expenses. Goldsmith proceeded as far as Dublin, where he encountered an unprincipled acquaintance, by whom he was lured into a gaming-house, and stripped of all his money.

The shame which his sinful folly caused him was far greater than any he had yet experienced. Some time elapsed before he would venture to communicate the disreputable circumstance to his relatives. They at length heard of it, and the prodigal was welcomed back. At his uncle's house (whither he went after a quarrel with his brother) Goldsmith found a home, and here whiled away the time by accompanying his cousin on the flute, whilst she played on the harpsichord. He moreover cultivated the muse, and wrote sundry minor compositions, very inferior in point of merit, if we may judge from two or three specimens that appeared in the Literary Magazine.

Another sphere of labour was at length decided upon; and in 1752 Goldsmith went to Edinburgh, for the purpose of studying medicine. On his very first entrance into the city, an instance occurred which must be added to the many already given of his habitual carelessness. As soon as he had obtained lodgings, and deposited his trunk therein, he went forth into the city to gratify his curiosity, and indulge his propensity for sight-seeing. Towards night he wished to return, but found himself all at once in a strange dilemma. He knew not where to go, as he had not asked his landlady's name, or that of the street in which his lodgings were situated. From this unpleasant position he was relieved by accidentally meeting the porter whom he had employed in the morning. That he was not very happy in his selection of an abode may be gathered from the description he has given of the by no means ample fare provided. We will not quote his list of weekly dinners, contenting ourselves merely with his concluding remarks:"We seem to be pretty much in the situation of travellers at a Scotch inn; vile entertainment is served up, complained of, and sent down; up comes worse, and that also is changed; and every change makes our wretched cheer more unsavoury."

He appears not to have devoted himself with any zeal or energy to his studies. His time seems to have been wasted in continual convivial meetings. Now and then he exercised his poetical powers in the composition of songs, which he sung for the amusement of his fellows. In a humorous letter to R. Bryanston, he gives his opinion of the Scotch, whose failings were doubtless not a little exaggerated. His "convivial" qualities gained him admission into high society; but with all his faults he was clear-sighted enough to discern the reason why he was courted. "I have spent," says he, “a delightful day at the Duke of Hamilton's; but it seems they like me more as a jester than a companion ; so I disdained so servile an employment as unworthy my calling as a physician." Having completed his second winter in Edinburgh, he

resolved to go on to the Continent, and communicated his intention to his uncle Contarine in the following letter:

"MY DEAR UNCLE,-After having spent two winters in Edinburgh, I now prepare to go to France the 10th of next February. I have seen all that this country can exhibit in the medical way, and therefore intend to visit Paris, where the great Mr. Farheir, Petit, and De Hammel de Monceau instruct their pupils in all the branches of medicine. They speak French, and consequently I shall have much the advantage of most of my countrymen, as I am perfectly acquainted with that language, and few who leave Ireland

are so.

"Since I am upon so pleasing a topic as self-applause, give me leave to say that the circle of science which I have run through before I undertook the study of physic is not only useful, but absolutely necessary to the making a skilful physician. Such sciences enlarge our understanding, and sharpen our sagacity; and what is a practitioner without both, but an empiric? For never yet was a disorder found entirely the same in two patients. A quack, unable to distinguish the peculiarities in each disease, prescribes at a venture; if he finds such a disorder may be called by the general name of fever, for instance, he has a set of remedies which he applies to cure it; nor does he desist till his medicines are run out, or his patient has lost his life. But the skilful physician distinguishes the symptoms, manures the sterility of nature, or prunes its luxuriance; nor does he depend so much on the efficacy of medicines, as on their proper application. I shall spend this spring and summer in Paris, and the beginning of next winter go to Leyden. The great Albinus is still alive there, and it will be proper to go, though only to have it said we have studied in so famous an university.

dear

"As I shall not have another opportunity of drawing upon your bounty till my return to Ireland, so I have drawn for the last sum that I hope I shall ever trouble you for 'tis £20. And now, Sir, let me acknowledge the humility of the station in which you found me; let me tell how I was despised by most, and hateful to myself. Poverty, hopeless poverty, was my lot, and melancholy was beginning to make me her own; when you-but I stop here to inquire how your health goes on? ..

"I have nothing new to add from this country; and I beg, dear Sir, you will excuse this letter, so filled with egotism. I wish you may be revenged on me by sending an answer filled with nothing but an account of yourself.

"I am, dear Uncle, your most devoted
"OLIVER GOLDSMITH."

THE MISSIONARY'S FAREWELL.

(Translated from the French of the Abbé de Touzé.)

IN one of the oldest cities of our most religious Britanny, a province so long distinguished for loyalty to her GoD and to her king, a magnificent procession was passing through the streets. The inhabitants were celebrating the Féte Dieu. Brilliant military music alternated with the solemn chants of the Church; and when the warlike sounds were hushed, the chosen musicians of the band joined their melody to that which proceeded from the voices of forty men and children, who caused the air to resound with their sacred song.

Amongst these accompanying musicians, there was one who could not fail to strike the eye of the beholder. He was youthful -almost boyish in appearance-but there was a mellowness and depth of expression in the tones he produced from his little pistonsolo, a mingled earnestness and humility in his every glance and movement, which revealed the deep religious sentiment by which he was animated. When, at the solemn moment of the bendiction, the command to kneel was given-it was not his knee alone which bowed in lowly reverence, but his whole soul seemed prostrate in humble adoration.

