11
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Jonathan Sivift,d.i> 
 
 r 0s* ,>/'>//* _''!,/,'/,-/>:>. L 'i 
 
 /W./K.-/--,/ .i/./i.. ' . ' /.!> : .
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OS THE 
 
 REV. JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D. 
 
 DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S, DUBLIN. 
 
 ARRANGED BYTHOMAS SHERIDAN, A.M. J 
 
 WITH . ' 
 
 $otc& ijftgtocka! anij Critical, 
 
 A NEW EDITION, IN NINETEEN VOLUMES ; 
 
 CORRECTED AND REVISED BY 
 
 JOHN NICHOLS, F.S.A. EDINBURGH AND PERTH. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JRINTED FOR 3. JOHNSON ; J. NICHOLS AND SON ; R. BALDWIN ; OTRIDGE AND SON ; 
 T. C. AND J. RIV1NGT0N ; T. PAYNE J R. FAULDER ; G. ROBINSON; WILKIE AND 
 ROBINSON ; R. LEA ; J. NUNN ; CUTHELL AND MARTIN ; J. WALKER ; T. EGERTON J 
 CLARKE AND SON ; VERNOR, HOOD, AND SHARPE J SCATCHERD AND LETTERMAN ; 
 1ACKINGTON, ALLEN, AND CO.; J. CARPENTER; LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ANDORMK; 
 CADELL AND DAVIES ; W. MILLER ; J. AND A. ARCH } S, BAGSTER ; J. MURRAY , 
 1. HARBING ; R. H. EVANS J AND J. MAWMAN.
 
 o^ "P"R 
 
 v.l 
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 FRANCIS RAWDON HASTINGS, 
 
 EARL OFMOIRA, BARON RAWDON, ETC. ETC. 
 
 THAN WHOM THE UNITED DOMINIONS 
 CONTAIN NOT A TRUER PATRIOT J 
 
 WHO COULD DISTINGUISH HIMSELF BY HIS PEN, 
 KO LESS THAN BY HIS SWORD AND HIS ELOQUENCE; 
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 DEAN SWIFT 
 
 ARE, 
 
 WITH STRICT PROPRIETY, 
 
 INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY 
 
 A MEMBER OF THE CORPORATION OF LONDON , 
 
 WHO HAS THE HONOUR TO SUBSCRIBE HIMSELF 
 
 HIS LORDSHIP'S 
 
 GREATLY OBLIGED 
 
 AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 June, 1808. 
 
 5 87605
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT ix 
 
 General Preface. . t xv 
 
 The Life of Dr. Swift, by Mr. Sheridan ., I 
 
 Mr. Sheridan's Dedication 3 
 
 Introduction 5 
 
 Sect. I 19 
 
 Sect. II. From the death of sir William Temple, to the time 
 
 of his introduction to lord Oxford 49 
 
 Sect. III. From the introduction to Mr. Harley, to the 
 
 death of the Queen 81 
 
 Sect. IV. 1 76 
 
 Sect. V. From his return to Ireland to his death. ....... 218 
 
 Sect. VI. Private Memoirs of Swift 288 
 
 Sect. VII. Various Anecdotes of Swift 384-
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 IN presenting to the publick a new edition of 
 the Works of so well known and popular a 
 writer as Dr. Swift, it would be equally unjust 
 and invidious to withhold the preliminary ob- 
 servations of men high in esteem for critical 
 sagacity, who on former occasions have not 
 disdained to undertake the office of ushering 
 the Dean's writings into the world: These, 
 therefore, will be found collected into one point 
 of view in the General Preface. 
 
 From a large accumulation of useful mate- 
 rials (to which the present Editor had con- 
 tributed no inconsiderable share, and to which 
 in 1779 he annexed a copious index to the 
 Dean's works, and a chronological list of the 
 epistolary correspondence) a regular edition in 
 seventeen volumes was in 1784 compiled by 
 the late Mr. Sheridan; to whom the former 
 biographers were collectors of materials; and 
 who prefixed an excellent life of the Dean, 
 which no man was better qualified than him- 
 self to undertake. This renders it unnecessary 
 to enter farther on that subject, than merely 
 to observe, in the words of a late worthy
 
 X ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 friend*, that, " if we deduct somewhat from 
 report, which is apt to add to the oddities of 
 men of note, the greatest part of his conduct 
 may be accounted for by the common operations 
 of human nature * Ckoler, lord Bacon ob- 
 serves,' ' puts men on action; when it grows 
 adust, it turns to melancholy.* In Swift, that 
 humour seems to have been predominant; go- 
 verned, however, even in his younger days, by 
 a fund of good sense, and an early experience 
 of the world. He was thrown, luckily, in the 
 prime of life, into the family of a great per- 
 sonage, where he had the happiness of an 
 interview with a monarch; from whence he 
 had resonable hopes of satisfying his towering 
 ambition. But he found them followed by 
 nothing but disappointment. In a course of 
 years, honours seemed a second time to make 
 their court to him. He came into favour with 
 a prime minister under another reign, even 
 when different principles prevailed from those 
 which guided his former patron; a rare felicity! 
 which, however, in the event, served only to 
 convince him, that he was banished to Ireland 
 for life, and that all hopes were cut off of his 
 rising, even there, any higher than the Deanery. 
 What would one of his parts and wit do in such 
 a situation, but drop mankind as much as possi- 
 
 * Mr. Bcnvvcr, the juAIy celebrated printer. 
 
 3
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. XI 
 
 ble, especially the higher class of it, which to 
 a man of humour is naturally a restraint; where, 
 at best, as he observes, the only difference is, to 
 have two candles on the table instead of one? 
 What, I say, would such a one do, but culti- 
 vate an acquaintance with those who were dis- 
 appointed like himself? what but write com- 
 pliments on ladies, lampoons on men in power, 
 sarcasms on human nature, trifle away life be- 
 tween whim and resentment, just as the bile 
 arose or subsided? He had sense, and I believe 
 religion, enough to keep him from vice ; and 
 from a consciousness of his integrity, was less 
 solicitous about the appearances of virtue, or 
 even decency, which is often the counterfeit of 
 it. The patriot principle, which he had imbibed 
 in queen Anne's reign, lurked at the bottom of 
 his heart; which, as it was more active in those 
 days than since, sometimes roused him to defend 
 the Church, and Ireland his asylum, against any 
 encroachments. View him now in his decline. 
 Passions decay, and the lamp of life and reason 
 grows dim. It is the fate of many, I may say 
 most geniuses, who have secluded themselves 
 from the world, to lose their senses in their old 
 age; especially those who have worn them out 
 in thought and application. Providence, perhaps, 
 has therefore ordained, that the eyes, the inlets 
 of knowledge, should be impaired, before the 
 understanding, the repository of it, is decayed;
 
 Xil ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 that the defects of the former may protract 
 the latter. Few of us are enough sensible how 
 much the conjugal tie, and the several con- 
 nexions which follow from it, how much even 
 domestic troubles, when surmountable, are 
 the physick of the soul; which, at the same 
 time that they quicken the senses, preserve 
 them too." 
 
 Not wishing to trouble the publick with any 
 more last words of Dr. Swift; the Editor con- 
 tented himself with writing in the margin of 
 his own books such particulars as occurred, re- 
 lative either to the Dean or to his writings; a 
 circumstance which now enables him to supply 
 several matters which had escaped Mr. Sheri- 
 dan's observation, and to elucidate fome passages 
 which were left unexplained. Careful, however, 
 not very materially to interfere with the general 
 arrangement of Mr. Sheridan's edition; what 
 has been superadded, though attended with no 
 small labour, it is useless to the general reader 
 to point out. To the critical collator, it would 
 be superfluous. 
 
 For the first admission into the Dean's Works 
 of the articles marked in the several Tables of 
 Contents with an asterisk, the present Editor is 
 responsible; and the authority on which the 
 Miscellaneous Tracts are adopted is p in general 
 given.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. Xlll 
 
 The Epistolary Correspondence sufficiently 
 speaks for itself, and needs no apology. Some 
 of these are now first printed from the origi 
 nals; and " Letters written by wise men," says 
 an experienced writer, " are of all the works 
 of men, in my judgment, the best*." 
 
 One advantage at least this edition possesses: 
 a complete general Index, corrected by a Friend, 
 whose kind attention has much facilitated the 
 labours of the Editor. 
 
 For the critical notes the reader is almost 
 wholly indebted to the late Mr. Sheridan. Those 
 which are historical are selected from the for- 
 mer publications of lord Orrery, Dr. Delany, 
 Dr. Hawkesworth, Deane Swift, esq., Bishop 
 Warburton, Dr. Johnson, Dr.Warton, Mr. Bow- 
 yer, Dr. Birch, Mr. Faulkner, Mr. Chalmers, 
 Mr. Bowles, and the present Editor. 
 
 J.NICHOLS, 
 
 * Bacon, de Augment. Scientiarum.
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 1 HE Advertisement having in some degree 
 explained the nature of the present edition, 
 this Preface shall give the history of those 
 which have preceded it. 
 
 Swift's earliest appearance before the publick 
 as a writer was in the separate Pindaric Odes 
 which appear in the beginning of the Sixteenth 
 Volume, and in the Prefaces prefixed to the 
 Works of his friend and patron, Sir William 
 Temple, 1692. 
 
 In 1701 he published a pamphlet of some 
 consequence, in quarto, under the title of * The 
 Contests and Dissentions," &c. which were 
 followed in 1704 by " The Tale of a Tub;" 
 and by several occasional essays in prose and 
 verse between that year and 1711; when, an 
 attempt having been made to obtrude on the 
 publick a spurious collection of his Tracts, 
 which had now become popular; he con- 
 sented that his friend John Morphew should 
 present to the gublicjk. but still without his 
 
 name.
 
 XVi GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 name, a volume of " Miscellanies in Prose and 
 Verse," to which the following Advertisement, 
 undoubtedly with Dr. Swift's concurrence, was 
 prefixed : 
 
 " To publish the writings of persons without their 
 consent, is a practice, generally speaking, so unfair, 
 and has so many times proved an unsufferable injury 
 to the credit and reputation of the authors, as well 
 as a shameful imposition on the publick, either by 
 a scandalous insertion of spurious pieces, or an im- 
 perfect and faulty edition of such as are genuine ; 
 that though I have been master of such of the fol- 
 lowing pieces as have never yet been printed, for se- 
 veral months, I could never, though much impor- 
 tuned, prevail on myself to publish them, fearing 
 even a possibility of doing an injury, in either of these 
 two respects, to the person who is generally known to 
 be the author of some ; and, with greater reason than 
 I am at present at liberty to give, supposed to be the 
 author of all the other pieces which make up this 
 collection. But as my own unwillingness to do any 
 thing which might prove an injury to the supposed 
 author's reputation, to whom no man pays a juster 
 esteem, or bears a greater respect than myself, has 
 hitherto kept me from giving the world so agree- 
 able an entertainment as it will receive from the 
 following papers ; so the sense I had that he would 
 really now suffer a much greater, in both instances, 
 from other hands, was the occasion of my deter- 
 mining to do it at present: since some of the 
 following pieces have lately appeared in print from 
 very imperfect and incorrect copies. Nor was the 
 abuse like to stop here ; for these, with all the de- 
 fects and imperfections they came out under, met 
 
 with
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XVU 
 
 with so much applause, and so universal a good re- 
 ception from all men of wit and taste, as to prompt 
 the booksellers^ who had heard that some other of 
 these tracts were in manuscript in some gentleman's 
 hands, to seek by any means to procure them ; which 
 should they compass, they would without question 
 publish in a manner as little to the author's credit 
 and reputation, as they have already done those few 
 which unfortunately have fallen into their possession. 
 This being a known fact, I hope will be sufficient 
 to make this publication^ though without the 
 author's consent or knowledge.* very consistent with 
 that respect I sincerely bear him ; who, if it should 
 not appear to be perfectly without fault, can with 
 little justice complain of the wrong he receives by 
 it, since it has prevented his suffering a much greater, 
 no more than a man who is pushed down out of the 
 way of a bullet, can with reason take as an affront, 
 either the blow he falls by, or the dirt he rises 
 with. 
 
 " But indeed I have very little uneasiness upon 
 me for fear of any injury the author's credit or re- 
 putation may receive from any imperfection or in* 
 correctness in these following tracts ; since the per- 
 sons from whom I had them, and in whose hands I 
 have reason to believe the author left them, when 
 his affairs called him out of this kingdom, are of so 
 much worth themselves, and have so great a regard 
 for the author, that I am confident they would 
 neither do nor suffer any thing that might turn to 
 his disadvantage. I must confess I am on another 
 account under some censure, which is, lest some of 
 the following papers are such as the author perhaps 
 would rather should not have been published at all ; in 
 which case, I should look upon myself highly obliged 
 
 to 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 Xviil GENERAL PKBfACB. 
 
 
 
 to ask his pardon : but even on this supposition, as 
 there is no person named, the supposed author is at 
 liberty to disown as much as he thinks fit of what 
 is here published, and so can be chargeable with no 
 more of it than he pleases to take upon himself. 
 
 " From this apology I have been making, the 
 reader may in part be satisfied how these papers came 
 into my hands ; and 4;o give him a more particular 
 information therein will prove little to his use, though 
 perhaps it might somewhat gratify his curiosity, 
 which I shall think not material any farther to do, 
 than by assuring him, that I am not only myself 
 sufficiently convinced that all the tracts in the fol- 
 lowing collection, excepting two, before both of 
 which I have in the book expressed my doubtfulness, 
 were wrote by the same hand ; but several judicious 
 persons, who are well acquainted with the supposed 
 author's writings, and not altogether strangers to his 
 conversation, have agreed with me herein, not only 
 for the reasons I have before hinted at, but upon this 
 account also, that there are in every one of these pieces 
 some particular beauties that discover this author's 
 vein, who excels too much not to be distinguished, 
 since in all his w r ritings such a surprizing mixture of 
 wit and learning, true humour and good sense, does 
 every where appeal", as sets him almost as far out of 
 the reach of imitation, as it does beyond the power 
 of censure. 
 
 " The reception that these pieces will meet with 
 from the publick, and the satisfaction they will give 
 to all men of wit and taste, will soon decide it, 
 whether there be any reason to suspect an imposi- 
 tion, or the author to apprehend an injury ; the 
 former I am fully satisfied will never be, and the 
 latter I am sure I never intended : in confidence of 
 
 which,
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XlX 
 
 which, should the author when he sees these tracts 
 appear, take some offence, and know where to place 
 his resentment, I will be so free as to own, I could 
 without much uneasiness sit down under some de- 
 gree of it, since it would be no hard task to bear 
 some displeasure from a single person, for that for 
 which one is sure to receive the thanks of every body 
 else." 
 
 The contents of this volume of Miscellanies 
 shall here be given. 
 
 ! . " A Discourse of the Contests and Dissentions 
 between the Nobles and Commons in Athens and 
 Rome, 1701 ;" 2. " The Sentiments of a Church 
 of England Man, 1708;" 3. "Argument to prove 
 that the Abolishing of Christianity, &c. 1/OS;" 4. "A 
 Project for the Advancement of Religion, 170$;" 
 5. " Meditation on a Broomstick, 1704 ;" 6. " Va- 
 rious Thoughts, moral and diverting, 1706;" 7. " Tri- 
 tical Essay upon the Faculties of the Mind, 1707;" 
 8. " Predictions for the Year 17OS ;" Q. " Account 
 of Partridge's Death, 1703;" 10. "Vindication of 
 Bickerstaff, 1 709 ;" 11. " A Famous Prediction of 
 Merlin, 170C);" 12. "Letters on the Sacramental 
 Test, 17O8." The Poems were, " Verses on a Lady's 
 Ivory Table-book;" " Frances Harris's Petition ;" 
 " Ballad on Lady Betty Berkeley's adding a stanza 
 to a former Ballad ;" " Van's House ;" " The 
 Salamander ;" " Baucis and Philemon ;" " To Biddy 
 Floyd ;" " The History of Van's House ;" " Grub- 
 street Elegy on Partridge ;" " Apollo Outwitted ;" 
 " Description of the Morning;" "A City Shower;" 
 and " The Virtues of Sid Hamet's Rod." 
 
 In 1712 Swift deviated from his accustomed 
 b 2 habit,
 
 XX GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 habit, byaffixing his name to a favourite pro- 
 ject, in a " Letter to the Lord Treasurer;" 
 and in 1 7 1 4 he had prepared for the press a 
 " History of the four last Years of the Queen ;" 
 on which he had bestowed much attention; 
 but which the decease of his Royal Mistress 
 threw wholly into the shade; nor, after that 
 period, was he at all solicitous for acquiring re- 
 putation as an author. 
 
 The " Drapier's Letters" were presented 
 singly to the publick as they came out. The 
 copy of " Gulliver's Travels" which in 1726 
 was transmitted to the press through the 
 medium of Mr. Pope, is thus alluded to by 
 the Dean, in a letter to Mr. Pulteney, May 
 12, 1735: "I never got a farthing by any 
 thing I writ, except once about eight years 
 ago, and that by Mr. Pope's prudent manage- 
 ment for me." The sum which was received 
 for Gulliver is stated to have been ^300; 
 and on the publication of three volumes of 
 their joint Miscellanies, which were left wholly 
 to the disposal of Mr. Pope*, the profit was 
 l50.f 
 
 * See Pope's Letter to Mr. Motte, August 1 6, 1/32, in 
 vol. XII. p. 369. 
 
 + These particulars were communicated in 1749 to Dr. 
 Birch by Mr. Faulkner; who added that "Dr. Swift had 
 long conceived a mean opinion of Mr. Pope, on account of 
 his jealous, peevish, avaricious temper/' 
 
 In
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXI 
 
 In July 1732, the Dean gave to Mrs. Pilking- 
 ton the following loose assignment, the ori- 
 ginal of which is in the hands of the present 
 Editor : 
 
 " Whereas several scattered papers, in prose and 
 verse, for three or four years last past, were printed 
 in Dublin, by Mr. George Faulkner, some of which 
 were sent in manuscript to Mr. William Bowyer, of 
 London, printer ; which pieces are supposed to be 
 written by me ; and are now, by the means of the 
 Reverend Matthew Pilkington, who delivered or 
 sent them to the said Faulkner and Bowyer, become 
 the property of the said Faulkner and Bowyer : I do 
 here, without specifying the said papers, give up all 
 manner of right I may be thought to have in the 
 said papers, to Mr. Matthew Pilkington aforesaid, 
 who informs me that he intends to give up the said 
 right to Mr. Bowyer aforesaid, 
 
 " Witness my hand, July 22, 1732. 
 
 " JonaTh. Swift. 
 " From the Deanery-house in Dublin, the day and 
 
 year above-written." 
 
 " Pursuant to an assignment, dated the 22d day 
 of July, 1732, granted to me by the Kev. Doctor 
 Swift, of several pieces in prose and verse, supposed 
 to be written by him, which pieces were printed by 
 Mr. Faulkner in Dublin, and Mr. Bowyer in London, 
 most of which pieces were conveyed to them by me ; 
 I do hereby give up all manner of right which is 
 conveyed to me by the said assignment to Mr. Wil- 
 liam Bowyer of London, printer, as impowered by 
 the Rev. Doctor Swift aforesaid : 
 
 " In witness whereof, I have set my hand, this 5th 
 day of October^ 1732, Matt. Pilkinqtqn." 
 
 Four
 
 Xxii GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 Four volumes of the Dean's Miscellanies 
 were published by Mr. Faulkner in 1/34 ; and 
 speedily reprinted in England. These were 
 followed in both kingdoms by several other 
 single volumes. But the earliest regular edi- 
 tion was in twelve volumes, 8vo. 1755 (re- 
 printed in 1/6;,) under the respectable name 
 of the late Dr. John Hawkesworth, who 
 thus very properly introduces them : 
 
 " The Works of Dr. Jonathan Swift were written 
 and published at very distant periods of his life ; and 
 had passed through many editions before they were 
 collected into volumes, or distinguished from the 
 productions of contemporary wits, with whom he was 
 known to associate. 
 
 " The Tale of a Tub, the Battle of the Books, 
 and the Fragment, were first published together in 
 3 704 ; and the Apology, and the notes from Wotton, 
 were added in 3 710 ; this edition the Dean revised a 
 short time before his understanding was impaired, 
 and his corrections * will be found in this impres- 
 sion. 
 
 " Gulliver's Travels were first printed in the year 
 3 726, with some alterations which had been made 
 by the person through whose hands they were con- 
 veyed to the press ; but the original passages were 
 restored to the subsequent editions. 
 
 " Many other pieces, both in prose and verse, 
 which had been written between the year 3691 and 
 1727, were then collected and published by the 
 
 From a corrected copy then in the hands of the late Deane 
 Swift, esq. 
 
 1 Dean
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXiii 
 
 Dean in conjunction with Mr. Pope, Dr. Arbuthnot, 
 and Mr. Gay, under the title of Miscellanies*. Of alt 
 these pieces, though they were intended to go down 
 to posterity together-}- , the Dean was not the author, 
 as appeared by the title-pages : but they continued 
 undistinguished till 1742 ; and then Mr. Pope, 
 having new-classed them, ascribed each performance 
 among the prose- to its particular author in a table of 
 contents ; but of the verses he distinguished only the 
 Dean's, by marking the rest with an asterisk. 
 
 " In the year 1735, the pieces of which the 
 Dean was the author were selected from the Miscel- 
 lany, and, with Gulliver's Travels, the Drapier's 
 Letters, and some other pieces which were written 
 upon particular occasions in Ireland, were published 
 \>y Mr. George Faulkner, at Dublin, in four volumes. 
 To these he afterwards added a fifth and a sixth, 
 containing the Examiners, Polite Conversation, and 
 some other tracts ; which were soon followed by a 
 seventh volume of letters, and an eighth of posthu- 
 mous pieces. 
 
 " In this collection, although printed in Ireland, 
 the tracts relating to that country, and in particular 
 the Drapier's Letters, are thrown together in great 
 confusion ; and the Tale of a Tub, the Bat-tie of the 
 Books, and the Fragment, are not included. 
 
 " In the edition which is now offered to the pub- 
 lick J, The Tale of a Tub, of which the Dean's cor- 
 rections sufficiently prove him to have been the 
 
 * See the joint preface of Pope and Swift, vol. XVIII. p. 3. 
 
 f " At all adventures, yours and my name shall stand linked 
 friends to posterity both in Verse and Prose." Pope to Swift, 
 March 23, 1727-8. 
 
 t This was Dr. Hawkesworth's arrangement ; Mr. Sheridan'* 
 will be described hereafter. 
 
 author,
 
 XXIV GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 author, the Battle of the Books, and the Fragment, 
 make the first volume; the second is Gulliver's 
 Travels ; the Miscellanies will be found in the third, 
 fourth, fifth, and sixth : and the contents of the 
 other two volumes are divided into two classes, as re- 
 lating to England or Ireland. As to the arrange- 
 ment of particular pieces in each class, there were 
 only three things that seemed to deserve attention, 
 or that could direct the choice ; that the verse and 
 prose should be kept separate ; that the posthumous 
 and doubtful pieces should not be mingled with 
 those which the Dean is known to have published 
 himself; and that those tracts which are parts of a 
 regular series, and illustrate each other, should be 
 ranged in succession, without the intervention of 
 other matter: such are the Drapier's Letters, and 
 some other papers published upon the same occasion, 
 which have not only in the Irish edition, but in 
 every other, been so mixed as to misrepresent some 
 facts and obscure others : such also are the tracts 
 on the Sacramental Test, which are now first put 
 together in regular order, as they should always be 
 read by those who would see their whole strength 
 and propriety. 
 
 " As to the Pieces which have no connexion with 
 each other, some have thought that the serious and 
 the comick should have been put in separate classes ; 
 but this is not the method which was taken by the 
 Dean himself, or by Mr. Pope, when they published 
 the Miscellany, in which the transition 
 
 * From grave to gay, from lively to severe,' 
 appears frequently to be the effect rather of choice 
 than accident *. However, as the reader will have 
 
 " Our Miscellany is now quite printed. I am prodigiously 
 pleased with this joint volume, in which methinki we look like 
 
 friends
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXV 
 
 the whole in his possession, he may pursue either 
 the grave or the gay with very little trouble, and 
 without losing any pleasure or intelligence which he 
 would have gained from a different arrangement. 
 
 " Among the Miscellanies is the history of John 
 Bull, a political allegory, which is now farther opened 
 by a short narrative of the facts upon which it is 
 founded, whether suppositious or true, at the foot of 
 the page. 
 
 " The notes which have been published with for- 
 mer editions have for the most part been retained, 
 because they were supposed to have been written, if 
 not by the Dean, yet by some friend who knew his 
 particular view in the passage they were intended to 
 illustrate, or the truth of the fact which they as- 
 serted. 
 
 " The notes which have been added to this edi- 
 tion contain, among other things, a history of the 
 author's works, which would have made a considera- 
 ble part of his life ; but, as the occasion on which 
 particular pieces were written, and the events which 
 they produced, could not be related in a series, with- 
 out frequent references and quotations, it was thought 
 more eligible to put them together; in the text innu- 
 merable passages have been restored, which were 
 evidently corrupt in every other edition, whether 
 printed in England or Ireland. 
 
 " Among the notes will be found some remarks on 
 those of another writer; for which no apology can 
 be thought necessary, if it be considered that the 
 same act is justice if the subject is a criminal, which 
 would have been murder if executed on the inno- 
 cent. 
 
 friends side by side, serious and merry by turns diverting others 
 ^ust as we diverted ourfelves," Pope to Swift, March 8, 1726-7. 
 
 " Lord
 
 XXVI GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 " Lord Orrery has been so far from acting upon the 
 principle on which Mr. Pope framed this petition in 
 his Universal Prayer, 
 
 li Teach me 
 
 " To hide the faults I see" 
 
 that, where he has not found the appearance of a 
 fault, he has laboured hard to make one. 
 
 " Lord Orrery has also supposed the Dean him- 
 self to have been the editor of at least six volumes of 
 the Irish edition of his works ; but the contrary will 
 incontestibly appear upon a comparison of that edi- 
 tion with this, as well by those passages which were 
 altered under the colour of correction, as by those in 
 which accidental imperfections were suffered to re- 
 main. 
 
 " The editor of the Irish edition has also taken 
 into his collection several spurious pieces in verse, 
 which the Dean zealously disavowed, and which 
 therefore he would certainly have excluded from any 
 collection printed under his inspection and with his 
 consent. But there is evidence of another kind to 
 prove that the Dean never revised any edition of his 
 works for Faulkner to print; and that on the con- 
 trary he was unwilling that Faulkner should print 
 them at all. Faulkner, in an advertisement pub- 
 lished October }5, 1754, calls himself the editor as 
 well as the publisher of the Dublin edition ; and the 
 Dean has often renounced the undertaking in express 
 terms. In his letter to Mr. Pope, dated May 1, 
 1733, he says, that when the printer applied to him 
 for leave to print his works in Ireland, he told him 
 he would give no leave ; and when he printed them 
 without, he declared it was much to his discontent ; 
 the same sentiment is also more strongly ex- 
 pressed in a letter now in the hands of the pub- 
 lisher
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXV1L 
 
 lisher*, which was written by the Dean to the late 
 Mr. Benjamin Motte, his bookseller in London.'* 
 
 In I 762, the thirteenth and fourteenth vo- 
 lumes were added by the late Mr. Bowyer, 
 whose advertisement is worth preserving : 
 
 " The pleasure Dear; Swift's Works have already 
 afforded will be a sufficient apology for communi- 
 cating to the reader, though somewhat out of season, 
 these additional volumes, who will be less displeased 
 that they have been so long suppressed, than thank- 
 ful that they are now at last published. We have 
 no occasion to apologize for the pieces themselves; 
 for, as they have all the internal marks of genuine- 
 ness, so, by their farther opening the author's pri- 
 vate correspondence, they display the goodness of 
 his heart, no less than the never-ceasing sallies of 
 his wit. His answer to " The Rights of the Christian 
 Church" is a remarkable instance of both ; which, 
 though unfinished, and but the slight prolusions of 
 his strength, show how sincere, how able a cham- 
 pion he was of religion and the church. So soon 
 as these were printed in Dublin, in a new edition 
 of the Dean's works, it was a justice due to them 
 to select them thence, to complete the London edi- 
 tion. Like the author, though they owe their birth 
 to Ireland, they will feel their maturity in England-)-, 
 and each nation will contend which shall receive them 
 with greater ardour. 
 
 " We have added, in the last volume, an Index 
 to all the Works ; wherein we have ranged the bons 
 
 * See this letter, dated Nov. 1, 1735, vol. XIII. p. 265. 
 
 J- See this thought poetically expressed in an epigram printed 
 in vol. XVII. p. 315. 
 
 mot*
 
 XXV111 GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 mots scattered throughout them under the article 
 Swiftiana, by which their brightness is collected, 
 as it were into a focus, and they are placed in such 
 open day, that they are secured, for the future, from 
 the petty larceny of meaner wits." 
 
 The fifteenth and sixteenth volumes were 
 published in 1765, under the immediate di- 
 rection of Deane Swift, esq., with this 
 Preface : 
 
 " It may appear somewhat strange to the world, 
 and especially to men of taste and learning, that so 
 many poetical, historical, and other miscellaneous 
 productions of Dr. Swift should have lain dormant 
 such a number of years, after the decease of an au- 
 thor so universally admired in all nations of the 
 globe, which have any share of politeness. How- 
 ever, not to be over and above particular on this 
 occasion ; were it of any consequence to relate by 
 what extraordinary means these several papers were 
 rescued from the injuries of time and accidents ; or, 
 to insist upon some other circumstances, which, at 
 present, we choose to pass over in silence ; it would, 
 perhaps, seem rather more astonishing, that ever 
 indeed they should have had the good fortune to 
 make their appearance at all. It may suffice to ob- 
 serve, that, in order to gratify the curiosity of the 
 publick, we shall ascertain these writings to be ge- 
 nuine; although to every man of taste and judg- 
 ment they carry their own marks of authenticity. 
 And therefore, as all the original manuscripts, not to 
 mention two or three poems taken from the publick 
 prints, are in the doctor's own hand ; or, trans- 
 cribed by his amanuensis, have the sanction of his 
 indorsement ; some few copies, for which indeed we 
 
 have
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXIX 
 
 have the honour to be obliged to our friends, only 
 excepted ; we shall deposite them in the British Mu- 
 seum, provided the governors will please to receive 
 them into their collection." 
 
 Three volumes of Epistolary Correspondence 
 were thus inscribed in 1 7 66: 
 
 " To the Right Honourable Richard Earl Temple, 
 Viscount and Baron Cobham, one of his Majesty's 
 most honourable privy council, and knight of the 
 most noble order of the garter ; these letters of per- 
 sons eminent for their rank and genius are inscribed, 
 as a tribute of esteem and veneration, due to a cha- 
 racter so highly distinguished for private and publick 
 virtue, for the display of amiable qualities as a man, and 
 the exertion of great abilities as a patriot, by his lord^ 
 ship's most obedient humble servant, 
 
 Thomas Wilkes." 
 
 The following Preface to these volumes was 
 by Dr. Hawkesworth : 
 
 " The letters here offered to the publick were a 
 present from the late Dr. Swift to Dr. Lyon, a cler- 
 gyman of Ireland, for whom he had a great regard : 
 they were obtained of Dr. Lyon by Mr. Thomas 
 Wilkes, of Dublin, and of Mr. Wilkes by the book- 
 sellers for whom they are published. 
 
 " As many of them mention persons who $Kave 
 been long dead, and allude to incidents not now ge- 
 nerally known, they would have been too obscure 
 to afford general entertainment or information, if they 
 had not been elucidated by notes. 
 
 " This necessary elucidation I have endeavoured to 
 supply, at the request of the proprietors, from such 
 knowledge of the Dean's connexions and writings as 
 1 was able to acquire, when I revised twelve volumes 
 
 of
 
 XXX GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 of his works, which were published about ten years 
 ago, with notes of the same kind, and some account 
 of his life. 
 
 " Many passages, however, occurred, which, 
 though they wanted explanation, I could not explain : 
 these I made the subject of queries; which being 
 shown to the late reverend Dr. Birch, he furnished 
 answers to most of them, which are distinguished 
 from the other notes by inverted commas. The 
 favour cost him some trouble; but he conferred it 
 with that readiness and pleasure, which has made 
 his character amiable upon many occasions of much 
 greater importance. 
 
 " It has been thought best to print all the letters 
 in order of time, without regarding by whom they 
 are written ; for if all the letters of each person had 
 been classed together, the pleasure of the reader 
 would have been greatly lessened, by passing again 
 and again through the same series, as often as he 
 came to a new collection ; whereas the series is now 
 preserved regular and unbroken through the whole 
 correspondence. Those which, being of uncertain 
 date, could not be brought into this series, are printed 
 together in an appendix. 
 
 " Three letters from the Dean to the late earl of 
 Bath, general Pulteney was pleased to communicate 
 to the editor, by the favour of the reverend Dr. 
 Douglas ; two of these will be found in the ap- 
 pendix, the other had been already printed from a 
 copy in the Dean's hand-writing. In the appendix 
 will also be found some letters between the Dean 
 and Mrs. Esther Vanhomrigh, with a few others, 
 which did not come into the hands of the proprietors 
 till the rest of the work was printed. 
 
 " Some letters of a private nature, and some that 
 relate to persons who are still living, have been sup- 
 pressed ;
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXXI 
 
 pressed; but the number is very small. Some are 
 inserted that persons still living have written ; but 
 they are such as would reflect no dishonour upon the 
 highest character. 
 
 " For the publication of letters, which certainly 
 were not written for the publick, I shall however 
 make no apology in my own name, because the pub- 
 lication of them is not my own act, nor at my own 
 option ; but the act of those to whom they had been 
 sold for the purpose, before I knew they were in 
 being. 
 
 " It may, however, be presumed, that though the 
 publication of letters has been censured by some, yet 
 that it is not condemned by the general voice, since 
 a numerous subscription, in which are many re- 
 spectable names, has been lately obtained, for print- 
 ing other parts of the Dean's epistolary correspon- 
 dence, by a relation who professes the utmost vene- 
 ration for his memory ; and a noble lord * has per- 
 mitted Mr. Wilkes to place this under his protec- 
 tion. 
 
 " A recommendation of these volumes is yet less 
 necessary than an apology ; the letters are indispu- 
 tably genuine ; the originals, in the handwriting of 
 the parties, or copies indorsed by the Dean, being 
 deposited in the British Museum ; except of those 
 in the appendix, mentioned to have come to the pro- 
 prietors' hands after the rest was printed, the originals 
 of which are in the hands of a gentleman of great 
 eminence in the law in Ireland. 
 
 " They are all written by persons eminent for their 
 abilities, many of whom were also eminent for their 
 rank; the greater part are the genuine effusions of 
 
 * Richard earl Temple. 
 
 ^the
 
 XXXU GENEBAL PREFACE 
 
 the heart, in the full confidence of the most intimate 
 friendship, without reserve, and without disguise. 
 Such in particular are the letters between the Dean 
 and Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley, Lord Boling- 
 broke, Dr. Arbuthnot, Mr. Lewis, Mr. Ford, and 
 Mr. Gay. 
 
 *' They relate many particulars, that would not 
 otherwise have been known, relative to some of the 
 most interesting events that have happened in this 
 century : they abound also with strains of humour, 
 turns of wit, and refined sentiment : they are all 
 strongly characteristick, and enable the reader f to 
 catch the manners living as they rise.' Those from 
 the Dean to Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley are part 
 of the journal mentioned in his life; and from them 
 alone a better notion may be formed of his manner 
 and character than from all that has been written 
 about him. 
 
 " But this collection must not be considered as 
 a ording only entertainment to the idle, or specula- 
 tive knowledge to the curious ; it most forcibly im- 
 presses a sense of the vamly and brevity of life, 
 which the moralist and the divine have always thought 
 an important purpose, but which mere declamation 
 can seldom attain. 
 
 " In a series of familiar letters between the same 
 friends for thirty years, their whole life, as it were, 
 passes in review before us ; we live with them, we 
 hear them talk, we mark the vigour of life, the ar- 
 dour of expectation, the hurry of business, the jollity 
 of their social meetings, and the sport of their fancy 
 in the sweet intervals of leisure and retirement ; we 
 6ee the scene gradually change; hope and expecta- 
 tion are at an end ; they regret pleasures that are 
 past, and friends that are dead; they complain of 
 
 disappointment
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXX1U 
 
 disappointment and infirmity; they are conscious 
 that the sands of life which remain are few ; and 
 while we hear them regret the approach of the last, 
 it falls, and we lose them in the grave. Such as they 
 were, we feel ourselves to be ; we are conscious to 
 sentiments, connexions, and situations like theirs; 
 we find ourselves in the same path, urged forward 
 by the same necessity, and the parallel in what has 
 been is carried on with such force to what shall be, 
 that the future almost becomes present, and we wonder 
 at the new power of those truths, of which we never 
 doubted the reality and importance. 
 
 " These letters will therefore contribute to what- 
 ever good may be hoped from a just estimate of life ; 
 and for that reason, if for no other, are by no means 
 unworthy the attention of the publick." 
 
 Three similar volumes succeeded in 1767, 
 with the following epistle from Deane Swift, 
 esq. 
 
 To Mr. William Johnston. 
 
 " SIR, Worcester, July 25, 1J67. 
 
 iC Although I gave you my reasons, some time 
 ago, for not troubling either the publick or myself 
 with any Preface to these volumes of Dr. Swift's 
 writings, you still press for some kind of Advertise- 
 ment, by way of ushering them into the world. But 
 what occasion is there for such formality ? If the 
 letters now printed merit general regard, they will 
 have a chance to live as long as the rest of his epis- 
 tles : if they deserve contempt, their days will be of 
 short continuance. And as for the reigns of William 
 Kufus, Henry the First, and Stephen ; it is sup- 
 posed they will appear to be such a model of English 
 
 c history,
 
 XXXIV GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 history, as will make all men of taste, and especially 
 foreigners, regret that he pursued his plan no far- 
 ther. 
 
 " I can tell you a secret, which I was not apprised 
 of myself until about a year ago, and which perhaps 
 may give you pleasure. There are many of the 
 Doctor's writings, long since printed (don't be sur- 
 prised, for I am supported in what I say by the au- 
 thority of manuscripts now in my own study) which 
 are not to be met with in any collection of his works : 
 so indifferent he was, and careless, whether they 
 lived or died. Yet even these, by one means or 
 other, as I know their titles, and conjecture where 
 they can be found, I hope I shall be able to recover, 
 and send down to posterity. 
 
 " To the best of my recollection, when I talked 
 to you last November of a preface to these volumes, 
 I had some thoughts of opening a scene, which 
 would have exposed to view several things which are 
 still involved in darkness. But, as I have neither 
 youth, leisure, nor inclination, to engage in alterca- 
 tions of any sort, I think it is better to postpone what 
 I have principally to say relating to these matters, and 
 particularly to the subject of Dr. Swift's writings, 
 until a more convenient and proper season ; when 
 perhaps it would be thought early enough to inform 
 the curious, by what a strange variety of accidents the 
 Doctor's works have happened to make their appear- 
 ance in so disorderly, uncouth, and miserable a con- 
 dition (to say nothing of a thousand mistakes and 
 blunders committed by several editors, both in Eng- 
 land and Ireland) as they do at present. 
 
 " I am, Sir, wishing you all success in your publica- 
 tion, your most sincere, and very humble servant, 
 
 " Deane Swift." 
 
 In
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXXV 
 
 In this state was the Collection, when, in the 
 latter end of 1774, the present Editor, having 
 occasion to peruse with attention the fifteenth 
 and sixteenth volumes, was induced to read, in 
 a regular series, the whole of Dr. Swift's Cor- 
 respondence. In this pursuit, he could not but 
 be astonished to perceive that many pieces, 
 which the Dean acknowledges as his own, were 
 not to be found in the most expensive editions 
 of his Works. In truth, from the volumes hav- 
 ing been published at different periods, the 
 smaller editions may be said to have been nearly 
 complete, while those in which exactness might 
 well be looked for have remained much more 
 defective. To remedy that inconvenience, he 
 published in 1775 the seventeenth volume; 
 consisting of materials, which, if not entirely 
 new to the world, were such in the editions 
 just mentioned. From the preface to that 
 volume a short extract shall be given : 
 
 u The several pieces now offered to the publick 
 are of too miscellaneous a nature to need any formal 
 apology. Many of them are admirable; some of 
 them indifferent ; and some, perhaps, rather below 
 mediocrity. Yet there are few readers who would 
 not wish (as Swift has said of Sir William Temple) 
 * to see the first draught of any thing from this 
 author's hand *.' And the present Editor hopes to 
 
 escape 
 * See vol. II. p. 47 . 
 c 2
 
 XXXVI GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 escape the imputation of reviving e libels born to die, 
 if he expresses a wish that the less valuable parts of 
 the whole Collection were removed from the places 
 they now possess, and (by being classed in a separate 
 volume) consigned to whatever fate their respective 
 degrees of merit may deserve." 
 
 One very material part of the last-mentioned 
 volume consisted of Swift's " History of the 
 Four last Years of Queen Anne ;" which having 
 been adopted by Mr. Sheridan, will be found 
 in the sixth volume of this Collection, intro- 
 duced with some prefatory remarks by the pre- 
 sent Editor. 
 
