though often surly, sent back the messenger with a guinea, and
promised to follow speedily. He came, and found that Goldsmith
had changed the guinea, and was railing at the landlady over a
bottle of Madeira. Johnson put the cork into the bottle, and
entreated his friend to consider calmly how money was to be
procured. Goldsmith said that he had a novel ready for the
press. Johnson glanced at the manuscript, saw that there were
good things in it, took it to a bookseller, sold it for 60
pounds, and soon returned with the money. The rent was paid; and
the sheriff's officer withdrew. According to one story,
Goldsmith gave his landlady a sharp reprimand for her treatment
of him; according to another, he insisted on her joining him in a
bowl of punch. Both stories are probably true. The novel which
was thus ushered into the world was the "Vicar of Wakefield."

But, before the "Vicar of Wakefield" appeared in print, came the
great crisis of Goldsmith's literary life. In Christmas week,
1764, he published a poem, entitled the "Traveller." It was the
first work to which he had put his name; and it at once raised
him to the rank of a legitimate English classic. The opinion of
the most skilful critics was, that nothing finer had appeared in
verse since the fourth book of the "Dunciad." In one respect the
"Traveller" differs from all Goldsmith's other writings. In
general his designs were bad, and his execution good. In the
"Traveller," the execution, though deserving of much praise, is
far inferior to the design. No philosophical poem, ancient or
modern, has a plan so noble, and at the same time so simple. An
English wanderer, seated on a crag among the Alps, near the point
where three great countries meet, looks down on the boundless
prospect, reviews his long pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of