; and as he was always ready to make a butt of himself for the
amusement of his friends and acquaintances, it came to be recognised
that anybody was allowed to play off a joke on "Goldy." The jokes,
such of them as have been put on record, are of the poorest sort. The
horse-collar is never far off. One gladly turns from these dismal
humours of the tavern and the club to the picture of Goldsmith's
enjoying what he called a "Shoemaker's Holiday" in the company of one
or two chosen intimates. Goldsmith, baited and bothered by the wits of
a public-house, became a different being when he had assumed the
guidance of a small party of chosen friends bent on having a day's
frugal pleasure. We are indebted to one Cooke, a neighbour of
Goldsmith's in the Temple, not only for a most interesting description
of one of those shoemaker's holidays, but also for the knowledge that
Goldsmith had even now begun writing the _Deserted Village_, which was
not published till 1770, two years later. Goldsmith, though he could
turn out plenty of manufactured stuff for the booksellers, worked
slowly at the special story or poem with which he meant to "strike for
honest fame." This Mr. Cooke, calling on him one morning, discovered
that Goldsmith had that day written these ten lines of the _Deserted
Village_:--

"Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church, that topt the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!"

"Come," said he, "let me tell you this is no bad morning's work; and
now, my dear boy, if you are not better engaged, I should be glad to
enjoy a shoemaker's holiday with you." "A shoemaker's holiday,"
continues the writer of these reminiscences, "was a day of great
festivity to poor Goldsmith, and was spent in the following innocent
manner. Three or four of his intimate friends rendezvoused at his
chambers to breakfast about ten o'clock in the morning; at eleven they
proceeded by the City Road and through the fields to Highbury Barn to
dinner; about six o'clock in the evening they adjourned to White
Conduit House to drink tea; and concluded by supping at the G