(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with the murder of a man.) He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him through a vital part. He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial, express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the lampooners to refrain from molesting him further. If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his triumph in another direction. After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke. He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent. He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what was the reason of their treating him so coldly. “You were talking about me just before I entered,” said he: “I always know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?” Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in which he said-- “You may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you, Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends.”