The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1900-05-12
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
Irish Author, Poet, Historian and
DramatiSt.

OF Oliver Goldsmith the Irish author,
poet, historian and dramatist. Who has
not read his "Deserted Village" one
OF the most touching poems in the Eng
lish language, and his Vicar of Wake
field" which retains its popularity still
i'll every library. In the field OF history
and biography he also made reputa-
ton admired by the highest literary
men of his time. Yet his personal ex-
pcricncc was such as would suggest the
least likelihood OF acquiring fame.
He was born on Nov 10, 1928, at
Pallasmore, County Longford, Ireland.
He managed to secure an entrance to
Trinity college as poor scholar and
was often reduced to the sorest straits
to make his living. His eccentric ap-
pearance and manners caused him
many rebuffs and disappointments, and
when he managed to raise money
enough at the age OF 26 to cross over
to the continent there were few who
would ever dream OF his rising to be
ranked with the worlds great.
He crossed through Germany, Swift
zerland, France and over into Italy.
How he supported himself in those
wanderings is told by himself, though
his accounts of this part OF his life must
be received with caution. He says in
the story OF the philosophical Vaga-
bond" in the "Vicar OF WaAefeld:" 81
had some knowledge OF music, with a
tolerablc voice, and now turned what
was my amusement into present
means OF subsistence. Is When
ever approached peasants house to-
ward nightfall played one Of my most
merry tunes, and that procured me not
only a lodging, but subsistence for the
next day"
In Italy his musical powers no longer
awaited him, for, he said, every peas
ant was better musician than himself,
but he acquired habit OF living by ex-
pedients, and here new one presented
itself. Gin all the foreign universities
and converts" he continues, there are
upon certain days philosophical theses
maintained against any adventurous
disputant, for which, ii the champion
maintain with any degree OF dcxterity,
he can claim gratuity in money, a
dinner and a bed for the night. In this
manner, therefore, fought my way to-
ward England, walked from city to city,
examined mankind more nearly, and,
if l may so express it, saw both sides oi
the picture
At Padua, where he remained some
months, he took his medical degree.
After two years had been spent in va
grant rambles, early in 1856 he landed at
Dover, friendlcss and penniless. How
lie made his way thence to the metrop
oils is uncertain. 1t is only known that
Gin the middle OF February he was
wandering without friend or acquaint-
ancc, without the knowledge or comfort
o! one kind face, in the lonely, terrible
London streets" In 1870 he published
The Deserted Village" The popular
ity OF The Traveller" had prepared the
way for this poem, and its sale was inn
mensc. In 1771 he brought out another
work on the History OF England"
which i'll many parts was merely re-
production OF the former.
Goldsmith's condition and circum-
stances had greatly improved with the
growth OF his literary reputation, but
his style OF living advanced even more
rapidly than his resources, and his pc
cuniary embarrassments were daily
growing upon him. The productions Of
his pen were in great demand and COM
manded unusually large prices, but were
insufficient to meet his increased cx-
penscs. Near the last of March, IVA,
he returned from brief visit to the
country and found himself slightly in
disposed by local disorder which was
followed by low fever, under which
the ovcrtaxcd powers OF his system rap
idly gave way.
He was in the forty-sixth year OF his
life when he died He was inferred in
the burial ground of the Temple church,
but no memorial was set up to indicate
the place of his burial, and it is now
found impossible to identify it. His
friends erected monument to his men,
DRY in Westminster abbey, for which a
Latin inscription was written by DR..
Johnson How true to life are his pa
thctic lines in "The Deserted Village"
describing the scene Of the Irish evic-
ton and its attendant sorrows.
Good heaven, what sorrows gloomed
that parting day
That called them from their native
walks away,
When the poor exiles, every pleasure
past,
Hung around the bowers and fondly
looked their last
And took long farewell and wished in
vain
For seats like those beyond the western
main
And, shuddering still to face the distant
deep,
Returned and wept and still returned to