By this time Goldsmith had moved into those historic but now non-existent lodgings in 12 Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey, which have been photographed for ever in Irving’s _Tales of a Traveller._ It was here that the foregoing incidents took place; and it was here also that, early in 1759, ‘in a wretched dirty room, in which there was but one chair,’ the Rev. Thomas Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore, found him composing (or more probably correcting the proofs of) _The Enquiry._ ‘At least spare invective ’till my book with Mr. Dodsley shall be publish’d,’—he had written not long before to the irate Griffiths—‘and then perhaps you may see the bright side of a mind when my professions shall not appear the dictates of necessity but of choice.’ _The Enquiry_ came out on the 2nd of April. It had no author’s name, but it was an open secret that Goldsmith had written it; and to this day it remains to the critic one of the most interesting of his works. Obviously, in a duodecimo of some two hundred widely-printed pages, it was impossible to keep the high-sounding promise of its title; and at best its author’s knowledge of the subject, notwithstanding his continental wanderings, can have been but that of an external spectator. Still in an age when critical utterance was more than ordinarily full-wigged and ponderous, it dared to be sprightly and epigrammatic. Some of its passages, besides, bear upon the writer’s personal experiences, and serve to piece the imperfections of his biography. If it brought him no sudden wealth, it certainly raised his reputation with the book-selling world. A connexion already begun with Smollett’s _Critical Review_ was drawn closer; and the shrewd Sosii of the Row began to see the importance of securing so vivacious and unconventional a pen. Towards the end of the year he was writing for Wilkie the collection of periodical essays entitled _The Bee_; and contributing to the same publisher’s _Lady’s Magazine_, as well as to _The Busy Body_ of one Pottinger. In these, more than ever, he was finding his distinctive touch; and ratifying anew, with every fresh stroke of his pen, his bondage to authorship as a calling.