 The following note, written by bishop War- 
 burton, was printed with the letters of Dr. 
 Swift, Mr. Pope, and others, concerning this 
 History : 
 
 " These papers some years after were brought^- 
 nished by the Dean into England, with an intention 
 to publish them. But a friend on whose judgment 
 he relied dissuaded him from that design. He told 
 the Dean, there were several facts he knew to be 
 false, and that the whole was so much in the spirit 
 of party-writing, that though it might have made a 
 seasonable pamphlet in the time of their administra- 
 tion, it was a dishonour to just history. The Dean 
 would do nothing against his friend's judgment; 
 yet it extremely chagrined him : and he told a com- 
 mon friend, that since did not approve the His- 
 tory, he would cast it into the fire, though it was 
 the best work he had ever written. However, it did 
 not undergo this fate, and is said to be yet in being." 
 
 " So
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXXVU 
 
 " So says the right reverend Annotator. And yet it is 
 certain, that a friend of Dr. Swift's took occasion (in 
 some conversation with lord Bolingbroke at Battersea 
 in 1750) to ask his lordship about the facts mentioned 
 in the said work, alleging, u that a great part of the 
 materials was furnished from his lordship's papers, 
 when secretary of state ;" who replied, '* That indeed 
 he did not recollect any thing he might object to, 
 as concerning the matters of fact, but one ; which 
 was about the suspension of arms being mentioned 
 there as a transaction of the Queen's ministry. 
 Whereas, said he, I do assure you, I was utterly un- 
 acquainted with that measure ; having advised against 
 it, until it was fully agreed upon in concert with 
 Dr. Swift's hero (meaning lord Oxford) ; nor had I 
 any other hand in that matter more than to ask the 
 queen in council, after the written order for sus- 
 pending all military operations was put into my 
 hands, Madam, is it your Majesty's pleasure that this 
 order be signed f 
 
 " In a letter to Mr. Pope, Jan. 10, ] 72 1, the Dean 
 says, " I had indeed written some memorials of the 
 four last years of the Queen's reign, with some other 
 informations which I received, as necessary materials 
 to qualify me for doing something in a place then 
 designed me * ; but, as it was at the disposal of a 
 person who had not the smallest share of steadiness 
 or sincerity, I disdained to accept it." 
 
 Mrs. Whiteway, in a letter to Mr. Pope, 
 
 May 16, 1740, says, 
 
 " A few years ago he burnt most of his writings 
 imprinted, except a Jew loose papers which are in my 
 possession, and which I promise you (if I outlive 
 
 * The office here alluded to was in the gift of Henry Grey t 
 duke of Kent. 
 
 him)
 
 XXXV111 GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 him) shall never be made publick without your appro-, 
 bation. There is one Treatise in his own keeping, 
 called Advice to Servants, very unfinished and incor- 
 rect ; yet what is done of it has so much humour, 
 that it may appear as a posthumous work. The 
 History of the four last years of Queen Anne's Reign 
 I suppose you have seen with Dr. King, to whom he 
 sent it some time ago, and, if I am rightly informed, 
 is the only piece of his (except Gulliver) which he ever 
 proposed making money by, and was given to Dr. 
 King with that design." 
 
 Encouraged by the favourable attention of 
 the publick, the twenty-fourth volume* was 
 brought forward in 1//6, with this apology: 
 
 iC Additions to the works of an Author already 
 esteemed too voluminous, it is acknowledged, should 
 be made with caution. The Editor, however, w r ith 
 confidence relies on the merit as well as authenticity 
 of his materials ; and, if any particular article which 
 has been admitted should appear liable to objection, 
 will rest his appeal on the real motive for entering 
 on a task not unattended with labour a desire of 
 preserving those scattered materials without which 
 the works of Swift can never be completed : an 
 event the world has long had reason to expect from 
 the person in every respect best qualified for such 
 an undertaking. * Many of the Doctor's writings' 
 (says Mr. Deane Swift, the worthy guardian of 
 his kinsman's fame), ' long since printed, are not 
 to be met with in any collection of his works-}-.' 
 
 The 
 
 * The volumes of Letters were at that time numbered 
 X\'IM XXIII. 
 
 -t See before, p. xxxi".
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XXXIX 
 
 The pieces now presented to the reader are ex- 
 actly under this predicament ; and some of them, 
 it is presumed, are part of what Mr. Swift al- 
 ludes to. 
 
 " In the state in which the Dean's writings now 
 stand, the Editor flatters himself, he shall not be cen- 
 sured for what is added. He does not pretend to say, 
 that the whole ought to be adopted in a regular edi- 
 tion : yet, whenever such a work shall be actually 
 undertaken, he doubts not but the present volume 
 will be considered as an interesting part of it*; and 
 at the same time will be a proper appendage to all 
 former editions ; being strictly, what it professes to 
 be, a Collection of Miscellanies by Dr. Swift and his 
 most intimate friends. 
 
 " The first part consists of several scarce tracts, 
 originally published in that memorable period the 
 four last years of the Queen ; some of which are 
 avowedly the Dean's, though hitherto they have 
 never appeared under his name ; and others are as- 
 cribed to him, on his own authority, either as having 
 written a part of them, or at least as having sug- 
 gested the hints. 
 
 " As the sound politican and indefatigable cham- 
 pion of Ireland, our Author already stands unrivalled. 
 But, when we consider him as the confidential friend 
 of an able ministry involved in perpetual disputes^-, 
 in vain do we look among his works for the writings 
 which exalted him to such consequence. The 
 Examiners excepted, they are thinly scattered through 
 
 the 
 
 * This was the case in Mr. Sheridan's edition of I?S4. 
 
 + ** My letters will at least be a good history, to shew you the 
 steps of this change," says Dr. Swift to Stella, on an interesting 
 event, Dec. 9 1711. And again, " My letters would be good 
 memoirs, if I durst venture to say a thousand things that pass." 
 March 1 \, 1712-13.
 
 Xl GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 the collection, and far inferior in number to what 
 might naturally be expected from the pen of so steady 
 a writer. Like Virgil's mariners, 
 
 ce apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto /" 
 
 " That he was not idle in that busy period, a slight 
 perusal of the Journal to Stella will demonstrate ; and 
 what is here collected may be considered as a spe- 
 cimen of his labours. 
 
 " It is much to be lamented indeed that he did 
 not follow the advice given him in the year 1733 : 1 1 
 have long had it at heart,' says his friend Mr. Ford, 
 
 to see your works collected, and published with 
 care. It is become absolutely necessary, since that 
 jumble with Pope, &c. in three volumes, which put 
 me in a rage whenever I meet with them. 1 know 
 no reason wbyj at this distance of time, the Examiners, 
 and other political papers written in the Queen's 
 reign, might not be inserted. I doubt you have been 
 too negligent in keeping copies : but / have them 
 lound up, and most of them single besides *. I lent 
 Mr. Corbet -f- that paper to correct his Gulliver by ; 
 and it was from that I mended my own. There is 
 every single alteration from the original copy ; and 
 the printed book abounds with all those errours which 
 should be avoided in the new edition.' 
 
 " Had Dr. Swift attended to this advice, the pre- 
 sent publication would undoubtedly have been super- 
 seded ; or, could the Editor have fortunately obtained 
 the collection so diligently made by Mr. Ford, it 
 would have been a collateral proof of authenticity, 
 and have probably increased the number of the Dean's 
 political pamphlets. Those which are now printed 
 
 * Many others are here preserved. 
 
 t Dr. Swift's successor as dean of St. Patrick's. 
 
 are
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. xli 
 
 are all which the Editor has met with ; and each of 
 them is separately left to vouch for its own excellence, 
 and for the authority on which it has been admitted 
 into this volume. 
 
 " The lighter prose parts of the collection have 
 been selected, by various accidents, from different 
 sources. For a few of them, the editor readily ac- 
 knowledges himself indebted to Mr, Faulkner ; to 
 whose diligence the reader is also obliged for the ad- 
 ditional letters'; and for some entertaining anecdotes, 
 particularly in matters relative to Ireland. 
 
 " Many of the poetical essays are the Dean's, and 
 ail of them such as are immediately connected with 
 his writings. Among these, the productions of Dr. 
 Delany are particularly distinguished. 
 
 " Facts and circumstances of a temporary nature 
 are so soon forgotten, that little apology seems neces- 
 sary for the number and minuteness of the notes. 
 It has ever been the Editor's opinion, that every book 
 should include an explanation of the obscure and 
 less known passages in it, without obliging the reader 
 to refer to other sources of information. When it 
 is considered that these helps are designed for the 
 use of such as are not general readers, it is presumed 
 those who are more informed will pardon the insertion 
 of some circumstances, which to them may appear 
 superfluous." 
 
 To these, in 1779, w &s added the twenty-fifth 
 volume; from the preface to which, a very 
 few lines shall be taken : 
 
 " After what the Editor of this volume has pre- 
 fixed to those he before introduced to the press, it 
 is needless to enlarge on the motives, or even on the 
 contents, of the present publication. The numerous 
 
 corrections
 
 Xlii GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 corrections in the ' Journal to Stella' are too material 
 to pass totally unnoticed. That part of it which was 
 published by Dr. Hawkesworth, appearing abun- 
 dantly more polished than the other given to the world 
 by Mi?. Deane Swift ; it was natural to imagine that 
 some alteration had been made. On examining, I 
 find that in the originals now in the British Mu- 
 seum, besides a few corrections which appear to 
 have been by the Dean at the time of writing them, 
 there are some obliterations, and many w r hole sen- 
 tences omitted. It is true, they relate principally to 
 private matters. But how far there is a propriety in 
 making such corrections, the reader will best deter- 
 mine, on a perusal of the passages here restored ; 
 many of which he will plainly perceive to have arisen 
 from the carelessness of a transcriber, who frequently 
 omitted what he could not read. 
 
 " The characters extracted from the Dean's MS. 
 * Notes on Macky *' are sufficiently authenticated ; 
 and the ' Biographical Anecdotes -j*' and ' Epistolary 
 , Correspondence' cannot fail of being acceptable. 
 
 " It may perhaps be objected against some of the 
 articles which will be found throughout Swift's 
 works, that they are too trifling, and were never in- 
 tended by the author for the eye of the publick. But 
 it was thought it would be an agreeable entertainment 
 to the curious, to see how oddly a man of his great 
 wit and humour could now and then descend to amuse 
 himself with his particular friends. ' His bagatelles/ 
 )ord Chesterfield tells us, c are much more valuable 
 than other people's ;' an observation which will 
 
 * See these in vol. V. p. 1.5.9. 
 
 + These formed a valuable article at that time ; but are now in. 
 a great measure superseded by Mr. Sheridan's life of the Dean. 
 
 fully
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. xliil 
 
 fully justify the publication of his c Remarks on Dr. 
 Gibbs's Psalms*/ 
 
 " The Editor returns thanks to those respectable 
 gentlemen who have so liberally honoured him with 
 their communications ; and particularly to the 
 friend -jf whose assistance has been of the most sin- 
 gular use to him in these researches. The titles of 
 such pieces as are known to have been written by the 
 Dean, not yet recovered, shall here be given : 
 
 1. " The Poet, an Ode," written before 1693. 
 See his Poem to Mr. Congreve, in vol. XVI. 
 
 2. His Letter to the Bishop of Killaloe. " Tooke 
 is going on with my Miscellany. I'd give a penny 
 the letter to the bishop of Killaloe was in it ; it 
 would do him honour : Could not you contrive to 
 say you hear they were printing my things together; 
 and that you wish the bookseller had that letter 
 among the rest? but don't say any thing of it as 
 from me, I forgot whether it was good or no ; but 
 only having heard it much commended, perhaps it 
 may deserve it J." If this was ever printed, it must 
 have been in or before the year 1708. 
 
 3. A Tract, " On Reading, and the Corruption 
 of Taste in Writing." This tract was written by 
 Swift, and sent to sir Andrew Fountaine. It never 
 was printed, or is not ascribed to the true author ; 
 but is probably alluded to in the Journal to Stella, 
 Nov. 4, 1710. ' I writ a pamphlet when I was 
 last in London, that you and a thousand have seen, 
 and never guessed it to be mine.' Oct. 12, he says, 
 ' They have fixed about fifty things on me since I 
 came ; I have printed but three* Q. What were 
 they ? 
 
 * See vol. XIX. p. 143. 
 
 t The late Isaac Reed, esq., of Staple Inn. 
 
 % Journal to Stella, Oct. 17, 1710. 
 
 4. " A
 
 xIlV GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 4. " A Ballad (full of Puns) on the Westminster 
 Election, 17 10." In the Journal to Stella, Oct. 17, 
 1710, he says, * This morning Delaval came to see 
 me, and we went together to Kneller's, who was not 
 in town. In the way we met the electors for parlia- 
 ment-men : and the rabble came about our coach, 
 crying, ' A Colt, a Stanhope, &c.' We were afraid 
 of a dead cat, or our glasses broken ; and so were 
 always of their side.' Journal to Stella, Oct. 5, 1/10. 
 * Tiiere is a Ballad full of Puns on the Westminster 
 Election, that cost me half an hour : it runs, though 
 it be good for nothing.* Ibid. 
 
 5. " Dunkirk still in the Hands of the French, 
 being a plain and true Discovery of a most notorious 
 Falsehood, invented by Jacobites and Tories, that 
 the Town of Dunkirk was lately delivered to the 
 English. Price id." Advertised July 17- This 
 and the three following are certainly part of the 
 seven penny papers Swift mentions to Stella, Aug. 7 3 
 1712. 
 
 6. " A Hue and Cry after Dismal ; being a full and 
 true Account how a Whig Lord was taken at Dunkirk 
 in the Habit of a Chimney Sweeper, and carried be- 
 fore General Hill. Price id." 
 
 7. " It's out at last, or French Correspondence 
 clear as the Sun. Price id." 
 
 8. " A Dialogue upon Dunkirk, between a Whig 
 and a Tory, on Sunday Morning the 6th Instant. 
 Price Id." 
 
 9. What means " guessing is mine," in the Jour- 
 nal to Stella, Nov. 7, 17 10? and " Goodman Peasley 
 and Isaac," Feb. 9, 17 10-11 ? 
 
 10. When the Earl of Oxford was under prose- 
 cution, Swift saw a pamphlet, called ' The Conduct of 
 Lord Treasurer impartially considered ;' upon which 
 
 he
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. xlv 
 
 he wrote observations; but whether he published 
 them, does not appear. 
 
 11. He wrote in 1725 more papers against Wood 
 than are printed. 
 
 ] 2. " MS. Scheme to Mr. Pulteney, about proper 
 Measures to be followed by the Court." 
 
 13. It appears by his letter to Mr. Winder in 
 vol. X. p. 25, dated Jan. 12, l(X)8, that several of his 
 very early Sermons had been transcribed by that 
 gentleman. 
 
 14. The rev. Walter Harte, author of the Life of 
 Gustavus Adolphus, &c. informed some,. of his 
 friends, that he had read eleven Sermons of the Dean's, 
 which he had lent to Mr. Pope, who assured Mr. 
 Harte, they were the best he ever had read ; and 
 Mr. Harte has said the same, who was very circum- 
 stantial in telling, ' they were not only stitched toge- 
 ther, but in a black leather case ; that they were 
 among Mr. Pope's papers when he died ; and that he 
 believed that Dr. Warburton, who had the revisal and 
 publication of all Pope's writings after his death, 
 might have seen them.' 
 
 15. An original letter of the Dean's (unprinted) 
 is in the possession of Mr. York of Erthig *, contain- 
 ing a criticism on Pope's Homer. Three more to Miss 
 Waryng of Belfast -f~, to whom Swift seriously paid 
 his addresses, are existing. 
 
 In the same year, 1779, Dr. Swift's poetry, 
 as arranged by the present Editor in the col- 
 lection then published under the superintend- 
 ance of Dr. Johnson, was thus noticed : 
 
 * From the information of a gentleman of distinction. 
 f Two letters to this lady are already in this collection. See 
 vol, X. pp. 14, 27. 
 
 " The
 
 Xlvi GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 tf The poetical writings of Swift have been long 
 obscured by the mode in which they are scattered 
 through his numerous writings. They are now col- 
 lected in a regular point of view, and arranged in a 
 chronological series. This is one of the advantages 
 for which the publick are indebted to the late ex- 
 cellent Supplement to Dean Swift's Works. It would 
 be endless to point out the many useful additions in 
 these volumes; they must be seen, to show their 
 value *." 
 
 The Dedication and Preface of Mr. Sheridan 
 to the edition of ] 784 shall be given at large : 
 
 " To Henry Grattan, Esq. 
 
 Founder of the liberties of Ireland 
 
 This new edition of the Works 
 
 Of his great precursor, 
 
 The immortal Drapier ! 
 
 In whose footsteps he has trodden, 
 
 And whose ideas realized, 
 
 Is respectfully inscribed 
 
 By his grateful Countryman, 
 
 (Now made proud of the name of Irishman) 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 " Never did any writer show less solicitude about 
 the fate of his Works, than Swift. From the time 
 they were sent into the world, he seems not to have 
 had any farther concern about them. As soon as his 
 eaglets were fledged 
 
 He whistled them off, and let them down the wind, 
 To prey at fortune. Shakspi:are. 
 
 And ever after he was as careless about their fate, as 
 birds are with regard to their dispersed broods. 
 
 * The late Rev. J. Buncombe; in Gent. Mag. vol. XLIX.p.5.52. 
 
 " For
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. xKii 
 
 " For a long time his several productions remained 
 in a detached state, without the name of any author; 
 nor oouki the general admiration they excited prevail 
 on him to reveal himself, or claim them as his own. 
 In this respect, he seems to have been actuated by 
 the same principle which governed his whole conduct 
 in life, that of the most perfect disinterestedness ; and 
 as he had laid it down for a maxim, from the begin- 
 ning, that he never would receive any pecuniary gra- 
 tification for his writings, so he used his best endea- 
 vours to avoid, as much as possible, even the reward 
 of fame. Or if, in process of time, the author of 
 works bearing the stamp of such uncommon genius, 
 should be discovered, it would be allowed that he 
 courted not fame, but fame followed him. The im-^ 
 provement of mankind being the chief object he had > 
 in view in all his publications, he thought the extra- J 
 ordinary talent, bestowed on him, for this purpose, 
 with so liberal a hand, ought to be as liberally em- 
 ployed, without any mean mixture of selfish motives. 
 
 " In Swift's letter to Mr. Pulteney, dated May 12, 
 1735, we have a confirmation of what I have ad- 
 vanced, that he had laid it down as a maxim not to 
 accept of any pecuniary gratification for his writings, 
 by the positive assertion of the author, whose vera- 
 city cannot be doubted. And that he swerved from 
 it in this single instance he imputes to Mr. Pope's 
 prudent management for him. By which expression 
 he seems to insinuate that it was not altogether with 
 his approbation. 
 
 " On the other hand it has been asserted that Swift 
 got a sum of money for his first work, "" The Tale 
 of a Tub ;" and as a proof of this, it is said, there is 
 still in being an entry made in the books of the first 
 publisher of a certain sum paid for that work. But 
 1 this
 
 llviii GENEEAL PREFACE. 
 
 this entry dees not say to whom it was paid ; and I 
 shall here produce a certain proof that it was neither 
 to Swift nor his order. That the first edition was 
 made without his privity or consent, appears clearly 
 from the following passages in the Apology prefixed 
 to his own edition in 1709, where Swift, speaking of 
 himself, says, " He was then a young gentleman 
 much in the world, and wrote to the taste of those 
 who were like himself; therefore, in order to allure 
 them,, he gave a liberty to his pen, which might not 
 suit with maturer years, or graver characters ; and 
 which he could easily have corrected, with a very few 
 blots, had he been master of his papers, for a year or 
 two before their publication. How the Author came 
 to be without his papers, is a story not proper to be 
 told, and of very little use, being a private fact : of 
 which the reader would believe as little, or as much, 
 as he thought good. He had, however, a blotted 
 copy by him, which he intended to have written over 
 with many alterations, and this the publishers were 
 well aware of, having put it into the Bookseller's Pre- 
 face, that they apprehended a surreptitious copy, 
 which was to be altered, &c. This, though not re- 
 garded by readers, was a real truth, only the surrep- 
 titious copy was rather that which was printed ; and 
 they made all the haste they could, which indeed was 
 needless, the Author not being at all prepared : but 
 he has been told the bookseller was much in pain, hav- 
 ing given a good sum of money for the copy" 
 
 " From the above passage it is evident that the first 
 edition was printed, without the Author's privity, 
 from a surreptitious copy, and the money was paid to 
 the possessor of that copy ; who certainly, under such 
 circumstances, must wish to be concealed, and there- 
 fore no name is annexed to the entry in the Booksel- 
 ler's account book mentioned before. 
 
 The
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. xlix 
 
 <e The first time that any of his straggling pieces 
 Were collected together, with his own consent, was so 
 late as the year 17 26, when he was far advanced in 
 life. These were published by Mr. Pope in some vo- 
 lumes of Miscellanies, interspersed with works of his 
 own, preceded by a Preface to which both their names 
 were subscribed. 
 
 " Seven or eight years after this, the first collection 
 of his Works, unmixed with those of others, was 
 made by George Faulkner, printer and bookseller in 
 Dublin, in four volumes octavo. This was carried 
 on, not only without the Deah's consent, but much 
 against his inclination, as may be seen by several of 
 his Letters written to different persons about that 
 time *. Yet Faulkner, in order to stamp a credit on 
 his edition, had the confidence to assert (not indeed 
 till after the Dean had tost his senses) in some of the 
 latter volumes, that the whole was carried on under 
 his inspection ; nay that he even corrected the press, 
 sheet by sheet : the falsehood of which must appear 
 to every one, who sees what a number of absurd and 
 stupid notes are to be found there. But, indeed, he 
 was so far from encouraging the Work, that he never 
 
 * Among many others, the following passages in two of his 
 letters to Mr. Pulteney, will clearly prove the point. " You will, 
 hear, perhaps, that one Faulkner has printed four volumes, which 
 are called my Works. He has only prefixed the first letters of 
 my name. It was done utterly against my will ; for there is no 
 property in printers or booksellers here, and I was not able to hin- 
 der it. I hate never yet looked into them, nor I believe ever shall." 
 March 8, 1734. Again, May 12, 1735, he says, "You are 
 pleased to mention some volumes of what are called my Works. 
 I have looked on them very little The printer applied to my 
 friends, and got many things from England. The man was civil 
 and humble, but I had no dealings with him ; and therefore ha 
 consulted some friends, who were readier to direct him than I de- 
 sired they should," S, 
 
 d could
 
 1 GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 could be prevailed on to give the least information 
 about any other of his writings, not before publickly 
 known to be his, though frequently importuned on 
 that head by Dr. Sheridan, and many others of his 
 friends, who were inclined to serve Faulkner, and 
 wished to make the edition as complete as possible : 
 on which account they could, at that time, furnish 
 out only four volumes *. There was but one point 
 in which he interfered ; that of not suffering his 
 name to be prefixed, but only the initial letters. 
 
 " The avidity with which these works were de- 
 voured by the Publick, brought on a search for all 
 the other writings of the Author, not contained in 
 this collection, and several successive volumes were 
 published as they were found out. Out of these 
 the ingenious Dr. Hawkesw,prth formed an elegant 
 edition enriched with notes/raany of which are re- 
 tained in this. 
 
 " When all that had hitherto been printed was 
 exhausted, the curiosity was keener with regard to 
 original pieces, and such manuscripts as had never 
 seen the light. Among these none have met with a 
 more favourable reception from the Publick, than the 
 collection of his Epistolary Correspondence; for, 
 though it is evident that none of these letters (if we 
 except only Mr. Pope's) were intended for the press, 
 yet this very circumstance seems to have enhanced 
 their value, according to an observation of lord Bo- 
 lingbroke's in one of his Epistles to Swift, where he 
 says ' Pliny writ his letters for the publick ; so did 
 Seneca ; so did Balsac, Voiture, &c. Tully did not, 
 and therefore these give us more pleasure than any 
 which have come down to us from antiquity. When 
 
 * The Dean's assignment ef these papers to Mr. Pilkington is 
 printed in the present Preface, p. xxi. N. 
 
 we
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. ll 
 
 we read them, we pry into a secret which was i at- 
 tended to be kept from us. That is a pleasure. We 
 see Cato, and Brutus, and Pompey, and others, such 
 as they really were, and not such as the gaping mul- 
 titude of their own age took them to be, or as histo- 
 rians and poets have represented them to ours. That 
 is another pleasure.' 
 
 " When we reflect that among his correspondents 
 are to be found the celebrated names of Bolingbroke, 
 Pope, Addison, Gay, Arbuthnot, Prior, archbishop 
 King, Peterborow, Pulteney, Voltaire, &c. we need 
 not wonder that the curiosity of the present times 
 has been so highly gratified by their publication. 
 Nor is there any doubt but that their value will con- 
 tinue to increase with posterity, in proportion to the 
 distance of time, down to the latest period. And 
 even among those correspondents of an inferior class, 
 the letters will perhaps be found the best patterns in 
 our language, whether of the easy, familiar, or elegant 
 style ; in which some of the ladies have distinguished 
 themselves, particularly the duchess of Queensberry 
 and lady Betty Germain. But Swift's own style, in 
 his Epistles, as in every thing else, will always remain 
 unrivalled, until some great original genius like him- 
 self shall arise. 
 
 " In this collection nothing is more valuable, or 
 has more highly gratified the curiosity of the publick, 
 than his Journal to Stella ; as it lets us more into 
 the real character of Swift than all his other writings 
 put together. In this Journal, daily addressed to his 
 bosom friend, every thought as it rises in his mind, 
 and every feeling of his heart, are laid open in all 
 the nakedness of truth. Throughout the whole he 
 is thinking aloud, as if he were conversing with her 
 tete d. the ; and out of this as true a portrait may be 
 made of the peculiar features and complexion of his 
 
 d 2 mindj
 
 Ill GENERAL PREFACE* 
 
 mind, as could be done of his external form, by any 
 artist, to whom he might sit for his picture ; and to 
 this I have been chiefly indebted, for the proofs pro- 
 duced in support of his character. 
 
 " The first thing to be done in this edition, was, to 
 disembroil these works from the chaos in which they 
 have hitherto appeared, and reduce them into some 
 regular order under proper heads. 
 
 " The first volume is wholly taken up with the 
 History of his Life. 
 
 " The second contains his Tale of a Tub, Battle of 
 the Books, being his earliest productions, and the first 
 of his Political Tracts written in England. 
 
 " The third and fourth contain all his other Poli- 
 tical Tracts relative to English Affairs. 
 
 " The fifth, his Essays on various Subjects. 
 " The sixth, Gulliver's Travels. 
 " The seventh and eighth, all his Poetical Works, 
 and Polite Conversation. 
 
 " The ninth, all his Political Tracts relative to 
 Ireland. 
 
 " The tenth, his Sermons, and a variety of de- 
 tached Pieces written in Ireland. 
 
 " The eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, 
 and fifteenth volumes contain the whole of his Epis- 
 tolary Correspondence. As the several parcels con- 
 taining these Letters had fallen into different hands, 
 and were published at different times, they were 
 printed without any regard to order, insomuch that 
 the answers to numbers of the Letters were to be 
 sought for in different volumes. They are here di- 
 gested in a regular series according to their dates. 
 The correspondence between Mr. Pope and the Dean, 
 not in the former edition, is here added, as published 
 by Pope ; and the whole closed with his Journal to 
 Stella, in an uninterrupted series. 
 
 " In
 
 GENERAL PEEP AC B. Hii 
 
 " In the sixteenth volume are thrown together all 
 his Sketches and unfinished Pieces. 
 
 " The seventeenth volume consists of Martinus 
 Scriblerus, John Bull, and various other Pieces in 
 prose and verse, published in Pope's Miscellanies. 
 As these Pieces are admirable in themselves, and as it 
 is well known that Swift had a great share in some 
 of the most capital, though, according to his usual 
 practice, he never claimed any, but let his friends Ar- 
 buthnot and Pope enjoy the whole reputation as well 
 as profit arising from them ; and as these have always 
 made a part of Swift's Works, where only they are 
 now to be found collected, it was thought proper to 
 add this volume to the rest. 
 
 " As Swift has been universally allowed to write the \X 
 purest and most correct English, of any of our Au- 
 thors, I thought it might be of publick benefit, to 
 point out all grammatical errours, solecisms, or inac*. 
 curacies, that mignt occur in his style. For 
 
 Decipit exemplar vitiis imitabile. 
 
 This I have done throughout, as occasion offered, in 
 notes ; except in his more familiar letters, where 
 some degree of negligence is allowable, and the use 
 of colloquial phrases not consistent perhaps with 
 strict propriety, is permitted, as giving them a more 
 natural air. Nor have I taken notice of many inac-\ 
 curacies of a similar kind in his Gulliver's Travels ; I 
 where he sometimes purposely makes use of phrases 7 
 and expressions not strictly grammatical, in order that 
 the style might seem more in character ? as coming J 
 from a seafaring man. The not adverting to this, 
 has been the reason that several criticks, who have 
 taken upon them to point out Swift's inaccuracies, 
 have produced almost all their instances from Gulli- 
 ver's Travels. 
 
 " But, N -
 
 liv GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 " But, besides the particular passages which I 
 have commented upon in the notes, there are some 
 general improprieties which run through the whole 
 body of the works, not only of our author, but of 
 all other English writers. These have been esta- 
 blished by long custom, and suffered to keep their 
 posts through an unpardonable neglect of studying 
 our own language. To point these out wherever 
 they occurred, would have been an endless task, and 
 occasioned a disgusting repetition ; I have therefore 
 corrected them throughout ; and that the reader may 
 judge of the propriety of so doing, I here subjoin a 
 -list of them. 
 
 " As the living speech has never engaged our at- 
 tention, the whole being employed about the written 
 language, many barbarous words of uncouth sound 
 are still retained, notwithstanding there are others 
 of the same import, more pleasing to the ear. 
 Such as 
 
 Whilst* -j /-While 
 
 amongst f ^ ) among 
 betwixt C J between 
 
 amidst J v.amid 
 
 No final sound can be more disagreeable than that of 
 st as it is only the sudden stop of a hiss. 
 
 Downwards ^ f Downward 
 
 forwards > For <? forward 
 towards j (, toward 
 
 What occasion is there for continuing the final s in 
 those words ? 
 
 * See this barbarism corrected by Swift himself in a letter to 
 I each, dated April 12, ft25, printed in vol. XIII. p. 172. N. 
 
 1 Further
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. Iv 
 
 Further farther 
 Why is this anomaly suffered to remain, when w$ 
 have the regular degrees of comparison in 
 Far, farther, farthest? 
 Beside besides 
 These two words being of similar sound, are very 
 improperly used promiscuously, the one for the other. 
 When employed as a preposition, the word beside 
 should always be used : when as an adverb, besides 
 The first signifies over and above The last, more' 
 over. As in the following sentences. Beside (over 
 and above) what has been advanced upon this subject, 
 it may lead us to inquire, &c. 
 
 " Besides, (moreover) what has been advanced upon 
 this subject, may lead us to inquire, &c. 
 
 (i It is always an imperfection in a language to 
 have the same individual word belong to different 
 parts of speech ; but when there are two words dif- 
 ferently pronounced, and differently spelt, used pro- 
 miscuously for each other, both in point of mean- 
 ing, and in discharging the different offices of pre- 
 position and adverb, it savours much of barbarism, 
 as it is so easy to allot their peculiar province to each. 
 When I said that the word beside should be always 
 used as the preposition, and besides as the adverb, 
 the choice was not made at random. In its preposi- 
 tional state, it must be closely united to the following 
 word ; in its adverbial, it should always have a pause 
 after it. Now the word beside not loaded with the 
 final s, is rendered more apt to run glibly into the 
 following word : and the word besides, always preced- 
 ing a pause, has, by the addition of the *, a stronger 
 sound to rest upon. 
 
 Like- likely. 
 
 *' These two words also, from a similitude of sound, 
 
 though
 
 Ivi GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 though of such different meanings, are used promis- 
 cuously.- Like should be confined to similitude, 
 Likely to probability. 
 
 No-ways nowise 
 
 u No-ways is a vulgar corruption from nowise, 
 and yet has got into general use, even among our 
 best writers. The terminating wise signifies man- 
 ner ; as likewise in like manner otherwise in a 
 different manner. It should be always written no-~ 
 wise, in no manner. 
 
 From whence whence. 
 
 " The preposition- -from in the use of this 
 phrase, is for the most part redundant, as it is gene- 
 rally included in the word whence. Thus whence 
 come you? signifies from what place come you? 
 Whence it follows from which it follows. 
 No not. 
 
 " The particle no is often substituted in the 
 place of not ; as I care not whether you believe 
 me or no To show the absurdity of this, it will be 
 only necessary to add the words after no which 
 are understood as thus I care not whether you be- 
 lieve me, or no believe me instead of do not believe 
 me. The adverbs no and yes, are particles expres- 
 sive of the simple dissent or assent of the speaker, 
 and can never be connected with any following 
 word ; and we might with as much propriety say I 
 care not whether you do not believe me or yes as 
 make use of its opposite no in that manner. 
 This vulgarism has taken its rise from the same cause 
 before-mentioned, the similarity of sound between no 
 and not. 
 
 Never so ever so 
 
 (( This is a strange solecism in language. Never 
 so, signifies not ever so. Let us substitute the one 
 
 for
 
 GENERAL PREFACE, lvil 
 
 for the other, and the absurdity will be apparent. 
 Thus, when we say I will do it, let him be never 
 so angry how contrary to the intention would it 
 appear, should the phrase be changed to let him 
 not be ever so angry. Or if we use the same word 
 in a phrase of like import I will do it however 
 angry he may be how glaring would the absurdity 
 appear, should any one say hownever angry he 
 may be ! 
 
 I had rather 
 
 " This phrase is strangely ungrammatical ; rather 
 means more willingly. Now let us substitute 
 the one in the place of the other as I had more 
 willingly go, than stay rather is expressive of 
 an act of the will, and therefore should be joined to 
 the verb to will and not to the auxiliary to 
 have. Instead of I had rather it should be I 
 wojuld rather. 
 
 A an 
 
 " In the use of this article, it has been laid down 
 as a rile, that it should be written a before a con- 
 sonant, and an before a vowel ; but by not attend- 
 ing to the exceptions to this rule, the article an has 
 been very improperly placed before words of a certain 
 class, which ought to be preceded by the vowel singly. 
 All words beginning with u, when the accent is on 
 it, or when the vowel is sounded separately from any 
 other letter, should have a, not an, before them. 
 As, a unit, a universe, a useful project, &c. For the 
 vowel u, in this case has not a simple sound, but is 
 pronounced exactly in the same manner as the diph- 
 thongs commencing with y, as in you the pronoun, 
 the individual sound given to the name of the vowel it. 
 Now, an, is never written before any words beginning 
 with y ; nor should it be placed before words com- 
 mencing
 
 mencing with u, when sounded exactly in the same 
 manner ; if we write* a youth, we should also write 
 a use. 
 
 " In like manner aw never precedes words 
 commencing with w, nor should it therefore the 
 vowel o, when it forms the same sound. Thus the 
 word, one, has the same sound as if written, ivon, and 
 yet it has been the custom to write such an one. 
 In both cases contrary to the usage of speech. 
 
 " When words begin with the letter h, they are 
 preceded sometimes by a, sometimes by an ; and this 
 by an invariable rule in speaking. When the h, or 
 aspirate, is sounded, the article a is used ; as a house, 
 a horse ; when the A is mute, an is employed ; as, 
 an hour, an honour ; pronounced as if written an our, 
 an onnur. And yet in all books published of late 
 years, the article an precedes all words beginning 
 with h, alike as an house, an horse, &c. Surely 
 the printers ought to reform this abuse, when they 
 have such an obvious rule to guide them. They 
 have nothing to do but to follow the established 
 mode of speech, whereof printing ought, as nearly as 
 possible, to be the transcript. 
 
 " I have also taken the liberty of changing 
 throughout an affected use of the third persons singu- 
 lar in verbs, by employing the termination eth, long 
 since become obsolete, as, loveth, readeth, writeth, 
 instead of loves, reads, writes. This habit seems 
 to have been caught from his professional use of the 
 Church Service, the Bible, sermons, &c. for in the 
 early editions of his first publications, it had not ob- 
 tained ; nor indeed in any of the others has it uni- 
 formly prevailed, as not only in the same page, but 
 even the same sentence, the different modes are fre- 
 quently to be found ; and the terminating es 3 is, out 
 
 of
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. \\% 
 
 of all proportion, oftener used than that of eth ; 
 which would not have been the case, had it been the 
 effect of judgment or of choice. Now, as this singu- 
 larity is not to be met with, in any of the polished 
 writers from the days of Charles the Second to this 
 hour, I thought it should no longer have the sanction 
 of so distinguished a name, by the casual use of it 
 here and there in his works ; especially as the change 
 was much for the better, and founded upon good 
 taste. None of the elements of speech have a less 
 agreeable sound to the ear, than that of eth ; it is a 
 dead obtuse sound, formed of the thickened breath, 
 without any mixture of the voice ; resembling the 
 noise made by an angry goose, from which indeed it 
 was borrowed ; and is more disagreeable than the 
 hissing s, which has at least more of sharpness and 
 spirit in it. On this account, as well as some other 
 causes arising from the genius of our tongue, not ne- 
 cessary to be explained here, it has long been disused 
 by our best writers ; but as it yet remains in the trans- 
 lation of the Bible, and in the Common Prayerbook, 
 it may be still employed, even to advantage, in ser- 
 mons, and works of divinity ; as it borrows a kind of 
 solemnity, and somewhat of -a sanctified air, from 
 being found only in those sacred writings ; on which 
 account, I have suffered it to remain in such of Swift's 
 Works as may be classed under those heads. 
 
 u Those who are advocates for the change of s 
 into eth, assign as a reason for it, that in so doing 
 we avoid the frequent repetition of that hissing letter, 
 objected to our language as an imperfection. But in 
 this, as in many other instances where sound is con- 
 cerned, they judge by the eye, not the ear; for the" 
 letter s, after every consonant in any language, except 
 four, loses its own power, and assumes that of z, one 
 of our most pleasing sounds. 
 
 " In
 
 IX GENERAL PREFACE, 
 
 U In this edition I have given all the genuine 
 Writings of Swift hitherto published, of whatever 
 kind, and however trifling; as it was the general 
 opinion, that an edition which should omit any thing 
 of his, printed in a former one, would be considered 
 as imperfect. The eagerness with which every thing 
 has been sought after, which casually dropped from 
 his pen, confirms this opinion. His slightest sketches, 
 like those of some great painter, still show a masterly 
 hand ; . and his most imperfect pieces, however great 
 may be the quantity of alloy, still contain some par- 
 ticles of gold worth extracting. If the more fasti- 
 dious criticks should object that there is some trash 
 to be found among them, I shall give them the same 
 answer that lord Chesterfield did to one of that sort, 
 * It is true, there is some stuff to be found there, but 
 still it is Swift's stuff." 
 
 In 1783, some letters from Dr. Swift to Dr. 
 Atterbury were given to the publick, in the 
 " Epistolary Correspondence" of the last men- 
 tioned very eminent Dignitary. 
 
 In 1789, a small volume of Dean Swift's 
 " Miscellanies in Prose and Terse," was pub- 
 lished by Mr. Dilly; which the anonymous 
 Editor thus modestly introduced : 
 
 " To the Miscellanies how presented to the pub- 
 lick * little preface is necessary. The productions of 
 Dean Swift will ever speak for themselves. The 
 
 * In this volume was inserted the Dean's " Ode to King Wil- 
 liam on his Successes in Ireland ;" which the present Editor had 
 previously recovered., in 17S0, in his " Select Collection of Po- 
 ems." J\ : . 
 
 publisher
 
 GENERAL fKEFACE. h? 
 
 publisher has only to lament that the death of a li- 
 terary friend, to whom he owes the communication, 
 of the greater part of this volume, has deprived him 
 of that satisfactory elucidation the collection would 
 otherwise have received ; and to acknowledge the 
 assistance of another friend, from whom he has had 
 some valuable additions. 
 
 " Whenever a complete edition shall be formed 
 of Swift's Writings, it must be by an accurate com- 
 parison of the seventeen volumes published by Mr. 
 Sheridan, with the twenty-five volumes in the edi- 
 tions of Dr. Hawkesworth and Mr. Nichols. When, 
 that is done, the present volume will form an inter- 
 esting part ; and till then it may be considered either 
 as an eighteenth volume of the one edition, or as a 
 twenty-sixth of the other." 
 
 In the same year, 1 7 8g, seven letters * from 
 Dr. Swift, and nine from his housekeeper Mrs. 
 Whiteway, appeared in a valuable publication, 
 by the late George Monck Berkeley, esq. enti- 
 tled, " Literary Relicks ;" to which an elegant 
 and spirited Inquiry into the Life of Dean 
 Swift is prefixed f. 
 
 The Gentleman's Magazine for the last 
 twenty years has been an occasional store- 
 house, whence many of the articles now first 
 collected have been carefully extracted. 
 
 * One of these was the celebrated letter to Varina, April 2.9, 
 1796, (vol. X. p. 14) ; in which, by the kindness of Mr. Malone, 
 I am now enabled to make some material corrections. (See vol. 
 X. p. 474. 
 
 f See some copious extracts from it in vol. II. p. 131. 
 
 The
 
 kii GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 The only publication which remains to be 
 mentioned is a collection of the Dean's Poetry, 
 in " The Works of the British Poets, with 
 Prefaces Biographical and Critical, by Robert 
 Anderson, M. D. 1 7Q5 ;" to which the ingenious 
 editor has prefixed a Life of Dr. Swift, and 
 some remarks on his character and writings. 
 These are very properly closed with that fur- 
 nished by Dr. Johnson ; which, though " less 
 favourable" than those of his preceding biogra- 
 phers, will " by no means warrant the severe 
 recrimination of Mr. Sheridan *." 
 
