This was enough to put the wise
heads at Lissoy and Ballymahon in a ferment of conjectures. With the
exaggerated notions of provincial relatives concerning the family great man
in the metropolis, some of Goldsmith's poor kindred pictured him to
themselves seated in high places, clothed in purple and fine linen, and
hand and glove with the givers of gifts and dispensers of patronage.
Accordingly, he was one day surprised at the sudden apparition, in his
miserable lodging, of his younger brother Charles, a raw youth of
twenty-one, endowed with a double share of the family heedlessness, and who
expected to be forthwith helped into some snug by-path to fortune by one or
other of Oliver's great friends. Charles was sadly disconcerted on learning
that, so far from being able to provide for others, his brother could
scarcely take care of himself. He looked round with a rueful eye on the
poet's quarters, and could not help expressing his surprise and
disappointment at finding him no better off. "All in good tune, my dear
boy," replied poor Goldsmith, with infinite good-humor; "I shall be richer
by-and-by. Addison, let me tell you, wrote his poem of the Campaign in a
garret in the Haymarket, three stones high, and you see I am not come to
that yet, for I have only got to the second story.
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