But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he “talked like poor Poll.” He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century. Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who “talked like poor Poll” was the man who, even before he had done anything in literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk. While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying-- “Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.” “I shall take good care that you don't, sir,” said she. “Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!” he cried, bowing as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Why, if I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman in uniform who was speaking with you just now,” said he. “I fancy I have met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.” “His name is Jackson,” she replied. “Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord only knows what he is captain of.” “I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.”