Among the guests was one Paul Hiffernan, likewise an Irishman;
somewhat idle and intemperate; who lived nobody knew how nor where,
sponging wherever he had a chance, and often of course upon Goldsmith, who
was ever the vagabond's friend, or rather victim. Hiffernan was something
of a physician, and elevated the emptiness of his purse into the dignity of
a disease, which he termed _impecuniosity_, and against which he
claimed a right to call for relief from the healthier purses of his
friends. He was a scribbler for the newspapers, and latterly a dramatic
critic, which had probably gained him an invitation to the dinner and
reading. The wine and wassail, however, befogged his senses. Scarce had the
author got into the second act of his play, when Hiffernan began to nod,
and at length snored outright. Bickerstaff was embarrassed, but continued
to read in a more elevated tone. The louder he read, the louder Hiffernan
snored; until the author came to a pause. "Never mind the brute, Bick, but
go on," cried Goldsmith. "He would have served Homer just so if he were
here and reading his own works."
Kenrick, Goldsmith's old enemy, travestied this anecdote in the following
lines, pretending that the poet had compared his countryman Bickerstaff to
Homer.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275