 In the present Edition a valuable letter, 
 communicated by Mr. Malone, from a copy in 
 the possession of Lord Viscount Cremorne, is 
 now first added ; and to the kind interference 
 of Mr. Malone the publick are also indebted for 
 the annexed Portrait of the Dean, which is ac- 
 curately engraved from a drawing of him taken 
 immediately after his death. 
 
 J.N. 
 
 June, 1808. 
 
 * That the Reader may judge for himself, Dr. Johnson's cha- 
 racter of Swift is inserted in the Second Volume of the present 
 edition, p. 122.
 
 
 UX\ 
 
 m 
 
 
 O ;i </?(??/{{/ /iom/ a/'zL/lya/t^Mc 
 
 'Mt&/fi 
 
 
 /V ''"' ' ' ' J- Johnson. J. Ma 
 
 hok.kScn, Ab.Arc
 
 AN 
 
 ESSAY 
 
 OX THE 
 
 EARLIER PART 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LIFE OF SWIFT. 
 
 BY THE REV. JOHN BARRETT, D.D. 
 
 AND VICE-PROVOST OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN. 
 
 YOL f I
 
 * # * By the kindness of Mr. Malone, and the learned writer, we 
 have obtained the copy of a very interesting Essay, as an orna- 
 ment and an illustration to the present edition. The MS. was 
 not received till after the Title-pages, Preface, and a part of the 
 Index, were actually printed off; which must be our apology for 
 its not being more regularly and earlier noticed.
 
 Atf 
 
 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LIFE OF SWIFT. 
 
 xjlFTER the many accounts which have been given 
 to the Public of the Life of the celebrated Dean of 
 St. Patrick's, it may justly be thought a matter of 
 wonder, that room should be left to add to the nar- 
 ratives already supplied by his biographers, and to in- 
 crease the stock of general information on the actions 
 and writings of so extraordinary a character. But we 
 should recollect, in what a cursory manner they pass 
 over all that relates to his earlier years (which portion 
 of his life I mean principally to consider) ; and that, 
 while they profess minutely to detail those trans- 
 actions in which he bore a considerable share as 
 one of the supporters of the measures of Lord 
 Oxford's administration, (when his political life may 
 be said to have commenced,) or to relate his conduct 
 in a private station whilst he was Dean, (which last 
 chiefly fell under their inspection,) they seem unac- 
 quainted with his earlier transactions : nor have they 
 vouchsafed to seek that information relative to them, 
 which the College where he had the honour to be 
 educated, might be supposed best able to supply. 
 
 The same conclusions will force themselves upon 
 us, if, from considering the/jerseys who have favoured 
 
 e 2 us
 
 kvi ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 us with accounts of his life, we pass to a review 
 of the tunes when these events happened, At 
 his departure from College, the political hemisphere 
 was covered with thick clouds; the Protestant religion 
 seemed on the point of being extinguished in Ire- 
 land ; and the College experienced such convulsions 
 from the troubled state of the times, as produced a 
 temporary dissolution, and had well nigh destroyed 
 the society. Once more restored to the blessings of 
 peace, religion, and freedom, many of its members 
 were exalted to high stations, the reward of their 
 distinguished attachment to the principles of true 
 religion and constitutional freedom : the few who re- 
 mained, in no great length of time gave place to 
 others, and, in the change of the parties concerned, 
 "was lost much of the recollection of the past. 
 
 The first ten years after the Revolution, Swift 
 appears to have almost exclusively spent in Eng- 
 land, where he took his Master's degree, and 
 where all his hopes of preferment wCre centred : the 
 death of Sir William Temple was the epocha of his 
 return to Ireland, with the fixed intention of there 
 residing ; and although he spent much of the next 
 ten years in Ireland, yet it was not without many and 
 long excursions to that country where he was one 
 day to act so distinguished a part. During all this 
 time he was a person but little known ; he had not 
 attained, that celebrity of character which attracted 
 and fixed the attention of the world, and which only 
 could bestow importance on, and render interesting, 
 the most trivial occurrences of his past life. His 
 earliest production, the Tale of a Tub, he was 
 ashamed or afraid to avow; it was therefore sent into 
 the world anonymously ; as were also many of his 
 
 other
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. lxvil 
 
 other juvenile pieces. At length, in the year 17 10, 
 we behold him emerging from obscurity, but this 
 upwards of twenty years after he had left college; 
 and the earliest of his college friends, who has fa- 
 voured us with an account of his life, Dr. Delany, a 
 person who was admitted into college fourteen years 
 after Swift had left it. Can it then be any wonder 
 that, when the office of collecting and transmitting to 
 us the transactions of his earlier years, devolved on 
 different persons inadequate to the task, because they 
 were long posterior to the times, and not sufficiently 
 careful to consult the proper authorities, we should 
 labour under much ignorance and uncertainty upon 
 the subject? 
 
 Subsequent long to those times as was their con-^ 
 nexion with Swift, - what then was the source 
 whence they derived all they knew about his conduct 
 in .college It was from his own information^ and 
 no other. Depending on his authority, they all en- 
 large' on his neglect of science, and the ignominious 
 circumstances which attended the taking of his de- 
 gree ; and in them imagine they have found a true 
 solution of that disgust which Swift sometimes ex- 
 pressed against that society where he received his 
 education. That a degree of A. B. taken in the man- 
 ner he did, was ignominious, I readily admit : fori 
 find in the petition of the College to Lord Tyrcon- 
 nell, that a degree of A. M. confered sfeciali gra- 
 tia on the unworthy Bernard Doyle, in July l6S5, 
 is thus spoken of :< " Add hereunto his ignorance and 
 want of scholarship, whereby he obtained his degree 
 with much difficulty, out of compassion chiefly, and 
 because he had long since left the college, so that it 
 was registered with the mark of unworthiness and 
 
 disgrace.
 
 Ixviil ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 disgrace in the public acts of the University." But 
 while they think they have found in this, the true 
 cause of Swift's pique to the college, they are igno- 
 rant that degrees of this nature were very frequently 
 conferred in those days ; and they forget that Swift 
 always acknowledged the justice of the measure, and 
 candidly admitted that it was what he deserved. 
 And granting that Swift, in the moments of peevish- 
 ness or disappointment, did write or utter things to 
 the disparagement of the college, are we' warranted 
 thence to infer that he was the real enemy of this 
 institution, and it the settled object of his aversion ? 
 Was he not the approved and staunch friend of Ire- 
 land, and yet known on some occasions to express 
 resentment against it ? Were not his principal con- 
 nexions among members of the college, and do not 
 his letters contain abundant proofs of his regard for 
 it ? I would particularly refer to his letter of July, 
 1736, to the Provost and Senior Fellows, as containing 
 a very explicit declaration of his feelings towards their 
 society. See also his letter to Lord Peterborough, 
 28th April, 1726. And did he not abide in college 
 near three years after the supposed slight and affront? 
 After thus considering what they have told us, let 
 us next turn our eyes to the points on which they 
 have left us in the dark, and respecting which they 
 are entirely silent. And here, in case we find from 
 undoubted authority that Swift became the object of 
 academic censure on more than one occasion, and 
 yet find these circumstances unnoticed by his biogra- 
 phers, to what can we ascribe it, except to the silence 
 which Swift himself (who was their sole authority) pre- 
 served on the subject ? And why was he silent, unless 
 some disgrace had attended these censures, which, to 
 
 a spirit
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. lx'lX 
 
 
 
 a spirit so high as his was, it must have been pecu- 
 liarly grating to reflect upon ? Would it not have 
 been most probable, that in order to avert inquiry 
 into the causes of any ill-nature or pique in which 
 he could not avoid sometimes indulging, and to obli- 
 terate, as far as in him lay, all memory of past dis- 
 grace, he would have assumed the appearance of a 
 candid confession, and frequently rehearsed the cir- 
 cumstances that attended his degree ; and that thus, 
 in the repetition of a lesser miscarriage, he was likely 
 to abolish the memory and avert the suspicion of a 
 greater delinquency ? For that he left college in a 
 disgust, is pretty evident from the following passage, 
 taken from his own letter of 28 November, 1692: 
 " I am ashamed to have been more obliged in a few 
 weeks to strangers, than I was in seven years to 
 Dublin College." 
 
 I propose therefore in this Essay, to draw up a 
 short account of that early part of Swift's life which 
 he spent in Trinity College, and to notice some 
 omissions respecting this celebrated author, even in 
 his more advanced years, into which his biographers 
 have been betrayed. Such an account, if properly au- 
 thenticated, will discover some particulars that cannot 
 fail to inierest us : will discover the true sources of 
 any intemperate language or harsh expressions res- 
 pecting his alma mater, which he may have been led 
 to adopt ; and will prove a proper introduction to the 
 papers that accompany 'this Essay, and shew that they 
 are. not ascribed to him as their author, upon weak "or 
 slight evidence. 
 
 But first it will be proper to premise what are the 
 sources whence I derive my information respecting 
 the time he spent in college. They are these : 
 
 1. The
 
 1XX ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 1. The Book of Admission into College, or Senior 
 Lecturer's Book. This contains the names, ages, and 
 descriptions of all students admitted from the year 
 1637 to 17'25. 
 
 2. The Book of Registry ; or of the Transactions 
 of the Provosts and Senior Fellows, from l(MO to 
 1740: in which are found all elections, collations to 
 degrees, censures, &o. during that period. 
 
 3 The Buttery Books. In them are written every 
 week the names of the students, and the punishments 
 inflicted on them for missing duties ; also, whether 
 they be in commons or not, is marked in these books. 
 
 Of these I make use of three, viz. one Junior 
 Book, as it is called, and two Senior Books. The 
 Senior Book contains the names of those who are 
 on the foundation, that is, the Provost, Fellows and 
 Scholars ot the house ; also resident doctors, masters, 
 and fellow-commoners. The Junior Book contains 
 the names of all the other students. fhe books of 
 the Buttery relating to Swift's times, and which I 
 was able to find, were, a Senior Book, and the Junior 
 Book corresponding to it ; they extend from 14 No- 
 vember 1685, to J 4 October 108/. The third is 
 tjie succeeding Senior Book, extending from 31 De- 
 cember J67, to 18 September 169 1 : and Jo this I 
 was unable to procure the corresponding Junior 
 Book, ^fie want of this last will be felt in making 
 Otyt some of the conclusions I mean to establish j 
 but as it will leave room for reason to operate in 
 making those inferences, and as I have good grounds 
 to proceed upon without it, the loss is the less to be 
 regretted. 
 
 The Senior Lecturer's Book informs us, that on 
 24 April J 682, were admitted as pensioners, under 
 
 the
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. lxxi 
 
 the tuition of St. George Ashe, from the school of 
 Mr. Ryder at Kilkenny, 
 
 " Thomas Swift, son of Thomas, aged fifteen years, 
 born in Oxfordshire," and 
 
 *' Jonathan Swift, son of Jonathan, aged fourteen 
 years, born in the county of Dublin." 
 
 When we compare this entry with the particulars 
 given by Swift in the short account of his own life, 
 published by Mr. Deane Swift, we cannot doubt, that- 
 the Thomas here mentioned is that cousin of Jona- 
 than Swift, who was rector of Puttenham, where he 
 died in May, 1752, in the eighty-seventh year of his 
 age. For if he had been born in 1666, he would in 
 April 1682, have completed fifteen years, and in 1/52 
 completed eighty-six years, and therefore have been in 
 the eighty-seventh year of his age at his decease. Nor 
 does he agree in the circumstances of age only, but 
 in the other particulars. Thus the rector of Putten- 
 ham was the son of Thomas, and this last was bred at, 
 Oxford, and probably (from his matrimonial connec- 
 tion with the family of Davenant) a resident there. 
 Thomas Swift then being one year older than Jona- 
 than, it is probable that he would be denominated 
 Swift senior, when both entered on the same day : and 
 we accordingly find him so styled. 
 
 And as a person of the name of Jones was inti- 
 mately connected with Swift in the earlier part of his 
 life, although such connexion has totally escaped the 
 observation of all Swift's biographers, this will be the 
 place for me to relate what particulars Ve learn from 
 the same college record concerning this person, who 
 will bear, as I apprehend, no inconsiderable share in 
 what concerns Swift in the sequel. It thence appears 
 fchat John Jones, a sizer. was admitted under the 
 
 tuition
 
 Ixxii ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 tuition of St. George Ashe, at the age of seventeen, 
 on 1 May 1(382 : that is, only seven days after Swift's 
 admission, and under the same tutor ; circumstances 
 which alone would sufficiently prove that he must 
 have been known to and acquainted with Swift. 
 
 After their admission into college, Swift senior 
 (that is, Thomas,) and Jones appear to have prose- 
 cuted their studies with more success than Jonathan ; 
 for after an examination in classical literature for two 
 days by the Provost and Senior Fellows, according to 
 the course observed in the College of Dublin, the 
 former was elected a Scholar of the House on 26 May, 
 16S4; as was the latter on 30. May, 1(385. All 
 the three, however, commenced A. B. at the same 
 time, in February 1685-6: the grace of the house 
 for that degree having been conferred on Thomas 
 Swift on 11 February, and the special grace. for the 
 same granted to Jonathan Swift, John Jones, and three 
 others, on the 13th of the same month. 
 
 We learn from the short Account of his Life, 
 drawn up by Swift himself, " that previous to his 
 taking his degree, he had lived with great regularity 
 and clue observance of the statutes :" and agreeably 
 to this representation I find no censures on him in 
 the registry previous to that period. The first public 
 punishment he received is thus detailed in that book : 
 
 " 18 March, 1 68(3-7. Mr. Warren, Sir Swift se- 
 nior, Sir Swift junior, Web, Bredy, Series, and John- 
 ion the pensioner, for notorious neglect of duties 
 and frequenting the town, were admonished." 
 And note also, that one of the above (Bredv) was ex- 
 pelledj JQth September \687, " for writing and pub- 
 lishing a scandalous libel on some ladies of quality." 
 
 Let us next inquire and see what account the 
 
 Buttery
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. ]xxl 
 
 Buttery Books give of ' Swift's attendance on duties. 
 From them we learn, that the duties to which . stu- 
 dents were then lialble, were these : 
 
 Chapel, hall, surplice, catechism, lectures in 
 Greek, Hebrew, mathematics, as also morning lec- 
 ture;' also disputations and declamations. Of these 
 the first four were in force all the year: the lectures, 
 only in term. And I further find, that between the 
 periods of 14 November l6S5, and 8 October J 687, 
 (being the time comprized in* the first and only Ju- 
 nior Book I could get) he had punishments on him, 
 whether confirmed or taken off, upwards of seventy 
 weeks: that after he had received the above-men- 
 tioned punishments, he appears both out of commons 
 and unpunished, for ten weeks and upwards ; whence, 
 (as I do not believe the censure wrought any refor- 
 mation in him,) I am inclined to believe. that he 
 spent the three or four months subsequent to his 
 censure, in the country, his high spirit being unable 
 to brook the disgrace. During \ Jier periods he was 
 frequently out of commons ; thus, previously to 20 
 March, 1685-5; also from May 1 to 18, 1086; and 
 from 28 August to l6 October, 1686 ; and from "17 
 November l6s6, to January 8, l6s6-7 ; but he has 
 punishments confirmed on him, in those times: 
 whence I conclude that he was then in college, not- 
 withstanding he was out of commons. Most of his 
 punishments are for non-attendance in chapel ; the 
 amount is 1/. 19s. Ad. confirmed, and IQs. IQcl. 
 taken off. For surplice, (that is, for non-attendance 
 in chapel at' those times when surplices are required 
 to be worn,) 1 \s. Ad. coniirmed: and 6s. 6d. taken 
 off. Of his other punishments, those for lectures 
 appear all confirmed ; and are, for chatechism 3s., 
 1 Greek
 
 1XX1V ESSAY ON THE EARLTER PART 
 
 Greek lecture gd., Hebrew lecture Sd., mathematic 
 lecture Is. lOd.; and those for missing night-rolls, 
 or town-haunting, (that is, for halls *,) amount to 
 3/. As. ; but are all taken off, the admonition being 
 substituted in their place. 
 
 Hrs negligence did therefore principally consist, 
 ] st. in the neglecting to attend divine service in the 
 college chapel ; concerning which I observe that 
 there are very few weeks in which he is not fined for 
 a partial and remiss attendance, although there ap- 
 pears scarce any in which he was totally and com- 
 pletely idle. 2dly. In the frequent missing of night- 
 rolls or halls, and also the missing of tickets -j*. He 
 is sometimes punished for disputations and declama-r 
 tions ; and once Is. for verses, which appear to have 
 been some exercise given in at the time of the quar- 
 terly examinations. 
 
 The want of the second Junior Book (in which 
 alone I could hope to find the name of Jonathan 
 Swift) obliges me to have recourse to its correspond- 
 ing Senior Book, to determine several points relating 
 to the second punishment inflicted on him, and to 
 the time of his leaving college. I shall therefore 
 now proceed to state what information respecting his 
 cousin Thomas, and Jones, the two Senior Books sup- 
 ply us with ; observing only, that as Thomas and Jo, 
 
 * The names of the students are called over in the college hall 
 every night at nine o'clock. 
 
 + r l he students of Trinity College are required by the statutes 
 net to go into town without the written permission of their tutors, 
 left at the porter's lodge ; this is called a ticket : and consequently 
 missing tickets and tvwn-Aaunting mean, the same thing, and the 
 offence is punished by a pecuniary fine,, or (when that is found in-, 
 efficient) by admonition. 
 
 nathan
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT, IxxV 
 
 nathan have their names written in separate books, 
 all possibility of our confounding the one with the 
 other is thereby prevented. The names Thomas 
 Swift and John Jones are found among the scholars 
 not then commenced, on November 2 1 , 1(385: but 
 appear among those who commence in the succeed- 
 ing February. Thomas (from some omission or 
 other) is not called Sir Swift senior, previous to 21 
 September 1688 : from thence he appears always 
 under that appellation, (with the exception only of 
 the weeks between 1 December 1688, and 5 January 
 1688-9) until 1 June 1689 : from which time until 
 17 August 1689, he is styled only Sir Swift : a chasm 
 then ensues in the book until 9 August 169O; the 
 College having been seized on by King James the 
 Second, and converted into a prison for the Protes- 
 tants, no accounts seem to have been kept. And as 
 his scholarship must in the interim have expired, his 
 name is of course not found on the books, whew the 
 accounts were again resumed. From all this I infer, 
 that the name of Jonathan was taken off the books 
 about 1 June 1689 : at which time we know he was 
 at Moor Park, his Ode to Sir William Temple 
 bearing date in June, 1689. But I consider him 
 and his cousin as having left college the end of Ja- 
 nuary 1 6B8-9; for I find that Thomas is marked 
 out of commons from 26 January 1688-9, to August 
 17, 1689 : whereas he does not appear to have been 
 out of commons previously to that time, except only 
 twice ; and for each time about a month ; viz. about 
 Christmas 1685-6, and September 1686. I am 
 therefore of opinion, that Thomas left college about 
 January 26, 1688-9; and think it probable that Jo- 
 nathan accompanied him. Thomas Swift appears to 
 
 have
 
 IXXVI ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 have had a non co. from 16 October 1686, to IB 
 March 1086-7 ; and again from 26 March to 30 
 July, 16S7 : and Jones to have had the same indul- 
 gence from 26 February 16&6-7, to March 18, 
 3 686-7 ; and from 30 April l687, to 12 July 16S8, 
 In this last week he is marked, out of commons, and 
 the following censure annexed to his name in the 
 Buttery Book ; suspensus a discipulatu et ah omni 
 jure quod habuit in collegia. But a pen has been 
 drawn across the latter words, " et ab omni jure 
 quod habuit in collegio," as if for the purpose of ex- 
 punging them. He remained out of commons, until 
 '21 September 1688, at which time his name was 
 finally taken oft' the books. The reasons of all these 
 things I shall proceed shortly to explain, chiefly on 
 the authority of the Registry ; and will shew how 
 these two records, the Registry and Buttery Book, 
 confirm each other. 
 
 The second public punishment inflicted on Jona- 
 than Swift was on the 30th of November, 1688, a day 
 when he had just completed his twenty-first year. The 
 entries concerning it in the Registry are in these 
 words : 
 
 " 1688, November 30. The crimes objected 
 against Sir Web, and others, having been fully proved, 
 the following sentence was drawn up against them 
 by the Vice-Provost and Senior Fellows, and published 
 in the Hall by their orders : 
 
 " Nemini obscurum, 8cc. &c. Constat vero Dom. 
 Web, Dom. Sergeant, Dom. Swift, Maynard, Spencer, 
 et Fisher, huic legi contravenisse, tarn seditiones 
 sive dissensiones domesticas excitando, quam juniorem 
 decanum ej usque monita contemnendo, eundemque 
 minacibus verbis contemptus et contumaciam plenis 
 
 lacessendo,
 
 OP TH2 LIFE OP SWIFT. lxxvll 
 
 Sacessendo, uncle gravissimas poenas commeriti sunt, 
 &c. Placuit Dom. Web, Dorn. Swift, et Doin. Ser- 
 geant, omni gradu suspendendos tam suscepto quam 
 suscipiendo, &c. Ast vero Dom. Swift et Dom. Ser- 
 geant, quoniam casteris adhuc intolerabilius se gesse- 
 runt, ab eodem decano publice in Aula flexis genibus 
 secundum praescriptam formulam die tertio Decem- 
 bris proxime futuri, hora nona antemeridiana veniam 
 petere." 
 
 " 1688-9, January the 8th. The persons suspen- 
 ded by the decree of November 30, were restored." 
 
 In addition to the above I have to observe, that 
 theVice-provost * was Dr. Acton, on whom the govern- 
 ment of the College had devolved while the Provost 
 was in England ; that Mr. Owen Lloyd was the ju- 
 nior dean, elected to that office on 20 November, 
 1688-; and that Fisher, one of the parties punished, 
 was a scholar of the house, and that a part of his 
 punishment consisted in the suspension from his 
 scholarship. 
 
 I admit that in the above sentence, we do not find 
 mention of the christian name of Swift, the delin- 
 quent ; neither is any title annexed of senior or ju- 
 nior : yet that the person so censured was Jonathan, 
 and not Thomas, the following considerations will 
 render certain* 
 
 I. The Senior Buttery Book remains; and from 
 thence it is most clear, that Thomas never was sus- 
 pendeckfrom his degree ; for he is always styled Sir 
 Swift. 
 
 * At this time/Dr. Huntington the provost, and Dr. G. Browne, 
 a senior fellow, were in England, for the purpose of admitting the 
 new chancellor, the Duke of Ormond, whose father died July 1 8, 
 1648. 
 
 2. During
 
 lxxvili ESSAT ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 2. During the precise time of the suspension, 
 Thomas has not the word, senior, annexed to his 
 name ; although he is denominated Sir Swift senior, 
 prior to the censure, and subsequent to the resto- 
 ration. But whence arose this, unless from the cir- 
 cumstance of Sir Swift junior having been suspended 
 from his degree, and therefore no longer designated 
 on the books as Sir Swift jun. but simply as dwift : 
 there being therefore during the suspension, only one 
 Sir Swift, he would of course lose the title of Sir 
 Swift senior ; and be styled only Sir Swift. 
 
 3. The sentence itself admits that Swift's conduct 
 was more culpable than that of Fisher. And we 
 know that Fisher was suspended from his scholarship. 
 Had the Swift then that was punished, been a scho- 
 lar, we may justly' wonder why he also was not sus- 
 pended from his scholarship. My opinion is, that it 
 was because he had not a scholarship to be suspended 
 from. Now if this answer be true, it is most certain 
 that the delinquent must have been Jonathan. Fof 
 Thomas had a scholarship, a suspension from which, 
 had he been the censured person, would have formed 
 a part of the sentence, and which we find it does 
 not. 
 
 Let us now see what reasons can be drawn from 
 Swift's own accounts, to shew that he actually was in 
 college at that time. 
 
 ] st. His own account says, he entered at fourteen : 
 now he completed fourteen years on 30 November, 
 l6si ; and entered as I have above stated, (and as 
 appears also from the time of taking his degree,) in 
 April 1682, that is, when he was fourteen years and 
 a few months old. Which agrees with his own ac- 
 count ; for in April 1 68 1 , he was not fourteen years 
 
 old.
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIPT, lxXlX 
 
 old. And he says in his letter of 28 November, 
 1692, that he spent seven years in Dublin College; 
 which added to April 1682, bring us to April 1689, 
 and of course include November, 16S8. 
 
 2d. Mr. Deane Swift, one of his biographers, says, 
 that he spent three years in college after taking his 
 degree of A. B. But this he took at the regular 
 time in 1 685-6: And three years thence computed 
 lead us to February, 1 688-9. 
 
 3d. He himself says, in the Account of his own 
 Life, that he left college when the troubles broke 
 out. But the troubles broke out in England in No- 
 vember, 168S, when William landed, and shortly 
 after they extended to Ireland. A general alarm pre- 
 vailed among the Protestants, that a massacre, similar 
 to that of 1641, was intended to take place, and that 
 the day appointed for this scene of horrour was the 
 9th of December, 1688: in consequence of these 
 reports, multitudes sought their safety by a timely 
 flight into England : and this I would call the begin- 
 ning of the troubles. 
 
 The accounts then that Swift gives us of the time 
 he spent in college, and the informations on the 
 same head, derived from the college records, are per- 
 fectly consistent, and confirm each other. It remains 
 to shew, what particulars in his future life and conduct 
 may be explained from the events I have above sta- 
 ted, and what light they may throw upon his cha- 
 racter. 
 
 1 . Hence is assigned the true reason of any aver- 
 sion, which he might sometimes have expressed to 
 the College of Dublin ; and hence we see why he 
 studiously enlarged upon the circumstances of his 
 degree ; probably to banish the recollection and pre- 
 
 vol. 1. f vent
 
 1XXX ESSAfcT ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 vent the suspicion of his having been the object of a 
 severer punishment, and compelled to submit to an 
 indignity at the idea of which his haughty spirit could 
 not but revolt. 
 
 2. Hence we learn, why Dr. Owen Lloyd became 
 so obnoxious to Swift ; who, in his account of Lord 
 Wharton, has heaped upon him such abuse as he 
 never was known to have bestowed on any other 
 person who had been a fellow or member of the col- 
 lege. Not the interval of twenty years elapsing could 
 extinguish the resentment he felt, and the rage that 
 burned in his breast, when he remembered the into- 
 lerable humiliation to which he was forced to sub- 
 mit, in imploring pardon publicly on his knees from 
 a person, the object of his contempt : an humiliation 
 which I cannot believe his haughty temper could 
 have stooped to, had there not been another person 
 involved in the same act of degradation, and had not 
 the Board given him this fellow-sufferer. 
 
 The events I have hitherto mentioned are those 
 in which Swift took a direct and avowed part : but 
 was there nothing else? was there no crime of a 
 deeper dye, in which, though there was no direct and 
 positive evidence, yet Swift did not pass unsuspected ? 
 To this particular I now hasten, which took place in 
 a time intermediate between the two punishments ; 
 and in which I own, it does not appear from any 
 existing college record, or probably from any that 
 ever did exist, that Jonathan Swift was implicated. 
 The nature of the offence precluded such a proof, 
 and rendered suspicion the only thing that could 
 ever have reached him ; and strange as it may ap- 
 pear, the suspicion is perhaps stronger at the present 
 time, when we know more of his writings, than when- 
 
 the
 
 OP THfi LIFE OF SWIFT. IXXXI 
 
 the offence was newly committed. And that suspi- 
 cion did extend to him, the following passage which 
 is extracted from the Correspondence of Samuel 
 Richardson, lately published, may probably lead us to 
 believe. 
 
 Vol. VI. page 171. Richardson to Lady Bradshaigh, 
 April 22, 1752: w I am very well warranted by the 
 son of an eminent divine, a prelate who was for three 
 years what is called his chum, in the following ac- 
 count of that fact. Dr. Swift made as great a pro- 
 gress in his learning at the University of Dublin in 
 his youth, as any of his cotemporaries ; but was so 
 very ill-natured and troublesome, that he was made 
 Terrse-Filius,-- on purpose to have a pretence to expel 
 him. He raked up all the scandal against the Heads 
 of that University, that a severe inquirer, and a still 
 severer temper, could get together into his harangue. 
 He was expelled in consequence of his abuse ; and 
 having his dhcessit, afterwards got admitted at Ox- 
 ford to his degree." 
 
 So far has Richardson preserved this valuable 
 anecdote to us, in which there is some truth, 
 though mixed with much error ; and it shall be my 
 business to separate these from each other, and to 
 discriminate that which is true, from that which is 
 not so. Is it then true, I ask, that Swift ever 
 was appointed Terrse-Filius, for a purpose so base and 
 unworthv ? Or that he ever was Terrse-Filius ? Or 
 that he ever incurred the puni&hment of expulsion ? 
 To all these questions, I answer in the negative.- 
 But if this be so, where then lies the truth in the 
 anecdote transmitted by Richardson ? My answer is ; 
 that on the 1 1th of July, 1688, there actually was a 
 Tripos or speech pronounced by a Terrae-Filius, in 
 
 2 which
 
 IsXXll ESSAY OS THE EARLIER FART 
 
 which very sarcastick reflections were made, and gross 
 abuse poured, on some members of the University ; 
 and that its reputed author was punished with a se- 
 vwity which would almost justify the assertion, that 
 he had been expelled for it. And so far this anec- 
 dote is certain truth. The entries relative to it, which 
 I find in the registry, are these : 
 
 1688, July 13. "It was ordered that Sir Jones 
 should be deprived of his degree, for false and scan- 
 dalous reflections in his Tripos." 
 
 1688, July 19. " Ordered by the Vice-Provost and 
 Senior Fellows, that Sir Jones's degradation should be 
 remitted, upon application made to the Provost, ana 
 intercession in his behalf; and that he should be sus- 
 pended of the benefit of his Scholar's and Native's 
 place *, and chamber." 
 
 And I do not find any mention made of punish- 
 ment ever inflicted for the like offence, except the 
 above-recited, and this one which I proceed to 
 state ; which having long preceded the times that 
 Swift and his cotemporaries spent in college, could 
 therefore never have been the one alluded to by the 
 chum of Swift or the informer of Richardson. 
 
 1680, July 15. " Ordered then by the Provost and 
 Fellows, that Mr. George Finglas shall make a con- 
 fession, and absent himself from the college, for his 
 abuses in his tripos speeches : which punishment if 
 he do not submit to, he shall be expelled from the 
 college." 
 
 * In the College of Dublin there are seventy Scholars, on the 
 foundation, of whom thirty are termed Natives, or Hibernici ; 
 and to encourage the natives of the country to resort to this col- 
 lege, and receive their education there, a more liberal allowance is 
 made to them. This is called a Native's place. 
 
 Beside
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. Ixxxiii 
 
 Beside these two, there is not the least mention 
 made of any censure ever inflicted for irregularities 
 of this kind : and as that of Jul) 1 dt>0, could not pos- 
 sibly be the one that gave ground to the person from 
 whom Richardson derived his information, to com- 
 municate to him such an anecdote, I must conclude 
 that the occurrence, which happened in 1088, shortly 
 before Swift's punishment and leaving of the college, 
 is that alluded to. And I further observe, that the 
 Buttery Book and Registry both concur and ascertain 
 the person who sustained the censure ; that he was 
 the person who was in the same class, and under the 
 same tutor, with the two Swifts. 
 
 Warranted then as we are by the assertion of 
 Richardson's friend, let us make this hypothesis : 
 that Jonathan Swift was the true and real, though 
 secret, author of that production which so greatly 
 incensed the Heads of the University ; that Jones was 
 the reputed ostensible and nominal author; and let 
 us see by what arguments such an hypothesis can be 
 maintained. 
 
 Now these arguments will be either external or 
 internal ; that is, derived either from a connexion 
 and intimacy subsisting between Jones and Swift, both 
 before and after the misfortune that befel the former : 
 or from consideration of the work itself, the Tripos, 
 from finding therein passages corresponding to the 
 undoubted and genuine productions of Swift, and 
 bearing, if I may so say, the stamp of his genius and 
 talents. 
 
 And such conclusions will be strengthened by re- 
 flecting that Jones never produced any thing that we 
 know of, corresponding to such a beginning : and by 
 recollecting that it was the well-known practice of 
 
 2 Swift
 
 lxXxiv ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 Swift tc send his juvenile productions into the world, 
 without prefixing his own name. 
 
 Let us then first take a review of the external 
 evidence, which may tend to shew whether our sus- 
 picions be well or ill founded ; and for this purpose 
 assemble all the facts we can collect, relative to Mr. 
 John Jones. 
 
 And first: From the Senior Lecturer's book I find, 
 that between the years l(X)Oand 1713, a person of 
 the name of John Jones did keep a very flourishing 
 school in Dublin, from which more students were ad- 
 mitted into the college than from any other ; the first 
 entered being on the 7 th of August, 1690, and the last 
 on 28 February, 1711-12 : that this person is styled 
 Dr. Jones intheSeniorLecturer'sbook perpetually, after 
 10 July, 1700, as he was continually stiled Mr. Jones 
 previous to the Shrovetide that preceded it ; and is 
 sometimes stiled Dr. Jones in the time between that 
 Shrovetide and the succeeding July. 
 
 Secondly, I find from the Registry, that in Shrove- 
 tide 1 700, the grace of the house for D.D. was con- 
 ferred on a person of the name of Jones ; and that 
 such person did, on or about July 1700, take the de- 
 gree of D.D. 
 
 From these two premises I conclude, that the per- 
 son who taught the school, and the person who took 
 the degree, were one and the same : and when we 
 consider that the number of those who commence 
 Doctors in Divinity (the members of the college 
 excepted) is extremely few, and the concurrence of 
 the times and names, I have no doubt of the truth of 
 the conclusion. 
 
 I further conclude, that the person who com- 
 menced D.D. in July 170Q, was tbe person who en- 
 tered
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. IxXXV 
 
 tered college on 1 May, lG82. For the elass of 
 this latter person had commenced its academical, 
 standing from July 8, l68l, and therefore on July 8, 
 J 700, nineteen years were completed ; and immedi- 
 ately aftec Jones entered into his twentieth year of 
 academic standing. He therefore was capable at 
 that time of commencing D.D. in case the College 
 had pleased to confer the degree : and there can be 
 no doubt, but it would have done so ; because it did 
 the very same thing in the case of Peter Browne, 
 afterwards Bishop of Corke, who was in this very 
 class, and commenced in like manner in 1700. 
 
 Now if these two conclusions be both true, it fol- 
 lows as a conclusion from them both, taken as pre- 
 mises and compared together, that Jones the school- 
 master and Jones who was in Swift's class, and was 
 punished for pronouncing the Tripos, were one and 
 the same person. 
 
 Thirdly, the Tripos is taken from a Miscellany, in 
 three vols. 4to. in MS. in the College library. This 
 Miscellany is called " The Whimsical Medley ;" con- 
 tains much that was published or written in the reigns 
 of William, Anne, and George the First; but nothing 
 posterior to the year 1723, that I can find. And it 
 appears to have been composed by (or for the use of) 
 Theophilus, first Lord Newtown Butler, who died in 
 that year ; and who had been in the college at the 
 very time the Tripos was delivered. In this Miscel- 
 lany the Tripos is attributed to " Mr. John Jones, 
 then A.B., since D.D." Now upon searching the 
 Registry I find no person between the years 1700 
 and 17*23 to have taken the degree of D.D., that was 
 of the name of Jones, except the one in 1700: 
 
 and
 
 lxXXVl ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 and to have begun my researches before 1700 would 
 have been useless, on account of want of standing. 
 It is therefore plain that the author (real or reputed) 
 of the Tripos, and the person who commenced D.D. 
 in 1700, are one and the same person. And there- 
 fore he is also the same person with Swift's class- 
 fellow, and with the person who taught a school in 
 Dublin in the times above specified. 
 
 We should next consider what proof may be af- 
 forded to us, independent of the college records, to 
 shew that a school was taught in Dublin in the very 
 times I have mentioned, and that by a Doctor Jones. 
 Such proof I find in Chetwood's History of the 
 Stage, in the life of Mr. James Quin, the celebrated 
 actor. His words are, (p. 213,) " Mr. James Quin 
 was educated under the care of Doctor Jones, of 
 Dublin, a person eminent for learning, till the death 
 of his father in the year 1710." 
 
 And in the Dublin Gazette of October 28, 1707, 
 No. 263, and some following numbers, is this adver- 
 tisement: " On Thursday, 20th November, those 
 gentlemen who have been scholars to Dr. Jones, are 
 desired to meet at his house, thence to go to St. 
 Bridget's Church, where will be a sermon preached 
 by Mr. Howard, one of the fellows of T. C. D., and 
 from thence to attend the stewards to dinner." 
 
 Fourthly. Let us next see what further informa- 
 tion the Senior Lecturer's Book can supply to us, 
 respecting this Doctor Jones. From it I learn that 
 two persons, both sons of Counsellor Godwin Swift, 
 and consequently both cousins to Jonathan Swift, 
 were admitted into college as pupils of William Tis- 
 dall, the well-known friend of Swift, and from this 
 very school : the one of them was Meade Swift, aged 
 
 fifteen,
 
 OF THE LIFE OP SWIFT. lxXXVli 
 
 fifteen, admitted 6 October 1698 ; the other Mi- 
 chael, aged 15, admitted 25 March, 1700. Doctor 
 Jones appears also as schoolmaster to one Abraham 
 Swift, son of Abraham, (whether of the Dean's family 
 I know not,) admitted under Dr. Hall, 5 September, 
 1702. And to mention no more, Thomas Sheridan, 
 Swift's great friend in the latter part of his life, was 
 educated under this very man, and thence admitted 
 into college, 8 October, 1707. ^-In short, no person 
 certainly known to be of Swift's family, was admitted 
 into college, so far as I can judge, during the time 
 that Jones taught a school, who had not received his 
 previous education from Jones. 
 
 These facts may serve to shew us on what footing 
 of friendship and intimacy Jones and Swift lived to- 
 gether, after they had ceased to be class-fellows and 
 acquaintance in the college : and the circumstances 
 of their being cotemporaries in college in the 
 same class, under the same tutor, taking their de- 
 grees at the same time, and leaving college nearly at 
 the same time, will not permit us to doubt that they 
 were well acquainted while they were members of it. 
 This then forms what I term the external evidence ; 
 whose force chiefly consists in the support it 
 receives from the anecdote furnished by Rich- 
 ardson. 
 
 But is it not likely that we should find some pas- 
 sage or passages in Swift's writings, in which this 
 very person would be mentioned by name ? and is it 
 not to be expected, that in some of his numerous 
 letters written to his friends, he should make some 
 friendly inquiries about Jones ? I answer ; it appears 
 to me, that he has so done in a letter of his to Wil- 
 liam
 
 IxXXviil ESSAT ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 liam Tisdall, dated 3 February, 1703-4 *. His 
 words are : " My humble service to dean Ryves, 
 Dilly, Jones, and other friends " The Editor, in a 
 note, it is true, supposes this latter to be a Dean 
 Jones, mentioned in Dr. William King's Works, vol. 
 ii. p. 250, because he knew no other Jones : but is, 
 as I think, mistaken therein -f. For that person was 
 a non-juror; whereas John Jones took the degrees 
 of A.M. in 1691, or 1692, and D.D. in 1700, and 
 must have taken the oaths prescribed by act of par- 
 liament on both occasions ; he therefore was not 
 the same with Jones mentioned by King. And if 
 we should admit that Jones is mentioned in no other 
 place by Swift, yet this cannot be a matter of sur- 
 prise or ground of objection ; because but little of 
 Swift's life or correspondence, previous to 17 10, has 
 reached us : and because Swift did not permanently 
 reside in Ireland until after the Queen's decease, pre- 
 viously to which event Jones, from what cause I know 
 not, had ceased keeping school ; and when either death 
 might have dissolved, or change of party broke off, 
 the mutual ties of friendship that united them. 
 Now we have proof that Swift knew the one Jones ; 
 that this last was different from the Dean Jones ; and 
 no proof that I know, that Swift knew this latter : 
 hence I believe the person mentioned in the letter to 
 be John Jones. 
 
 The next thing I proposed to consider was the in- 
 ternal evidence, or that which a careful and attentive 
 perusal, of the piece itself would suggest to every 
 reader who had studied the genuine and undoubted 
 
 * Fee vol. X. p. 4!. 
 
 J- This is very 'probable. " N, 
 
 productions
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. IxXXlX 
 
 productions of Swift. The proofs of this kind which 
 have occurred to me, I have here collected in one 
 view ; and believe that to those who are better ac- 
 quainted with his style and composition, than I can 
 pretend to be, many more will present themselves. 
 
 1 . The Tripos is a piece that argues its author to 
 have been a person who held abstract science in little 
 estimation, such as logic and mathematics. It be- 
 gins thus : 
 
 " Occidit miseros crarabe repetita magistros. 
 " Your probabo, probabo, is as dull as a Trinity Sunday Sermon." 
 
