not keep nature in view, it will be
destitute of truth and probability, without which the beauties of
imitation cannot subsist." Still he by no means falls into the quagmire
of realism. For, continues he, "if on the other hand the imitation is so
close as to be mistaken for nature, the pleasure will then cease,
because the [Greek: mimesis] or imitation, no longer appears."

Even when wrong, Goldsmith is generally half-way right; and this is
especially true of the critical judgments contained in his first
published book. The impudence of 'The Enquiry' (1759) is delicious. What
this young Irishman, fluting it through Europe some five years before,
had _not_ learned about the 'Condition of Polite Learning' in its
principal countries, might fill a ponderous folio. What he did learn,
eked out with harmless misstatement, flashes of inspiration, and a
clever argument to prove that criticism has always been the foe of
letters, managed to fill a respectable duodecimo, and brought him to the
notice of publishers and scholars.

The essay has catholicity, independence, and wit, and it carries itself
with whimsical ease. Every sentence steps out sprightly. Of the French
Encyclopedies: "Wits and dunces contribute their share, and Diderot as
well as Desmaretz are candidates for oblivion. The genius of the first
supplies the gale of favor, and the latter adds the useful ballast of
stupidity." Of the Germans: "They write through volumes, while they do
not think through a page.... Were angels to write books, they never
would write folios." And again: "If criticism could have improved the
taste of a people, the Germans would have been the most polite nation
alive." That settles the Encyclopedias and the Germans. So each
nationality is sententiously reviewed and dismissed with an epigram that
even to-day sounds not altogether unjust, rather amusing and urbane than
acrimonious.

But it was not until Goldsmith began the series of letters in the Public
Ledger (1760), that was afterwards published as 'The Citizen of the
World' that he took London. These letters purport to be from a
philosophic Chinaman in Europe to his friends at home. Grave, gay,
serene, ironical, they were at once an amusing image and a genial censor
of current manners and morals. They are no less creative than critical;
equally classic for the characters they contain: the Gentleman in Black,
Beau Tibbs and his wife, the pawnbroker's widow, Tim Syllabub, and the
processio