acters upon earth;--he is a
priest, a husbandman, and the father of a family. He is drawn as ready
to teach, and ready to obey--as simple in affluence, and majestic in
adversity."

These few words are not an inaccurate statement of the merits and
demerits of the "Vicar of Wakefield." Faults there are, certainly. The
improbability of Sir William Thornhill's being able to go about among
his own tenantry _incognito_, without other disguise than a change of
dress; the inconsistency of the philanthropist's allowing his
villainous nephew to retain possession of the wealth which he used only
to assist him in his crimes; and, finally, the impossibility of that
nephew's being so nearly of an age with Sir William himself, when he
must have been the son of a younger brother, are all blemishes which
Goldsmith might easily have removed, had he not relied on the opinion
which he expressed in Chapter xv, "the reputation of books is raised,
not by their freedom from defect, but by the greatness of their
beauties."

Such a rule would be an obviously dangerous one for an author to
follow. But Goldsmith's confidence in the beauties of his novel was
fully justified by the verdict of the world. No novelist has more
deeply imbued his work with his own genius and spirit, and none have
had a more beneficent genius, nor a more beautiful spirit to impart
than the author of "The Deserted Village." The exquisite style, the
delicate choice of words, the amiability of sentiment, so peculiarly
his own, and so well suited to express the simple beauty of his
thoughts, give a charm to the work which familiarity can only endear.
Dr. Primrose, preserving his simplicity, his modesty, and his nobility
of character alike when surrounded by the pleasures of his early and
prosperous home, when struggling with the hardships of his ruined
fortune, and when rewarded at last by the surfeit of good-fortune which
follows his trial, stands high among the most noble conceptions of
English fiction. "We read the 'Vicar of Wakefield,'" said the great Sir
Walter, "in youth and in age. We return to it again and again, and
bless the memory of an author who contrives so well to reconcile us to
human nature."

Goethe, when in his eighty-first year, declared that Goldsmith's novel
"was his delight at the age of twenty, that it had in a manner formed a
part of his education, influencing his tastes and feelings throughout
life, and that he had recently read it again from beg