 Now to understand this exordium rightly, we 
 ought to conceive that these words contain a tacit 
 reference to, and reprehension of, the modes of logical 
 disputation, in which the expressions, probabo aliter, 
 did frequently recur, and are the crambe here com- 
 plained of: and further, that previous to the deli r 
 very of this speech, such disputations in logic had 
 been held. A similar contempt for logic occurs at 
 the end of the first act : and the little repute the wri- 
 ter held mathematics in, is perceivable in the first two 
 scenes of the third act. Nor can we pass over the 
 expression " as dull as a Trinity Sunday Sermon,' 9 
 when we recollect that Swift has a sermon fitted for 
 that day : and consider the manner in which he has 
 treated that subject, from which it seems that he 
 thought all inquiries on such abstruse points super-r 
 rluous and unnecessary. . .z 
 
 2. Nor is his aversion restrained to science only. 
 The author of the Tripos lashes with his satire vir- 
 tuosi of all descriptions ; nor are Freemasons ex- 
 empted from the severity of his censure. Such pas-f 
 sages bear evident indications of the hand of Swift: 
 by whom abstract science was ever held in contempt; 
 
 whose
 
 XC ES5AT ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 whose voyage to Laputa is one continued censure of 
 all kinds of projectors ; and who has written a letter 
 on the very subject of Freemasonry, printed in his 
 works. In this letter he compares certain Hebrew 
 letters to a gallows, and speaks of Freemasons to be 
 hanged thereon : as in the Tripos, the author gives 
 the elegy of Ridley, a Freemason hanged. 
 
 S. The zeal which Swift ever entertained against 
 fanatics and innovators in Church and State, and for 
 which he was so remarkable, is visible in like manner, 
 in the author of the Tripos. See what this latter 
 says of Clnel John ftewson, whom he calls the 
 blind cobler, 
 
 4. But nothing is more observable in the true and 
 undisputed productions of Swift, than the pains which 
 he seems to take in raking together the most nauseous 
 ideas, and dwelling upon the most indelicate images. 
 It is unnecessary for me to bring examples of this 
 Strange propensity of his nature ; which is the more 
 serviceable to us, because he is almost singular in 
 this respect, and it forms the strong outline that disi- 
 tinguishes him from almost every other writer. In a 
 pamphlet which came out in K04 at London, called 
 " Some Remarks on the Tale of a Tub,'* he is thus 
 described : " The Author's first aim is to be profane; 
 but that part I shall leave to my betters, since matters 
 of such a nature are not to be jested with, but pu- 
 nished. 'Xhe second is, to show how great a profi- 
 cient he is at hectoring and bullying, at ranting and 
 roaring, and especially at cursing and swearing. His 
 third is, to exceed all bounds of modesty. His next 
 is, a great affectation for every thing nasty. He takes 
 the air upon dunghills, in ditches, and in common 
 sewers, and at my Lord Mayor's dog-kennel. By 
 
 the
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT, XCl 
 
 the first of these, he shews his religion* by the second 
 his conversation, by the third his manners, and by 
 the fourth his education. Now were the crow who 
 at present struts so much in the gutter, stripped of 
 these four sorts of feathers, he would be left quite 
 naked." 
 
 Now the Tripos furnishes no mean specimens of 
 the same talents. See the description given of a 
 college steward, wherein one passage can only be 
 paralleled for filthiness with the Lady's Dressing- 
 room, or the poem of Strephon and Chloe, or the 
 character Swift gives of Primate M h ; in all which 
 the same filth occurs. See also the place where the 
 author undertakes to describe the breeches of the in- 
 famous Barnard Doyle. 
 
 Swift, it is also observable, frequently unites images 
 that have no natural connection with each other, and 
 makes quick transitions from one to another. Com- 
 pare an instance in the beginning of the tenth chap- 
 ter of the Voyage to theHouyhnhnms, with a parallel 
 passage in the Tripos ; wherein he describes the per- 
 sons who are to compose a society of Freemasons that 
 was about to be introduced into a college, which 
 was to be newly erected. 
 
 5. Resemblances are not wanting between particu- 
 lar passages in the Tripos, and others taken from the 
 works of Swift, where the imitation is too strong 
 and the features too prominent to be the effect of 
 chance. Thus, the foundation of the Tale of a Tub 
 is laid in the testamentary disposition of a father, 
 whereby he bequeaths three coats among his three 
 sons ; now the second act of the Tripos begins in 
 like manner with a disposition of her property, by 
 the last will and testament of a lady, Mrs. Mary 
 
 Hewitson ;
 
 XCil ESSAY ON TflE EARLIER PART 
 
 Hewitson ; and the author thence takes the oppor* 
 tunity of introducing his satire, and making it the 
 vehicle of his abuse. Compare what Swift says in 
 the Tale of a Tub, section second, concerning the 
 taylor and the animal, the delight of the monkey ; 
 with a corresponding passage in the Tripos, concern- 
 ing the monkey that devoured Doyle's breeches. 
 I may add, that the author of the Tripos, when he 
 gives the character of a college steward, makes the 
 doctrine of transubstantiation the object of his ridi- 
 cule ; and we know that satire on that doctrine forms 
 a leading part of the Tale of a Tub. 
 
 6. How much Swift delighted in the composition 
 of barbarous Latin, is sufficiently evident from the 
 correspondence that passed between him and Sheri- 
 dan; now the same affectation of writing in barbarous 
 Latin, is every where discernible through the Tripos, 
 but especially towards the conclusion of the first act. 
 
 7. The same person who in November, 1688, was 
 treated insolently by Swift and his associates, Mr. 
 Owen Lloyd, is also the subject of gross abuse in the 
 Tripos. 
 
 8. But the poetical part of the Tripos is that which 
 to me seems, much more than the prose, to breathe 
 the spirit of Swift, and to bear evident marks of his 
 very peculiar mode of writing. The lines upon Mr, 
 Weaver and Mr. Ridley, seem entirely composed in 
 his manner : which is the more remarkable, be- 
 cause the earliest of his known productions, his Odes 
 and Pindarics, bear no similitude to those later com- 
 positions in the light and humorous style, which have 
 raised his character so high. And here I may be 
 allowed to observe, that the aversion the author of 
 (he Tripos expresses towards a fop, in the character 
 
 of
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. 3&CUI 
 
 of Mr. Weaver, accords well with what we know of 
 Swift, especially with an anecdote related of him and 
 Faulkner ; to whom dressed out first as a beau, with 
 a laced waistcoat, and afterwards as an humble prin- 
 ter, he is recorded to have given very different re- 
 ceptions. And further : when we read in the Tripos, 
 the metamorphosis of the Fellows into trees, it can- 
 not fail to remind us of Swift's tale of Baucis and 
 Philemon turned into yews. 
 
 And that Swift was used to copy from himself, and 
 in his later productions sometimes to pursue the ideas 
 he had adopted in his more early years, we may see, 
 by comparing the Discourse on the Operations of the 
 Spirit, printed at the end of the tale of a tub, 
 with his Poem, called pethox the great. Of 
 what he says there of Hermes's Rod, in the story he 
 tells of the Banbury Saint, he afterwards gave a 
 striking imitation in the passage extracted from Pe- 
 thox, and thus beginning: 
 
 " How fam'd thy conduct in the fight 
 
 " With Hermes, son of Pleias bright/' &c. 
 
 As I have had frequent occasion to refer to the 
 Tale of a Tub, the following particulars relative to 
 that extraordinary piece, which are found in pam- 
 phlets published about those times, may perhaps not 
 be uninteresting. From one of these, entitled, 
 " Some Remarks on the Tale of a Tub ; to which 
 are annexed, Mully of Mountown, and Orpheus and 
 Euridice : by the author of the Journey to London *, 
 Lond. 1704," I have already given an extract. I 
 have only to add, that in the Preface, the publisher 
 tells the reader, that he has authority from the 
 author of Mully of Mountown to say, " That he, 
 * Dr. "William King. N. 
 
 X had
 
 XClV ESSAY Oft THE EARLIER PART 
 
 had no hand in writing " The Tale of a Tub." He 
 happened one day to discourse more largely than or- 
 dinarily of that book with one of his friends, and 
 found the following remarks the next morning laid 
 upon his table." From these remarks I gave the 
 former extract ; and 3dd this : " The author, by the 
 oaths, should rather be an Irish evidence. Another 
 cries, What if after all it should be a parson ; for 
 who may make more free with their trade ? What if 
 I know him, describe him, name him, and how he 
 and his friends talk of it, admire it, are proud of 
 it t 
 
 Another pamphlet is entitled, " Miscellanies, by 
 Dr. Jonathan Swift ; viz. Meditation upon a Broom- 
 stick, Baucis and Philemon, Petition of Mrs. Harris, 
 To Mrs. Biddy Floyd, History of Vanbrugh's House: 
 to all which is prefixed, A complete Key to the Tale 
 of a Tub." London, printed for E. Curll, 1711. 
 At the end is this advertisement, " Speedily will be- 
 published, some other Pieces relating to the last sub- 
 ject herein mentioned ;" which last subject is Van- 
 brugh's House. 
 
 In this pamphlet, the Tale is ascribed on general 
 reputation only, to " Thomas and Jonathan Swift, 
 who composed it in l6Q7, having been domestic 
 chaplains to Sir W. Temple, and therefore thought 
 themselves obliged to take up his quarrel. Thomas 
 began a defence of Sir William, under the title of a 
 Tale of a Tub, under which he intended to couch 
 the general history of Christianity. His aim is to 
 ridicule the stubborn errors of the Romish Church, 
 and the humours of the fanatic party. He designed 
 to shew the purity of the Christian Church in primi- 
 tive times ; and consequently how weakly and par- 
 tially
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. XCV 
 
 tially Mr. Wotton passed his judgement in preferring 
 the modern divinity before the ancient. But his 
 companion Jonathan, borrowing the MS. to peruse, 
 carried it with him to Ireland, and having kept it 
 seven years, at last published it imperfect." The 
 parts of the book are in this pamphlet thus allotte.4 
 to them. 
 
 To Jonathan : The Dedication to Lord Somers, 
 Preface, Epistle to Prince Posterity, and the Four Di- 
 gressions ; J . On Critics. 2. In the Modern Kind. 
 3. On Digressions. 4. In Praise of Madness. 
 Also, the Battle of the Books. 
 
 To Thomas : The Tale of a Tub, and the Frag- 
 ment on the Mechanical Operations of the Spirit. 
 
 Concerning these pretensions of Thomas, see 
 Swift's Works, [1808, vol. ii. p. J 68.] 
 
 One of the annotations in this pamphlet I shall 
 mention, both because it is not noticed in the editions 
 of the Tale, that I have seen ; and because the alle- 
 gory of Swift is not explained there or any where 
 else, that I know of. It relates to the two monsters, 
 Camelion and Moulinavent, which are mentioned in 
 the Tale, section viii. as sworn enemies of the JKo- 
 lists. The pamphlet thus explains them : fC The 
 camelion is the priest, who denies inspiration ; and 
 the Infidel, who argues against such a thing as a 
 Deity, from his shuffling and turning every way that 
 will make for his argument, is here represented by 
 moulinavent." This explanation appears to me 
 to labour under great difficulties : first, that it does 
 not distinguish between the two monsters ; for the 
 Priest who denies inspiration, and the Infidel who 
 argues against a Deity and therefore against inspira- 
 tion, appear to me not to be different, but the same ; 
 
 vol. i. g and
 
 XCV1 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 and however they may differ in name, to agree in 
 reality. Secondly, That no reason is assigned, why 
 these monsters should be sworn foes to the iEolists 
 only, and not to Christians of every denomination. 
 
 My solution of the allegory is, that by ca- 
 melion and moulinavent, are understood the 
 Church and State ; that is, the Episcopal Church of 
 England by law established, and the Monarchy. 
 The union between these two has ever been held 
 inseparable ; and it was the well-known assertion of 
 an English Prince, " No King, no Bishop." Against 
 these two, all iEolists (that is, sectaries of every de- 
 scription) have ever opposed themselves, and waged 
 incessant war : and though they destroyed the Mo- 
 narchy for a time in the reign of the First Charles, 
 when the Church fell with it, yet in the reign of 
 Charles the Second both revived, and the sectaries 
 received many violent blows from the Monarchy. 
 Moulinavent has four arms; these are the four 
 sceptres (of England, Scotland, France and Ireland), 
 issuing from the centre of the coin, and including the 
 arms of those kingdoms. A windmill (which is 
 what the word moulin d vent means) is a proper 
 image of the State or Monarchy, whose condition is 
 subject to much alteration and many vicissitudes. 
 As for the Camelion, it is an animal that lives upon 
 air, and refunds no part of it by eructation. This is 
 the image of the Church of England ; whose articles 
 acknowledge the inspiration of Holy Scripture, whilst 
 its memhers make no pretences to supernatural 
 powers, or to the possession of inspiration in them- 
 selves, but have an established Liturgy and set form of 
 prayer, and do not make use of extemporaneous 
 i.nying and preaching, here called Eructations. This 
 
 Church
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. XCV1I 
 
 Church Dryden had represented under the image of 
 a panther ; and Swift (in imitation of him I suppose) 
 compares it to a camelion. But further ; the came- 
 lion lives upon air, and varies his colours according 
 as the objects that surround him vary : and will not 
 this be a just representation of those ecclesiastics (if 
 there be any such) who exist on the promises of the 
 great, and rise to power by complying with their va- 
 riable humours ? 
 
 In the same work, Swift attributes to Lord Peter, 
 a powder, which he calls Pimperlimping [vol. ii. p. 
 275, sect. iv\] : relative to this I find in a pamphlet 
 published about 1690, and called, a Dialogue between 
 Dr. Sherlock, the King of France, the Great Turk, 
 and Dr. Oates, the following passage : " This famous 
 Doctor (Sherlock) plays the Merry Andrew with the 
 world, and like the Powder of Pimper le Pimp, turns 
 up what trump the Knave of Clubs calls for." 
 
 But that I may return to my subject ; we are led 
 to give small credit to what the famous Dean of St. 
 Patrick's related, when his recollection of the past 
 was much impaired, concerning the earlier events of 
 his life, when we consider what he himself asserted 
 about the Testimonium which he received from the col- 
 lege of Dublin. Mr. Deane Swift positively affirms 
 (p. 30.) on the Dean's own authority, " that the 
 University of Oxford misconceived the meaning of 
 the expression in it, " speciali gratia :" and yet when 
 he afterwards produces a copy of the Testimonium 
 (p. 43), he finds no such expressions in it, and feels 
 no small difficulty in defending the veracity of his 
 relation. He ascribes to the friendship of the col- 
 lege the omission ; whereas there was no friendship 
 practised, or compliment intended ; and the College 
 
 g 2 only
 
 XCV1U ESSAY ON THE BARLIER PART 
 
 only pursued the conduct always adopted on such 
 occasions *. On this point therefore it is impossible 
 to defend the veracity of either Swift or his biogra- 
 pher, or to vindicate them from the imputation of mis- 
 take. But, if he could be mistaken in this point, I 
 think the inference warranted that he might be 
 equally mistaken with respect to transactions in the 
 college, that were still further removed from the 
 times when he conversed with Mr. Deane Swift on 
 those subjects ; and therefore that we cannot impli- 
 citly depend on his own representations ; much less 
 can we argue, from what is merely silence in him, 
 against the conclusions deducible from authentic do- 
 cuments, whose testimonies do mutually confirm each 
 other. 
 
 From Swift himself l?t us now turn our eyes to 
 those who have described his life and actions ; and 
 one fact which I proceed to relate will shew us what 
 little care they have used to procure information as 
 to the earlier part of his life. None of them men- 
 tions the fact that he was a prebendary in St. Pa- 
 trick's -|~, and enjoyed that dignity with the livings of 
 Laracor and Rathbeggin : and yet that this was the 
 case plainly appears from his own letters. I am pos- 
 
 * The University of Dublin could never have inserted the 
 words per sperialtm gratiam in any Testimonium, because all 
 that is certified in such an instrument is only the mere fact of 
 taking the degree, under the circumstances required by the cus- 
 toms of the college and the laws of the land. I may add, that 
 the above statement not only disproves Lord Orrery's idle sugges- 
 tion, that the learned University of Oxford mistook the meaning 
 of these expressions, but also decisively shews that there is no 
 ground whatsoever for Dr. Hawkesworth's conjecture, that probably 
 by the influence of Swift's uncle, these disgraceful words " were 
 omitted in the copy which he procured, and sent [to Oxford.]" 
 
 + This fact was not wholly unnoticed ; see vol. II. p. 53. N. 
 
 sessed
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. XC1X 
 
 sessed of the presentation copy of the third volume 
 of Temple's Miscellanies, (said in the title to be 
 published by Jonathan Swift, A.M. Prebendary of 
 St. Patrick's, London, 1701), which he himself pre- 
 sented to Primate Marsh. He has written in it this 
 address : 
 
 To the most Reverend 
 
 Narcissus Lord Archbishop of 
 
 Dublin, and one of the 
 
 Lords Justices of Ireland ; 
 
 By his Grace's 
 
 most obedient, and 
 most obliged 
 
 humble servant, 
 
 The Publisher. 
 
 Having applied to the Dean of St. Patrick's to 
 learn the name of the Prebend, I understood from 
 him that it was Dunlavin ; that Swift was presented 
 to it by Narcissus Archbishop of Dublin, on 28 
 September, 1700; and installed on 22 October, and 
 that it had become vacant by the resignation of Dr. 
 John Bolton. His patent for the prebend of Kilroot, 
 in the diocese of Connor, vacant by the deprivation 
 of William Milne, bears date 28 January, in the sixth 
 year of William [l(X)4-5] ; and that to the vicarage 
 of Laracor and rectory of Aghir, in the diocese of 
 Meath, vacant by the cession of John Bolton, D.D. 
 on the 20th of February [ if gg]> in tn - twelfth year 
 of the same reign. 
 
 And as the accounts which he himself and his bio- 
 graphers deliver of the earlier transactions of his life 
 appear thus defective, it may not be unuseful to consi- 
 der whence these imperfections appear to have arisen ; 
 
 and
 
 C ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 and what may have been the causes why the world has 
 been so little acquainted as to some of his earliest pro- 
 ductions, such as the Tripos, &c. Now these appear 
 to me reducible to the following heads : 
 
 3 st. To the confusion of the times that immedi- 
 ately succeeded. 
 
 2dly. To the little notoriety attached to the cha- 
 racter of Swift previous to the year 1 7 10. At that 
 time indeed he commanded the public attention, but 
 it was only for the space of four years. He appear- 
 ed, it is true, a comet in the political world ; but his 
 duration was almost equally short-lived. With the 
 administration of Lord Oxford he set, and lost all 
 hopes of ever rising to political consequence: he was 
 forgotten by one party, and was so much detested by 
 that which had supplanted them, that he was the 
 object of their persecution for above ten years. 
 
 3dly. To the silence which Swift preserved on 
 this topick, and which is the more remarkable, be- 
 cause he never failed to enlarge on the imaginary 
 disgrace that accompanied the taking of his de- 
 gree. 
 
 4thly. To develope these truths, a concurrence of 
 circumstances was necessary, which could scarcely be 
 hoped to be ever met with in the same person. For 
 instance ; it was necessary to be acquainted with the 
 facts related by Richardson ; with the work called the 
 Tripos; with the connection between Swift and Jones, 
 its reputed author, and with those transactions of 
 Swift and Jones which were only to be discovered from 
 the Registry and Buttery Books ; where the omission 
 of the Christian name in the Registry, and the loss 
 f the Junior Buttery Book, seemed to threaten 
 ^uperable difficulties. On these subjects my in- 
 formation
 
 . F.THE LIFE OP SWIFT. Cl 
 
 formation was obtained at different times : I had no 
 copy of the Tripos until 1S02 ; knew not the con- 
 nection between Swift and Jones, or their transactions, 
 before ] 803 ; nor was^ acquainted with the anecdote 
 preserved by Richardson, prior to 1804. 
 
 5thly. To his own peculiar conduct with respect to 
 his writings ; agreeably to which he most generally 
 sent his works into the world, without acknowledg- 
 ing himself as their author. 
 
 6thly. To the nature of the composition itself; 
 which, being of the scandalous kind, subjected his 
 friend to a punishment. But who (if even the fear of 
 punishment were removed) could ever derive any plea- 
 sure from the reflection, that he had been the author 
 of personality or scandal ? The person who could 
 boast of this, might justly be said to glory in his own 
 shame. Do we not see, from the words at the con- 
 clusion of this very Tripos, that its reputed author 
 was ashamed of his performance ? How much hurted 
 then would Swift have felt himself, even at the sus- 
 picion of his being the author ; and how great must 
 have been his unwillingness that it should be attri- 
 buted to him ! an unwillingness that would have been 
 increased, when by the means of such a composition, 
 he found himself accessary to the punishment of his 
 friend. 
 
 The same imputation, of their being of a scanda- 
 lous kind, does not, I acknowledge, attach itself to 
 some other pieces of his, which have fallen into my 
 hands, and have been hitherto unnoticed ; and yet we 
 may observe, that the nature of these compositions 
 also did preclude them from being generally known. 
 They are of a desultory kind, written upon the spur 
 of the moment, by an individual at that time ob- 
 scure,
 
 Cti ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 scure, (for they were written in his earlier days,) and 
 npo'n individuals almost equally unknown with him- 
 self: the occasions of them are merely local, and 
 such as the public felt little concern about ; and the 
 most probable supposition we can make is, that their 
 author retained no copies of them, and thus they 
 "became lost even to himself. 
 
 Having thus brought before the reader's view a short 
 account of Swift's academic conduct and behaviour, 
 it will now be necessary to deliver the piece itself, which 
 so strongly attracted the notice of his superiors in the 
 college. And as the names of many of them, and 
 of other members of the college, occur in this per- 
 formance, it will be requisite, for the better under- 
 standing it, to premise some few particulars concern- 
 ing the parties mentioned ; in doing which I have to 
 lament that the scanty materials which have reached 
 me, have rendered it impossible for me in some cases 
 to do more than to supply names and dates. 
 
 The Provost at that time was Dr. Robert Hunt- 
 ington : the Senior Fellows were, Dr. Richard Acton, 
 Vice-provost, George Brown, Dive Downes, John 
 'Griffith, John Barton, St. George Ashe, and Bene- 
 dict Scroggs. 
 
 The Junior Fellows were, Patrickson, Reader, 
 Thewks, Smith, Hall, Lloyd, Sayers, Allen, and 
 Hassett. 
 
 Of these, Griffith was absent by a King's letter, 
 dated 3 July, 1087, which gave him leave of absence 
 for two years : this leave expiring in 1 68Cj, and he 
 not returning, the King issued a mandamus in favour 
 of one Arthur Green, to be made a Senior Fellow 
 in his place. The Vice-provost, Dr. Acton, refused 
 to obey, alleging, as I suppose, that Griffith not 
 
 having
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. Clli 
 
 having been deprived, no senior fellowl(hip was va- 
 cant. The King, with an armed force, seized on the 
 college, and committed several of its members to 
 prison. Not deterred by this, Dr. Acton presented 
 a remonstrance to the King, against his Majesty's 
 own proceedings, and did actually hold an Election 
 of Officers in the college, on 20 November, l68p: 
 so that he appears to have recovered the possession 
 of his freehold, as he termed the college in his 
 petition, although surrounded by James's army. 
 
 By another King's letter, dated 15 March, 1 686-7, 
 Patrickson, a Junior Fellow, had a like leave of ab- 
 sence granted to him. 
 
 The other persons alluded to in the Tripos, who 
 were not fellows, are Michael Hewitson, Dudley 
 Loftus, Thomas Weaver, Dean Manby, Archdeacon 
 Baynard, Bernard Doyle, Dr. Gwithers, Sir Michael 
 Creagh, and several others ; of whom I shall proceed 
 to give the best account I have been able to collect. 
 
 The first person whom his Satire attacks is the 
 Rev. Michael Hewitson, the last will of whose sister 
 Mary furnishes the subject of the second act. He 
 was admitted into college, 18 July, l66o, was after- 
 wards elected a scholar, and had a Master of Arts 
 degree,- (in which the acts Were remitted to him in 
 consequence of his contributing thirty guineas to- 
 wards the college buildings) on 27 February 1 68 1-2. 
 Shortly afterwards, in l684, he was tenant to the 
 college for the lands of Coolremur, in the county of 
 Donegal, which, it is believed, are now possessed by 
 some of his descendants. 
 
 The next person who is addressed, and represented 
 as Doctor Civilis, sed Polyglottus, is probably Dr. 
 Dudley. Loftus, who was eminent for his skill in the 
 
 3 Oriental
 
 CIV ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 Oriental languages, and contributed his assistance to 
 Bishop Walton's celebrated Polyglott. See an Ac- 
 count of him and his numerous Works in Ware's 
 Writers of Ireland, p. 254 ; which confirms the 
 representation given of him here. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Weaver, the next person (that I can 
 discover) who incurs Swift's censure, was of a family 
 settled in the King's or Queen's County. I find 
 several persons of the name of Weaver in the reigns 
 of Charles the Second, and William, and Anne, re- 
 presenting the King's and the Queen's Counties, or 
 places in them, in the Irish House of Commons. 
 One of them enjoyed a lease under the college of 
 the tithes of Moyana and Stradbally, in the year 
 J 668; but neglecting to renew it, lost it about the 
 year l685. The family probably came into Ireland 
 about 1650: ior a person of this name was one of 
 the four Commissioners whom the Parliament sent 
 into Ireland at that time, and was by marriage related 
 to Samuel Winter, who came along with them, and 
 was made by Oliver Cromwell, Provost of Dublin 
 College. The person mentioned in the Tripos ap- 
 pears to have been admitted into the college, 9 No- 
 vember, 16/8 ; and on February 25, 1688, had the 
 grace for A.M., and his exercises were dispensed 
 with. 
 
 For Peter Manby, Dean of Derry, see Ware's 
 Account of the Writers of Ireland, p. 257. 
 
 John Baynard was Archdeacon of Connor : having 
 (like Manby) apostatized to the Church of Rome, he 
 resigned his archdeaconry in 1691, to which Philip 
 Mathews (nephew of Lemuel Mathews,) was collated. 
 
 The antagonist of Manby was William King, 
 Chancellor of St. Patrick's, and afterwards Archbishop 
 
 of
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CV 
 
 of Dublin ; censured in the Tripos for the inaccuracy 
 of his Latin style. 
 
 We are now come to the infamous Bernard Doyle, 
 who is the next person censured in the Tripos. He 
 was admitted as a sizar on 14 April, 1678, under the 
 tuition of Richard Acton, at the age of nineteen; and 
 was born at Athlone. On 1 1 July, 1685, he had the 
 grace of the house for A.M. " perspecialemgratiam." 
 He was usher of the school at Drogheda ; and on 
 the merit of conforming to the religion of James the 
 Second, sought to be admitted to the place of a 
 Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin. To this end he 
 presented a mandamus from the King on February 13, 
 1687-8, directed to the Provost and Senior Fellows, 
 and dated January 11, 1687-8 ; which required them 
 to admit the said Doyle to a Fellowship, then vacant 
 (by the cession of Dr. George Mercer, who is men- 
 tioned also in the Tripos), or the first that should 
 become so, without taking any oath but that of a 
 Fellow. When this oath was tendered to him by 
 them, he refused to take it ; as it was inconsistent 
 with the religion he professed. And it having been 
 represented by the College to the Lord Lieutenant, 
 that Doyle was a person of shameful ignorance and 
 scandalous immorality, he was pleased to order the 
 Mayor of Drogheda to take examinations upon oath 
 relative to Mr. Doyle's conduct, while usher of that 
 school. For this purpose Mr. Downes, one of the 
 Fellows, went down thither ; and it was proved by exa- 
 minations, taken on the Oth, 10th, and 1 1th of March, 
 that Doyle was guilty of fornication (having had two 
 bastards), drunkenness, theft, and other crimes ; such 
 as violently assaulting and beating various persons. 
 Notwithstanding this representation, Doyle perse- 
 vered
 
 CVI ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 vered in his applications to Lord Tyrconnell, and 
 spared no kind of scandalous assertions against the 
 college ; but in the mean time Mr. Arthur Hassett 
 procured a mandamus in his own favour, which he 
 presented to the Provost and Fellows on 16 April, 
 1688 ; and having satisfied them on the points which 
 they proposed to him, he was sworn and admitted a 
 Fellow. He is mentioned in the Tripos : as is also 
 Eleanor Wall, who was one of Doyle's mistresses. 
 
 Sir Michael Creagh was Lord Mayor of Dublin in 
 1688 ; and represented that city in the Parliament of 
 1689. He was Paymaster General of King James's 
 army. 
 
 Ezekiel Burridge, who is mentioned in the begin- 
 ning of the second act, was elected Scholar in June, 
 1683, commenced A.B. February, 1683-4, and A.M. 
 July, l687. He is mentioned by Ware in his Ac- 
 count of the Writers of Ireland ; and by King, in 
 his State of the Protestants. 
 
 At the Commencement in July l68S, when this 
 Tripos was pronounced, I find that the undernamed 
 persons took the following degrees ; to all of whom 
 allusions are made in it. 
 
 Mr. William King (afterwards Archbishop of 
 Dublin), B.D. and D.D. Mr. Charles Gwithers, 
 M.D.; and Jeremy Marsh, Alexander Jephson, Tho- 
 mas Cox, Richard Barry, William Tirrell, Allen Mad- 
 dison, William Warren, Jo. Travers, &c. were admit- 
 ted to the degree of A.M. 
 
 Jephson was afterwards a clergyman, and had the 
 School of Camberwell : he and Gwithers and several 
 others were censured on various occasions by the 
 Board; as was also Nich. Knight, whose name oc- 
 curs in this Tripos. At the same time appear on the 
 
 books
 
 OP THE LIPE OP SWIFT. CVU 
 
 books of the Buttery, among the resident Doctors 
 and Masters, the names of Dr. Foy (who had been 
 a Senior Fellow, but, like Foley, had resigned), Dr. 
 Gwithers, Mr. Napper, Mr. Jephson, Mr. Cox, Mr. 
 Terrill, and Mr. Delauny. The other names occur- 
 ring in the Tripos are all names of persons who had 
 been students in the College, but at that time some 
 of them had left it. We also may find some of the 
 names occurring in King's State of the Protestants, 
 such as that of Dean Glandee, a person of abilities, 
 but whose character has been reproached with the 
 imputation of immorality. The Butler of the col- 
 lege (or Promus) who is satyrized in the latter part 
 of the first act, was Mr. Andrew Donnell, called 
 there Daniel : from the Senior Lecturer's Book it 
 appears, that his son was admitted a pupil under Mr. 
 Smith, a few days before the Tripos was delivered ; 
 in which mention of his familiarity with Mr. Smith 
 is made. 
 
 Having thus endeavoured to make the reader ac- 
 quainted with the several characters mentioned in the 
 Tripos, I proceed to deliver the composition itself; 
 as preserved to us in the MS. of Theophilus, Lord 
 Newtown Butler, a nobleman, who, with his brother 
 Brinsley (afterwards Viscount Lanesborough,) was 
 admitted into Trinity College on the 27th of Septem- 
 ber, 1686, almost two years before Jones's censure.
 
 CV11I ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 A TRIPOS, 
 
 Or Speech, delivered at a Commencement in the 
 University of Dublin, (held there, July 11, 1688,) by 
 Mr. John Jones, then A.B. afterwards D.D. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Occidit miseros crambe repetita magistros. 
 
 Your probabo, probabo, is as dull as a Trinity 
 Sunday sermon. 
 
 Dii boni, quas novas aves hie video ! Tot habemus 
 barbaros ignoramos et foppos ; tot doctores indoctos, 
 rummos academicos, cives aldermanicos, rusticos 
 personas, and so many pretty, pretty little rogues, 
 that, should I speak Latin, I should banter ten parts 
 of the company. Wherefore, for the sake of the 
 ladies, bullies, the Rums * and Fellow-Commoners, 
 I'll order it, (as I know you all would have it,) that 
 the English be ten to one against the Roman. 
 
 Lenite clamorem, till I shew these gentlemen the 
 civilities of the house. 
 
 Non temere decet quidem ut salutemus libenter. 
 Salvete igitur quotquot reverenda vel ridicula, docta 
 vel rummosa capita ; sed imprimis salvus sit Doctor 
 Acton, (ut inquit Erasmus) athletice : superannuati 
 omnes salvi sint pancraticd : et, si qui adsint cornuti, 
 quod verisimile est, valeant taurice ; deinde si quis 
 adsit medicus immedicabilis, qui skulkat subter id 
 manticae, quod in tergo est, docto in cujus capite 
 ./Esculapius viget, sed in ossibus dominatus astrono- 
 miae et eftaeto corpore totus inhaeret Galenus et Hip- 
 
 * Mr. Sheridan, in the Life of Swift, has given us Swift's 
 translation of the line Romanos rerum dominos, gentemque toga- 
 tam: whence we may learn that the term, rum, was familiar to 
 that writer, in the sense here used. 
 
 pocrates,
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. ClX 
 
 pocrates, si possibile sit, inquam, valeat ille ; sed prae 
 cseteris clericurn istum clericorum salvere jubeo, who 
 preaches in an oven, and is of the same name and 
 heraldry with an eminent blind cobler, who, when 
 the kingdom was all out of the stitches, vampt him- 
 self a colonel ; if his gravity be here, I salute him for 
 seven several reasons. 
 
 First, because he drinks and goes to the boghouse 
 for fourteen reasons ; but cannot give one for selling 
 his organs to a mass-house. 
 
 Secondly, Because (according to his own phrase) 
 he preaches by the London standard, which never 
 lessened, as I know of, but thrice ; and then Stilling- 
 fleet and Tillotson themselves were not one jot better 
 or worse, unless we say with the poet, 
 
 Sed mate dum recitas, incipit esse tuus. 
 
 Thirdly, Because when he came from England, he 
 wore as much silk for a doublet as made his sister 
 (joy be with her, as he said) a manteau and petticoat. 
 Quere, whether then Mr. Parson wore the breast- 
 plate of righteousness ? It is plain he did, and that his 
 intentions were honourable, for the next Sunday fol- 
 lowing he preached, Give Caesar his due. It is ill- 
 nature then in Bunbury's wife's husband to revile him 
 for this; and, to speak in the phrase of a pretty little 
 Senior Fellow, There's no Jew but would be more 
 gentle. 
 
 Fourthly, Because he consecrates as much water 
 at once, as makes Christians for a month. 
 
 Fifthly, Because he invited to his sister's funeral 
 none but (as he was pleased to call them) the cream 
 of the parish ; viz. those that kept coaches. Now 
 himself upon himself: his conclusion in such a case 
 will be thus, That all the curds and cream in the pa- 
 rish
 
 CX ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 rish tour it in coaches, while the poor skim-milk and 
 bonny-clobber trudge a-foot. I wonder, Mr. Leeson, 
 with his cream of Theology, is not his parishioner. 
 There is a mess for the Freshmen. But, 
 
 Sixthly, Because he lives by the Canon, and yet 
 corrects the Rubrick. 
 
 Seventhly and lastly, Because he made himself a 
 large and ponderous night-cap, after the exact model 
 of his church ; and this he did for two reasons. 
 
 First, to shew that no noddle in the diocese could 
 bear such a weight as his. Secondly, to cure a dis- 
 temper, which, to the grief of his congregation, has 
 troubled his brains these many years. Sed ad rem. 
 
 Salvus sit ille inter socios juniores cum pede brevi 
 et naso rhinocerotis, who by his own sermon of 
 angles and triangles has thrice shown his smattering 
 in the mathematics. Valeat etiam Doctor ille Civi- 
 lis, sed Polygamista, edentulus sed Polyglottus ; qui 
 adeo plenus est literis, ut in ipsa facie omnes lingua- 
 rum characteres graphice scribuntur : frustra igitur, 
 reverende doctor, susurrant invidi, te jam senio con- 
 fectum orientales linguas non callere, cum revera in- 
 dex tui animi sit vultus. Sed etiam atque etiam 
 salvus sit purpuratus noster grandiloquus, cui dedit 
 ore rotundo Musa loqui : 
 
 Quem quoad faciem et linguam vocamus Ulyssem : 
 
 Non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulysses. 
 
 No Tartar is more fair, no Athenian better hung, 
 
 Sol varnish'd o'er his face,, and Mercury his tongue. 
 
 quoad altitudinem salutemus Ajacem, quoad gracili- 
 
 tatem Tithonum, quoad caput versatile Priamum pa- 
 
 ralyticum, quoad pedes Achillem, quoad crura deni- 
 
 que, Colossum. 
 
 Sponte sua properant, labor est inhibere volentes. 
 
 Anglice,
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT, CM 
 
 Anglice, 
 
 With auk ward gown tuck'd up, he scow'r's along, 
 
 And at each stride measures a parasang. 
 
 Inter caeteros, peculiari dignus est salutatione 
 bellus quidain homunculus; I do not mean Mr. Bra- 
 dy's pretty little man, but the neat, spruce, dapper, 
 finical, nice, spark, who'd rather sing and dance in 
 his chamber, than bowl without an umbrella : who 
 constantly carries as many patch-boxes in his pocket, 
 as would beautify our beadle ; as many several sorts 
 of snuff, as would furnish Major-General Maccarty 
 and Colonel Dempsy for a year, and as much essence 
 as would perfume Sir Stampe's chamber ; as many 
 comfits as would sweeten Mr. Travers's hacksters ; 
 together with as many jewels as would make Sir Jeph- 
 son a gentleman, or buy Mr. Delauny a coat of arms. 
 Besides ; he has such a veneration for the fair sex, 
 that he would not presume to visit a lady in a shirt 
 he had worn a day, but by way of apology sent her 
 this billet-doux : 
 
 I'gad, Madam, I beg your pardon ten thousand 
 times for not paying my devoir to your ladyship to- 
 day : of which transcendent happiness nothing under 
 the planets could have deprived me, but the damned 
 disappointment of my sempstress, by whose neglect 
 I have at present but seven day-shirts : by which 
 means I am unprovided with linen, and so rendered 
 utterly incapable of attending your ladyship now : 
 but as soon as my dress is agreeable, I fly with the 
 wings of duty and obedience to implore your lady- 
 ship's mercy for my unfortunate absence, and will 
 ever snatch at all opportunities of manifesting myself, 
 Madam, your Ladyship's most humble and devoted 
 Slave, to the stars or centre, 
 
 Tommy Weaver, 
 vol. i. k O curas
 
 CXU ESSAtf ON THE EARLIER BART 
 
 O curas hominum, O quantum est in rebus inane, 
 Ipsissimum hunc homnncionem hoc in epi- 
 grammate notat Martialis : 
 
 Cotile, bell us homo es, &c 
 
 Anglice, 
 There's scarce a well-drest coxcomb, but will own 
 Tommy's the prettiest spark about the town. 
 This all the tribe of fringe and feather say, 
 Because he nicely moves by Algebra ; 
 And does with method tie his cravat string, 
 Takes snuff with art, and shows his sparkling ring; 
 Can set his foretop, manage well his wig, 
 Can act a proverb, and can dance a jig ; 
 Does sing French songs ; can rhyme, and furnish chat 
 To inquisitive Miss, from Letter or Gazette ; 
 Knows the affair of cockpit and the race, 
 And who were conquerors at either place ; 
 If Crop or Trotter took the prize away, 
 And who a fortune gain'd the other day. 
 He swings fring'd gloves, sees plays, writes billet-doux, 
 Fill'd up with beauty, love, oaths, lies, and vows ; 
 Does scent his eyebrows, perfum'd comfits eat, 
 And smells like phoenix' nest, or civet cat ; 
 Does shave with pumice stone, compose his face, 
 And rolls his stockings by a looking-glass. 
 Accomplished thus, Tommy, you'll grant, I hope, 
 A pretty spark at least, if not a fop. 
 
 Finita salutatione, (more Erasmiano) paucis vobis- 
 cum confabulandum est. Sed uti solet graculus ille 
 Maddison, mihi cordi est totum occupare sermonem ; 
 I'll take all the chat to myself. 
 
 In familiaritatem me nuper exceperunt virtuosi, 
 (hominum genus in minimis non minimum laborans) 
 
 et
 
 6tf THE LIFE OF SWIFT. cxiil 
 
 H mihi qu?edam naturse non vulgaria nota fecere ; 
 quae humanitatis ergo, et publicee sal litis gratia, in 
 lucefh jam profero. 
 
 First, Mr. Allen's infallible cure for the mawworms. 
 
 R. poti fortis ab hatcho quartum unum; rowlo- 
 rum, sive brownorum sive alborum, ad minimum 
 tres: his addatur butyri culinaris quantum valet duos 
 denarios, cum bunsho radishorum vel watergrassi ; 
 deinde stomachi equini quantum suffice Hsec om- 
 nia hora octava antemeridiana quotidie devoreatur, 
 et certe vix ad prandium usque latrabit stomachus. 
 
 Secondly, Dr. Molyneux * his rare discovery of 
 part of the meat's sudden digestion and corruption in 
 the mouth, thus : 
 
 R. pinquis caponis leggum .unum et wingum, 
 tosti shouldromotontis et carnis bovinas una slizum 
 unum vel alterum ; anseris juvenilis cum sauso goos- 
 beriano modicum quid ; panis domestici lunsheum 
 moderatum ; vini rubri et poti minoris pocula bina 
 vel tria ; et, quod instar omnium est, fcetidissimi spiri- 
 tus quantum sufficit: compressu oris fiat bolus, e 
 proculdubio inter hiatus dentium et super gingivag 
 tarn statimfcetida flat concoctio; quod primus omnium 
 mortalium^ si modo credibile sit, ingenuus notavit 
 ille medicus. 
 
