I was a freshman at college before I ever heard the story of Goldsmith and Ezekiel, and one of my most vivid recollections is of my perplexity as I watched the amused face of the young assistant in the English Department, who told it to us. He had been speaking of the boundless naïvete of the great writer's character, and, prefacing the story with a laugh, related the ancedote as follows: "One day Goldsmith, chancing to turn over the leaves of the Bible, happened upon the book of Ezekiel. he was soon deep in reading, and no one saw him at all that day; but that evening he burst into the weekly gathering of his circle at the King's Head, still clad in his careless morning costume, the book in his hand, his finger between the pages to keep the place, his honest face on fire with enthusiasm. To everyone in turn he addressed himself with the greatest ardor, crying out, 'why did I never hear of this writer before? He is a superb master, this Ezekiel - only listen to this passage! And this! And what nobility in this eighteenth chapter!'