The chapel master was attracted by the devout bearing of the young musician, and, at the conclusion of the ceremony, sought to engage him in conversation. He began by praising the noble spirit of self-devotion which was frequently manifested by the soldier in the service of his country.

"It is noble and glorious," replied the young man, “but yet it often fills my heart with sadness, when I think that, in this career of self-devotion, he who earns most glory and receives most commendation from his country, is too often he who has shown the most skill in destroying the lives of his fellow-men. This is not the kind of self-sacrifice that I would choose. Rather would I devote my whole existence to the effort of producing life, moral life amongst my fellow-men. This, Sir, I will own to you, has long been my favourite dream-the cherished hope of my inmost soul."

The conversation of the chapel master with the young musician was here interrupted, but he afterwards learnt that every hour which this young man was not compelled to pass within the barrack walls, was spent at the public school of the town, where seated amongst the children, he conned with cheerful alacrity his task, and wrote his daily theme.

This scene took place at Nantes in the year 1839. Ten

years later, that is to say during the year which has but lately closed, the chapel master was living in Paris. He chanced to pass one evening through the Rue du Bac, and as he was walking by the door of the seminary for Foreign Missions, his attention was attracted by perceiving lights in the subterranean Church. He concluded that some religious service was going on, and entering the court looked through a small aperture which commanded a view of the interior.

A singular spectacle presented itself to his view. Instead of priests, surplices and copes, he saw before him soldiers of every class, infantry, cavalry, carabiniers, lancers, African chasseurs, &c.

"I wonder whether any émeute is expected in this quarter to-night," thought the good chapel master within himself (for his windows having been broken, and the walls of his house ploughed with balls on the day of the Barricades, the thought of an émeute was anything but agreeable to the peace-loving musician ;) “I think I will go in and ascertain at once what all this is about;" and so saying he lifted the latch, and found himself in another moment in the midst of the military assembly. But all bore the aspect of peace-not a fire-arm was to be seen-every sword was sheathed. A young trooper held a spelling-book in his hand, and, proud of his new acquirements, was pointing out to his neighbour, the rifle-man, six letters which he had already learnt. By his side, a carabinier was opening his case of mathematical instruments, and drawing circles, curved lines, and right-angled triangles, whilst another was deeply absorbed in his grammar, and a third bent over his copy-book. The chapel master was beginning to discover that he was in a school, when suddenly he felt a gentle tap upon his shoulder. He turned round to see from whom it proceeded.

"Good evening, sir," said a young priest, of more than ordinarily attractive aspect; "you do not recognise me?"

"No, I own I do not."

66 I am the young musician to whom you spoke so kindly ten years ago at Nantes. My long-cherished wish has at length been realized; and, whilst awaiting my departure on the Chinese mission, I organized this class for the instruction of my former comrades, whom you now see around me." The good chapel master, almost overcome with emotion, pressed the young man's hand within his own, and said:

"May God bless your labours! my friend; you will soon see me here again."

"It must be very soon," replied the priest," for in a few days we take our departure. I shall invite you to be present on the evening of our farewell you will then sing something for

me!"

"I will with pleasure," replied the old man, "but it will have an accompaniment of tears. Farewell for to-night."

At length the day of departure arrived; the day so anxiously awaited by the youthful missionary. The preceding evening was the one appointed for the ceremony of the Farewell, and on that evening, at nine o'clock, the chapel of the seminary for Foreign Missions was crowded to excess. Not a place was to be procured even in the vestibule which led to it, although men alone had the privilege of being admitted. And yet, on this evening, one woman was seen kneeling in the vestibule. Her countenance was expressive of mingled grief and resignation, and she seemed absorbed in prayer. The surprise which her presence excited soon gave way to deep sympathy, when it was whispered from one to another that she was "the sister of one of the departing missionaries.”

They were four in number, and stood at the right hand side of the altar. Their bearing, though dignified and noble, was expressive of deep humility, and a serene joy lighted up their

countenances.

In front of the altar stood the venerable retired missionary, who was to deliver the address, whilst around the walls of the chapel were seated in their respective stalls the good superior of the seminary and the directors of the mission. There was scarcely one amongst them who had not passed many years in India, in China, or some other distant land. Their sufferings had abounded; one had returned home, blind, after thirty years of labour; another still bore the marks of the irons which had been fastened upon him; and more than one retained the scars which had been inflicted by the cruel punishment of the bastinado.

The young pupils of the mission, who were destined hereafter to recruit the missionary ranks, were ranged in the body of the church with as much regularity as the pressure of the crowd would allow.

This crowd consisted of men of all professions, and belonging to every class in society; all either relatives or friends of the departing missionaries. Here was to be seen the magistrate, the man of letters, the honest hearted labourer, but above all, on this evening, the number of soldiers was predominant. So great was the crowd that two bishops who had been invited, could scarcely make their way to the seats prepared for them at the altar.

scene.

No white surplices were there to impart a sober brightness to the The youths of the seminary and their venerable teachers were alike dressed in the simple black cassock-this is required by the ceremonial of the Soirée des Adieux.

In the midst of this crowd there stood one man, who appeared more deeply moved than any of the other spectators. His eye