 Thirdly, The College Butler's admirable invention 
 of selling a mixture of ale and mum for nine-pence 
 per quart : and his water bewitched, viz. small beer 
 and water, for a penny a bottle : likewise his elixir 
 bonae famse, or cure for his first fault. The experi- 
 
 * Dr. Thomas Molyneux, the younger brother of William Mo- 
 lyneux,, the correspondent of Mr. Locke, commenced M. D. July, 
 16'87- See an account of him in theBiooa. Britan. vol. v. p. 
 3133, note A. edit, 1760. 
 
 h 2 xnent
 
 CX1V ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 merit of the liquids is wrought by the help of a trap- 
 door at midnight. 
 
 The elixir is made thus : 
 
 R. vini rubri iiaskum duplex, Canarii, sive vini 
 Hispanici, amphoram unam, vel alteram : academici 
 et grubbinorum tolemanni quantum sufficit: defe- 
 rantur ad cameram Junioris Decani, quo participante 
 ingurgitentur omnia post nocturnum catalogum. 
 
 If this will not work the effect alone, I refer you 
 to his wonderful sympathetick prescription, which is 
 thus : 
 ' R. the tongue of Mother Jenkinson, alias Ma- 
 dam University, which will soothe the affections of the 
 head of the society. This being done, let the pa- 
 tient dine thrice a week on a national dish ; and it 
 this fail, 'tis an odd thing, nam probatum esU 
 
 Moreover I recommend to you, 
 Dean Manby's and Archdeacon Baynard's ointment 
 for a warping conscience. 
 
 Mr. Oliver Talent's * prescription for the worms in 
 the noddle. 
 
 Sir Conolly's new Treatise of Armory, entitled, Ex 
 quovis iigno non fit Mercurius.. 
 
 Madam Dicky Barry's ingenious machine for put- 
 ting on finical bands. 
 
 Mr. Scroggs's composition of puns. 
 
 Mr. Griffiths' s approved-of opium matutinum, for 
 soaking. 
 
 Mr. Downes's excellent potio coffiana, for expelling 
 soporiferous humours. 
 
 Priscianus vulneratus, alias, methodus credendi 
 Articulos, by the Rev. Dr. King. j 
 
 * Oliver Tallant, admitted 20 May, l6?7. 
 
 Doctor
 
 f 
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. CXV 
 
 Doctor Nappier's * Elegy on a broken Bellarmine 
 of Ale, entitled, Amphora non meruit tarn pretiosa 
 men. 
 
 An excellent engine for working embroidery., by 
 my very good Lord Charlemont. 
 
 Likewise his Lordship's Praxis Arithrnetica, shew- 
 ing that 24 and 24 make 48 : this, as simple as it 
 seems to be, cost the Honourable Lord some pains, 
 and his lady some blushes. 
 
 An infallible unguent for the spleen in the toe, by 
 the Rev. Dr. Foy. 
 
 And lastly, Mr. Smith's Art of Compliance, prov- 
 ing humility to be the practice of the age, and shew- 
 ing how the College Butler may be the dear compa- 
 nion of the Junior Dean. For all which I refer you 
 to the respective authors, except the last, which Mr. 
 Smith proves syllogistically thus : 
 
 Moris est humilitas, ergo 
 Junior Decanus et Promus Senior 
 possint esse magni. 
 Probo antecedens. 
 
 Si generosus marmorizat cum puero, 
 Anglice, plays marbles with his boy, 
 Tunc moris est humilitas. 
 Sed generosus marmorizat cum puero. Ergo, &c. 
 
 Probo minorem instantiam.. 
 
 Magister Sayers marmorizat cum puero, 
 Sed magister Sayers est generosus. Ergo, &c. 
 Probo aliter. 
 
 Si doctissimus, altissimus, ecnon longe notissmus 
 
 * Gerard Nappier, admitted 18 July, 1677. See a Latin piece 
 in Swift's Works, [vol. xvi. p. 280,] on this very title, " Amphora 
 rion meruit tarn pretiosa mori." 
 
 Doctor
 
 CXV1 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 Doctor in Universitate scrubbat suas tabulas et bru- 
 shat suas cathedras, tunc moris est humilitas. 
 
 Sed talis Doctor scrubbat suas tabulas, &c. Ergo. 
 , Hoc etiam probari potest instantia. 
 
 But the tall gentleman in the robes would not 
 have it known. Cum itaque, Magister, (teDecanum 
 alloquor) arguments hisce validis vindicetur tua hu- 
 militas, quid obstat quo minus inter te et Danielum 
 mutua foveatur familiaritas. 
 
 Ede, bibe, dormi, post mortem nulla volupta?, 
 Namque inter Tanaim nihil est socerumque Viselli. 
 
 Coach it away then, and empty his pitchers ; 
 
 A lord in Fingall plays tennis with ditchers. 
 
 Heu, heu, quanti hie desiderantur socci et hand- 
 kerchief!, tantum est inter vos clamoris, sudoris : 
 tantum est hogorum, tit piget usque morari. Pergat 
 jgitur (ut inquit Dr. Acton) suo modo Dominus 
 Barry. Sed heus tu, Magister Will-be,, sive gra- 
 duate medioxime, Serenissirnae Elizabethan dormiant 
 cineres. Not a word of Protestant Bess. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Oppon. Dom. Barry. In tempore veni, quod 
 omnium rerum est primum. 
 
 Nam vereor, Domine, you are brought as low as 
 Witherington in Chevy Chace, or Mr. Lloyd in the 
 chapel. Ridicula capita ! inepto risu res ineptior 
 nulla est. 
 
 Absint joci, (as Sir Jephson said, when he had 
 pone,) res seria jam, imo de funeribus, agitur. Muli- 
 ercula enim misella humanissima, nobis vicina, et 
 J/Iagistri Hewetson soror unica, non ita pridem mo- 
 riebatur ; nee amicorum immemor ingrata discessit : 
 
 l sed
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXvA 
 
 sed quicquid vel corpuscull sui vel rei huma.no foret 
 usui, hoc supremo testamento, amicis suis informam 
 subsequentem benigna legavit. 
 
 The last Will and Testament of Mrs. Mary 
 Hewetson. 
 
 She bequeathed her brains to a learned grave gen- 
 tleman, who has shaked his own out of his noddle ; 
 whose name I was forbid to tell you, but I'll do as good 
 
 as will, I'll find somebody here, that Amoveate 
 
 quseso, amoveate paulisper. Oh ! salve, Magist#r 
 Burridge ; 1 remember Tommy Cox told me, your's 
 were addle, and therefore I present them to you, if 
 her brother lays no claim to them. 
 
 Her tongue (which even after death is the cause 
 of controversy) some affirm she left to Mrs. Horn- 
 castle * : but the true opinion is, she bequeathed it 
 to Mrs. Jenkinson, whose speaking organ (as I told 
 you before) is employed in Mrs. Donnell's Elixir 
 bonae famae. 
 
 Her teeth she left to Mrs. Horncastle, who has 
 such an unruly member of her own, that it needs at 
 least a double guard. 
 
 She bequeathed her hair to Mr. Leeson, to make 
 him a wig. 
 
 Her coloured silk petticoat, to furnish Mr. De- 
 launy with a pair of breeches ; and her looking-glass 
 and night- rail to my Lady Neddy Hall. Her tooth- 
 pick to Dr. Loftus, and patch-box to Mrs. Lucy 
 Coghill -f~, which so disguised her at the Conrlrma- 
 
 * A person of this name is mentioned in King's State of the 
 Protestants. 
 
 f Daughter of Sir John Coghill, and sister to Dr> Marma- 
 duke Coghill. 
 
 {ion
 
 CXVuY - ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 tion in St. Werburgh's Church, that the zealous 
 Archdeacon did not know Sir John's daughter ; sed 
 zelo vere Fitzgeraldino exclamavit, " My Lord, my 
 Lord, her face is against the Canon : I know not 
 who she is, and I won't present her." 
 
 Sed, reverende vir, monstrat tibi poeta, quo pacto 
 agnosceres virginem. 
 
 Cui numerosa linunt stellantem splenia frontem, 
 Ignoras, quae sit ? Splenia tolle, leges. 
 
 But to return ; she left her courageous heart to 
 pretty Mr. Weaver. 
 
 Her beauty (now you all expect I'll say, to Sir 
 Bayly and Fitzsimons, no truly, but) to as worthy a 
 gentleman, the Rev. the Provost : and her con- 
 science to the clerk of the kitchen, of whom (by way 
 of digression *) take this character, 
 
 A College Steward 
 is an animal mixture, a medley or hodge-podge of 
 butcher and cook, of scullion and scholar. He lives-j* 
 negatively by the privation of others, and mortifies 
 more flesh than all the divines in the kingdom. Did 
 he live among the ancients, he would be taken for a 
 wrestling master, with his skin oiled for the palaestra. 
 Hence it comes to pass, that his greasy shirt pays his 
 laundress, and finds her in soap and candles. You 
 may follow him (like the old pyewoman) by his smell. 
 
 * These digressions, interspersed, may remind us of the digres- 
 sions in the Tale of a Tub. 
 
 f The office of College Steward was formerly exercised by a 
 Scholar of the House, who was called Clerk of the Kitchen : it is 
 probable that he might derive some advantages from the punish- 
 ment that consisted in depriving delinquents of commons. 
 These advantages are here alluded to. 
 
 5 Strangers
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. CXlX 
 
 Strangers passing by his door take it for the college- 
 chandler's: an ignorant woman went there, directed 
 by her nose, to sell her kitchen-stuff. The butchers' 
 dogs fawn upon him, and follow him for his hogoes. 
 Without doubt they fancy he carries a slaughter- 
 house about him. Ke spends half his salary a-year 
 in wash-balls, fuller's-earth, and socks. The scent 
 of the kitchen has infected his breath, and poisoned 
 his whole mass of blood. What the hyperbolical 
 poet said of the Cappadocian is verified in him, with- 
 out a trope : 
 
 Vipera Cappadocem malesana momordit, at ipsa 
 Gustato periit sanguine Cappadocis. 
 Anglice, 
 A famish'd rat, progging one night for food, 
 Bit Mr. Hogoe's toe, and suck'd the blood : 
 Then dull and drooping, the pensive vermin sat, 
 Gorg'd with infectious gore, and pois'ning fat. 
 If he goes to market fasting, he taints all the meat 
 he cheapens ; therefore the butchers, in their own 
 defence, treat him to a breakfast. Every Sunday 
 morning he so stuffs himself, that if you come nigh 
 him, you'll know what is for dinner. Every belch* 
 is a bill of fare ; his bed-fellow dreams of grubbins 
 all night. One that lay with him by accident, fancied 
 himself at the mouth of an oven, full of tainted mut- 
 ton-pyes. Mr. Butler junior *, who, to stifle his ho- 
 goes, lies in his socks, would match him for a bed- 
 fellow, provided that they lay heads and points. The 
 pestilence of the head would be requited by the 
 
 * This reminds us of the author of the Tale of a Tub : who 
 enlarges so much upon the eructations of the /Eolists. 
 + Frobably Brinsley Butler, at that time a Student in the college. 
 
 plague
 
 CXX ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 plague of the heels. . Were he in orders, it would be 
 dangerous for htm to baptize ; he would make more 
 ghosts than Christians, and with good words send 
 the sucklings packing to the other world. Were 
 he Doctor in the civil law, his brother would rather 
 not commence than kiss him : he would be as terri- 
 ble as the old gentleman with the rainbow about his 
 eyes. He never says grace before meat, and very 
 good reason ; his victuals, like the Scotchman's snuff, 
 will not bide a blessing : the holy words would 
 transubstantiate them into maggots. The greatest 
 gin he has to struggle with is the flesh ; and (which 
 is wonderful) the oftener he gains the victory, the 
 wickeder he becomes. He thwarts the Kubrick, and 
 makes more Good Fridays than Sundays in the year. 
 When we keep Lent *, he keeps Carnival : and well 
 he may, when other men fast for his sins. He takes 
 upon him to be Deputy Bursar, and is called Mr. 
 Steward ; but by the same figure that the hangman 
 is called the King's officer. In the kitchen he rules 
 the roast, is absolute lord over the cleavemen, half 
 master of the scullions, and partly tutor, partly com- 
 panion, to the cooks : but always sworn brother in 
 iniquity to the. clerks of the buttery, which brings 
 me to consider them together in one word, and so 
 have done. When these two meet, (like malevolent 
 planets in conjunction) 'tis ominous, and denotes a 
 dearth in commons and sizings. Nay, sometimes it 
 foretells a general punishment. The making of 
 cither of the.se is the spoiling of a scholar ; as a gen- 
 tleman, bound 'prentice, forfeits his heraldry, or the 
 
 * That is, when we, byway of punishment, are put out of com,^ 
 njons, he derives some advantage to himself by it. 
 
 knighthood
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXXl 
 
 knighthood of an alderman spoils a cit. They live 
 plentifully with traffick between themselves,, and yet 
 every day eat and drink their bargains. To conclude; 
 they cast up their sins once a month, but do not re- 
 pent, because their iniquities are confirmed by the 
 Senior Fellows. 
 
 But to return to the Will. 
 
 She bequeathed her breasts to Mrs. Mary C 11 *, 
 of whom hear the poet ; 
 
 Mammas atque tatas habet Afra ; sed ipsa tatarum 
 
 Dici et mammarum maxima mamma potest. 
 Her paint she left to one of those ladies ; and her 
 nose she knew not whether to leave to Mr. Loftus 
 or Mr. Lloyd ; but at last ordered it for the former : 
 and out of her great charity gave permission to the 
 latter (I mean Mr. Lloyd) to furnish himself after 
 the Hudibrasian manner with a supplemental snout 
 out of her posteriors. 
 
 Lastly, she bequeathed all her money for the found- 
 ing and endowment of a new college, and therefore 
 ordered that there be a fair tract of ground purchased 
 out of Jack Cusack's estate, on a convenient part 
 whereof there be erected a stately pile of building 
 after the model of Mr. Allen's mansion-house. That 
 Sir Butler's famous library be bought for the college 
 use, together with Stillingfleet's. and Tillotson's Ser- 
 mons for the assistance of the young divines. That 
 Mr. Doyle, for his excellent morals and profound 
 learning, be Provost : and Mr. BoremSn -j~, for the 
 tame reasons, be Vice-provost. That Nickumbottum 
 
 f Perhaps, Coghill. 
 
 + Edward Boreman, admitted 11 June, l6/8 : his name was 
 taken off the book* pn li> October, io's6. 
 
 6*
 
 CXXT1 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 fee University orator ; Sir Stampe, * singing-master 
 and magician ; and that ingenious bachelor of arts 
 who read out all Gassendus's Astronomy in a week, 
 but the a's and b's, if Sir Moore pleases, be mathe- 
 matick professor : and Dr. Mercer be bursar. Several 
 officers are yet wanting, as divinity professor, preachers, 
 physicians, lecturers, surgeons, historians, chymists, 
 civilians, register, linguist, and many others, all which 
 are to be supplied by that colossus of learning, Mr. 
 Foley. 
 
 Hie vero dubium oritur ; num Dr. Mercer, cum 
 sponsa sua (satis eleganti) inhabitare possit academiam : 
 si negatur, tunc actum est de bursario, qui adeo in- 
 teger vitae, scelerisque purus : si affirmatur, dii boni, 
 quam clamosum necnon rixosum habituri sumus col- 
 legium ! nam fama refert esse inter illos conjugium 
 conjurgium, quod Martiali parum credibile videtur, ut 
 ex his versiculis constat : 
 
 Cum sitis similes, paresque vita, 
 Uxor pessima, pessimus maritus, 
 Miror, non bene convenire vobis. 
 
 It was first ordered that Mr. Lloyd should be the 
 University poet; ferunt autem, Magister, te quondam 
 pessimum egisse poetastrum, ideoque 
 
 mutato nomine, de te 
 
 Fabula narratur. 
 
 Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carmina, Maevi. 
 Nam <tu, Cosconi, disticha longa facis. 
 
 Hanc igitur provinciam habeat Dean Glandee, vel 
 Mr. Hewetson. 
 
 Ordered moreover, that all the Fellows dine and 
 sup constantly in the hall, uti apud nos moris est. 
 
 Timothy Stampe, admitted 16 May, \8Q. 
 
 Hortemur
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXXIll 
 
 Hortemur etiam, ut Propositus parcius absit *, and 
 to be strictly observed, that all the students in the 
 hall, especially at meats, speak Latin, as we do. 
 
 It was lately ordered, that, for the honour and dig- 
 nity of the University, there should be introduced a 
 society of Freemasons, consisting of gentlemen, 
 mechanicks, porters, parsons, ragmen, hucksters, bai- 
 liffs, divines, tinkers, knights, thatchers, coblers, 
 poets, justices, drawers, beggars, aldermen, paviours, 
 sculls, freshmen, bachelors, scavingers, masters, sow- 
 gelders, doctors, ditchers, pimps, lords, butchers, and 
 taylors, who shall bind themselves by an oath, never 
 to discover their mighty no-secret ; and to relieve 
 whatsoever strolling distressed brethren they meet 
 with, after the example of the fraternity of Free- 
 masons in and about Trinity College ; by whom a 
 collection was lately made for, and the purse of cha- 
 rity well stuffed for, a reduced brother, who received 
 their charity as follows in this list of benefactors : 
 
 From Sawny Richardson, a bottle of ale and two 
 rolls. 
 
 From Mr. Hassett, a pair of old shoes. 
 
 From a kind-hearted butcher at Lazy Hill, a 
 calf s countenance. 
 
 From the Right Honourable Lord Charlemont, a 
 cast hat. 
 
 From long Laurence, an inch of tobacco. 
 
 From Mr. Ryder, a groat. 
 
 From Dr. Gwithers, an old glister-pipe. 
 
 From Mr. Marsh and Sir Tenison, a bundle of 
 godly ballads. 
 
 * It appears from the Buttery Books, that Provost Huntington 
 had generally a non co., and therefore was absent from the hall. 
 
 From
 
 CXX1V ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 From Mr. Smith, an old pair of quilted stockings 
 
 From a tapster at the sign of the Hog in Armour, 
 a comfit. 
 
 From Sir Goodlet *, a piece of an old Smiglesius 
 for a natural use, cunningly procured by the means 
 of Sir Goodlet. 
 
 From Sir Warren, for being freemasonized the 
 new way, five shillings. 
 
 From Mr. Edward Hall -\-, a pair of cast night- 
 gloves. 
 
 Lastly from Mr.. Hancock, a slice of Cheshire 
 cheese; which the hungry brother eat up with such a 
 gusto, and liked so well, that he stole away the rest 
 in his breeches. 
 
 Tarn libera potitus contributionc, frater' scoun- 
 drellus sarcinulas suas discessurus colligit, et vultu 
 hilari, ori solito, quadrangulum transit ; dumque prae 
 nimio gaudio porrectiore incedit fronte, altioresque 
 tendit gressus, quisnam inter homines obviam dedife 
 illi, nisi frater fraterrimus Cooper ; qui ut fidelem 
 novit hominem, festinatius accurrit, humaniter cor- 
 ripit dextram, utque moris est, spississimo conspuit 
 basio : deinde Bibliothecain versus, comiter ambulant, 
 ut inter caetera admirabilia Ridlasum^ visitent : quern 
 dum hospes curiosis lynceis oculis perscrutatur, et 
 
 * James Goodlatt was admitted in February, 16S3-4; elected 
 Scholar in 16.S7. 
 
 t We must not confound this person with one of the same 
 name among the then junior fellows. This last was Dr. John Hall, 
 whom Swift, in his Account of Lord Wharton, mentions with 
 approbation. To him the Tripos no where alludes. 
 
 X I find a person named Nat. Cooper, who with Edward Hall, 
 commenced A.B. in February, 1682-3. 
 
 ifaid to have been an informer against priests. 
 
 diligentius
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXX? 
 
 cliligentius rimatur, quantum homuncionis judices, 
 carnifex, et medici, reliquerunt; proh dolor, inter 
 partes an nobiliores, an posteriores nescio, privatum 
 fraternitatis notavit signum (Anglice, the Freemasons' 
 mark). Quo viso, Dii boni, quanto clamore totam 
 infeeit domum. Ter et saepius pulsavit. pectus, ex- 
 sangues dilaniavit genas, et cheu nimium dilaceratas 
 dilaceravit vestes. Tandem vero paulo modestius 
 insaniens, hujusmodi versiculis ridiculum effudit 
 dolorem. 
 
 } 
 
 Eulogium Ridlaeanum. An Elegy upon Ridley. 
 
 Unhappy brother, what can be 
 
 In wretchedness compar'd to thee, 
 
 Thou grief and shame of our society ! 
 
 Had we in due time understood 
 
 That thou wert of the brotherhood, 
 
 By fraud or force thou had'st got loose 
 
 From shameful tree and dismal noose ; 
 
 And now perhaps with life been blest, 
 
 As comely a brother as the best, 
 
 Not thus exposed a monumental jest ; 
 
 When lady longs for college beer, 
 
 Or little dame or country squire 
 
 Walk out an afternoon, to look 
 
 On thee, and devil-raising book; 
 
 Who kindly rather chose to die, 
 
 Than blemish our fraternity ; 
 
 The first of us e'er hang'd for modesty. 
 
 And now, alack and well-a-day, 
 
 Thy parchment hide is stufTd with hay: 
 
 Nay, wC'rse ; the iEsculapians, 
 
 Thy mighty misery to enhance, 
 
 Have cruelly cut thee out of countenance ; 
 
 And, 
 
 }
 
 CXXV1 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 And, to show witty spite, at once 
 Preserv'd thy skin and lost thy bones. 
 Thus here, in wooden hatch you stand, 
 With scornful musket at your hand ; 
 The mice' and rats' inock centinel, 
 A poor ridiculous spectacle 
 To gibing Joan, to Kate and Nan, 
 Thou worse than skeleton of man. 
 
 So does he measure out his grief, 
 For loss of brother and of thief. 
 Nor less concern'd does Cooper stand ; 
 But sobbing with his clout in hand, 
 And destitute of consolation, 
 Kept time with all his tribulation. 
 Their grumbling woe runs thro' and thro' them ; 
 If all were known, 'twould quite undo them. 
 The sighs which up and downward go, 
 Their unfeigned sorrow show; 
 For the devil's in't, if they pretend, 
 Who vent their grief at either end. 
 
 Hoc munere elaborato, non diutius lacrymis indul- 
 gent, sed dolore police suppresso, taciti discedunt. Pro- 
 tinus lodgum convocant, fratresque omnes certiores 
 faciunt, quantum sibi infamise, et quantum miseriae in- 
 felicissimoacceditfraterculo: graviter luget fraterculus 
 et societas; et suspiriis ex imo pectore petitis, statim 
 provisum est in posterum, nominem qui crucem me- 
 retur, vel qui suspendendus est, in societatem Free- 
 masonorum admitti : quo authoritate statuto, et albo 
 lodgi prolato, singuli, tarn generosi quam scoundrelli, 
 solidissimis basiis promiscue dicunt valedictionem. 
 
 ACT
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXX.VU 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 iZnter a waddling Doctor, and his Man, James. 
 
 Doctor.^ James, have you read out the chapter, 
 and can you tell how many days* work was the 
 creation ? 
 
 James. Marry, here's so many hard words, I can't 
 remember. 
 
 Doctor. Well, but this is not the business now : 
 you must get things in readiness against to-morrow. 
 
 James. Master, what's the matter with to-morrow, 
 more than another day ? 
 
 Doctor, (aside.) Oh, the ignorance of those people 
 who are not mathematicians ! I tell you, a superna- 
 tural thing will happen. 
 
 James, (aside). Oh> oh ! this is the eclipse * now, I 
 warrant. Nay, master, as you say it, it is as sure as 
 a gun. Then what mun I do, say you ? 
 
 Doctor. Go to the Steward, and provide double 
 commons ; and be sure you call at the chandler's, for 
 to-morrow I dine by candle-light. 
 
 James. Oh, the wonderful wonderfulness of you 
 schollards ! And what mun I bring drink in ? 
 
 Doctor. A material question : in the tankard, and 
 do that in the morning. 
 
 James. Marry, but I had better buy a pitcher, so 
 I had ; and then I need not go so often as I do. This 
 tankard, I wish it were hang'd, so I do. 
 
 Doctor. What ails you at it ? Why do you grum- 
 ble? 
 
 * In " the Art of verifying Dates," mention is made of an eclipse 
 of the sun, on 5 November, 1687 * and of another eclipse on 30 
 April, l6'S8. One of them is probably alluded to here. 
 
 vol. I, i James.
 
 CXXV111 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 James. Grumble, quoth-a ? I am sure it wears me 
 more shoe-leather than a little, and I cannot say my 
 prayers in a morning for it, so I can't. 
 
 Doctor. If I thought it did you any injury, or con- 
 tributed to the doing you any harm, or were an irre- 
 gular vessel, I would part with it ; I would entertain 
 it no more than I did my bed : go, then, and bring a 
 pitcher. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Enter Sainty Ashe *, and Samuel Foley, Senior 
 Felhws. 
 
 Sainty. Where do you keep your eclipse-}- to-morrow? 
 
 Sam. In my chamber. I do not care for groping 
 my way to my dinner. 
 
 Sainty. What, will it be total ? No glimmering to 
 be allowed, to eat our meat by ? 
 
 Sam. So it seems. I -have taken a great deal of 
 pVins to calculate it, and can now demonstrate it. 
 
 Sainty. If you please, I would be very glad to see 
 vour calculation. 
 
 Sam. Thus then : Invenitur ex tabulis plenilu- 
 nium medium, addita dimidia lunatione; et tunc, ex 
 postaphaeresi et motu lunoe horario, inveniantur di- 
 giti ecliptici et parallaxis altitudinis. 
 
 Sainty. 'Tis wonderful well ; from whence I con- 
 clude, we are all like to be in the dark. 
 
 Sam. Ay, doubtless ; or I'll burn my books. I 
 ' would not want this little smattering in astronomy 
 for a great deal, I protest. 
 
 Sainty. I confess there's some advantage in it. 
 
 * The Rev. St. George Ashe, Swift's tutor, 
 t In the Philosophical Transactions we have an account of an 
 eclipse observed at Dublin in l6S4, by Ashe and Molyneux. 
 
 Sam.
 
 OF THE LIFE OF 6WIFT. CXX1X 
 
 Sam. Advantage! I could . not live without it. I 
 cut my hair by the stars ; and will tell the physiog- 
 nomy and sex of my child, before my wife's brought 
 to bed. 
 
 Sainty. But do the planets never wander ? are you 
 not sometimes mistaken ? 
 
 Sam. Oh, never; at least in things of this kind: it 
 is as easy to calculate an eclipse, as to curl ; and if you 
 doubt in any point, I'll 
 
 Sainty. No, no, I'm satisfied : 'twill be as clear as 
 the sun. [Exeunt. 
 
 The Scene, Drogheda. 
 Enter Mr. Doyle and his Damsel, Nelly : after 
 
 them, the Tapster, with a Porringer of burnt Brandy 
 
 and a Mutton-pye. . 
 
 Doyle. Come, Nelly, sit down, and give me a kiss. 
 
 Nelly. Fough, Sir, stand off. I protest you smell 
 so strong of brandy and tobacco, a body can't endure 
 you. 
 
 Doyle. Nay, leave this peevish humour, and sit 
 down : if you knew who I'm to be, you'd be as kind 
 to me, as to the smith's boy. 
 
 Nelly. Pr'ythee, let go my apron, and do not pull 
 me so. 
 
 Doyle. But you won't hear me ! I tell you, wo- 
 man, as simple as I stand here, I'm to be a Fellow of 
 Dublin College. 
 
 Nelly. You, a Fellow ! Never the sooner for an 
 hasty word. Pray, keep your filthy hand away, or 
 I'll cry out, so I will. Come, come, Sir, don't think 
 you are with Peggy What-do-you-call-her. 
 
 Doyle, But I'll tell you, Nelly, 
 
 Nelly. Tell me no tellings ; keep down your fin- 
 i 2 gers,
 
 CXXX 2SSAY ON THE BARLIER PART 
 
 gers, and do not you tear my petticoats. I'm afraid 
 *twas for what you did in the blankets, the Dean * 
 made you stand in the white sheet. 
 
 Doyle. Here, drawer, t'other porringer of brandy, 
 and so to pay. That, and this quarter cob,, will put 
 
 you into a little better humour. Come, let us 
 
 now let us- 
 
 Nelly. In verity, Mr. Doyle, you have the cunning- 
 est way with you of pleasing a woman. You see how- 
 loth I anrTto refuse a gentleman that's just on the 
 point of preferment : but hold, there's somebody 
 coming. 
 
 Enter the Drawer. 
 
 Drawer. This makes two and two-pence now, be- 
 sides the nineteen and seven-pence before ; and my 
 mistress bid me tell you, she can trust no longer. 
 
 Doyle. Why so, you scoundrel ? 
 
 Drawer. Because you put her off with mandrakes 
 from the King. 
 
 Doyle. Bid your mistress go hang herself: and 
 look for her money, you whore's kitling. (Throws the 
 wutton-pye at him). [Exit Drawer, maundering. 
 
 Nelly. Why so sleepy, Mr. Doyle ? 
 
 Doyle. Oh, this scowering and lying most plagues 
 me. Here, Nelly, here's to you. Aw, aw, I am 
 damn'd sleepy, e'gad, damn'd sleepy. (Drops asleep J. 
 
 Nelly. Lie there for a drunken sot. The Colle- 
 gians are like to have a sweet tool of thee for a Fel- 
 low. But let me see what we have got in his pockets. 
 Qut upon the scoundrel ! nothing but a pair of beads. 
 two inches of tobacco, and one of pipe. 
 
 [The scene closes. 
 
 * Tobias Pullein, the great patron of Doyle, until the enormities 
 vf the latter caused him to withdraw his protection. 
 
 6 . . And
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. CXXX1 
 
 And here we leave him, and as he sleeps, take a 
 view of his breeches ; which I would describe, but 
 they have so many ends, I know not where to begin. 
 He that would presume to mend them would run 
 the risk of a tinker botching a kettle ; for, hydra-like, 
 out of one hole would come three or four: You 
 may compare them to Jason's ship ; they have not 
 one jot of their primitive stuff left : or to Dr. Mer- 
 cer s yarn stockings, that were darned into worsted. 
 The lining had served a long apprenticeship for itself: 
 and therefore away it crept to set up for itself at the 
 paper-mill. They were most worn at the codpiece, 
 and least at the pockets. The crow that borrowed 
 feathers from her neighbours is the living emblem of 
 these. Should every taylor's boy take his own cab- 
 bage, Mr. Doyle would be an heathen philosopher. 
 Doll Kitchen coming into his kennel before he rose, 
 thought he had purloined her mop^ By their shreds 
 of all nations, you would have thought they belong- 
 ed to one of the Freemasons that built Babel : but by 
 the multiplicity of white fleas, you would swear they 
 had been campaigning with the Vacancy. Tis almost 
 incredible so many cattle should thrive on so bare a 
 pasture. Every night he dares venture them off, 
 he's in danger of losing them. Once when he lay 
 without them, they crept from the garret to the 
 street-door ; and had bid him adieu for ever, but his 
 landlady seized them by an habeas corpus, and 
 brought them to him with a pair of tongs. I be- 
 lieve, the ladies for once are tired of the breeches; and 
 therefore, as Dean Glandee says, " This one word of 
 comfort, and so have done." One morning, crawling 
 their progress, they were devoured by a monkey, and 
 the next day poor Pug died of Pym's disease. 
 
 Quid
 
 CXXX11 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 Quid obstat, Dii boni, quominus Dr. Bladen fiat 
 Episcopus ? Why should not Nick Knight be Dean of 
 St. Patrick's ? En hominem, qui sodalitium ambit \ 
 (ut inquit Mr. Griffith) qui licet socius sit, nollem 
 tamen ut socius esset meus. Et jam in mentem 
 venit mihi, unde est quod nondum reddit socius ille 
 erraticus ; ni fallor, causam assignat Barclaeus poeta 
 hunc in modum : 
 
 Urbs spatiosa, potens opibus, tectisque superba, 
 
 O et presidium, deliciseque meae. 
 Quicquid mortalis fingit solertia curae, 
 
 Vel Natura suo parturit alma sinu; 
 Haec tu sola dabis, &c. 
 
 Anglice *. 
 Let formal priests look grave and dull at home, 
 To whom the worth of a licentious town 
 Nor the gay blessings of a Court are known. 
 Thither my wiser inclinations tend, 
 Where I a chirping bottle with a friend 
 May drink without controul, nor stand in fear 
 Of every saucy ill-bred- censurer: 
 Where I may strut along the Mall, look big 
 In point cravat, and toss a flaxen wig ; 
 Dress in a gaudy waistcoat, and may wear 
 A sword, cock'd hat, gold fringe, and whatsoe'er 
 The libertine town affords, to charm the fair. 
 
 Miror quod his de causis Magister Patrickson non 
 hue usque commoratus est Londini : sed 
 
 Quantum quisque sua nummorum servat in area, 
 Tantum habet et gaudii. 
 
 ? This piece of poetry seems levelled at John Griffith, a Senior 
 Fellow, then absent by a King's letter. 
 
 Salve,
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. CXXX11I 
 
 Salve, Magister, gratulortibi reduci; sunt .qui affir- 
 mant te pedestri itinere Londinurn versus ambulasse, 
 quod mihi equidem vix credibile videtur ; perfacetus 
 etenim Miles * se tibi socium praebuit, et jucundus 
 comes est pro vehiculo (a good companion is as good 
 as a coach). 
 
 Enter Sir Michael Creagh, and another Alderman. 
 
 Alderman. I have been man and boy in this town, 
 let me see, some six and fifty years, and never knew 
 the little penny so hard to be got as now. 
 
 Sir Michael. Never despair, old boy. We have a 
 brave young Prince *, and the world's our own. 
 
 Alderman. Nay, I have not remembered salt but- 
 ter so scarce a commodity, I know not the day 
 when. 
 
 Sir Michael. Hang sorrow. Boy, fill me a glass of 
 wine ; more, more yet, fill it higher still. So here, 
 Father Greybeard, here is a health to the family of 
 the Creaghs. 
 
 Alderman. I pledge you, if it be sack. But, now 
 I think on't, Sir Michael, who was your father ? 
 
 Sir Michael. My father was a worthy gentleman, 
 inferior to none of his rank, upon my honour. 
 
 Alderman; Adsheartlikens, you may be mistaken 
 in that, I assure you. 
 
 * I suppose the person here alluded to may have been Miles 
 Sumner ; who originally received his education in Trinity College : 
 after leaving it, he had a command in the army of the Parliament 
 during the civil wars. He was made, by the then ruling powers, 
 a Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, in 1652. He died shortly 
 before the delivering of this piece. See more of him in the Har- 
 leian Miscellany. 
 . -j- The Bon of James II. born 10 June, 1688. 
 
 Sir
 
 CXXX1V ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 Sir Michael. Mistaken? No, Sir; he was a travel- 
 ling merchant ; one that saw more towns than you 
 have done chimneys. 
 
 Alderman- But, under favour, Sir Michael, I have 
 heard schollards say, he was a losopher ? 
 
 Sir Michael. Ay, that may be too : he always took 
 delight to carry books about with him. 
 
 Alderman. But take me along with you : you re- 
 prehend me not ; they say he carried books on his 
 back. 
 
 Sir Michael. I say, I say he was a North Country 
 Merchant, as I told you before. Come, drink your 
 wine, and let us be gone. [Exeunt. 
 
 Now you'll ask, to what end I brought all these 
 on the stage ; to which I answer, I brought them in 
 by head and shoulders, and out by head and shoul- 
 ders, for nothing at all, as Mr. Bayes did his beasts. 
 
 Plurimis denuo salutatis et tot hominum ordinibus 
 comiter exceptis, videor forsan reprehensione dignus 
 quod Machaonas omnes (Anglice, theSimplers) riegli- 
 genter praetermisi. Cur autem tristia horum fata et 
 lacrymabilis nova metamorphosis non vos diutius 
 latent, cum certiores facti eritis ingenuos hosce JEs- 
 culapii filios in plantas transmigrasse ; injuria tamen 
 non sum arguendus, quod schemate mortuos non ex- 
 cepi, the sad causes of whose death are at large de- 
 scribed in this 
 
 HEROICK
 
 GF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXXX? 
 
 HEROICK POEM. 
 
 A worthy Sage dwelt at All-Hallows, 
 That did defy all gaols and gallows : 
 His punctual honesty was such, 
 Some authors write, he had too much : 
 And lo ! Actonio was his name, 
 Actonio loudly sung by Fame ; 
 A wight inferior to none 
 For ponderosity of bum * ; 
 And that took more pains to go, 
 Than coarse Jephsonio would to plow i 
 A mortal enemy to punning, 
 Nor mightily inclined to running. 
 He still with care did guard his heart 
 From all the wounds of Cupid's dart; 
 And yet was plump and soft confest, 
 All but his petrified breast ; 
 
 That still, alas, did stubborn prove 
 
 To all the charming powers of love : 
 In town or court, no beauteous dame 
 
 E'er fann'd his passion to a flame ; 
 
 For tho' he enjoy'd luxurious peace, 
 
 Melting his hours in holy ease, 
 
 He ne'er was vex'd by that unruly member. 
 
 But liv'd as chaste as cold December : 
 
 Tho' Cupids in his eyes did play, 
 
 Yet in his heart Diana lay. 
 
 Lively and sanguine was his face, 
 
 Tho' phlegmatic the other place ; 
 
 * In a Satyr written in 1682, upon the Members of the Col- 
 lege, Acton is thus described : 
 
 Next him sat Acton's belly, big as tun. 
 
 Colour
 
 CXXXVI ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 Colour as good as ever struck, 
 But other things belied his look. 
 When drowsy Aurora rubb'd her eyes, 
 And came down stealing from the skies, 
 Whilst that Sol's nags at mangers tarry, 
 Before the clerks say, Ave-Mary ; 
 Actonio, with his learned friends, 
 From soaking downy bed descends ; 
 And with the charioteer's assistance, 
 Heaving himself with all puissance, 
 He waddles into coach marine, 
 And jogs his way, a simpleing. 
 And now they reach the inchanted shore, 
 Where Circe, in the days of yore, 
 By powerful herbs dispos'd of doom, 
 And magick spells did charm the moon : 
 Whilst tir'd here with the toils of day, 
 Our hero picking scions lay : 
 Rolling securely on the grass, 
 Too nigh a fatal precipice, 
 Adown # , adown, adown he drops, 
 Twixt cruel unrelenting rocks. ^ 
 
 Three times he made effort to rise, 
 But thrice and thrice would not suffice : 
 His weighty crupper kept him down, 
 To seas and rocks to make his moan, 
 Dumque -j- hie vicini maris auget murmura, dum 
 liquido dolore tristissimum plorat fatum, et philoso- 
 phorum adagiis se miserum solari conatur, ^Escula- 
 
 * In " the Lady's Dressing-room," we haye an instance of Swift 
 using this uncommon word, adown. 
 
 f These lines strongly resemble the style of John Barclay : at 
 the beginning of theARGEXis we find the words, '* sermonem 
 occupavit," as in this Tripos, in Act I. we find " totum occupare 
 sermonem." 
 
 \ pius
 
 OP THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXXXVli 
 
 pius filii sui querelis mitem praebens aurem, etpatcrna 
 commotus misericordia, heroem nostrum in umbili- 
 cum Veneris transformavit. 
 
 Socii nequicquam plorant amissum: 
 
 Non illos Cereris, non illos cura quietis 
 Abstrahere inde potest. x 
 
 Seel iteratis clamoribus surdum feriunt littus : 
 
 aegra terque quaterque pulsant pectora: alta voce 
 
 ,deorum proclamant tyrannidem ; nee diutius insano 
 
 luctui indulgent,- sed petlibus telluri afrlxis, pellib'us- 
 
 que in cortices mutatis, 
 
 nulli color qui fait ante, manet. 
 
 Singulis novas subeunt formae ; et mini quadam, 
 metamorphosi in plantas proinde, ut hie sequitur, 
 transmutantur : 
 
 Magister Downes in cupressum ; Magister Smith 
 in pinguidinem (Anglice) fat-wort ; Magister Scroggs 
 in hyacinthum ; Mr. Lloyd in quercum ; Magister 
 Ashe into a red-headed poppy ; Sir Fitzsimons, who 
 always dropt after, (as our town of Berwick upon 
 Tweed) into a thistle, which still retains its primitive 
 roughness ; Magister Sayers in Narcissum, de quo 
 olim Buchananus sic : 
 
 Nescio an inspexti Narcissi, Posthume, fontem ; 
 
 Hoc scio, deliras, Posthume, amore tui. 
 Ille tamen merito : nam quod malesanus amavit, 
 
 Ante quidem id multis causa furoris erat. 
 At tua non paulo est major vesania, qui te, 
 
 Sed sine rivali, Posthume, solus amas. 
 
 Sed dicat mihi quis, quod in tota hac corona, vel po- 
 tius crowdo et presso, nondum vidi dominum Terrill : 
 ni fallor, if he be not here, he's at home with his 
 
 wife,
 
 CXXXV111 ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 wife, who, to gain entirely his affections, sent him this 
 stratagemical epistle. 
 
