n oust
our adoration from its throne. Laughter may grow derisive and
compassion scornful. Contempt has one virtue--it recoils. Derision can
find no room within the fathoming comprehension that does not forget
the ceaseless pressure of those ruthless surroundings in which often
noblest lives are framed.

Pope's line on Gay pictures Goldsmith:

"In wit, a man--simplicity, a child."

In these early days no path seemed chosen save that of the road
following the loitering line of least resistance.

After his University career was over, Goldsmith for a while made his
home with his sister and her husband near Lissoy, enjoying fishing and
otter-hunting. Principally he passed his days idling, as people say,
or seeing visions, as the poets and the prophets plead. He was often
with his brother Henry, sharing in the pastor's work. Precious these
fraternal communions must have been. Abiding was Oliver's love
for Henry, to the last, deep, devoted, and revering. During this
wayward era, splendidly attired, and gaily wearing a pair of red
riding-breeches, he called upon the Bishop, having at the moment a
hazy view of being ordained. Noll's radiant apparel, laughing eyes,
and merry face, made the bewildered prelate diffident. Contarine
procured his nephew a tutorship, which was held for twelve months,
until one night, playing cards, Noll called his employer a scoundrel
and a cheat. With thirty pounds in his leaking pockets, later he set
out from home for Cork, and thence, according to his magnificent
plans, for America. He was not destined to become an Empire-builder in
the Colonies. Six weeks saw him home again as happy as ever, and quite
penniless. Neither he himself nor anyone else ever knew, or ever will
know now, what in the meantime had happened to the good fellow. He had
exchanged a capital horse for a lank and bony creature of which he
appeared very fond, called Fiddle-back. According to his story, he
had put his kit on board, and the captain of the ship had sailed
without him. No one was too glad to see him back again so soon. His
mother and his brother Henry knew that neither of them had means to
support him as a man of fantastic leisure. His indolence dishonoured
the family. Perplexing eccentricities had grown intolerable. Only old
Uncle Contarine stood by the boy. He still believed in and loved dear
Noll, incorrigible as the good fellow was, and inexplicable from every
vantage. When he returned poor Oliver had said, w