The incidents of his life, too, supplied very often the plot or story; and memory took the place of invention. Yet, in this respect, considering the varied and adventurous nature of his life, we are rather surprised that he did not draw more copiously from himself, and from his past history. We should have thought that the curious scenes he must have witnessed in that wild journey of his—footing it through Europe, now as medical student, now as itinerant musician, at one time playing the tutor (he the tutor!) to some junior scapegrace; at another, furbishing up all the Latin and logic he was master of, to dispute at Padua for bed and supper—would have supplied him with many an incident for a novel. We are persuaded, that if he had lived in these days, when the value of an incident is better known, and it is more the fashion than it was formerly to put to literary profit the experience and events of private life, he would have made much greater use than he has done of such materials. But it is not only thus that we trace the life of Goldsmith in his writings. We trace the influence of his career in the formation of his intellectual character. Travel had stood with him in the place of philosophy. It had enlarged his sphere of thought, had broken up national prejudices, and given him an insight into many a matter which otherwise would never have attracted his attention. But travel is far more effective in dispersing error or prejudice, than in lending assistance to the formation of settled opinions. It confirmed him in a desultory mode of thinking, uncertain and undecided. His horizon was extended, but his vision was not distinct. Yet as Goldsmith was never devoted to the discipline of philosophy, and would never, perhaps, have pursued any systematic study, he was, upon the whole, a great gainer by his varied vagrant life, and the cosmopolitan temper it had generated. A philosopher he never would have been: it was something to feel as a citizen of the world. Goldsmith was of a quick apprehensive intellect, open to receive impressions, with ready faculty to give them forth again; but to continuous thought, to close and prolonged examination of any subject, he was by no means addicted. With him the philosophers were more talked of than read. Abstract thinking and severe reasoning were not his vocation. It thus happens that the solitary observation, simply asserted, is often excellent, and carries with it our cordial assent. He only discovers his weakness when he undertakes to convince us by his reasoning. On those occasions when he puts forth a thesis, and solemnly begins to demonstrate it, his thesis may be good, but it will stand none the firmer for his argument.