The Life of Oliver Goldsmith, M. B.: From a Variety of Original Sources, Volume 2

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John Murray, Albemarle Street., 1837

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Page 251 - The Memoirs of a Protestant, condemned to the Galleys of France for his Religion.
Page 342 - This person was no other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Churchyard, who has written so many little books for children. He called himself their friend ; but he was the friend of all mankind.
Page 499 - When all is done, (he concludes,) human life is at the greatest and the best but like a froward child, that must be played with and humoured a little to keep it quiet, till it falls asleep, and then the care is over.
Page 443 - Village,' were it not sometimes too much the echo of his ' Traveller.' Whether, indeed, we take him as a poet, as a comic writer, or as an historian, he stands in the first class.
Page 299 - The alleged seniority of his brother also would appear to have been overstated. drink ; have contracted a hesitating disagreeable manner of speaking, and a visage that looks ill-nature itself; in short, I have thought myself into a settled melancholy, and an utter disgust of all that life brings with it.
Page 442 - When accompanying two beautiful young ladies with their mother on a tour in France, he was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than to him...
Page 299 - It is impossible to conceive how much may be done by a proper education at home. A boy, for instance, who understands perfectly well Latin, French, Arithmetic, and the principles of the civil law, and can write a fine hand, has an education that may qualify him for any undertaking.
Page 162 - A Dutch lady burns nothing about her phlegmatic admirer but his tobacco. You must know, Sir, every woman carries in her hand a stove with coals in it, which, when she sits, she snugs under her petticoats ; and at this chimney dozing Strephon lights his pipe.
Page 180 - Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir...
Page 20 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

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