 The quondam widow, Sir Terrill's mistress, hear-r 
 ing he had laid siege to the bookbinder's sister, and 
 therefore fearing he should give her the willow, 
 partly to be revenged of her rival, partly to secure 
 him to herself, writes to him this epistle : 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I am informed you design to bind yourself to the 
 stationer's sister : if so, take it from a friend, she's a 
 gentlewoman in folio, and consequently will be very 
 tedious to a young student. I was concerned to 
 hear the crafty citizen intended to put into your 
 hands the lumber of his shop : and therefore intreat 
 you, if you have any kindness for yourself, to have 
 nothing to do with that musty piece, whose worm- 
 eaten cover may inform you, she has been cheapened 
 above these twenty years ; and the reason she did not 
 go off is, she was found so old and thumbed, that 
 she was not fit to be perused: and of so little value, 
 that none thought her worthy the press. Besides, 
 Sir, she has lived some time in a learned house, where 
 jt may be presumed, for good reasons, that some of 
 the young scholars, for their curiosity, might ruffle her 
 leaves. If what I've said cannot dissuade you, do 
 but turn her over carefully ; and 'tis very probable 
 you'll find she has been abused at least in the sheets, 
 if not in the setting forth of a new edition blotted in 
 the impression. 
 
 Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 Jane Banks. 
 
 And
 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CXXMX 
 
 And now belike I have made a fair afternoon's 
 work on't : I have not left myself one friend of the 
 Mammon of Unrighteousness. If I go to the kitchen, 
 the Steward will be my enemy as long as he breathes ; 
 if to the cellar, the Butler will dash my ale with 
 water; and the clerk of the buttery will score 
 up my offences five-fold. If I betake myself to the 
 library, Ridley's ghost will haunt me, for scandalizing 
 him with the name of Freemason. If I fly to the 
 Divines for succour, Dean Manby and Archdeacon 
 Baynard will pervert me ; Dr. King will break my 
 head, because I am a Priscian : and Dr. Foy is so full 
 of spleen, he'll worry me. Mrs. Horncastle and Sir 
 Maddison will talk with me. Mother Jenkinson 
 won't furnish me with cale and bacon on Christmas- 
 day, and Dr.Loftus will bite me. The Virtuosi will set 
 their brains a-work, for gimcracks to pull my eyes out. 
 The Freemasons will banish me their lodge, and bar 
 me the happiness of kissing long Laurence. And 
 the Astronomers won't allow me one good star, nor 
 inform me when the sun will be totally eclipsed, 
 that I may provide myself with candles. Mr. Loftus 
 and Mr. Lloyd will nose me ; Mr. Allen will eat me 
 without salt; Dr. Acton too, I fear, will fall on me. 
 Nay, the very Provost will shake his head at me, and 
 scower away from me : but that which makes my 
 calamity most insupportable, and me weary of your 
 company, is, that in all my tribulation, you do no- 
 thing but laugh * at me; and therefore I take my leave. 
 
 * From this passage it appears, that the author of this perform* 
 ance had no malicious intentions towards the persons whom he cen- 
 sured; but only wished to indulge a little pleasantly, which, he 
 conceived, the usual practice on such occasions warranted. 
 
 The
 
 Cxi ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 The Piece above given being most probably the 
 earliest production of the pen of Swift, may perhaps 
 (on that account principally) be deemed not alto- 
 gether unworthy of the public notice ; and the more 
 so, when we reflect that it is so interwoven with his 
 academic conduct, that no faithful and accurate ac- 
 count of the latter could be given without the intro- 
 duction of the former. Besides ; we may suppose the 
 hard treatment (as he would have it thought to be) 
 which his friend had received for a licence allowed on 
 such occasions, and sanctioned by the practice then 
 generally prevailing in learned seminaries, to have 
 had no small influence in producing that ill beha- 
 viour which led to the fatal catastrophe of 30 No- 
 vember, 1 688 : while, on the other hand, the suspicion 
 (for that such was generally entertained, appears from 
 the anecdote preserved by Richardson) that he was 
 the real but secret author, may have probably dis- 
 posed the then Heads of the University to have ex- 
 erted a greater degree of severity, than they would 
 have otherwise proceeded to. And therefore, viewing 
 the subject in this light, we are led to consider the 
 Tripos as connected with the other transactions of 
 Swift, while in college. To this we ought also to 
 add, that although the punishment he underwent on 
 the day he completed his twenty-first year, may af- 
 ford an ample solution of the question, why he en- 
 tertained an animosity to that learned body, where 
 he had the honour and the happiness to receive his 
 early instructions; yet we are still to seek, what 
 could have disposed a person of such high spirit to 
 forgive that indignity to which he was obliged to 
 submit. The injury done to his wounded pride could 
 
 never
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIPT. cxli 
 
 never have been pardoned, nor would he ever have 
 deigned to visit those walls within which he had been 
 so grievously insulted, had not a sense that his pu- 
 nishment was not unmerited, and that he had justly 
 provoked those whom he was bound to revere, caused 
 his angry passions to subside, and inclined him to 
 seek reconciliation. Nothing, I am' persuaded, could 
 have impressed on his mind such sense and such 
 conviction, if he had not been conscious that he 
 was the real author of that piece, which had taken 
 unwarrantable liberties with the characters of dif- 
 ferent members of the Church and University. 
 
 The practice of delivering compositions of this 
 nature has long been abolished in the University of 
 Dublin, a plain proof that on some occasion or other 
 it had been greatly abused: in other Universities it 
 has been attended with circumstances of equal, if 
 not superior, intemperance. The same Miscellany 
 which contains the Tripos of Jones, gives also a si- 
 milar harangue pronounced in the Theatre of Oxford, 
 10 July, 1693, by theTerrae-filius, Mr. H. Aleworth, 
 of Christ Church, which is replete with the grossest 
 abuse and most indecent licentiousness. Not many 
 years before the Tripos of Jones was pronounced, 
 Mr. Shirley, a Terrae-filius, treated the famous Oxford 
 antiquary, Mr. Anthony Wood, with the greatest 
 scurrility, as we learn from the Lives of Leland, 
 Wood, and Hearne * ; in which work is given an 
 extract from Shirley's Speech, taken from the original 
 in the Bodleian Library. 
 
 The misinformation given to Richardson deserves 
 to be corrected : and therefore it was the more ne- 
 cessary for the attainment of this object, to state the 
 
 * Vol. II, p. Q53. 
 
 transaction
 
 Cxlii ESSATf ON THE EARLIER FART 
 
 transaction in its true and proper light ; and thus to 
 remove a charge so heavy as that the Heads of any 
 learned Society could have descended to conduct so 
 unworthy, as to put any of their members into a si* 
 tuation exposed to peculiar difficulties; and this 
 merely to furnish themselves with a pretext for expel- 
 ling him. By correcting the two false assertions, 
 first, that Swift ever was Terrae-filiiis ; 2dly, that 
 he ever Was expelled, this aspersion appears to be 
 totally destitute of foundation, and is completely re- 
 moved. Nor was the information conveyed to Rich- 
 ardson more faithful with respect to the substance of 
 the Tripos itself: many of the persons whom it un- 
 dertook to censure, were absent at the time it was 
 delivered (a circumstance directly opposite to what 
 took place in the case of the Oxford antiquary, who 
 was present when abused by Shirley) ; and some had 
 deserved almost every thing that could be said to 
 their disadvantage ; and the author does not appear 
 to have levelled any abuse against the Heads of the 
 University, nor to have objected any thing immoral 
 or vicious to those inferior Members whom his satyr 
 lashes. Among those who had justly provoked his 
 censure by the irregularity of their lives, the chief 
 place seems due to Bernard Doyle, whose enormities 
 were such, that they would not bear to be recited. 
 Sensible of this, the College, in their petition to 
 Lord Tyrconnel, stated, " that his actions were so 
 shameful, that they could not venture to mention 
 them in the same paper which bore the august name 
 of his Majesty's Viceroy, and therefore prayed indul- 
 gence to make them the subject of a particular 
 paper." 
 
 But, 'however erroneous we must grant the infor- 
 mation
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT* CXliii 
 
 mation transmitted to Richardscn by his friend to have 
 been, it is impossible to deny that it renders us consi- 
 derable service, by furnishing the clue that developes 
 the true author of the Tripos, and by ascertaining the 
 fact, that such suspicion had attached itself to Swift 
 at that very time. That he was its real author, I 
 have endeavoured to prove, by shewing that it con- 
 veys his own ideas clothed in his own style and lan- 
 guage, and expresses the passions of his mind on the 
 same objects and in the same manner as we find to 
 occur in other performances undoubtedly his. And 
 I have also established the important fact, that a 
 close intimacy subsisted for many years between him 
 and its reputed author ; a person from whose pen 
 we have no production whatever, between which 
 and this we might institute any comparison. Yet 
 all these arguments would possess little weight, did 
 we want the testimony of Richardson : a testimony 
 the more to be valued, because its author (Richard- 
 son's informer) was entirely unacquainted both with 
 the records of the college and the work itself, and 
 therefore must have derived his knowledge solelv 
 from one who was personally acquainted with the cir- 
 cumstances attending the transaction at the time it 
 happened. That he knew not the work, is evident 
 from his misrepresentation of the substance and 
 tenor of it: and that he was equally ignorant of 
 what the college records could have supplied, abun- 
 dantly appears from his confounding two very differ- 
 ent events, the punishments of Jones and Swift : 
 besides, these records were inaccessible to him ; and 
 the different officers of the college themselves, in 
 whose custody they were kept, were entirely unin- 
 formed of their contents. 
 
 vol. i. k . With
 
 CxliV ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 With respect to the person from whom Richard- 
 son derived this information, I have not been able to 
 discover any thing satisfactory. The words of Rich- 
 ardson are very ambiguous, and point out two per- 
 sons ; an eminent Divine and his son : but leave us 
 m the dark as to which of them was the prelate, and 
 which was chum to Swift for three years in college. 
 Notwithstanding, however, the ambiguity of the 
 passage, we may safely suppose that what was meant 
 to be asserted was, that the information was origin- 
 ally derived from a prelate who had been chum or 
 chamber-fellow with Swift : for if we apply this dis- 
 cription to the son, he then must have been nearly 
 of the same age with Swift, and consequently in 
 1752, (the date of Richardson's letter,) must have 
 been eighty-four years old : a circumstance highly 
 improbable. It may be added too, that if the person 
 who communicated this anecdote to Richardson had 
 been Swift's contemporary, he could not have been 
 so inaccurate in his statement. In Mr. Deane Swift *& 
 Essay on the Life of his Relation, p.. 31, we learn 
 that Mr. Wassendra Warren was his chamber-fellow ; 
 but I can find no such name mentioned in any re- 
 cord, as ever belonging to our college ; and suppose 
 the person meant to have been Westenra Waring, 
 who was admitted (according to the Senior Lecturer's 
 book) on 16 June, 1692, and therefore could never 
 have been Swift's chum. From the same book it 
 appears that Mr. William Waring, of the county of 
 Antrim, had two sons, both admitted as pensioners ;. 
 the one William, on 11 June, 1681, the other Rich- 
 ard, on 9 April, l684: and that on 3 July, 1684, 
 Thomas Warren was admitted fellow-commoner. 
 This last is the person who was censured with the 
 
 5 Swifts
 
 OP THE LIFE OP SWIFT. CXlv 
 
 Swifts and their associates, on ] 6 March, 1 686-7. 
 But Swift's chum, it is highly probable, was William 
 Waring (or Waryng) above-mentioned ; because he 
 was in Swift's class, (for though he was admitted on 
 the 1 1th of June, his admission has a reference to the 
 8th of July, 1 68 1 , when the academical year of Swift's 
 class commenced ;) and being described " of the 
 county of Antrim," he was doubtless brother to Miss 
 Jane Waryng, the lady to whom Swift paid his ad- 
 dresses, and in his letters distinguished by the name 
 of Varina. Her family, it is well known, lived near 
 Belfast, in the county of Antrim *. 
 
 I find myself, however, totally at a loss to reconcile 
 this supposition with the anecdote of Richardson, so 
 far as it relates to the station afterwards filled by such 
 person in the church. 
 
 After the preceding observations were committed 
 to the press, I met with a passage in one of Swift's 
 early poetical compositions, which appears to me fa- 
 vourable to the idea of his being the author of the 
 foregoing satirical piece. Among other Miscellanies 
 of his, published originally at London, in Svo, in 
 1789, is an Epistle addressed by him to Congreve, in 
 1693, in which are the following lines -fi 
 
 * In confirmation of the learned writer's supposition it should 
 be observed, that a well-informed person, who appears to have 
 had access to several of Swift's papers, in a manuscript note on 
 Hawkesworth's Life of Swift, says, " His intimacy with this gen- 
 tleman [erroneously here called Westenra Waryng] and his sister 
 Miss Jane Waryng, continued several years afterwards [that is, 
 after he left Trinity College,] as appears from his letters to them 
 while he was at Moore Park." See vol. I. pp. 1 10. N. 
 
 t See vol. XVI. p. 34. N. 
 
 k 2 * My
 
 Cxlvi ESSAY ON THE EARLIER PART 
 
 " My hate, whose lash just Heaven has long decreed, 
 " Shall on a day make Sin and Folly bleed." 
 
 Mr. Sheridan, struck with the thought contained in 
 these lines, supposes them to prognosticate his future 
 exertions against Sin and Folly : but I am much in- 
 clined to think that they rather point to some- 
 thing past, than prophecy any thing future. For I 
 reason thus : These lines plainly imply a conscious- 
 ness in Swift, of his own great powers to make Sin 
 and Folly bleed. Now whence did he acquire this 
 consciousness, or how came he to know that he 
 possessed these powers ? The natural answer will be, 
 Because he had made trial of them, and succeeded in 
 lashing Vice in the person of Doyle, and Folly in 
 that of Weaver : in short, because he had composed 
 the Tripos, and was well acquainted with the effects 
 which it produced. In another place in the same 
 poem, he speaks of " the judgments of his pen;" 
 words the more remarkable, because in 1693 he had 
 not written any thing satirical, that we know of, unless 
 the Tripos were his composition. 

 
 OF THE LIFE OF SWIFT. CxK'ii 
 
 * # * The Whimsical Mkdley, from which the foregoing 
 Tripos, and the following poems, have been transcribed, is a 
 MS. in three volumes, 4 to. in the library of Trinity College, Dub- 
 lin. It is every where written by one and the same hand, except 
 on one page, which contains an Address in verse " to Emilia, lia- 
 roness of Newtown Butler," concluding thus : 
 
 " Accept this offering from a friend that's true, 
 " Since what I've writ, falls short' of what's your due. 
 " Prom your Ladyship's most humble, most obedient, 
 " most affectionate brother, 
 
 " J. BUTLER." 
 
 This poetical epistle has no date ; but, as it mentions the lady's 
 son as then living, who died in 1721, (as she herself died in 17'22, 
 and her husband, Theophilus, in 1723,) we cannot assign it a later 
 date than 1720. 
 
 In every other part the MS. appears, all throughout, written by 
 one and the same hand, which is a different hand from the last 
 mentioned ; and this hand-writing I suppose to be that of Theo- 
 philus, first Lord Newtown Butler, and elder brother to Brinsley, 
 first Viscount Lanesborough : a fact which is clearly established by 
 the following circumstantial evidence : 
 
 1 . This book is already proved to have existed in the family 
 during the time of 1 heophilus, as appears from the Address al- 
 ready mentioned, which is in vol. i. p. 2".), and is inseparable 
 from the book, so that the date of one is that also of the other : 
 and, as the writer of that address, James Butler, did not write the 
 rest of these volumes, it will be probable that they were written 
 by Theophilus. v^~, 
 
 2. In the Appendix to vol. i. p. fjo, occurs a piece, called 
 " A Preamble to my Patent ;" and this is the very preamble given 
 by Lodge to the patent creating Theophilus Lord Newtown But- 
 ler. Besides} in vol. ii p. 2+0, we have " An Elegy to my bro- 
 ther, Robert Stopford, Esq. by an unknown hand :" and this also 
 shews Theophilus to have been the writer of this MS. ; for Robert 
 Stopford was his brother-in-law. 
 
 3. This
 
 exlviii essay on the earlier part, etc. 
 
 3. This nobleman was remarkable, as we learn from the Pre- 
 amble to his Patent, for his attachment to the Protestant Succes- 
 sion ) to William the Third, and the illustrious House of Bruns- 
 wick. Now he has given us a piece, entitled, " the Tory's Advice 
 to a Painter," in which the vilest slander is poured on William the 
 Third. In the margin opposite to this calumny, the same hand that 
 wrote the text, adds " It is false : the author a rebel, a vil- 
 lain."
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page cii. 1. 9 from the bottom, for Thewlcs, read Thewles. 
 cxiii. 1. 15, for pinquis, r. pinguis. 
 cxv. 1. ult. for notissmus, r. notissimus. 
 cxviii. 1.18, for mixture, r. mixtum. 
 cxxiv. 1. 17, for hilari, ori solito, r. hilariori solito. 
 cxxvi. 1. ult. for solidissimis, r. olidissimis. 
 cxxxii. 1. 6, for reddit, r. rediit. 
 cxli. 1. 19, for gives, r. exhibits. 
 cxlv. 1. 1, for 16th, r. 18th. 
 
 In p. lxii. 1. 14 of the General Preface, (ante) for "a copy," r. "the original."
 
 PIECES 
 
 ASCRIBED TO SWIFT, 
 
 FOR THE REASONS ANNEXED AT THE END OF EACH. 
 
 [COMMUNICATED BY DR. BARRETT.} 
 
 No. L 
 
 An excellent new Song, being the intended Speech of 
 a famous Orator against Peace *. 
 
 An Orator Dismal, of Nottinghamshire, 
 
 Who has forty years let out his conscience to 
 
 hire, &c. 
 
 (as in vol. XVI. p. 98.) -j~ 
 
 * "We have retained in this place the title of the song, to pre- 
 i ^rve the chain of the learned Communicator's notes j who was 
 not aware that the Ballad itself is already incorporated in the 
 Dean's Works ; where it was first placed by the present Editor in 
 *779, from a printed copy preserved in the Lambeth Library by 
 the attention of Archbishop Tenison, with several other of Swift's 
 Grubs, in the original half-sheet form. Among these are, " Peace 
 and Dunkirk j" " A Paraphrase on Horace, addressed to Richard 
 Steele, Esq." " John Dennis's Invitation to Steele " " Toland's 
 Invitation to Dismal ;" &c. &c. See vol. xvi. pp. 109, 111, l6\ 
 168. N. 
 
 f This Piece is taken from " the Whimsical Medley," a Collec- 
 tion of Poetry, in 3 vols. 4to. MS, of which an account is given in 
 page cxlvii. By referring to Swift's Correspondence with 
 Stella, No. 36, December 1st, 1711, and No. 37, December 15, 
 17U 5 (see also his Letter to Dr. Sterne, December 29, 17H j) 
 it plainly appears that this is the Ballad which the Ministry em- 
 ployed him to compose on the subject of a motion made in the 
 House of Lords against Peace. Mr. Deaue Swift has, by error, 
 
 given
 
 Cl PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 The Recorder s Speech to his Grace the Duke of 
 
 Ormondy 4th July, J 7 1 ] . 
 With a Parody upon it ; which is, perhaps, by Siuift. 
 
 This City can omit no opportunity of expressing 
 their hearty affection for her Majesty's person and 
 government ; and their regard for your Grace, who 
 has the honour of representing her in this kingdom. 
 
 We retain, my Lord, a grateful remembrance of 
 the mild and just administration of the Government 
 of this Kingdom by your noble ancestors : and when 
 we consider the share your Grace had in the happy 
 Revolution in 1688, and the many good laws you 
 have procured us since, particularly that for prevent- 
 ing the farther growth of Popery, we are assured 
 
 given in its place * the Invitation of Toland to Dismal." But 
 this Invitation to Dismal is dated 2y January : which date evi- 
 dently proves that it could not be the Ballad in question ; since 
 it appears from Swift's own account, that the ballad was writ- 
 ten on 6 December, 1711, and read the same evening to his 
 friends. Besides, the Invitation contained nodiing that could hurt 
 the feelings of the noble Earl, or excite such resentment as we 
 know the Ballad did ; the matter of which was calculated to give 
 very great offence, and was highly censurable. 
 
 I am ignorant who the person was, who is here stiled Hoppy. 
 In the same Collection may be found a piece, called " Advice to a 
 young Lady, or a young Lady's New-year's Gift," being an Epi- 
 thalamium on the Marriage of Old Hooper with Nanny Dismal. 
 I suppose the person called Old Hooper may be the same with 
 Hoppy. 
 
 In Lady Acheson's Panegyric on Swift, and in Swift's Verses 
 on his own Death, we find lines occurring, that are nearly the same 
 with verses 41, 42, and 51, 52, of the above poem. 
 
 1 that
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. ell 
 
 that that liberty and property, that happy Constitution 
 in Church and State, to which we were restored by 
 King William of glorious memory, will be inviolably 
 preserved under your Grace's Administration. And 
 we are persuaded that we cannot more effectually re- 
 commend ourselves to your Grace's favour and pro- 
 tection, than by assuring you that we will, to the 
 utmost of our power, contribute to the honour and 
 safety of her Majesty's Government, the mainten- 
 ance of the succession in the illustrious House of 
 Hanover, and that we shall at all times oppose the 
 secret and open attempts of the Pretender, and all 
 his abettors. 
 
 The Recorders Speech explained by the Tories, 
 
 An ancient Metropolis, famous of late 
 For opposing the Church, and for nosing the State, 
 For protecting sedition and rejecting order, 
 Made the following speech by their mouth, the Re- 
 corder : 
 First, to tell you the name of this place of renown, 
 Some still call it Dublin, but most Forster'a town. 
 
 The Speech. 
 
 May it please your Grace, 
 We cannot omit this occasion to tell, 
 That we love the Queen's person and Government 
 
 well ; 
 Then next, to your Grace we this compliment make, 
 That our Worships regard you, but 'tis for her sake: 
 Tho' our mouth be a Whig, and our head a Dissenter, 
 Yet salute you we must, 'cause you represent her : 
 
 Nor
 
 Clii PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 Nor can we forget, Sir, that some of your line 
 Did with mildness and peace in this Government 
 
 shine. 
 But of all your exploits, we'll allow but one fact, 
 That your Grace has procur'd us a Popery Act. 
 By this you may see that the least of your actions 
 Does conduce still the most to our satisfactions. 
 And lastly, because in the year eighty-eight 
 You did early appear in defence of our right, 
 We give no other proof of your zeal to your Prince ; 
 So we freely forget all your services since. 
 It's then only we hope, that whilst you rule o'er us, 
 You'll tread in the steps of King William the glorious, 
 Whom we're always adoring, tho' hand over head, 
 For we owe him allegiance, altho' he be dead ; 
 Which shews that good zeal may be founded in spleen, 
 Since a dead Prince we worship, to lessen the Queen, 
 And as for her Majesty, we will defend her 
 Against our hobgoblin, the Popish Pretender. 
 Our valiant militia will stoutly stand by her, 
 Against the sly Jack, and the sturdy High-flyer. 
 She is safe when thus guarded, if Providence bless her, 
 And Hanover's sure to be next her successor. 
 
 Thus ended the speech, but what heart would not 
 
 pity 
 His Grace, almost chok'd with the breath of the 
 
 City! 
 
 No.
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. cliii 
 
 No. III. 
 
 Mr. William Crowe, Recorder of Blessington's Ad- 
 dress to her Majesty, as copied from the London 
 Gazette *. 
 
 To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty. 
 
 The humble Address of the Sovereign, Recorder, 
 Burgesses, and Freemen, of the Borough of Bles- 
 sington. 
 
 May it please your Majesty, 
 
 Though we stand almost last on the roll of Bo- 
 roughs of this your Majesty's Kingdom of Ireland, 
 and therefore, in good manners to our elder brothers, 
 press but late among the joyful crowd about your 
 royal throne : yet we beg leave to assure your Ma- 
 jesty, that we come behind none in our good affec- 
 tion to your sacred Person and Government ; inso- 
 much that the late surprizing accounts from Ger- 
 many have filled us with a joy not inferior to any of 
 our fellow subjects. 
 
 We heard with transport that the English warmed 
 the field to that degree, that thirty squadrons, part 
 of the vanquished enemy, were forced to fly to water, 
 not able to stand their fire, and drank their last 
 draught in the Danube, for the waste they had before 
 
 * This is given, merely to shew that Crowe belonged to the 
 High Church or Tory Party (which appears from that part of his 
 speech which puts upon a footing of equality the exploits of Marl- 
 borough, and the safe deliverance of Sir George Rooke from the 
 French fleet) ; and consequently exposed himself to the censure of 
 wift, who at that time was connected with the Whigs. 
 
 committed
 
 cllV PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 committed on its injured banks, thereby putting an 
 end to their Master's long-boasted victories : a glo- 
 rious push indeed, and worthy a General of the 
 Queen of England. And we are not a little pleased, 
 to find several gentlemen in considerable posts of 
 your Majesty's army, who drew their first breath in 
 this country, sharing in the good fortune of those who 
 so effectually put in execution the command of your 
 gallant enterprizing General, whose twin-battles 
 have, with his own title of Marlborough, given im- 
 mortality to the otherwise perishing names of Schel- 
 lenberg and Hogstete : actions that speak him born 
 under stars as propitious to England as that he now 
 wears, on both which he has so often reflected lustre, 
 as to have now abundantly repaid the glory they 
 once lent him. Nor can we but congratulate with a 
 joy proportioned to the success of your Majesty's 
 fleet, our last campaign at sea, since by it we observe 
 the French obliged to steer their wonted course for 
 security, to their ports ; and Gibraltar, the Spaniards' 
 ancient defence, bravely stormed, possessed, and 
 maintained by your Majesty's subjects. 
 
 May the supplies for reducing the exorbitant power 
 of France be such, as may soon turn your wreath's 
 of laurel into branches of olive : that, after the toils 
 of a just and honourable war, carried on by a. Con- 
 federacy of which your Majesty is most truly, as of 
 the Faith, styled Defender, we may live to enjoy 
 under your Majesty's auspicious Government, the 
 blessings of a profound and lasting peace ; a peace 
 beyond the power of him to violate, who, but for his 
 own unreasonable conveniency, destructive always of 
 his neighbours, never yet kept any. And, to com- 
 plete our happiness, may your Majesty again prove 
 
 to
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. civ 
 
 to your own family, what you have been so eminently 
 to the true Church, a nursing mother. So wish, 
 and so pray, may it please your Majesty, your Ma- 
 jesty's most dutiful and loyal subjects, and devoted 
 humble servants. 
 
 This Address was presented 17 January, 1 704-5. 
 
 Mr. William Crowe's Address to her Majesty, turned 
 into Metre. 
 
 From a town that consists of a church and a steeple, 
 With three or four houses, and as many people, 
 There went an Address in great form and good order, 
 Composed, as 'tis said, by Will Crowe, their Re- 
 corder. 
 And thus it began to an excellent tune : 
 Forgive us, good Madam, that we did not as soon 
 As the rest of the cities, and towns of this Nation 
 Wish your Majesty joy on this glorious occasion. 
 Not that we're less hearty or loyal than others, 
 But having a great many sisters and brothers, 
 Our borough in riches and years far exceeding, 
 We let them speak first, to show our good breeding. 
 We have heard with much transport and great sa- 
 tisfaction 
 Of the vict'ry obtained in the late famous action, 
 When the field was so warm'd, that it soon grew too 
 
 hot 
 For the French and Bavarians, who had all gone to 
 
 pot, 
 But that they thought best in great haste to retire, 
 And leap into the water, for fear of the fire. 
 
 But
 
 Chri PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 But says the good river, Ye fools, plague confound ye, 
 Do ye think to swim thro' me, and that I'll not 
 
 drown ye ? 
 Who have ravish'd, and murder'd, and play'd such 
 
 damn'd pranks, 
 And trod down the grass on my much-injur'd banks? 
 Then, swelling with anger and rage to the brink, 
 He gave the poor Monsieur his last draught of drink. 
 So it plainly appears they were very well bang'd, 
 And that some may be drownd, who deserv'd to be 
 
 hang'd. 
 Great Marlbro' well push'd : 'twas well push'd indeed: 
 Oh, how we adore you, because you succeed ! 
 And now I may say it, I hope without blushing, 
 That you have got twins, by your violent pushing ; 
 Twin battles I mean, that will ne'er be forgotten, 
 But live and be talk'd of, when we're dead and rotten. 
 Let other nice Lords sculk at home from the wars, 
 Prank 'd up and adorned with garters and stars, 
 Which but twinkle like those in a cold frosty night ; 
 While to yours you are adding such lustre and light, 
 That if you proceed, I'm sure very soon 
 'Twill be brighter and larger than the sun or the 
 
 moon : 
 A blazing star, I foretell, 'twill prove to the raul, 
 That portends of his empire the ruin and falk 
 Now God bless your Majesty, and our Lord, 
 
 Murrough,* 
 And send him in safety and health to his burrongh. 
 
 * Mvmaugh (or Morrough) Boyle, the first Viscount Blessingtou 
 who died in April, J 7 * S. 
 
 No.
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clv 
 
 No. IY. 
 
 The Reverse (to Swift's Verses on Biddy Floyd) ; 
 or Mrs. Cludd. 
 
 Venus one day, as story goes, 
 
 But for what reason no man knows, 
 
 In sullen mood and grave deport, 
 
 Trudg'd it away to Jove's high Court ; 
 
 And there his Godship did entreat 
 
 To look out for his best receipt : 
 
 And make a monster strange and odd, 
 
 Abhorr'd by man and every god. 
 
 Jove ever kind to all the fair, 
 
 Nor e'er refus'd a lady's prayer, 
 
 Straight ope'd 'scrutore, and forth he took 
 
 A neatly bound and well-gilt book; 
 
 Sure sign that nothing enter'd there, 
 
 But what was very choice and rare. 
 
 Scarce had he turn'd a page or two, 
 
 It might be more for aught I know ; 
 
 But, be the matter more or less, 
 
 'Mong friends 'twill break no squares, I guess. 
 
 Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he, 
 
 Here's one will fit you to a T. 
 
 But, as the writing doth prescribe, 
 
 'Tis fit the ingredients we provide. 
 
 Away he went, and search'd the stews, 
 
 And every street about the Mews : 
 
 Diseases, impudence, and lies, 
 
 Are found and brought him in a trice. 
 
 From Hackney then he did provide, 
 
 A clumsy air and aukward pride : 
 
 From
 
 Clviii PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT* 
 
 From lady's toilet next he brought 
 Noise, scandal, and malicious thought. 
 These Jove put in an old close-stool, 
 And with them mix'd the vain, the fool. 
 But now came on his greatest care, 
 Of what he should his paste prepare ; 
 For common clay or finer mould 
 Was much too good, such stuff to hold. 
 At last he wisely thought on mud ; 
 So rais'd it up, and call'd it Cludd. 
 With this, the lady well content, 
 Low courtsey'd, and away she went.* 
 
 * These last three Pieces are all taken from the Whimsical Med- 
 ley; which contains many others that are unquestionably Swift's 
 productions, and as such printed, although their Author's name 
 is not there mentioned, no more than in the four numbers above 
 given. I consider the last three as having Swift for their author ; 
 
 1st From their similitude to his style and sentiments. 
 
 2dly. Because they are merely of a local nature, and relate to 
 transactions that would scarcely have interested any other person, 
 and to individuals connected with himself only. Thus, he had the 
 living of Dunlavin, which is in the vicinity of Blessington ; this 
 would have led him to compose the Piece, No. III. ; and that he 
 knew William Crowe, appears from his Account of Lord Wharton. 
 He was a relation of die Duke of Ormond ; which, if every 
 other ground were wanting, would have led Swift to compose the 
 Parody, No. II. 
 
 adly. From allusions in his Works. Thus, one of his poems on 
 Vanbrugh, begins, 
 
 When Mother Cludd rose up from play . 
 
 Here he plainly alludes to No. IV. 
 
 No.
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. ' clh 
 
 No. V. 
 
 A Conference between Sir II. P ces Chariot, and 
 Mrs. D. S'td's Chair. 
 
 CHARIOT. 
 
 My pretty clear Cuz, tho' I've rov'd the town o'er, 
 To dispatch in an hour some visits a score ; 
 Tho', since first on {he wheels, I've been every day 
 At the 'Change, at a raffling, at church, or a play ; 
 And the fops of the town are pleas'd with the notion 
 Of calling your slave the perpetual motion ; 
 Tho' oft at your door I have whin'd [out] my love, 
 As my Knight does grin his at your Lady above ; 
 Yet ne'er before this, tho' I used all my care, 
 I e'er was so happy to meet my dear Chair ; 
 And since we're so near, like birds of a feather, 
 Let's e'en^ as they say, set our horses together. 
 
 CHAIR. 
 
 By your aukward address* you're that thing which 
 
 should carry, 
 With one footman behind* our lover Sir Harry* 
 By your language, I judge, you think me a wench ; 
 He that makes love to me, must make it in French. 
 Thou that's drawn by two beasts, and carry 'st a brute* 
 Canst thou vainly e'er hope, I'll answer thy suit? 
 Tho' sometimes you pretend to appear with ycur six* 
 No regard to their colour, their sexes you mix : 
 Then on the grand-paw you'd look very great, 
 With your ne w- fashion 'd glasses, and nasty old seat. 
 Thus a beau I have seen strutt with a coek'd hat, 
 And newly rigg'd out, with a dirty cravat. 
 
 vol. i. 1 - You
 
 clx PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 You may think that you make a figure most shining, 
 But its plain that you have an old cloak for a lining. 
 Are those double-gilt nails ? Where's the lustre of 
 
 Kerry, 
 To set off the Knight, and to finish the Jerry ? 
 If you hope I'll be kind, you must tell me what's due 
 In George's-lane for you, ere I'll buckle to. 
 
 CHARIOT. 
 
 Why, how now, Doll Diamond, you're very alert ; 
 Is it your French breeding has made you so pert ? 
 Because I was civil, here's a stir with a pox : 
 
 Who is it that values your or your fox ? 
 
 Sure 'tis to her honour, he ever should bed 
 His bloody red hand, to her bloody red head. 
 You're proud of your gilding; but, I tell you, each nail 
 Is only [just] ting'd with a rub at her tail : 
 And altho' it may pass for gold on each ninny, 
 Sure we know a Bath shilling soon from a guinea. 
 Nay, her foretop's a cheat; each morn she does 
 
 black it, 
 Yet, ere it be night, it's the same with her placket. 
 I'll ne'er be run down any more with your cant ; 
 Your velvet was wore before in a mant, 
 On the back of her mother ; but now 'tis much dul- 
 
 ler, 
 The fire she carries hath changed its colour.* 
 Those creatures that draw me you never would mind, 
 If you'd but look on your own Pharaoh's lean kine : 
 They're taken for spectres, they're so meagre and 
 
 spare, 
 Drawn <lamnabfy low by your sorrel mare. 
 
 * Fire is here used as a dissyllable. 
 
 We
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clxi 
 
 We know how your lady was in you befriended ; 
 You're not to be paid for, 'till the lawsuit is ended : 
 But her bond it is good, he need not to doubt ; 
 She is two or three years above being out- 
 Could my Knight be advis'd, he should ne'er spend 
 
 his vigour 
 On one he can't hope of e'er making bigger. 
 
 *** From the same Whimsical Medley is taken the above Dia- 
 logue ; and the Lady mentioned in it is Dorothy Stopford, who, 
 abont 1 704-, married Edward the fourth Earl of Meath, and, after 
 his death, became the wife of L. General Richard Gorges; This 
 Piece is therefore prior to 1704, and probably is by Swift. Under 
 the names of Dicky and Dolly, Swift exerted his malice against 
 this lady a id her second husband. She was sister to Emilia, who 
 married Theophilus, the first Lord Newtown. See Lodge, vol. 
 III. p. 33.9; and vol. I. p. 1 00. That Swift introduced dialogues 
 between inanimate beings, we know, from his Dialogue between 
 Richmond Lodge and Marble Hill j with which this last may be 
 compared In it we find the rhyme between the words ninny and 
 guinea, which we may also observe in some of his undoubted 
 *vorks. 
 
 No. VL 
 
 A Dialogue between Sir William Handccck and 
 Thady Fitzpatrick, in the Devil's ante-chamber^ 
 
 Thady. 
 
 You're welcome, Sir William ; by my shdu! and sal- 
 vation, 
 I rejoice for to see one from my own nation : 
 We have long wanted news : was it growing wealthy, 
 Has made all my brothers so damnable healthy ? 
 
 1 1 'When
 
 clxil PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 When I think of their number, I look for them faster 
 Sure they are not grown honest, and quitted their 
 
 Master. 
 Come, never look squeamish, nor be out of order, 
 We're here on a level, good Master Recorder. 
 Let me know what haspass'd,and you'll find I'll be civil, 
 And speak a good word for you here to the Devil. 
 
 Sir William. 
 
 Oh, thank you, dear Thady, and must own for my part, 
 It's much more your goodness, than it is my desert ; 
 But, to speak for his fee, you know 'twas our calling ; 
 Which because I could not, I then fell a bawling. 
 I never stuck out to quote a false case ; 
 And to back it, I e'er had an impudent face ; 
 Or on my right hand I had always my brother, 
 To vouch, which we still did, the one for the other. 
 To be sure, to be rich, was always my guide; 
 To take, when I could, a fee on each side. 
 All this you well know. But pr'ythee now tell, 
 If I have any more acquaintance in hell. 
 Is not that Tullamore ? * 
 
 Thady. 
 
 You see how he trudges 
 At the head of a shoal of unrighteous judges. 
 By oppression and cheating, by rapine and lust, 
 We shall in good time have the rest of the Trust. 
 But our Master, the Devil, has solemnly swore, 
 Till they're out of commission, not to admit more. 
 
 * John Moore, of Croghan, in the King's County; created in 
 1715, Baron Moore of Tullamore ; in 171ft, and again in Feb. 
 17*22-3, appoiuted one of the Lords Commissioners for holding the 
 Great Seal during the absence of Lord Chancellor MiddJeton. 
 
 If
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. cUUl 
 
 If you speak me but fair, you shall not go far 
 
 To meet with your friends of the Bench or the Bar : 
 
 Look at Reynolds, and Lyndon, and Whitshed, and 
 
 Keating, 
 The four rogues are all got together a prating. 
 
 Sir William. 
 Pr'ythee, where is fat Hely ? I durst lay my life, 
 That he's got to heaven, by help of his wife. 
 
 Thady. 
 
 You'll ever be urging a reason that's faint; 
 If that would have done, we might each be a saint. 
 But what is become of Sir Toby and Stephen ? * 
 There's neither of them, I am sure, gone to heaven. 
 Does your brother as yet speak law in a cause; 
 And has Pauca left off making use of his claws ? 
 Does the Bar from the Bench with patience still 
 
 pocket 
 The calling them rogue, and rascal, and blockhead ? 
 
 Sir William. 
 
 Faith, Thady, our Judges are grown very humble ; 
 And one is suspicious, he'll soon have a tumble. 
 The new ones they keep the old ones in awe, 
 And have taught them civility, prudence, and law. 
 
 Thady. 
 
 Pox take me, Sir William, why was not I asking, 
 All this time you've been here, for poor Clara Gas- 
 
 coyne ? 
 The woman that lay so long by my side ; 
 But I show'd I forgot her before that I died. 
 
 * Probably Sir Theobald Butler, and Sir Stephen Rice. The 
 latter was Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer. 
 
 2 I believe
 
 clxiv PIECES ASCRIEED TO SWIFT. 
 
 I be 1 eve s' e's unmarried, for I think I took care 
 To lea.e her but little, and much to my heir. 
 
 Str William. 
 
 She st '1 is thy widow, thou barbarous teigue ; 
 Both living and dead, thou'st to her been a plague : 
 It's not for that sin, that I am come here, 
 Having left all the wealth I had to my dear. 
 
 Thady. 
 That thou e'er wert a blockhead, you need not now 
 
 own, 
 But this thy last action all others does crown : 
 Thou scarce wert got hither, thou pitiful cully, 
 Before she had gotten a lusty young bully : 
 I have of our Master a proverb to tell you ; 
 What's got o'er his back, is spept under his belly. 
 
 %* This Dialogue is taken from the same MS.; and ascribed to 
 Swift on conjecture. It must have been written about 1/03 ; 
 about which time Sir William Handcock, Recorder of Dublin, died, 
 and was succeeded in that ofhee by Mr. John Forster. Thadv 
 Fitzpatrick represented the town of Maryborough in King James's 
 Parliament In the 7 th of William the Third, a warrant was 
 granted for a pardon to Thady Fitzpatrick : it being reported, 
 " that he never was in any military office, nor in arms against 
 the King ; but, upon his Declaration, submitted, and took pro- 
 tection, and behaved himself obedient and inoffensive, serving his 
 Protestant neighbours in their necessities, as much as in his power ; 
 and yet that he was indicted and outlawed, and his blood corrupt- 
 ed, though he had no lands or real estate to forfeit." Dated 04h 
 March, 1(^5. 
 
 In March, 6S8-9, Mr. John Price, of Ballinderry, fa the county 
 of Wicklow, was tried before Lord Chief Justice Keating, a Pro- 
 testant, and B,aron Lynch, a Papist, on a charge of Treason ; for 
 that he, with 101 Protestants more, had refused to give up their 
 arms. Fitzpatrick was Counsel for the Crown, and Handcock for 
 the prisoners. Fitzpatrick having asserted, that a certain thatched 
 cabin was a garrison ; Handcock, in reply, told him, that he wished 
 
 to
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. cJx? 
 
 to make all the Protestants rebels. C. Justice Keating having said, 
 that he did not choose to take any steps, in consequence of which 
 he might be hanged ; Fitzpatrick asked, Was ever a Judge hang- 
 ed ? to which Handcock replied, Yes, twenty, One Kavenagh, 
 a Papist, was at the same time indicted for robbery and murder: 
 it was proved against him, that he had a skein ; and he confessed 
 that he had procured it and pikes, as had also many others, by 
 desire of the priests. 
 
 No. VII. 
 
 The Garden-plot. 3709. 
 
 When Naboth's vineyard look'd so fine, 
 
 The King cried out, " Would this were mine !" 
 
 And yet no reason could prevail 
 
 To bring the owner to a sale. 
 
 Jezebel saw with haughty pride, 
 
 How Ahab griev'd to be denied ; 
 
 And thus accosted him with scorn : 
 
 Shall Naboth make a Monarch mourn ? 
 
 A King, and weep ! The ground's your own ; 
 
 I'll vest the garden in the Grown. 
 
 With that she hatch'd a plot, and made 
 
 Poor Naboth answer with his head ; 
 
 And when his harmless blood was spilt, 
 
 The ground became his forfeit guilt. 
 
 Poor Hall, renown'd for comely hair, 
 Whose hands perhaps were not so fair, 
 Yet had a Jezebel as near ; 
 Hall, of small Scripture conversation, 
 Yet, howe'er Hungerford's quotation.,
 
 C:XVl PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 By some strange accident had got 
 The story of this garden-plot; 
 Wisely foresaw he might have reason 
 To dread a modern bill of treason, 
 If Jezebel should please to want 
 His small addition to her grant ; 
 Therefore resolv'd in humble sort 
 To begin first, and make his court; 
 And, seeing nothing else would do, 
 Gave a third part, to save the other two. 
 
 %* This Piece, taken from the same MS. as all the preceding, is 
 believed to be the production of Swift. The reasons are ; 
 
 1st. That Swift mentions, in his Character of Lord Wharton, a 
 story somewhat similar to this, in the case of Mr. Proby, Surgeon 
 General of Ireland : 
 
 dly. Swift had a piece of ground, which he used to denomi- 
 nate Naboth's Garden or Vineyard. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 On the Church's Danger. 
 
 Good Halifax and pious Wharton cry, 
 " The Church has vapours ; there's no danger nigh." 
 In those we love not, we no danger see, 
 And were they hang'd, there would no danger be. 
 But we must silent be, amidst our fears, 
 And not believe our senses, but the Peers. 
 So ravishers, that know no sense of shame, 
 First stop her mouth, and then debauch the dame. 
 
 No.
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. cbtVli 
 
 No. IX. 
 
 A Poem on High Church. 
 
 High Church is undone, 
 As sure as a gun, 
 
 For old Peter Patch is departed ; 
 And Eyres and Delaune, 
 And the rest of that spawn, 
 
 Are tacking about broken-hearted. 
 
 For strong Gill of Sarurn, 
 That decuclum amarum, 
 
 Has prescribed a dose of cant-fail; 
 Which will make them resign 
 Their flasks of French wine, 
 
 And spice up their Nottingham ale. 
 
 It purges the spleen 
 Of dislike to the Queen, 
 
 And has one effect that is odder ; 
 When easement they use, 
 They always will choose 
 
 The Conformity Bill for bumfodder. 
 
 P 9 * Both these are copied from the same MS. The first of them 
 I believe to have Swift for its author, irom considering what She- 
 ridan has mentioned in Swift's Lifo concerning Lord Halifax, and 
 also from what Swift himself mentions in his Correspondence. The 
 idea of ascribing vapours to the Church, may probably have 
 suggested to the author of the History of John Bull, the notion of 
 representing John Bull's mother in a sick state. 
 
 In the next piece, No. IX., the prescribing Doctor is Bishop 
 Burnet, who is satirized by -iwift in his acknowledged Works. 
 Whether this last was written by him, I am uncertain. Its date 
 I suppose 17 1 h 
 
 No.
 
 Clxviii PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 No. X. 
 
 On January XXXtk. 
 
 Janus, you usher in a thing, 
 Strange and new, a martyr'd King. 
 Your altar who would worship more ? 
 Who takes delight in Royal gore? 
 And with a Monarch's sacred head, 
 Will paint your calendar in red ? 
 Sure you dispatch'd your work in haste, 
 Before another day was past, 
 For fear the mischief should be o'er, 
 Had you but stay'd to shut your door. 
 How well does Janus represent 
 Fanaticks in a Government ! 
 Jealous of every prying eye, 
 Close and conceal'd in peace they lie ; 
 But when the din of war they hear, 
 Both quickly open and appear; 
 Both seem for peace, both thirst for blood, 
 Both wear two faces in one hood. 
 
 %* This is taken, not from the Lanesborough MS., but from a 
 Senior Lecturer s Book, where it is entered as the composition of 
 Narcissus Charles Proby, about the year i?'20. I suspect it to be 
 Swift's: and think it probable that this Proby was a friend of his,, 
 and perhaps related to the Proby I have before mentioned in note 
 on Ko. VII. p. clx\i.
 
 ffJECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. CiJU* 
 
 * * To the foregoing " Pieces ascribed to Swift,**" 
 by Dr. Barrett, the Editor of the Deans Works 
 takes this opportunity of annexing Two Articles, 
 which were before submitted to the Publich in the 
 Supplement of 1779' 
 
 No. I. 
 
 The Swan Tripe Club in Dublin,, 
 a satire: 
 
 Dedicated to all those who are true Friends to her present Majesty 
 and her Government, to the Church of England, and the Suc- 
 cession as by Law established ; and who gratefully acknowledge 
 the preservation of their Religion, Rights, and Liberties, due to 
 the late King William, of ever glorious and immortal Memory. 
 Printed from the original Dublin Edition * of 1/06". 
 Difficile est batyram non scribere. 
 
 HOW this fantastic world is changed of late ! 
 Sure some full moon has work'd upon the state. 
 Time was, when it was questioned much in story, 
 Which was the worst, the Devil, or a Tory ; 
 But now, alas ! those happy times are o'er ; 
 The rampant things are couchant now no more, 
 But trump up Tories, who were Whigs before -J*. 
 
 There 
 
 \ 
 
 * Re-printed at London by Mr. Tonson, in 1706, and by him 
 ascribed to the author of " The Tale of a Tub.*' The judicious 
 reader, we apprehend, will acknowledge it reflects no discredit on 
 the Dean N. 
 
 + The Letter from a Member of the House of Commons in Ire- 
 land to a Membsr of the House of Commons in England, concern- 
 ing
 
 cklt PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 There was a time, when fair Hibernia lay 
 Dissolv'd in ease, and with a gentle sway 
 Enjoy 'd the blessings of a halcyon day. 
 Pleased with the bliss their friendly union made, 
 Beneath her bending fig-tree's peaceful shade 
 Careless and free her happy sons were laid. 
 No feuds, no groundless jealousies, appear, 
 To rouse their rage, or wake them into fear ; 
 With pity they beheld Britannia's state, 
 Tost by the tempest of a stormy fate ; 
 Wild Frenzy through her blasted borders pass'd, 
 Whilst noisy Faction drove the furious blast : 
 Calm and serene we heard the tempest roar, 
 And fearless view'd the danger from the shore. 
 
 Thus blest, we slumber'd in a downy trance, 
 Happy, like Eden, in mild ignorance ; 
 Till Discord, like the wily serpent, found 
 Th' unguarded path to the forbidden ground j 
 Shcw'd us the tree, the tempting tree, which stood 
 The fairest, but most fatal, of the wood ; 
 And where (as hanging on the golden bough) 
 The glittering fruit look'd smiling to the view. 
 " Taste, and be wise," the sly Provoker said, 
 And see the platform of your ruin laid : 
 Rouze from the dulness ye too long have shown, 
 And view your Church's danger, and your own. 
 Thus at superior wit we catch'd in haste, 
 Which mock'd the approach of our deluded taste. 
 And now 
 
 ing the Sacramental Test, vol. III. p. 1^7, will best explain Dr. 
 Swift's real opinion of the terms Whig and Tory, as used in seve- 
 ral of his writings. He there delineates satisfactorily his own po- 
 litical principles ; from which, we are assured, he never swerved 
 throughout his whole lite. See Mr. Deaae Swift's Essay, p. I'M. N. 
 
 Imaginary
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clxXl 
 
 Imaginary schemes we seem to spy, 
 And search for dangers with a curious eye ; 
 From thought to thought we roll, and rack our sense, 
 To obviate mischiefs in the future tense : 
 Strange plots in embryo from the Lord we fear; 
 And dream of mighty ills, the Lord knows where 1 
 Wretchedly wise, we curse our present store, 
 But bless the witless age we knew before. 
 
 Near that fam'd place * where slender wights resort, 
 And gay Pulvilio keeps his scented court ; 
 Where exil'd wit ne'er shews its hated face, 
 Bat happier nonsense fills the thoughtless place ; 
 Where sucking beaux, our future hopes, are bred, 
 The sharping gamester, and the bully red, 
 O'er-stock'd with fame, but indigent of bread ; 
 There stands a modern dome ~\- of vast renown, 
 For a plump cook and plumper reck'nings known: 
 Rais'd Jiigh, the fair inviting bird you see, 
 In all his milky plumes, and feather'd lechery ; 
 In whose soft down immortal Jove was drest, 
 When the fair Nymph the wily god possest ; 
 Still in which shape he stands to mortal view, 
 Patron of whoring, and of toping tco. 
 Here gravely meet the worthy sons of zeal, 
 To wet their pious clay, and decently to rail : 
 Immortal courage from the claret springs, 
 To censure heroes, and the acts of kings: 
 Young doctors of the gown here shrewdly shoWy 
 How grace divine can ebb^ and spleen can flow ; 
 The pious red-coat most devoutly swears, 
 Drinks to the Church, but ticks on his arrears ; 
 
 } 
 
 * Lucas's Coffee-house. 
 f The Swan Tavern, 
 
 The
 
 dxxii PIECES ASCRIBED TO SiVIFtf* 
 
 The gentle beau tco joins in wise debate^ 
 Adjusts his cravat, and reforms the state. 
 As when the sun, on a returning flood, 
 Warms into life the animated mud ; 
 Strange wondrous insects on the shore remain, 
 And a new race of vermin fills the plain : 
 So from the excrement of zeal we find* 
 A slimy race, but of the modish kind, 
 Crawl from the filth, and, kindled into man, 
 Make up the members of the sage Divan. 
 
 Of these the fam'd Borachio is the chief, 
 A son of pudding and eternal beef: 
 The jovial god, with all-inspiring grace, 
 Sits on the scarlet honours of his face ; 
 His happy face, from rigid wisdom free, 
 Securely smiles in thoughtless majesty ; 
 His own tithe geese not half so plump as he. 
 Wild notions flow from his immoderate head,. 
 And statutes quoted, moderately read ; 
 Whole floods of words his moderate wit reveal, 
 Yet the good man's immoderate in zeal. 
 How can his fluent tongue and thought keep touch, 
 Who thinks too little, but who talks too much ? 
 When peaceful tars with Gallic navies meet, 
 Aud lose their honour, to preserve the fleet ; 
 This wondrous man alone shall conquest boast, 
 And win the battles which the heroes lost. 
 When just esteem he would of William raise, 
 He damns the glories which he means to praise ; 
 The poor encomium, so thinly spread, 
 Lampoons the injur'd ashes of the dead; 
 Tho', for the orator, 'tis said withal, 
 He meant to praise him, if he meant at all. 
 
 Egregious
 
 PIECBS ASCRIBED TO SWIFT* ckxiii 
 
 Egregious Magpye charms the listening throng, 
 Whilst inoffensive satire tips his tongue ; 
 Grey politicks adorn the beardless chit, 
 Of foreign manners, but of native wit ; 
 Scarce wean'd from diddy of his Alma Mater, 
 The cocking thing steps forth the Church's Erra 
 
 Pater : 
 High-flying thoughts his moderate size supply, 
 And wing the towering puppet to the sky ; 
 On brazen wings beat out from native stock, 
 He mounts, and rides upon the weather-cock ; 
 From whence the dull Hibernian Isle he views-; 
 The dull Hibernian Isle he sees, and spews ; 
 He mourns the talent of his wisdom, lost 
 On such a dry inhospitable coast. 
 Thus daws, when perch'd upon a steeple's top, 
 With Oxford strut, and pride superior, hop ; 
 And, whilst on earth their haughty glances throw, 
 Take humble curates but for daws below. 
 
 Firedrake, a senator of auk ward grace, 
 But fam'd for matchless modesty and face ; 
 With Christian clamour fills the deafen'd room, 
 And prophesies of wondrous ills to come. 
 Heaven in a hurry seems to have form'd his paste, 
 Fill'd up his spleen, but left his head-piece waste : 
 He thinks, he argues, nay, he prays in haste. 
 When in soil'd sheets the dirty wight is spread, 
 And high-flown schemes for curtains grace the bed, 
 Wild freakish Fancy, with her airy train, 
 Whirls thro' the empty region of his brain ; 
 Shews him the Church, just tott'ring on his head, 
 And all her mangled sons around her spread ; 
 Paints out himself, of all his hopes beguil'd, 
 And his '.domestic Sicorax delil'd : 
 
 Then, 
 
 )
 
 dxxiv PIECES ASCEIBED TO SWUt, 
 
 Then, kindling at the sight, he flies about* 
 And puts dissenting squadrons to the rout j 
 Brim-full of wrath, he plunges into strife, 
 And thumps the passive carcase of his wife; 
 He routs the flying foe, he scours the plain, 
 And boldly fights the visionary scene. 
 
 Th' Apollo of the cause old Grimbeard stands^ 
 And all th' inferior fry of wit commands ; 
 Nurs'd up in faction, and a foe to peace, 
 He robs his bones of necessary ease ; 
 Drunk with inveterate spleen, he scorns his age, 
 And Nature's lowest ebb supplies with sprightly rage 
 Cold driveling Time has all his nerves unstrung, 
 But left untoucli'd his lechery of tongue ; 
 His lechery of tongue, which still remains* 
 And adds a friendly aid to want of brains : 
 He blames the dulness of his party's sloth* 
 And chides the fears of their unactive youth ; 
 Tells them, the time, the happy time is come, 
 When moderation shall behold its doom ; 
 When sniveling mercy shall no more beguile, 
 But Christian force and pious rage shall smile ; 
 Warns them against those dangers to provide, 
 Those dangers which his spectacles have spied* 
 Dark and unknown to all the world beside! 
 Hail, venerable man, design'd by fate 
 The saving genius of a sinking state ! 
 Lo, prostrate at thy feet we trembling fall, 
 Thou great twin idol of the thund'ring Baal ! 
 How shall thy votaries thy wrath assuage, 
 Unbend thy frowns, and deprecate thy rage ? 
 Millions of victims shall thy altars soil ; 
 Heroes shall bleed, and Treasurers shall broil ; 
 
 Thy
 
 PIECES ASCRIBE!* TO SWIFT. clxXV 
 
 Thy peerless worth shall in our lays be sung : 
 O, bend thy stubborn rage, and sheath thy dreadful 
 tongue ! 
 
 Nutbrain, a daggle-gown of large renown, 
 For weak support to needy client known ; 
 With painted dangers keeps his mob in awe, 
 And shrewdly construes faction into law. 
 When Albion's Senate wav'd its fatal wand, 
 And with their hungry locusts curst the land, 
 Our fruitful Egypt, with the load opprest, 
 Beheld with grief its happy fields laid waste ; 
 With watery eyes, and with a mother's pain, 
 She heard the nation groan, but heard in vain ; 
 Till, gorg'd with prey, they took the favourite wind, 
 And left this straggling vermin here behind : 
 Too well he lik'd our fruitful Egypt's plain, 
 To trot to hungry Westminster again. 
 Say, blind Hibernia, for what charms unknown 
 Ye adopt a man, whom ye should blush to own : 
 Beggar'd and spoil'd of all your wealthy store, 
 Yet hug the viper, whom ye curs'd before. 
 Is this the pious champion of your cause, 
 Who robs your offspring, to protect your laws ; 
 Sliiy distills his venom to the root, 
 And blasts the tree from whence he plucks the 
 
 fruit? 
 Who sees your ruin, which he smiles to see ; 
 Whose gain's his heaven, and whose god's a fee ? 
 
 In the first rank fam'd Sooterkin is seen, 
 Of happy visage, and enchanting mien, 
 A lazy modish son of melancholy spleen : 
 Whose every feature flourishes in print, 
 And early pride $rst taught the youth to squint. 
 
 vol. i. m What
 
 } 
 
 clxXVl PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 What niggard father would begrudge his brass, 
 When travell'd son doth homebred boy surpass ; 
 Went out a fopling, and returned an ass ? 
 Of thought so dark, that no erroneous hit 
 E'er shew'd the lucid beauties of his wit. 
 When scanty fee expects a healing pill, 
 With careless yawn he nods upon the bill, 
 Secure to hit who never fails to kill. 
 When costive punk, in penitential case, "1 
 
 Sits squeezing out her soul in vile grimace, > 
 
 To ease his patient, he prescribes his face! j 
 
 Well may the wretch a Providence disown, 
 Who thinks no wisdom brighter than his own : 
 Long since he left Religion in the lurch, 
 Who yet would raise the glories of the Church, I 
 And stickles for its rights, who ne'er comes near j 
 the porch. j 
 
 Immortal Crab stands firmly to the truth, 
 And with sage nod commands the listening youth ; 
 In whom rank spleen has all its vigour shewn, 
 And blended all its curses into one ; 
 O'er-flowing gall has chang'd the crimson flood. 
 And turn'd to vinegar the wretch's blood. 
 Nightly on bended knees the musty put 
 Still saints the spigot, and adores the butt ;' 
 With fervent zeal the flowing liquor plies, 
 But damns the moderate bottle for its size. 
 His liquid vows cut swiftly thro' the air, 
 When glorious red has whetted him to prayer ; 
 Thrifty of time, and frugal of his ways, 
 Tippling he rails, and as he rails he prays. 
 
 In the sage list, great Mooncalf is enroll'd, 
 Fam'd as the Delphic Oracle of old. 
 
 Propitious
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clxXVll 
 
 Propitious Dulness, and a senseless joy, 
 Shone at his birth, and blest the hopeful boy ; 
 Who utters wonders without sense of pain, 
 And scorns the crabbed labour of his brain. 
 Fleeting as air, his words outstrip the wind, 
 Whilst the sage tardy meaning lags behind. 
 No saucy foresight dares his will controul, 
 Or stop th' impetuous motion of his soul ; 
 His soul, which struggles in her dark abode, 
 Crush'd and o'erlay'd with the unwieldy load : 
 Prevailing dullness did his sense betray, 
 And cramp'd his reason, to extend his clay ; 
 His wit contracted to a narrow span, 
 A yard of ideot to an inch of man. 
 Hail, mighty Dunce, thou largest of thy kind, 
 How well thy mien is suited to thy mind ! 
 What if the Lords and Commons can't agree, 
 Thou dear, dull, happy thing, what is't to thee ? 
 Sit down contented with thy present store, 
 Heaven ne'er design'd thee to be wise and poor : 
 Trust to thy fate ; whatever parties join, 
 Thy want of wit obstructs thy want of coin. 
 As when imperial Rome beheld her state 
 Grown faint, and struggling with impending fate ; 
 When barb'rous nations on her ruins trod, 
 And no kind Jove appear'd her guardian god ; 
 A sacred goose could all her fears disperse, 
 And save the Mistress of the Universe : 
 Of equal fame the great example be, 
 Our Church's safety we expect from thee : 
 In thee, great man, the saving brood remains, 
 Of equal piety, and equal brains ; 
 In this we differ but in point of name : 
 Unlike the Romans we; but thou, our goose, the same, 
 
 m 2 And
 
 clxXVlii PIECES ASSCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 And now with solemn grace the Council sat, 
 And the third flask had rais'd a warm debate ; 
 When Faction, entering, walk'd the giddy maze, 
 Sworn foe and noted enemy to Peace ; 
 And, taking Grimbeard's shape, she silence broke, 
 And in shrill voice the eager Fury spoke : 
 
 cf Be witness, Heaven, how much I'm pleas'd to 
 find 
 Such gallant friends, and of so brave a mind ; 
 Souls fit to rule the world, and proudly sit 
 The noblest sons of piety and wit. 
 Uncommon vigour in your looks I spy, 
 Resolv'd the utmost of your force to try ; 
 Bravely to stickle for your Church's laws, 
 And shed a generous influence on her cause. 
 See, how with grief she hangs her pensive head, 
 Whilst trickling tears upon her garments shed, 
 Mourn all her lustre and her beauty fled : 
 In hair dishevel'd, and with bosom bare, 
 With melancholy sounds she fills the air. 
 Would ye, my friends, the weighty business know, 
 And learn the cruel reason of her woe ? 
 The cause she has to grieve, the world believes, 
 Is this hem hem why, 'tis enough, she grieves : 
 What sons from tears their flinty souls can keep, 
 And with dry eyes behold their mother weep ? 
 Ah ! stop the deluge of her watery store, 
 And let her taste those joys she felt before ! 
 
 " When William (curse upon that hated name, 
 For ever blotted and unknown to fame !) 
 When William in imperial glory shone, 
 And, to our grief, possess'd Britannia's throne : 
 Mark with what malice he our Church debas'd, 
 Her sons neglected, and her rites defac'd : 
 
 To 
 
 }
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. dxxix 
 
 To canting zeal design'd her form a slave, 
 
 And meant to ruin what he came to save. 
 
 What tho' the world be fill'd with his alarms, 
 
 And fainting Gallia trembled at his arms ; 
 
 Yet still the doughty hero did no more 
 
 Than Julius once, and Ammon did before. 
 
 Is this the idol of the people's love, 
 
 The poor mock-puppet of a ruling Jove ? 
 
 Sorrel, we owe his hasty fate * to thee, 
 
 Thou lucky horse ; oh ! may thy memory be 
 
 Fragrant to all, as it is sweet to me ! 
 
 Too far, I fear, the vile infection's spread, 
 
 Since Anna courts the party which he led, 
 
 And treads the hated footsteps of the dead. 
 
 If so, what now can we expect to hear, 
 
 But black effects of those damn'd ills we fear? 
 
 Your fat endowments shall be torn away, 
 
 And to Geneva zeal become an easy prey ; 
 
 Cold element shall give your guts the gripes, 
 
 And, ah ! no more you shall indulge in tripes. 
 
 No Sunday pudding shall adorn the board, 
 
 Or burn the chaps of its too eager lord : 
 
 No gentle Abigail shall caudles make, 
 
 Nor cook the jellies for the chaplain's back ; 
 
 Long-winded schismaticks shall rule the roast, 
 
 And Father Christmas mourn his revels lost. 
 
 Rouze then, my friends, and all your forces join, 
 
 And act with vigour in our great design. 
 
 What though our danger is not really great, 
 
 'Tis brave to oppose a government we hate ; 
 
 * King William, who was a foxhunter, fell from his horse, Sor- 
 rel, in riding from Kensington to Hampton Court, and broke his 
 collar-bone, Feb. 21, 1700-1 j he died on the 8th of March. N. 
 
 Poison
 
 dxXX PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 Poison the nation with your jealous fears, 
 
 And set the fools together by the ears : 
 
 Whilst with malicious joy we calmly sit, 
 
 And smile to see the triumphs of our wit : 
 
 Sound well the College ; and with nicest skill 
 
 Inflame the beardless boys, and bend them to your 
 
 will. 
 What though unmov'd her learned sons have stood, 
 Nor sacrific'd to spleen their country's good ; 
 Yet search the tree, and sure there may be found 
 Some branches tainted., though the trunk be sound : 
 Shew them the lure which never fails to hit ; 
 Approve their briskness, and admire their wit. 
 Youth against flattery has no defence, 
 Fools still are cheated with the bait of sense ; 
 Glean e'en the schools from lechery and birch, 
 And teach the youngsters to defend the Church. 
 "Tis fools we want, and of the largest size ; 
 'Twould spoil our cause to practise on the wise ; 
 The wise are eagles of the sharpest ken, 
 And calmly weigh the merits and the men ; 
 Pierce thro' the cobweb veil of erring sense, 
 And know the truth of zeal from the pretence : 
 Whilst fools, like game-cocks, are the slaves of 
 
 show, 
 And never ask a cause, but fly upon the foe : 
 Chance only guides them wandering in the night, 
 When in an age they stumble on the right : 
 God never gave a fool the gift of sight." 
 
 He said : with joy the pleas'd assembly rose ; 
 *' Well mov'd," they cried ; and murmur'd their ap- 
 plause ; 
 When, lo, before the Board, confess'd in sight, 
 Stept forth a heavenly guest, serenely bright ; 
 
 No 
 
 }
 
 PIECES ASCBIBED TO SWIFT. clxXXl 
 
 No mortal beauty could with her's compare, 
 Or poet's fancy form a maid so fair ; 
 Around her head immortal glories shine, 
 And her mild air confess'd the nymph divine ; 
 Whilst thus she spake : 
 
 " Ask not, my frighted sons, from whence I came* 
 But mark me well ; Religion is my name ; 
 An angel once, but now a fury grown, 
 Too often talk'd of, but too little known : 
 Is it for me, my sons, that ye engage, 
 And spend the fury of your idle rage ? 
 'Tis false ; unmanly spleen your bosoms warms, 
 And a pretended zeal your fancy charms. 
 Where have I taught you, in the sacred page, 
 To construe moderation into rage ; 
 To affront the power from whence your safety springs, 
 And poorly blast the memory of kings ? 
 Branded with infamy, ye shun the light, 
 But court, like birds obscene, the covert of the 
 
 night. 
 Is then unlawful riot fit to be 
 The great supporter of my Church and me ? 
 Think ye, weak men, she's of her foes afraid, 
 Or wants the assistance of your feeble aid ? 
 When round her throne seraphic warriors stand, 
 And form upon her side a heavenly band : 
 When, fixt as fate, her deep foundation lies, 
 And spreads where-e'er my Anna's glory flies. 
 Think on th' intended ruins of the day, 
 When to proud Rome ye were design'd a prey : 
 With wonder read those fatal times again, 
 And call to mind the melancholy scene ; 
 When down its rapid stream the torrent bore 
 Your country's laws, and safety was no more ; 
 
 Torn
 
 dxxxii PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 Torn from your altars, ye were forc'd to roam 
 In needy exile from your native home. 
 'Twas then, my sons, your mighty William rose, 
 And bravely fell like light'ning on your foes : 
 With royal pity he deplor'd your fate, 
 And stood the Atlas of your sinking state. 
 When sacrifice on idol altars slain 
 Polluted all the isle, and dy'd the plain ; 
 Rome's mob of saints did all your temples fill, 
 And consecrated groves crown'd every hill : 
 Twas then, Josiah-like, that he defac'd 
 Their Pagan rites, and laid their altars waste ; 
 Prove out their idols from their lov'd abodes, 
 And pounded into dust their molten gods : 
 Israel's true Lord was to his rule restor'd, 
 Again his name was heard, and was again ador'd. 
 
 " Wond'ring, ye saw your great Deliverer come, 
 But, while he vvarr'd abroad, ye rail'd at home ; 
 Dreadfully gay in arms, but scorn'd in peace, 
 The useless buckler of inglorious ease : 
 O poor and short-liv'd glory and renown ! 
 O false unenvied pleasures of a crown ! 
 So soon are all thy shining honours fled, 
 Traduc'd while living, and defam'd when dead. 
 Strange fate of heroes, who like comets blaze, 
 And with a sudden light the world amaze : 
 But when with fading beams they quit the skies, 
 No more to shine the wonder of our eyes ; 
 Their glories spent, and all their fiery store, 
 We scorn the omens which we fear'd before ! 
 
 " My Royal Anne, whom every virtue crowns, 
 Feels your ill-govern'd rage, nor 'scapes your frowns ; 
 Your want of duty ye supply with spight, 
 Traduce her councils, and her heroes slight ; 
 
 Lampoon
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clxxxiii 
 
 Lampoon the mildness of her easy sway, 
 
 And sicken at the light of her superior day ; 
 
 Poison her sweets of life with groundless fears, 
 
 And fill her royal breast with anxious cares. 
 
 What ! such a Queen, where Art and Nature join 
 
 To hit the copy of a form divine : 
 
 Unerring Wisdom purg'd the dross away, 
 
 And form'd your Anna of a nobler clay ; 
 
 Breathing a soul, in which in glory shone 
 
 Goodness innate, and virtue like its own : 
 
 She knows how far engaging sweetness charms, 
 
 And conquers more by mildness than by arms ; 
 
 Like Sampson's riddle in the sacred song, 
 
 A springing sweet still flowing from the strong ; 
 
 Like hasty sparks her slow resentment dies, 
 
 Her rigour lagging, but her mercy flies. 
 
 Hail, pious Princess ! mightiest of thy name, 
 
 Though last begotten, yet the first in fame : 
 
 Those glorious heroines we in story see, 
 
 Were but the fainter types of greater thee : 
 
 Let others take a lustre from the throne ; 
 
 You shine with brighter glories of your own, 
 
 Add worth to worth, and dignify a Crown. 
 
 Oft have I mark'd, with what a studious care 
 
 My words you ponder, and my laws revere : 
 
 To thee, great Queen, what elogies are due, 
 
 Who both protect the flock, and feed the shepherds 
 
 too ! * 
 For which I still preside o'er thy alarms, 
 And add a shining lustre to thy arms : 
 I form'd the battle, and I gave the word, 
 And rode with conquest on thy Ormond's sword ; 
 
 * Alluding to her grants to the Clergy. N. 
 
 When 
 
 }
 
 ,1 
 
 clxXXlV PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 When Anjou's fleet yielded its Indian store, 
 And at thy sacred feet depos'd the silver ore ; 
 I sent the goddess, when Victoria came, 
 And rais'd thy Churchill to immortal fame, 
 And Hochstet's bloody field advanc'd the hero's 
 
 name. 
 Nor shall thy glories or thy triumphs cease, 
 But thy rough wars shall soften into peace. 
 Charles * shall from thee his diadem receive, 
 And shining pomp which you alone can give ; 
 The Gallic Lion, list'ning at his shore, 
 Shall fear to tempt the British dangers more, 
 But sculk in desarts where he used to roar : 
 Admiring worlds before thy throne shall stand, 
 And willing nations bend to thy command. 
 
 " For you, ye inveterate enemies to peace, 
 Whom Kings can ne'er oblige, nor Heaven can 
 
 please ; 
 Who blindly zealous into faction run, 
 And make those dangers you'd be thought to shun ; 
 For shame, the transports of your rage give o'er, 
 And let your civil feuds be heard no more : 
 To the wise conduct of my Anna trust ; 
 JCnow your own good, and to yourselves be just: 
 And, when with grief you see your brother stray, 
 Or in a night of error lose his way, 
 Direct his wandering, and restore the day. 
 To guide his steps, afford your kindest aid, 
 And gently pity whom ye can't persuade ; 
 Leave to avenging Heaven his stubborn will, 
 For, O, remember, he's your brother still : 
 
 * The Archduke Charles. N. 
 
 Let
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIPT. clxXXY 
 
 Let healing mercy through your actions shine, 
 And let your lives confess your cause divine." 
 
 Frowning, the Goddess spoke, and strait withdrew. 
 Scattering ambrosial odours as she Hew ; 
 Her trembling sons, immoderately scar'd, 
 Fled from th' uneasy truths which suddenly they heard. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 The famous Speech-maker of Engla?id, or Baron 
 (alias Barren) Lovel's Charge * at the Assizes at 
 Exon, April 5, 1710. 
 
 Risum teneatis } 
 
 From London to Exon, 
 By special direction, 
 Came down the world's wonder,. 
 Sir Salathiel Blunder, 
 With a quoif on his head 
 As heavy as lead ; 
 And thus open'd and said : j 
 
 Gentlemen of the Grand Inquest, 
 
 Her Majesty, mark it, 
 Appointed this circuit 
 For me and my brother, 
 Before any other ; 
 To execute laws, 
 As you may suppose, 
 
 * See the original charge in the Examiner* 1745, No. I. p. 55. 
 Sir Salathiel Lovel died May 3, 1 7 1 7- N. 
 
 Upon 
 
 I
 
 dxXXvi PIECES ASCKIBED TO SWIFT, 
 
 Upon such as offenders have been : 
 
 So then, not to scatter 
 
 More words on the matter, 
 We're beginning just now to begin. 
 But hold first and foremost I must enter a clause, 
 As touching and concerning our excellent laws ; 
 
 Which, here I aver, 
 
 Are better by far 
 Than them all put together abroad and beyond 
 
 sea: , 
 
 For I ne'er read the like, nor e'er shall, I fancy. 
 
 The laws of our land 
 
 Don't abet, but withstand, 
 
 Inquisition and thrall, 
 
 And whate'er may gall, 
 
 And fire withal ; 
 
 And sword that devours 
 
 Wherever it scowers : 
 They preserve liberty and property, for which men 
 
 pull and hale so, 
 And they are made for the support of good govern- 
 ment also. 
 
 Her Majesty, knowing 
 
 The best way of going 
 To work for the weal of the nation, 
 
 Builds on that rock, 
 
 Which all storms will mock, 
 Since Religion is made the foundation. 
 
 And, I tell you to boot, she 
 
 Resolves resolutely, 
 
 No promotion to give 
 
 To the best man alive, 
 
 In Church or in State, 
 
 (I'm an instance of that,) * 
 
 But
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clxXXvil 
 
 But only to such of a good reputation 
 
 For temper, morality, and moderation. 
 
 Fire ! fire ! a wild-fire, 
 
 ^ *) tt sjf -** 
 
 Which greatly disturbs the Queen's peace, 
 Lies running about ; 
 And if you don't put it out, 
 
 (That's positive) will increase : 
 
 And any may spy, 
 
 With half of an eve, 
 That it comes from our Priests and Papistical fry. 
 
 Ye have one of these fellows, 
 
 With fiery bellows, 
 Come hither to blow and to puff here ; 
 
 Who having been toss'd 
 
 From pillar to post, 
 At last vents his rascally stuff here : 
 Which to such as are honest must sound very oddly, 
 When they ought to preach nothing but what's very 
 
 godly; 
 As here from this place we charge you to do, 
 As ye'll answer to man, besides ye know who. 
 
 Ye have a Diocesan, * 
 
 But I don't know the man ; 
 
 They tell me, however, 
 
 The man's a good liver, 
 
 And fiery never ! 
 
 Now, ye under-pullers, 
 
 That wear such black colours, 
 
 ! 
 
 f A line seems to be wanting here. N. 
 
 * Dr. Offspring Blackall. He was made Bishop of Exeter in 
 1707, and died in 17 16. He published a volume of Sermons in 
 Svo, 1707 i re-printed with his other works, in 2 vols, folio, 1723. 
 
 N. 
 
 How
 
 Clxxxviii PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT, 
 
 How well would it look, 
 
 If his measures ye took, 
 
 Thus for head and for rump 
 
 Together to jump ; 
 
 For there's none deserve places, "1 
 
 I speak't to their faces, 
 
 But men of such graces, 
 And I hope he will never prefer any asses : 
 Especially when I'm so confident on't, 
 For reasons of state, that her Majesty won't. 
 
 Know, I myself I 
 
 Was present and by, 
 At the great trial, where there was a great company, 
 Of a turbulent Preacher, who, cursedly hot, 1 
 Turn'd the fifth of November, even the gun-powder ! 
 
 plot, 
 Into impudent railing, and the devil knows what : J 
 Exclaiming like fury it was at Paul's, London 
 How Church was in danger, and like to be undone, 
 And so gave the lie to gracious Queen Anne ; 
 And, which is far worse, to our Parliament-men : 
 
 And then printed a book, 
 
 Into which men did look : 
 
 True, he made a good text ; 
 
 But what follow'd next 
 Was nought but a dunghill of sordid abuses, 
 Instead of sound doctrine, with proofs to't, and uses. , 
 
 It was high time of day 
 
 That such inflamma- 
 tion should be extinguish'd without more delay : 
 But there was no engine could possibly do't, 
 Till the Commons play'd theirs, and so quite put it out. 
 
 So the man was tried for't, 
 
 Before highest court : 
 
 Now
 
 } 
 
 FIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. clxXXlX. 
 
 Now its plain to be seen, 
 
 It's his principles I mean, 
 Where they suffer'd this noisy and his lawyers to 
 bellow : 
 
 Which over, the blade 
 
 A poor punishment had 
 
 For that racket he made. 
 
 By which ye may know 
 
 They thought as I do, 
 That he is but at best an inconsiderable fellow. 
 
 Upon this I find here, 
 ,And every where, 
 That the country rides rusty, and is all out of geer : 
 
 And for what ? 
 
 May I not 
 
 In opinion vary, 
 
 And think the contrary, 
 
 But it must create 
 
 Unfriendly debate, 
 
 And disunion straight ; 
 
 When no reason in nature -\ 
 
 Can be given of the matter, f 
 
 Any more than for shapes or for different f 
 
 stature ? J 
 
 If you love your dear selves, your Religion, or 
 
 Queen, 
 Ye ought in good manners to be peaceable men : 
 
 For nothing disgusts her 
 
 Like making a bluster ; 
 
 And your making this riot, 
 
 Is what she could cry at, 
 Since all her concern's for our welfare and quiet. 
 
 I would ask any man 
 
 Of them all that maintain 
 
 6 Their 
 
 ..}
 
 } 
 
 t. J 
 
 CXC PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 Their Passive Obedience 
 
 With such mighty vehemence, 
 
 That damn'd doctrine, I trow ! 
 
 What he means by it, ho', 
 
 To trump it up now ? 
 
 Or to tell me, in short, 
 
 What need there is fort ? 
 
 Ye may say, I am hot ; 
 
 I say I am not ; 
 Only warm, as the subject on which I am got 
 
 There are those alive yet, 
 
 If they do not forget, 
 May remember what mischiefs it did Church and 
 State ; 
 
 Or at least must have heard 
 
 The deplorable calamities 
 
 It drew upon families, 
 About sixty years ago, and upward. 
 
 And now, do ye see, 
 
 Whoever they be, 
 
 That make such an oration 
 
 In our Protestant nation, 
 As though Church was all on a fire, 
 
 With whatever cloak 
 
 They may cover their talk, 
 
 And wheedle the folk, 
 
 That the oaths they have took, 
 
 As our Governors, strictly require ; 
 I say they are men (and I'm a Judge, ye all know,) 
 That would our most excellent laws overthrow ; 
 For the greater part of \hem to church never go 
 Or, what's much the same, it by very great chance 
 
 is, 
 If e'er they partake of her wise ordinances. 
 
 Their 
 
 0W,)| 
 
 go; J
 
 Pieces ascribed to swift. oxci 
 
 i 
 
 ( 
 
 ands, I as- ( 
 J, 
 
 :h 
 
 } 
 
 Their aim \s, no doubt, 
 
 Were they made to speak out, 
 To pluck down the Queen, that they make all this 
 rout ; 
 
 And to set up, moreover, 
 
 A bastardly brother ; 
 Or at least to prevent the House of Hanover. 
 
 Ye Gentlemen of the Jury, 
 
 What means all this fury, 
 
 Of which I'm inform'd by good hands 
 sure ye ; 
 This insulting of persons by blows and rude speeches, 
 And breaking of windows, which, you knoW, maketh 
 breaches ? 
 
 Ye ought to resent it, 
 
 And in duty present it, 
 
 For the law is against it : 
 Not only the actors engag'd in this job, 
 But those that encourage and set on the mob : 
 The mob, a paw word, and which I ne'er mention, 
 But must in this place, for the sake of distinction. 
 I hear that some bailiffs and some justices 
 Have strove what they could, all this rage to suppress; 
 
 And I hope many more 
 
 Will exert the like power, 
 
 Since none will, depend on't, 
 
 Get a jot of preferment, 
 But men of this kidney, as I told you before. 
 I'll tell you a story : Once upon a time 
 Some hot-headed fellows must needs take a whim, 
 
 And so were so weak \ 
 
 ('Twas a mighty mistake) 
 
 To pull down and abuse 
 
 Bawdy-houses and stews ; 
 vol. i. n Who,
 
 CXC11 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. 
 
 Who, tried by the laws of the realm for high-treason, 
 Were hang'd, drawn, and quarter'd, for that very reason . 
 
 il When the time came about 
 For us all to set out, 
 We went to take leave of the Queen ; 
 
 Where were great men of worth, 
 
 Great heads, and so forth, 
 he greatest that ever were seen : 
 And she gave us a large 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 And particular charge; 
 
 Good part on't indeed 
 
 Is quite out of my head ; 
 
 But I remember she said, 
 We should recommend peace and good neighbour- 
 
 bourhood, where- 
 soever * we came ; and so I do here ; bnA 
 For that every one, not only men and their wives, 
 Should do all that they can to lead peaceable lives ; 
 And told us withal, that she fully expected 
 A special account how ye all stood affected ; 
 When we've been at St. James's, you'll hear of the 
 matter. 
 
 Again then I charge ye, 
 
 Ye men of the Clergy, 
 
 That ye follow the track all 
 
 Of your own Bishop Blackall, 
 
 And preach, as ye should, 
 
 What's savoury and good ; 
 
 And together all cling, 
 
 As it were in a string ; 
 
 * This is perfectly Swiftian j and indeed the whole of this 
 parody is strongly marked with the spirit of the Dean-j and tends 
 te confirm the authenticity of the preceding parodies. N. 
 
 . Not
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. CXtiU 
 
 Not falling out, quarrelling one with another, 
 Now we're treating with Monsieur, that son of his 
 mother. 
 
 Then proceeded on the common matters of the Law ; 
 and concluded, 
 
 Once more, ana no more, since few words are best, 
 I charge you all present, by way of request, 
 
 If ye honour, as I do, ft 
 
 Our dear Royal Widow; 
 
 Or have any compassion 
 
 For Church or the Nation ; 
 
 And would live a long while 
 
 In continual smile, 
 
 And eat roast and boil, 
 
 And not be forgotten, 
 
 When ye are dead and rotten ;. 
 That ye would be quiet and peaceably dwell, 
 And never fall out, but p s all in a quill. 
 
