and his family, he ordered a good supper, invited the rest to share it, treated them to a bottle or two of wine, and finally retired to rest, leaving careful injunctions that a hot cake should be prepared for his breakfast on the morrow. His host, who was a humourist, and moreover knew something of his visitor's father, never undeceived him; and it was not until he quitted the supposed inn next day that he learned, to his confusion, that he had been entertained at a private house. Thus early in Oliver Goldsmith's career was rehearsed the first sketch of the successful comedy of "She Stoops to Conquer."

But the time was approaching when he was to enter upon the college life to which all his education had been tending. He had hoped to go to Trinity College as a