One is glad to hear of even a ray of happiness crossing the path of the poor, sensitive poet; but it was nevertheless through his admiration for the "Jessamy Bride" that he met one of those mortifications which press keenly upon one of his highly strung, nervous temperament. This annoyance came when he was in the full tide of the success of "She Stoops to Conquer." We may assume that the sweetest part of this success had been that it raised him in the eyes of his dear Mary. Nine days after, _The London Packet_, in an abusive article directed against the author of the new comedy, attacked him coarsely. "Goldsmith had patiently suffered worse attacks, and would doubtless here have suffered as patiently, if baser matters had not been introduced, but the libeller had invaded private life and dragged in the 'Jessamy Bride.' 'Was but the lovely H---- k as much enamoured, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in vain.'" On reading this, Goldsmith fell into one of his sudden furies. He rushed off to the publisher, Evans, and beat him with his cane. Evans, who was a sturdy man, returned the blows; the combatants were at last separated, and Goldsmith was sent home in a coach much disfigured. The affair did not end here; the poor, sensitive poet was abused in every newspaper of the day, all steadily ignoring the _real_ ground of offence. He had in the end to pay fifty pounds to Evans for the assault. It is pleasant to think that during the lifetime of the poet no rival disturbed his peace of mind. Catherine, "Little Comedy," married early Mr. Bunbury, second son to Sir Charles Bunbury, of good Suffolk family, but up till the time of Oliver's death, the "Jessamy Bride" had no declared lover, nor did she marry Colonel Gwynn until three years later. Both sisters mourned their gentle friend sincerely. At their request his coffin was opened that a lock of hair might be cut from his head for them. It was in Mrs. Gwynn's possession when she died nearly seventy years later. She lived to a great age, preserving her beauty even in years. The Graces in her case had triumphed over Time. Haslett met her at Northcote, the artist's; she was talking of her favourite, Dr. Goldsmith, with recollection and affection, unabated by age. "I could almost fancy the shade of Goldsmith in the room," adds Haslett, "looking round with complacency."