Oliver Goldsmith: A Memoir

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Dodd, Mead, 1899 - Authors, Irish - 270 pages
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Page 120 - Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Page 134 - I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him.
Page 212 - Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind : His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart : To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing.
Page 45 - But now her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all ; The doctors found, when she was dead — Her last disorder mortal. " Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more — She had not died to-day.
Page 121 - And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill; Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore.
Page 212 - His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing : When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.
Page 250 - Goldsmith should not be for ever attempting to shine in conversation ; he has not temper for it, he is so much mortified when he fails. Sir, a game of jokes is composed partly of skill, partly of chance ; a man may be beat at times by one who has not the tenth part of his wit. Now Goldsmith, putting himself against another, is like a man laying a hundred to one, who cannot spare the hundred.
Page 49 - ... the laughing-stock of the school. Every trick is played upon the usher ; the oddity of his manners, his dress, or his language, is a fund of eternal ridicule ; the master himself now and then cannot avoid joining in the laugh, and the poor wretch, eternally resenting this illusage, seems to live in a state of war with all the family.
Page 121 - Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great. Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by...
Page 217 - In genius, sublime, vivid, versatile ; In style, elevated, clear, elegant, — The love of companions, The fidelity of friends, And the veneration of readers, Have by this monument honoured the memory.

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