NOTE
The following article, which appeared in a London periodical, shows the effect of Goldsmith’s poem in renovating the fortunes of Lissoy.
“About three miles from Ballymahon, a very central town in the sister kingdom, is the mansion and village of Auburn, so called by their present possessor, Captain Hogan. Through the taste and improvement of this gentleman, it is now a beautiful spot, although fifteen years since it presented a very bare and unpoetical aspect. This, however, was owing to a cause which serves strongly to corroborate the assertion that Goldsmith had this scene in view when he wrote his poem of The Deserted Village. The then possessor, General Napier, turned all his tenants out of their farms that he might inclose them in his own private domain. Littleton, the mansion of the general, stands not far off, a complete emblem of the desolating spirit lamented by the poet, dilapidated and converted into a barrack.
“The chief object of attraction is Lissoy, once the parsonage house of Henry Goldsmith, that brother to whom the poet dedicated his Traveler, and who is represented as the village pastor,
“‘Passing rich with forty pounds a year.’
“When I was in the country, the lower chambers were inhabited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-rooms by oats. Captain Hogan, however, has, I believe, got it since into his possession, and has, of course, improved its condition.
“Though at first strongly inclined to dispute the identity of Auburn, Lissoy House overcame my scruples. As I clambered over the rotten gate, and crossed the grass-grown lawn or court, the tide of association became too strong for casuistry; here the poet dwelt and wrote, and here his thoughts fondly recurred when composing his Traveler in a foreign land. Yonder was the decent church, that literally ‘topped the neighboring hill.’ Before me lay the little hill of Knockrue, on which he declares, in one of his letters, he had rather sit with a book in hand than mingle in the proudest assemblies. And, above all, startlingly true, beneath my feet was
“‘Yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild.’
“A painting from the life could not be more exact. ‘The stubborn currant-bush’ lifts its head above the rank grass, and the proud hollyhock flaunts where its sisters of the flower-knot are no more.
“In the middle of the village stands the old ‘hawthorn-tree,’ built up with masonry to distinguish and preserve it; it is old and stunted, and suffers much from the depredations of post-chaise travelers, who generally stop to procure a twig. Opposite to it is the village alehouse, over the door of which swings ‘The Three Jolly Pigeons.’ Within everything is arranged according to the letter: