Dr Oliver Goldsmith. This pleasing, if not great poet and admirable prose writer, I never knew. He may be said to have died before my time, but not before I had begun to turn my attention towards literary pursuits. I once volunteered the delivery of a letter to him in the Temple, from a friend of my father, in order to have a chance of seeing his person; but he either was not at home, or thought it prudent to deny himself even to a boy, as his circumstances were probably quite poetical. My old friend Mr Cooke,1 the barrister, who brought letters to him from Cork, in the year 1766, used to speak of his benevolence and simplicity in the highest terms.
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- 1.See his recollections of Goldsmith in Memoirs of Samuel Foote (London: Richard Phillips, 1805) vol. 1, pp. 184–6; vol. 3, pp. 77–8;Google Scholar
- and in ‘Table Talk’, European Magazine, 21 (February 1792) p. 88; 24 (August 1793) pp. 91–5; (September 1793) pp. 170–4; (October 1793) pp. 258–64.Google Scholar