me gives me pain ossibly acquire a g Then I think of th sires are capricious as the big bellied woman's, claims, to raise itse When I think e every opportun the vulgar, as much ready in my sen a book, for an a letter which I Circulate for me dred proposals, be sent to you, an ulation, you should I did so in the earliest parts of their lives. You em, when colled imagine, I suppose, that every author by profes-ey, who will giv sion lives in a garret, wears shabby clothes, and converses with the meanest company. Yet I do not believe there is one single writer, who has abilities to translate a French novel, that does know not how ich had so long uch ardour, so not keep better company, wear finer clothes, and steady, that I an live more genteelly than many who pride themselves for nothing else in Ireland. I confess it again, my dear Dan, that nothing but the wildest ambition could prevail on me to leave the enjoyment of that refined conversation which I am sometimes permitted to partake in, for uncertain fortune, and paltry show. You cannot conceive how I am sometimes divided: to leave all that is arly when low s are my fortune, t ander. But it sha ope to indulge Fant constitution hich alone mak rect my faults, dear to me gives me pain, but when I consider I may possibly acquire a genteel independence in life; when I think of that dignity which philosophy claims, to raise itself above contempt and ridicule. When I think thus, I eagerly long to embrace every opportunity of separating myself from the vulgar, as much in my circumstances, as I am already in my sentiments. I am going to publish a book, for an account of which I refer you to a letter which I wrote to my brother Goldsmith. Circulate for me among your acquaintance a hundred proposals, which I have given orders may be sent to you, and if, in pursuance of such circulation, you should receive any subscriptions, let them, when collected, be transmitted to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the same. * I know not how my desire of seeing Ireland, which had so long slept, has again revived with so much ardour, so weak is my temper, and so unsteady, that I am frequently tempted, particularly when low spirited, to return home, and leave my fortune, though just beginning to look kinder. But it shall not be. In five or six years I hope to indulge those transports. I find I want constitution and a strong steady disposition, which alone makes men great. I will however correct my faults, since I am conscious of them. 17 TO EDWARD MILLS, ESQ., NEAR ROSCOMMON, DEAR SIR, IRELAND. You have quitted, I find, that plan of life which you once intended to pursue, and given up ambition for domestic tranquillity. Were I to consult your satisfaction alone in this change, I have the utmost reason to congratulate your choice; but when I consider my own, I cannot avoid feeling some regret, that, one of my few friends has declined a pursuit in which he had every reason to expect success. The truth is, like the rest of the world, I am self-interested in my concern; and do not so much consider the happiness you have acquired, as the honour I have probably lost in the change. I have often let my fancy loose when you were the subject, and have imagined your gracing the bench, or thundering at the bar, while I have taken no small pride to myself, and whispered all that I could come near, that this was my cousin. In if they are unalter in it. I cannot entire possession pable of friends er there for a fr elf that I even ber. This I ha ad of our dispositi demand it as m 17 The letters of Goldsmith are so excellent, that it is to be hoped his next biographer will delight us with an increased collection of them. I find in Johnstone's Mem. of Parr. vol. ii. p. 489, that the Doctor says- Sir W. Scott has written to ask if I had found among Bishop Bennett's papers some letters relating to Goldsmith, which passed between him and Burke and Johnson, and Morley, and which were supposed to be in the Bishop's possession.' in nature, I me d you have mor a man of few 2tant I cannot a my present alf my feelings,) bat pretext to cover i make. No my generous to thi proud to stoop a request, it is Fhom I am a 1 stead of this, it seems you are contented to be merely a happy man: to be esteemed only by your acquaintance; to cultivate your paternal acres; to take unmolested a nap under one of your own hawthorns, or in Mrs. Mills' bedchamber, which even a Poet must confess is rather the most comfortable place of the two. But however your resolutions may be altered with respect to your situation in life, I persuade myself they are unalterable with regard to your friends in it. I cannot think the world has taken such entire possession of that heart (once so susceptible of friendship), as not to have left a corner there for a friend or two; but I flatter myself that I even have my place among the number. This I have a claim to from the similitude of our disposition; or, setting that aside, I can demand it as my right by the most equitable law in nature, I mean that of retaliation; for indeed you I have more than your share in mine. I am a man of few professions; and yet this very instant I cannot avoid the painful apprehension, that my present professions (which speak not half my feelings,) should be considered only as a pretext to cover a request, as I have a request to make. No my dear Ned, I know you are too generous to think so; and you know me too proud to stoop to mercenary insincerity. I have a request, it is true, to make; but, as I know to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without diffi may It is in short this; I am ; what then may of family and f I am, de OL Temple Exchange Coff dence or confusion. punctuality in is writing, is m et, and yet you s which is all th ing so frequent ur of Mr. Mills ordinary. Ho a nor me is a s king the emplo their conduct pected, so I hav all the begin wo hundred and |