A person named Goldsmith, who stated himself to be a nephew of the
great Oliver Goldsmith, died a short time since of cholera, in the
country. A correspondent of the _Morning Herald_ observes, the
assertion may be true, and states that Dr. Goldsmith had a brother,
whose name he thinks was Charles, and whom he met in public company
about thirty years since. In person he resembled the poet, and was a
man of some pleasantry, sang a tolerable song, and, like his brother,
had a good deal of oddity in his manner. He then resided at Somer's
Town, and as the correspondent was informed, had been many years in
the West Indies, whence he came to England possessed of a small
independence. Some years since the correspondent made inquiry at
Somer's Town for Charles Goldsmith, but was told that he had left his
residence there for some years. He is anxious for some information
respecting the latter history of the poet's brother: he has a faint
idea of hearing he had some children by a native of the West Indies,
and he thinks it probable that the first-named individual, lately
deceased, might have been one of them. The settlement of this point
may not be of general importance; but it leads the correspondent to
mention that in the Temple churchyard, where he remembers the burial
of Goldsmith, _there is no stone or other memorial to mark his grave_.
So posterity, for nearly threescore years, have treated a man of
genius, who, to quote Dr. Johnson's opinion, left no species of
writing untouched, and adorned all to which he applied himself. "How
different," observes the above correspondent, "the attention and
honours paid to the memory of Walter Scott, scarcely cold in his
coffin! a more voluminous writer certainly, but not a superior genius
to the author of the _Deserted Village_ and the _Vicar of Wakefield_."
Goldsmith died in the Inner Temple. Aikin says he was buried with
little attendance in the Temple church; the correspondent of the
_Herald_ states, in the _churchyard_, so that the poet's biographers
are not even agreed WHERE he was buried. Yet, since his death,
thousands of pounds have been expended in restoring the architecture
of the Temple church, and one hears everlastingly of the rare series
of effigies of Knights Templars: but a few pounds have not been spared
for a stone to tell where the poor poet sleeps. True it is, that a
monument has been erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, with a
Latin inscription, by Dr. Johnson, but the locality of his actual
resting-place is untold. We may say with equal truth and justice--
Oh shame to the land of his birth!