The Vicar of Wakefield: A Tale Supposed to be Written by Himself

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Macmillan, 1899 - Abduction - 206 pages
When Dr Primrose loses his fortune in a disastrous investment, his idyllic life in the country is shattered and he is forced to move with his wife and six children to an impoverished living on the estate of Squire Thornhill. Taking to the road in pursuit of his daughter, who has been seduced by the rakish Squire, the beleaguered Primrose becomes embroiled in a series of misadventures -- encountering his long-lost son in a travelling theatre company and even spending time in a debtor’s prison. Yet Primrose, though hampered by his unworldliness and pride, is sustained by his unwavering religious faith. In The Vicar of Wakefield, Goldsmith gently mocks many of the literary conventions of his day -- from pastoral and romance to the picaresque -- infusing his story of a hapless clergyman with warm humour and amiable social satire.

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Page xxii - 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. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit ; told the landlady I should soon return,...
Page 31 - TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale. And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. , "For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow, « Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go." " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; - For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.
Page 35 - But mine the sorrow, mine the fault. And well my life shall pay ; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. " And there, forlorn, despairing, hid. Til lay me down and die ; Twas so for me that Edwin did. And so for him will I.
Page 77 - A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound. And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends. Went mad, and bit the man.
Page 32 - No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn: Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them : "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; All earth-born cares are wrong; Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.
Page 35 - Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee. " Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign : And shall we never, never part, My life, — my all that's mine? " No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Page 188 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade...
Page 105 - I was the more surprised at seeing our cousin pitched upon for this office, as he himself had often assured me he knew nothing of the matter. Upon asking how he had been taught the art of a cognoscente0 so very suddenly, he assured me that nothing was more easy.
Page 76 - Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song ; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray.
Page 83 - 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. He was no sooner alighted, but he was in haste to be gone; for he was ever on business of the utmost importance, and was at that time actually compiling materials for the history of on

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