s abilities.

[Greek:
Ton taphon eisoraas ton Olibarioio, koniaen
Aphrosi mae semnaen, xeine, podessi patei
Oisi memaele phusis, metron charis erga palaion,
Klaiete poiaetaen, istorikon, phusikon.]

"Thou beholdest the tomb of Oliver; press not,
O stranger, with the foot of folly, the venerable dust.
Ye who care for nature, for the charms of song, for
the deeds of ancient days, weep for the Historian, the Naturalist,
the Poet."

Goldsmith's stature was below the middle height; his limbs, sturdy; his
forehead, more prominent than is usual; and his face, almost round,
pallid, and marked with the small-pox.

The simpleness, almost approaching to fatuity, of his outward
deportment, combined with the power which there was within, brings to
our recollection some part of the character of La Fontaine, whom a
French lady wittily called the Fable Tree, from his apparent
unconsciousness, or rather want of mental responsibility for the
admirable productions which he was continually supplying. His propriety
and clearness, when he expresses his thoughts with his pen, and his
confusion and inability to impart them in conversation, well illustrated
the observation of Cicero, that it is very possible for a man to think
rightly on any subject, and yet to want the power of conveying his
sentiments by speech in fit and becoming language to others. "Fieri
potest ut recte quis sentiat, sed id quod sentit polite eloqui non
possit." Yet Mr. Cumberland, who was one of his associates, has informed
us, "that he had gleams of eloquence."

Johnson said of him that he was not a social man; he never exchanged
mind with you. His prevailing foible was a desire of shining in those
exterior accomplishments which nature had denied him. Vanity and
benevolence had conspired to make him an easy prey to adulation and
imposture.

His complaints of the envy by which he found his mind tormented, and
especially on the occasion of Johnson's being honoured by an interview
with the king, must have made those who heard him, lose all sense of the
evil passion, in their amusement at a confession so novel and so
pleasant.

One day, we are told, he complained in a mixed company of Lord Camden.
"I met him," said he, "at Lord Clare's house in the country, and he took
no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man." The story of
his peach-coloured coat will not soon be forgotten. If--

--in some men
Their grace