“I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir, and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of my suspicion.” “If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he do after having seen me?” said Goldsmith. “Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Johnson, “it was, believe me, sir, a great pain to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.” “What do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who could resist Filby's flatteries?” “Sir,” said Johnson, “you gave me permission several years ago to read any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.” “And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you suggested?” “It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,” said Johnson sternly. Goldsmith glanced at his desk. “I forget now what work was last under my hand,” said he; “but whatever it was, sir----” “I have it here, sir,” said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would be the result of sending them to her. He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater. “Oh, those verses, sir,” he stammered; “they are poor things. You will, I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----” “They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the happiness of others.” “I protest, sir, I scarcely understand----” “Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.” “Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own heart speaks.” “Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your heart throbs in every line.”