equired
only a little time to work themselves clear. When he wrote they had that
time; and therefore his readers pronounced him a man of genius: but when
he talked he talked nonsense, and made himself the laughing-stock of his
hearers. He was painfully sensible of his inferiority in conversation;
he felt every failure keenly; yet he had not sufficient judgment and
self-command to hold his tongue. His animal spirits and vanity were
always impelling him to try to do the one thing which he could not do.
After every attempt he felt that he had exposed himself, and writhed
with shame and vexation; yet the next moment he began again.

His associates seem to have regarded him with kindness, which, in spite
of their admiration of his writings, was not unmixed with contempt.
In truth, there was in his character much to love, but very little to
respect. His heart was soft even to weakness: he was so generous that he
quite forgot to be just: he forgave injuries so readily that he might be
said to invite them; and was so liberal to beggars that he had nothing
left for his tailor and his butcher. He was vain, sensual, frivolous,
profuse, improvident. One vice of a darker shade was imputed to him,
envy. But there is not the least reason to believe that this bad
passion, though it sometimes made him wince and utter fretful
exclamations, ever impelled him to injure by wicked arts the reputation
of any of his rivals. The truth probably is, that he was not more
envious, but merely less prudent, than his neighbours. His heart was on
his lips. All those small jealousies, which are but too common among men
of letters, but which a man of letters who is also a man of the world
does his best to conceal, Goldsmith avowed with the simplicity of a
child. When he was envious, instead of affecting indifference, instead
of damning with faint praise, instead of doing injuries slily and in the
dark, he told everybody that he was envious. "Do not, pray, do not talk
of Johnson in such terms," he said to Boswell; "you harrow up my very
soul." George Steevens and Cumberland were men far too cunning to say
such a thing. They would have echoed the praises of the man whom they
envied, and then have sent to the newspapers anonymous libels upon him.
Both what was good and what was bad in Goldsmith's character was to his
associates a perfect security that he would never commit such villany.
He was neither ill natured enough, nor long headed enough, to be guilty