What gave it particular interest in my eyes, was the
circumstance that it had been the residence of a poet. It was here
Goldsmith resided when he wrote his Deserted Village. I was shown the
very apartment. It was a relique of the original style of the castle,
with pannelled wainscots and gothic windows. I was pleased with its air
of antiquity, and with its having been the residence of poor Goldy.
"Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, "a very pretty poet;
though rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so strongly
as is the fashion now-a-days; but had he lived in these times of hot
hearts and hot heads, he would have written quite differently."
In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters; my books
all arranged, my writing desk placed by a window looking out into the
field; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his
bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of change and the
charms which grace a new lodgings before one has found out their
defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had
rambled. I explored merry Islington; ate my solitary dinner at the
Black Bull, which according to tradition was a country seat of Sir
Walter Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine and muse on old times in
a quaint old room, where many a council had been held.
All this did very well for a few days: I was stimulated by novelty;
inspired by the associations awakened in my mind by these curious
haunts, and began to think I felt the spirit of composition stirring
within me; but Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarming
about Canonbury Castle.
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