was a man of the most felicitous endowments. His
prose flows with such ease, copiousness and grace, that it resembles the
song of the sirens. His verses are among the most spirited, natural and
unaffected in the English language. Yet he was not contented. If he saw
a consummate dancer, he knew no reason why he should not do as well,
and immediately felt disposed to essay his powers. If he heard an
accomplished musician, he undertook to enter the lists with him. His
conduct was of a piece with that of the countryman, who, cheapening
spectacles, and making experiment of them for ever in vain upon the
book before him, was at length asked, "Could you ever read without
spectacles?" to which he was obliged to answer, "I do not know; I never
tried." The vanity of Goldsmith was infinite; and his failure in such
attempts must necessarily have been ludicrous.

The splendour of the thing presented to our observation, awakens
the spirit within us. The applause and admiration excited by certain
achievements and accomplishments infects us with desire. We are like
the youthful Themistocles, who complained that the trophies of Miltiades
would not let him sleep. We are like the novice Guido, who, while
looking on the paintings of Michael Angelo, exclaimed, "I also am a
painter." Themistocles and Guido were right, for they were of kindred
spirit to the great men they admired. But the applause bestowed on
others will often generate uneasiness and a sigh, in men least of all
qualified by nature to acquire similar applause. We are not contented to
proceed in the path of obscure usefulness and worth. We are eager to be
admired, and thus often engage in pursuits for which perhaps we are of
all men least adapted Each one would be the man above him.

And this is the cause why we see so many individuals, who might have
passed their lives with honour, devote themselves to incredible efforts,
only that they may be made supremely ridiculous.

To this let it be added, that the wisest man that ever existed, never
yet knew himself, especially in the morning of life. The person, who
ultimately stamped his history with the most heroic achievements, was
far perhaps even from suspecting, in the dawn of his existence, that he
should realise the miracles that mark its maturity. He might be ready to
exclaim, with Hazael in the Scriptures, "Is thy servant more than man,
that he should do this great thing?" The sublimest poet that ever sung,
was peradventur