 %* This Parody was inserted, by trie present Editor, in the 
 Supplement to Swift's Works, 1779. N. 
 
 } 
 
 
 H 2
 
 CXC1V PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWlfT. 
 
 OVIDIANA, 
 
 COMMUNICATED BY DR. BARRETT. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 A Poem, occasioned by the Hangings in the Castle 
 of Dublin, in which the Story of Phaeton is ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 NOT asking or expecting ought, 
 One day I went to view the Court, 
 
 Unbent and free from care or thought, 
 Tho' thither fears and hopes resort. 
 
 A piece of tapestry took my eye, 
 
 The faded colours spoke it old ; 
 But wrought with curious imagery, 
 
 The figures lively seem'd and bold. 
 
 Here you might see the youth prevail, 
 
 (In vain are eloquence and wit,) 
 The boy persists, Apollo's frail ; 
 
 Wisdom to Nature does submit. 
 
 There mounts the eager charioteer, 
 
 Soon from his seat he's downward hurl'd ; 
 
 'Here Jove in anger doth appear, 
 
 There all, beneath, the flaming world. 
 
 1 What
 
 
 PIECES ASCBIBED TO SWIFT. CXCT 
 
 What does this idle fiction mean ? 
 
 Is Truth at Court in such disgrace, 
 It may not on the walls be seen, 
 
 Nor e'en in picture show its face ? 
 
 No, no, 'tis not a senseless tale, 
 
 By sweet-tongu'd Ovid dress'd so fine ; 
 
 It does important truths conceal, 
 And here was plac'd by wise design. 
 
 A lesson deep with learning fraught, 
 
 Worthy the cabinet of Kings ; 
 Fit subject of their constant thought, 
 
 In matchless verse the Poet sings. 
 
 Well should he weigh, who does aspire 
 
 To empire, whether truly great, 
 His head, his heart, his hand conspire, 
 
 To make him equal to that seat. 
 
 If only fond desire of sway, 
 
 By avarice or ambition fed, 
 Make him affect to guide the day, 
 
 Alas, what strange confusion's bred 
 
 If, either void of princely care, 
 Remiss he holds the slacken'd rein : 
 
 If rising heats or mad career, 
 
 Unskill'd, he knows not to restrain 
 
 Or if, perhaps, he gives a loose, 
 In wanton pride to show his skill. 
 
 How easily he can reduce 
 
 And curb the people's rage at wiU ? 
 
 In
 
 CXCVl PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT, 
 
 In wild uproar they hurry on ; 
 
 The great, the good, the just, the wise, 
 
 (Law and Religion overthrown,) 
 Are first mark'd out for sacrifice. 
 
 When, to a height their fury grown, 
 Finding too late he can't retire, 
 
 He proves the real Phaeton, 
 And truly sets the world on fire. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 The Story of Orpheus, burlesqued. 
 
 Orpheus, a one-ey'd blearing Thracian., 
 The Crowder of that barb'rous nation. 
 Was ballad- singer by vocation ; 
 Who up and down the country strolling, 
 And with his strains the mob cajoling, 
 Charm'd 'em as much as each man knows 
 Our modern farces do our beaux : 
 To hear whose voice they left their houses, 
 Their food, their handicrafts, and spouses ; 
 Whilst, by the mercury of his song, 
 He threw the staring, gaping throng 
 (A thing deserving admiration,) 
 Into a copious salivation. 
 From hence came all those monstrous stories,. 
 That to his lays wild beasts danc'd borees ; 
 That after him, where'er he rambled, 
 The lion ramp'd, and the bear gambol'd. 
 And rocks and caves (their houses) ambled 
 For sure, the monster Mob includes 
 AH beasts, stones, stocks, in solitudes. 
 
 He. 
 
 i \ 
 
 ed: 3
 
 Jl JJLICIO, 
 
 ay, 1 
 
 say, V 
 
 3 
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. CXCtti 
 
 He had a spouse, yclep'd Eurydicc, 
 As tight a last as e'er your eye did see ; 
 Who being caress'd one day by Morpheus, 
 In absence of her husband, Orpheus, 
 As in the god's embrace she lay, 
 Died, not by metaphor they say, 
 But the ungrateful literal way 
 For a Modern's * pleas'd to say by't, 
 From sleep to death there's but a way-bit. -\- 
 Orpheus at first, to appearance grieving, 
 For one he had oft wish'd damn'd, while living, 
 That he may play her, her farewell, 
 Resolv'd to take a turn to hell : 
 (For spouse he guess'd was gone to the devil) 
 There was a husband damnably civil. 
 Playing a merry strain that day, 
 Upon th' Infernal King's highway, 
 He caper'd on, as who should say, 
 Since spouse has pass'd the Stygian ferry, 
 Since spouse is damn'd, I will be merry : 
 And wights who travel that way daily, 
 Jog on by his example gaily. 
 Thus scraping, he to hell advanc'd ; 
 When he came there, the Devil danc'd ; 
 All hell was with the frolic taken : 
 And with a huge huzza was shaken. 
 All hell broke loose, and they who were 
 One moment past plung'd in despair, 
 Sung, Hang, sorrow, cast away care. 
 But Pluto, with a spiteful prank, 
 Ungrateful devil, did Orpheus thank, 
 * Tasso. 
 f The author has written f, way-bit" instead of (< aw-bit," 
 
 the northern phrase, signifying a small space, for the sake of the 
 
 rhyme. J. 
 
 Orpheus, 
 
 }
 
 CX.CV1U PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT; 
 
 Orpheus, said he, I like thy strain 
 
 So well, that here's thy wife again : 
 
 But on those terms receive the blessing, 
 
 'Till thou'rt on earth, forbear possessing. 
 
 He who has play'd like thee in hell, 
 
 Might e'en do t'other thing as well ; 
 
 And shades of our eternal night 
 
 Were not design 'd for such delight : 
 
 Therefore, if such in hell thou usest, 
 
 Thy spouse immediately thou losest. 
 
 Quoth Orpheus, I am manacled, I see : 
 
 You and your gift be damn'd, thought he; 
 
 And shall be, if my skill don't fail me, 
 
 And if the devil does not ail me. 
 
 Now Orpheus saw importance free, 
 
 By which once more a slave was he. 
 
 The damn'd chang'd presently their notes, 
 
 And stretch'd with hideous howl their throats ; 
 
 And two and two together link'd, 
 
 Their chains with horrid music clink'd; 
 
 And in the concert, yell and fetlock 
 
 Express'd the harmony of wedlock. 
 
 He, by command, then lugg'd his dowdy 
 
 To Acheron, with many a how-d'ye ; 
 
 But, as the boat was tqw'rd them steering, 
 
 The rogue with wicked ogle leering, 
 
 Darted at her fiery glances, 
 
 Which kindled in her furious fancies. 
 
 Her heart did thick as any drum beat, 
 
 Alarming Amazon to combat. 
 
 He soon perceives it, and too wise is 
 
 Not to lay hold on such a crisis : 
 
 His moiety on the bank he threw, 
 
 Whilst thousand devils look'd askew. 
 
 Thus
 
 y 
 
 *1ECE8 ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. CXC1X 
 
 Thus spouse, who knew what long repentance 
 
 Was to ensue by Pluto's sentence, 
 
 Could not forbear her recreation 
 
 One poor half day, to avoid damnation- 
 
 Her from his arms the Furies wrung, 
 
 And into hell again they flung. 
 
 He singing thus, repass'd the ferry, 
 
 (f Since spouse is damn'd, I will be merry/' 
 
 No. in. 
 
 Action ; or the Original of Horn Fair, 
 
 Some time about the month of July, 
 Or else our antient authors do lye, 
 Diana, whom poetic noddies 
 Would have us think to be some goddess, 
 (Tho', in plain truth, a witch she was, 
 Who sold grey pease at Ratcliff-cross) 
 Went to the upsetting of a neighbour, 
 Having before been at her labour. 
 The gossips had of punch a bowl full, 
 Which made them all sing, O be joyful ! 
 A folly took them in the noddle, 
 Their over-heated bums to coddle : 
 So they at Limehouse took a sculler, 
 And cramm'd it so, no egg was fuller. 
 With tide of ebb, they got to Eriff^ 
 Where Punchinello once was sheriff. 
 Our jovial crew then made a halt, 
 To drink some Nantz, at what d'ye call't. 
 
 And
 
 CC PIECES ASCRIBfiD TO SWIFT. 
 
 And thence, if any car*d a fart for't, 
 Went to a stream that comes from Dartford ; 
 Where all unrigg'd, in good decorum, 
 As naked as their mothers bore them ; 
 And soon their tattling did outdo 
 An Irish howl or hubbubboo. 
 " O ^a," cries one, to joke the aptest, 
 " Methinks I'm grown an Anabaptist. 
 " If to be dipp'd, to Grace prefers, 
 *' I'm grac'd and sous'd o'er head and ears." 
 Whilst thus she talk'd, all en a sudden, 
 They grew as mute as hasty-pudding : 
 Daunted at th' unexpected sounds 
 Of hollaing men and yelping hounds, 
 Who soon came up, and stood at bay 
 At those who wish'd themselves away. 
 But, to increase their sad disaster, 
 After the curs appear'd their master ; 
 Actaeon nam'd, a country gent, 
 Who hard by somewhere liv'd in Kent ; 
 And hunting lov'd more than his victuals, 
 And cry of hounds, 'bove sound of fiddles. 
 He saw his dogs neglect their sport, 
 Having sprung game of better sort ; 
 Which put him in a fit of laughter, 
 Not dreaming what was coming after. 
 Bless me ! how the young lecher star'd ! 
 How pleasingly the spark was scar'd ! 
 With hidden charms his eyes he fed, 
 And to our females thus he said : 
 " Hey, jingo ! what the de'el's the matter j 
 Do mermaids swim in Dartford water ? 
 The poets tell us, they have skill in 
 That sweet melodious art of singing : 
 - i U
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFT. wCCI 
 
 If to that tribe you do belong, 
 
 Faith, ladies, come, let's have a song. 
 
 What, silent ! ne'er a word to spare me ? 
 
 Nay, frown not, for you cannot scare me. 
 
 Ha, now I see you are mere females, 
 
 Made to delight and pleasure us males. 
 
 Faith, ladies, do not think me lavish. 
 
 If five or six of you I ravish. 
 
 I'gad, I must." This did so frighten 
 
 The gossips, they seem'd thunder-smitten. 
 
 At last Diana takes upon her 
 
 To vindicate their injured honour; 
 
 And by some necromantic spells, 
 
 Strong charms, witchcraft, or something else, 
 
 In twinkling of the shell of oyster, 
 
 Transmogrified the rampant royster 
 
 Into a thing some call a no^man, 
 
 Unfit to love or please a woman. 
 
 The poets, who love to deceive you, 
 
 (For, once believe them, who'd believe you?) 
 
 Say that, to quench his lecherous fire, 
 
 Into a stag she chang'd the squire ; 
 
 Which made him fly o'er hedges skipping, 
 
 'Till his own hounds had spoil'd his tripping. 
 
 But I, who am less given to lying, 
 
 Than jolly rakes to think of dying, 
 
 Do truly tell you here between us, 
 
 She only spoil'd the spark for Venus; 
 
 Which soon his blood did so. much alter, 
 
 He car'd for love less than for halter : 
 
 No more the sight of naked beauty 
 
 Could prompt his vigour to its duty : 
 
 And in this-case, you may believe, 
 
 He hardly stay'd to take his leave. 
 
 He
 
 CCU PIECES ASCRIBED TO 8WHTT, 
 
 He had a wife, and she, poor woman, 
 Soon found in him something uncommon. 
 In vain she striv'd, young, fair, and plump, 
 To rouse to joy the senseless lump. 
 She from a drone, alas ! sought honey, 
 And from an empty pocket money. 
 Thus us'd, she for her ease contrives 
 That sweet revenge of slighted wives ; 
 And soon of horns a pair most florid 
 Were by her grafted on his forehead ; 
 At sight of which his shame and anger 
 Made him first curse, then soundly bang her. 
 And then his rage, which over-power'd him, 
 Made poets say, his dogs devour'd him. 
 At Cuckold's Point he died with sadness ; 
 (Few in his case now shew such madness ;) 
 Whilst gossips, pleas'd at his sad case, 
 Straight fix'd his horns just on the place, 
 Lest the memory on't should be forgotten, 
 When they, poor souls, were dead and rotten ; 
 And then from Queen Dick got a patent, 
 On Charlton Green to set up a tent ; 
 Where once a year, with friends from Wapping, 
 They tell how they were taken napping. 
 
 The following age improved the matter, 
 And made two dishes of a platter. 
 The tent where they used to repair, 
 Is now become a jolly fair ; 
 Where ev'ry eighteenth of October, 
 Comes citizen demure and sober, 
 With basket, shovel, pickaxe, stalking 3 
 To make a way for's wife to walk in : 
 Where having laid out single money, 
 In buying horns for dearest honey, 
 
 O'er
 
 PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFA CC1U 
 
 O'er furmity, pork, pig, and ale, 
 
 They cheer their souls, and tell this tale. 
 
 * # * Of these three Pieces I know not the author or authors. 
 But from Swift's haying a place which obliged him to an attendance 
 at Dublin Castle, about 1701, and from his having written his first 
 political pamphlet, on the Contests in Athens and Rome, about 
 that time, which pamphlet seems to convey opinions not unlike 
 those expressed in the first of these poems, I have been led to sup- 
 post, that he perhaps was the author. To me, the writer appears 
 to have designed the four impeached Lords, Orford, Halifax, Port- 
 land, and Somers, under the names of 
 
 '* The great, the good, the just, the wise,'* 
 in one of the lines of this poem . 
 
 Towards the conclusion of No. Ill: we find a line not unlike 
 ene in the Parody on Mr. William Crow's Speech : and in No. II. 
 the rhymes, of " Eurydice" and " as you e'er did see," seem not 
 unlike Swift's rhymes in some of his undoubted pieces. 
 
 No.
 
 CC1V PIECES ASCRIBED TO SWIFTV 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 ! 
 I have extracted from the Lanesborough MS. the 
 following Notes for the poem, entitled " The Swan 
 Tripe Club," which is printed in p. clxix : 
 
 Famed Place Lucas's Coffee-house. 
 
 Modern Dome Swan Tavern. 
 
 Borachio Dr. Higgins. 
 
 Magpye Archdeacon Perceval. 
 
 Nutbrain Mr. Nutley. 
 
 Sooterkin Dr. Worth. 
 
 Moon-calf Archdeacon Neile. 
 
 From pamphlets in the College Library, marked 
 P. l6. 2. and 15. 24. I learn, that the persons are 
 these : 
 
 Borachio Parson Higgins. 
 
 Magpye Parson Perceval. 
 
 Firedrake Lawyer Echlin. 
 
 Grimbeard Mr. (or Captain) Locke. 
 
 Nutbrain Lawyer Nutley. 
 
 Sooterkin Dr. Worth, a physician. 
 
 Moon-calf Reverend Mr. Radclifre. 
 
 Crab Mr. Hedg Young, or Mr. 
 
 Hogg Young, the late 
 Lord Chancellor Porter's 
 [purse] bearer. 
 
 The
 
 JIECES ASCRIBE TO SWIFT* CCV 
 
 The Lanesborough MS. assigns the following dates 
 to these compositions of Swift : 
 
 1. Ballad to Lady B. B [Betty Berkeley.] Once 
 
 on a time as old stories . -Aug. 1702. 
 
 2. Sid Hamet's Rod. 
 
 3. Vanbrugh's House. In times of old, &c 
 
 4. Salamander 1 705 
 
 5. History, of Vanbrugh's House. When") 
 
 Mother Cludd M70S 
 
 6. Elegy on Partridge t J 
 
 7- Description of the Morning. April 1709. 
 
 >1703 
 
 
 ( In a pamphlet in my possession, printed at London, 
 in 17 10, is given Swift's Poem on Baucis and Philemon*: 
 which is entitled, " A Poem on the ever-lamented loss 
 of the two Yew Trees, in the Parish of Chilthorne, 
 near the County Town of Somerset." Agreeably to 
 this, it has some variations from the copy printed 
 in Swift's Works ; which I shall briefly state. 
 
 It reads, 
 
 Disguis'd in habits poor and rent, 
 To a small village in Somerset went. 
 
 Instead of, " Old Goodman Dobson," &c. it reads, 
 Honest old Goodman Haine of hill, 
 Says, methinks I should see them still. 
 
 And the last line of the poem is this : 
 So the same parson stubb'd and burnt it. 
 
 ; 
 
 * See vol. xvi. ed. J 808, p. 74. N. 
 
 No.
 
 CVI HECES ASCRIBED TO SWIET> 
 
 
 
 VT Tf 
 
 No. V. 
 
 From the Lanesborough MS. 
 
 A SATYB. 
 
 No wonder storms more dreadful are by far, 
 Than all the losses of a twelve years' war. 
 No wonder Prelates do the Church betray ; 
 Old Statesmen vote and act a different way. 
 No wonder magic arts surround the throne : 
 Old Mother Jennings in her Grace is known. 
 Old England's Genius, rouse ; her charms dispell ; 
 Burn but the witch, and all things will do well.* 
 
 * The name of the author of the above is not mentioned in th 
 M6. 
 
 . 
 
 THE
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OP 
 
 DOCTOR SWIFT. 
 
 WRITTEN 
 
 By THOMAS SHERIDAN, Esq, 
 
 1784, V 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 

 
 (3) 
 
 DETUR DIGNISSIMO. 
 
 X here present the world with the Life of Dr. Swift, 
 a man, whose original genius, and uncommon talents, 
 have raised him, in the general estimation, above all 
 the writers of the age. But from causes to be here- 
 after explained, his character as a man has hitherto 
 been very problematical; nor shall I find it easy, 
 notwithstanding the most convincing proofs, to 
 persuade mankind, that one who flourished in the 
 beginning of this century, in times of great cor- 
 ruption, should afford in himself a pattern of such 
 perfect virtue, as was rarely to be found in the annals 
 of the ancient republick of Rome, when virtue was 
 the mode. Yet if it can be shown that even at this 
 day, when corruption seems to have arrived at its 
 utmost pitch, when prostitution is openly avowed, 
 and publick spirit turned into a jest; if in such times 
 as these in face Romiiliy there lives a man fully 
 equal to Swift in all the moral virtues attributed to 
 him; the improbability of the existence of such a cha- 
 racter at a former period, will be much lessened. 
 In the following history Swift has been represented 
 as a man of the most disinterested principles, re- 
 gardless of self, and constantly employed in doing 
 good to others. In acts of charity and liberality, 
 in proportion to his means, perhaps without an 
 equal, in his days. A warm champon in the cause 
 of liberty, and support of the English constitution. 
 B 2 A
 
 * DEDICATION. 
 
 A firm patriot, in withstanding all attempts against 
 his country, either by oppression, or corruption ; 
 and indefatigable in pointing out, and encouraging 
 the means to render her state more flourishing. 
 Of incorruptible integrity, inviolable truth, and 
 steadiness in friendship. Utterly free from vice, and 
 living in the constant discharge of all moral and 
 christian duties. If, in these times, there should be 
 found a man resembling him in all these points, it 
 is fit the memorial of him, together with that of 
 his immortal compeer, should be handed down to 
 latest posterity: and that such a one does exist, 
 will be acknowledged by all who have ever heard 
 the universally revered name of Sir George S a vile. 
 To him, therefore, is the following Life of a con- 
 genial patriot inscribed by its author; who has long 
 admired his character, and been well acquainted 
 with his worth, though a stranger to his person. 
 
 P. S. The above was committed to the press 
 some weeks before the much lamented death of the 
 excellent man, to whom it was addressed; but the 
 publication has by some accidents been deferred 'till 
 now. That the author had no interested view in his 
 choice of a patron (though he must ever regret 
 the occasion) he has now an opportunity of showing, 
 by letting the above Dedication remain in its original 
 state, and thus consecrating to the memory of the 
 dead, that tribute pf praise, so justly due to the 
 living. 
 
 [17840
 
 (5) * 
 
 NTRODUCTION. 
 
 JN otwithstanding the several attempts to gra- 
 tify the curiosity of the world, in delineating the 
 Life and Character of the immortal Swift, yet hi- 
 therto little satisfactory has been produced on that 
 subject. The different, and often opposite lights in 
 which he has been shown by the several writers, 
 have occasioned an equal diversity of judgments in 
 their several readers, according to their various pre- 
 possessions; and even the most candid are too often 
 left in a state of doubt, through the want of having 
 the truth laid before them supported by sufficient 
 proofs. 
 
 Perhaps there never was a man whose true cha- 
 racter has been so little known, or whose conduct 
 at all times, even from his first setting out in life, 
 has been so misrepresented to the world, as his. 
 This was owing to several causes, which will be laid 
 open in the following work. But the chief source 
 of all the erroneous opinions entertained of him, 
 arose from Swift himself, on account of some sin- 
 gularities in his character, which at all times ex- 
 posed him to the shafts of envy and malice, while 
 he employed no other shield in his defence, but that 
 of conscious integrity. 
 
 He had, early in life, from causes to be hereafter 
 explained, imbibed such a strong hatred to hypo- 
 crisy, that he fell into the opposite extreme; and 
 no mortal ever took more-pains to display his good 
 qualities, and appear in the best light to the world, 
 
 than
 
 6 introduction. 
 
 than he did to conceal his, or even to put on the 
 semblance of their contraries. 
 
 This humour affected his whole conduct, as well 
 in the more important duties, as in the common 
 offices of life. 
 
 Though a man of great piety, and true religion, 
 yet he carefully shunned all ostentation of it: as an 
 instance of which, it is well known that during his 
 residence in London, not being called upon by any 
 duty to officiate ptiblickly in his clerical capacity, 
 he was seldom seen at church at the usual hours 
 ^ that pretenders to religion show themselves there; 
 but he was a constant attendant on early prayers, 
 and a frequent partaker of early sacraments. 
 i Though generous and charitable in his nature to 
 the -highest degree, he seemed to part with money 
 so reluctantly, and spoke so much about economy, 
 that he passed for avaricious, and hardhearted. 
 
 His very civilities bore the appearance of rude- 
 ness, and his finest compliments were covered under 
 the disguise of satire. 
 
 Lord Bolingbroke, who knew him well, in two 
 words summed up his character in this respect, by 
 saying, that Swift was a hypocrite reversed. 
 
 In short, he always appeared to the world in a 
 "mask, which he never took off but in the company 
 of his most intimate friends: and as the world can 
 judge only by appearances, no wonder they were so 
 much mistaken in the ideas formed of him. 
 
 When we consider that the time in which he 
 made the chief figure in life, was a season wherein 
 faction raged with the greatest violence; that he 
 was looked upon as the principal champion of the 
 tory cause, and therefore was the common butt at 
 
 which
 
 INTRODUCTJON. 
 
 Xvhich all the writers on the whig side levelled their 
 shafts: there will be no occasion to wonder, that 
 out o the many calumnies poured out against him, 
 some of them should stick. These were indeed so 
 numerous, that we are told by himself, that in the 
 space of not many years, upward of a thousand 
 pamphlets and papers were written professedly 
 against him: to which; he never deigned to give an 
 answer, nor endeavoured to wipe off any aspersion 
 thrown on him. Thus by the former part of his 
 character, just laid open, he afforded his enemies 
 sufficient groundwork on which to raise what so* 
 perstructure of calumny they pleased, and as no 
 defence was made, it was daily suffered to increase. 
 For he had very unwisely laid it down as a maxini, 
 " To act uprightly, and pay no regard to the opi- V 
 nionof the world*.'* 
 
 Thus, while he was admired, esteemed, beloved, 
 beyond any man of his time, by his particular friends, 
 not only on account of his superiour talents, but his / 
 preeminence in every kind of virtue; he was en- 
 vied, feared, and hated by his enemies, who con- 
 sisted of a whole virulent faction to a man. And 
 when we take in the general appetite for scandal, 
 and the spirit of envy in the bulk of mankind, which 
 delights in the humiliation of an exalted character, 
 we ,shall not be surprised, that even among his own 
 party, he found few advocates to vindicate his fame ; 
 and that he had no other support in this torrent of 
 abuse, but the consciousness of his own rectitude, 
 
 * Miss Vanhomrigh, in one of her letters to him, has the 
 following passage. " You once had a maxim, which was 
 To act what was right, and not mind what the world would 
 say." S. 
 
 and
 
 \1 
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and the unalterable attachment of his intimate 
 friends: among which number he could count such 
 as were most eminent in those days, both for talents 
 and virtue. 
 
 In this state Swift continued till the death of the 
 queen; admired by all as a genius, detested by 
 most as a man. All the world now knows, upon 
 that event, with what implacable malice the whigs 
 pursued their antagonists, as soon as they had got 
 all power into their hands. This spirit raged still 
 more violently 4n Ireland, than in England; the 
 effects of which Swift sensibly felt on retiring to his 
 deanery. The ill name he had obtained in Lon- 
 don, followed him to Dublin; where he was the 
 object of general hatred for some years. But 
 when, in process of time, his true character came 
 to be known, and his exemplary conduct gave the 
 lie to* the gross misrepresentations that had been 
 made of him: when his spirit of patriotism broke 
 forth into action, and saved his country from 
 threatened ruin; when it was seen that the great 
 object of his life was to promote publick good ; 
 that in the discharge of all moral and religious 
 duties, he had no superiour; in the choice and 
 extent of his charities, perhaps no equal; he 
 obtained such a degree of publick favour, as no 
 man in that country had ever reached. Praise was 
 united to his name, admiration and affection to his 
 person; and this just tribute was ever after paid 
 to him during his life, and to his memory after his 
 decease ; till a certain author arose, bent upon 
 sullying his fair fame, who, opening the channels 
 of calumny, long covered over by time, and raking 
 in them with a friendly industry, once more 
 
 brought
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 brought their foul contents to light. Nor was 
 it an enemy that did this, but one who professed 
 himself Swift's friend, and who was, during his 
 lifetime, his greatest flatterer; I mean John earl of 
 Orrery. 
 
 The cruel manner in which he has treated the 
 memory of his friend Swift, as his lordship in the 
 course of the work often aftects to call him, had 
 something so surprising in it, that people were at a 
 loss how to account for it, except by supposing it to 
 proceed from some uncommon degree of malevo- 
 lence in his lordship's nature. But though he can- 
 not be wholly cleared from an imputation of that 
 sort, yet I am persuaded that his chief motive to it 
 was not quite of so black a die. His father had, in 
 his will, bequeathed his library from him; and this 
 circumstance made the world conclude that he 
 looked upon his son as a blockhead. This stung 
 the young man to the quick; and we may see how 
 deep an impression it made on him, by the account 
 he gives of it in one of his letters to his son. It 
 seems to have "been the chief object of his life af- 
 terward, to wipe away this stigma, and convince 
 the world of the injustice done him, by publishing 
 fome work that might do him credit as a writer. 
 Conscious of his want of genius to produce any 
 thing original, he applied himself diligently to a 
 translation of Pliny's Letters; but he was so long 
 about this task, and put it into so many hands to 
 correct it, that Melmoth's excellent translation of 
 the same work, slipped into the world before his, 
 and forestalled this avenue to fame. Vexed at 
 this disappointment, he looked out for some other 
 way by which he might acquire literary reputa- 
 tion,.
 
 x./ 
 
 10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tion, and be found no field so suited to his talents, 
 as that of criticism; since, to make a figure there, 
 required neither genius, nor deep learning: and 
 therefore he might, with ease, arrive at the title of 
 a true critick, as described in the Tale of a Tub* 
 Of whom it had been remarked, " That a true 
 critick is a sort of mechanick set up with a stock 
 and tools for his trade, at as little expence as a 
 tailor." But Swift denies this position" For, 
 (says he) on the contrary, nothing is more certain, 
 that it requires greater layings out to be free of the 
 cri tick's company, than that of any other you can 
 name. For, as to be a true beggar, it will cost the 
 richest candidate every groat he is worth; so, be- 
 fore one can commence a true critick, it will cost a 
 man all the good qualities of his mind: which 
 perhaps, for a less purchase, would be thought but 
 an indifferent bargain." As his lordship has fairly 
 paid the purchase, it would be hard if lie should be 
 denied the title. 
 
 The business now was, to find out a proper sub- 
 ject on which to exercise his talents in that way. 
 As there never had been published any History of 
 Swift's Life, he thought nothing could excite ge- 
 neral curiosity more than some account of that ex- 
 traordinary man. It is true he was supplied with 
 but scanty materials for such a work; for though 
 he had lived a short time in som$ degree of inti- 
 macy with Swift, yet it was only in the latter part 
 of his life, when he was declined into the vale of 
 years, when his faculties were impaired, when his 
 temper, soured by disappointments, and his spirits 
 sunk by continual attacks of a cruel disorder, made 
 as great a change in his mind, as in his outward 
 1 form,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 form, so that little of his former self remained. Tq 
 draw his character at length, from observations made 
 at such a period, was the height of injustice; and 
 yet his lordship had no opportunity of knowing any 
 thing of the brighter part of his days, but from com- 
 mon report. For as Swift was the last man in the 
 world to talk much of himself, his lordship's ac- 
 quaintance with him furnished him with no mate- 
 rials of that sort; he therefore had recourse to com- 
 mon fame, which, as I have before shown, had 
 been always busy in calumniating that great man; 
 and with a cruel industry he collected and revived 
 all the reports, which had formerly been spread to 
 his disadvantage. His lordship's chief view in pub- 
 lishing this work, being to acquire celebrity as an 
 author 
 
 kominum volitare per ora 
 
 in order to obtain this end, he knew that satire wa* 
 more likely to procure a rapid sale to the book, 
 than panegyrick. All regard therefore to truth, 
 justice, honour, and humanity, was to be sacri- 
 ficed, whenever they came in competition with this 
 great end. 
 
 The event did credit to his lordship's sagacity, 
 for the work had a rapid sale, and soon ran through 
 a variety of editions. This was owing to several 
 causes. The whigs were then a great majority of 
 the nation, and in possession of all the power. 
 Though their animosity against those of the oppo- 
 site party had somewhat subsided, yet was it far 
 from being wholly extinguished. They had always 
 entertained an implacable hatred to Swift, as the 
 great champion of the other side; which was not 
 
 extinguished
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 extinguished by his death, as in the case of others, 
 because his immortal works still continued a living 
 war against the base measures they pursued. It was 
 with delight therefore they read over a work, which 
 painted him in the same colours, in which they had 
 always endeavoured to represent him. The bulk of 
 mankind, finding that the accounts there given, 
 coincided with the general prejudices founded on 
 common fame, readily received them as true. And 
 that spirit of envy, an inmate in the breasts of most 
 men, which delights in seeing those of superiour 
 talents degraded, and brought down more to a 
 level with themselves, was highly gratified by the 
 perusal of that book. Nor was it the least cause 
 of an extensive sale, that it was written by a lord; 
 a thing so rare in latter times! wonder, usually 
 accompanied by a bad taste, looks out only for 
 what is uncommon; and if a work comes abroad 
 under the name of a thresher, a bricklayer, or a 
 lord, it is sure to be eagerly sought after by the 
 million. 
 
 To these.* and similar causes, was owing the fa- 
 vourable reception this book met with; which, in 
 itself, contains little that could be approved of by 
 men of true taste. What relates to Swift's Life, 
 from the scantiness of his materials, does not take- 
 up a sixth proportion of the whole. The greater 
 part of the remainder, consists of useless or invidious 
 criticisms on his works. Yet all this not being suf- 
 ficient to make up a just volume, (according to the 
 booksellers' phrase) he has eked it out from his 
 common place book, in order to show his learning, 
 by introducing several dissertations, foieign to the 
 .subject in hand: such as those on madness, idiot- 
 
 isffl,
 
 INTRODUCTION. T3 
 
 ism; characters of Homer, Aristotle; of Ramus, 
 Scotus, and Aquinas; of Epicurus, Descartes, and 
 Gassendi. Remarks upon the writings of lord 
 Bacon, Milton, Harrington, Algernon Sidney, lord 
 Clarendon, Dr. Sprat, Sir William Temple, Addi- 
 son, lord Bolingbroke, &c. with many other im- 
 pertinencies. 
 
 Not long after the publication of this work, there 
 came out an answer to it, under the title of ' Ob- V 
 gervations on lord Orrery's Remarks on the Life 
 and Writings of Dr. Swift," afterward known to be 
 written by Dr. Dclany; who from an early and 
 long intimacy with the dean, was able to refute 
 most of the facts, upon which his lordship grounded 
 his observations, by producing uncontrovertible 
 proofs to the contrary. Yet, though this book was 
 written with great spirit, and carried the evidence 
 of truth with it; as it was an anonymous publica- 
 tion, it was little attended to, except by those who 
 wished well to the memory of the dean. Besides, 
 truth is not the object sought after by those who 
 are desirous of remaining in an errour. Swift has 
 an observation on this head which will be found 
 to be generally true: "The ill talent of the world 
 is such, that those who will be at pains enough to 
 inform themselves in a malicious story, will take 
 none at all to be undeceived; nay will be apt with 
 some reluctance to admit a favourable truth." This 
 observation was never more strongly verified than 
 in the case before us; for, while the book which 
 calumniated Swift's character, and endeavoured to 
 depreciate his talents, though poorly written, went 
 through a great number of editions; the single 
 pne of the Answer, incomparably superipur in every 
 
 thins: 
 
 o
 
 T4 INTRODUCTION. ' 
 
 thing which can recommend writings of that kind, 
 still remains unsold. 
 
 But whatever favourable reception this book met 
 with in England, never did I know such a uni- 
 versal indignation as was excited in all ranks of 
 people, by the publication of it in Ireland. They 
 were the only proper judges of his character, who 
 had an opportunity of knowing his conduct, during 
 a residence of so many years. If they admired him 
 for his genius, they almost adored him for his vir- 
 tues. In his publick capacity, he was one of the 
 truest patriots that ever lived ; and for the many 
 important services he did his country, he was hailed 
 by the general voice pater patrice. In his private 
 life, of the strictest morals; and in the discharge 
 of his clerical duties, of exemplary piety. His 
 chanties were boundless, and the whole business 
 of his life was, doing good. As party animosities 
 had long before subsided, he had few enemies left; 
 and even those few, when their hatred, together 
 with their fear, had been buried in his grave, joined 
 in doing all justice to his memory. To calumniate 
 the character of such a man, was thought little less 
 than sacrilege; and the rage of the people was 
 such, that it vented itself even on the poor printer of 
 the work, who became for a long time the object of 
 publick odium. It was happy for his lordship that 
 he did not pay a visit to that country during the fer- 
 ment, for he would, most assuredly, have been 
 grossly insulted by the populace, and avoided by all 
 of a superiour rank. 
 
 Dr. Delany's Answer was followed by another 
 from Deane Swift, esq. As it came from a near 
 relrtion of the Dean's, it, at first, excited some ex- 
 pectation :
 
 lNTKOmJCTION. 15 
 
 pectation: which was soon succeeded by disappoint- 
 ment, and the work consigned to oblivion. Where 
 let it rest. 
 
 On the publication of a new edition of Swift's 
 works, the proprietors applied to Dr. Hawkesworth y 
 to write his Life. He was an author of no small 
 (eminence; a man of clear judgment, and great can- 
 dour. He quickly discerned the truth from the 
 falsehood; wiped away many of the aspersions that 
 had been thrown on Swift's character; and placed 
 it, so far as he went, in its proper light. But as 
 he had no new materials of his own, and was con- 
 fined to such only as were contained in former pub- 
 lications, the view he has taken of his life is very 
 imperfect; many of the most important articles are 
 omitted, and others still left in a very doubtful state. 
 The last writer who has given any account of 
 Swift, is Dr. Johnson ; who seems to have under- 
 taken this task, rather from the necessity he was 
 under of taking some notice of him in the course 
 of his Biographical History of the English Poets, 
 than from choice. He has presented us only with 
 a short abstract of what he found in Dr. Hawkes- 
 worth, for which he makes the following apology. 
 " An account of Dr. Swift has been already collected 
 with great diligence and acuteness, by Dr. Hawkes- 
 worth, according to a scheme which I laid before 
 him in the intimacy of our friendship. I cannot 
 therefore be expected to say much of a life, concern- 
 ing which I had long since communicated my 
 thoughts, to a man capable of dignifying his nar 
 ration, with so much elegance of language, and 
 force of sentiment." Accordingly he has produced 
 little new on the subject, except some observations 
 
 qf 
 
 v
 
 1 d INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of his own, which are far from being favourable to 
 the character of Swift. It is much to be lamented 
 that a man of his great abilities did not choose to 
 follow his friend Hawkesworth in the paths of just 
 and candid criticism, instead of associating himself 
 with lord Orrery to the band of true cri ticks. Of 
 which body he has shown himself no unworthy 
 member, not on this occasion only, but in the many 
 severe strictures passed on the lives and writings of 
 some of the greatest geniuses this country has pro- 
 duced ; to the no small indignation of their several 
 admirers, and to the great regret of the doctor's own. 
 As this work is more likely to be generally read 
 than any of the others; on account of the great 
 reputation of the author, and as it will of course pre- 
 sent itself to the eyes of all who shall go through his 
 collection of lives, I shall hereafter take an oppor- 
 tunity of making some comments upon those pas- 
 sages, which tend to depreciate and misrepresent 
 the character of so great a man. 
 
 These several publications, which place the life 
 and character of Swift in very different, and often 
 opposite points of light, have occasioned great di- 
 versity in the judgments formed of them by the 
 world, according to the different degrees of preju- 
 dice, or candour, in their several readers. But as 
 the sale of the first essay on this subject, written by 
 lord Orrery, was infinitely superiour to that of all 
 the others put together, the prepossessions in favour 
 of the accounts delivered by him, have, for reasons 
 already assigned, made too deep an impression on 
 the bulk of mankind, to be easily erased. I have 
 before taken notice of the scantiness of his mate- 
 rials, which yet he has not ranged in any regular 
 
 order
 
 INTRODUCTION". If 
 
 order; and which consist chiefly of detached facts 
 and unconnected anecdotes, so that there is no ap- 
 pearance of a whole. The portrait he has drawn of 
 him, puts one in mind of certain paintings to be 
 seen at the optician's in St. Paul's churchyard, where 
 we behold some scattered and distorted features, 
 covered with blotches of various colours, so that we 
 cannot discover what it is intended to represent: 
 till by the application of a cylindrical mirror, we 
 are surprised to see start forth a face of the finest 
 proportioned features, and most beautiful complexion. 
 By such an application of the mirror of truth I 
 hope to show Swift in a similar light. 
 
 I have long wished for leisure to set about this 
 task, which a life spent in a variety of laborious oc- 
 cupations has hitherto prevented. And even now I 
 am obliged to suspend pursuits of more advantage- 
 ous kind with regard to myself, in order to accom- 
 plish it*. But, reflecting, at this advanced period 
 of life, on the near approaches of old age, which 
 might soon disqualify me from carrying my design 
 into execution, I determined to postpone all other 
 considerations, that might stand in the way of an 
 object I have had so much at heart. The love I had 
 to his person, and the reverence in which I was 
 taught, from my earliest days, to hold his character, 
 and with which I had an opportunity of being well 
 acquainted,- on account of the long intimacy sub- 
 sisting between him and my father; and above all, 
 the means I have in my power of rescuing his good 
 name from the aspersions thrown on it by foul- 
 
 * Mr. Sheridan was paid more by the booksellers for this 
 single life, than Ur. Johnson received for the whole of his Bio- 
 graphy of the English Poets. N. 
 
 vol. i. C mouthed
 
 18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mouthed calumny, have made me think it an indis- 
 pensable duty, no longer to delay doing justice to his 
 memory. 
 
 From the above acknowledgment of my early pre- 
 possessions in his favour, it may be thought that I 
 shall prove not an unprejudiced historian: but, 
 though I am conscious to myself that I shall never 
 be guilty of any wilful misrepresentations, I know 
 too well how little weight all professions of impar- 
 tiality carry with them on such occasions, to trouble 
 the reader with any. I desire no credit to be given 
 to assertions or opinions not supported by the most 
 convincing proofs: which therefore, in all dispu- 
 table points, I hope I shall be indulged in producing 
 at full length. And I doubt not but that the display 
 of Swift's true character and conduct in life, though 
 to the confusion of his maligners, and disappoint- 
 ment of the envious and malevolent, will give great 
 satisfaction to all good minds; as it is of moment to 
 the general cause of religion and morality, to make 
 it appear, that the greatest genius of the age was, 
 at the same time, a man of the truest piety, and 
 most exalted virtue.
 
 C9) 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 DOCTOR SWIFT, 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 oWIFT was descended from an ancient family in 
 Yorkshire, of no small note, and considerable pro- 
 perty. He was of the younger branch*. His 
 grandfather, the reverend Thomas Swift, was pos- 
 sessed of a good estate, and was distinguished above 
 any man of his station in life, for his attachment to 
 Charles I. and the sufferings he underwent in sup- 
 port of the royal cause, by which his fortune was 
 entirely ruined. He had ten sons, and three daugh- 
 ters. Five of his sons went to seek their fortune in 
 Ireland : the fourth of whom Jonathan, was father 
 to the famous doctor Swift. He had married Mrs. 
 Abigail Erick, descended from an ancient family 
 of that name in Leicestershire, but with little or 
 no fortune. He died young* in about two years 
 after his marriage, seven months before the birth 
 
 * For farther particulars of Swift's family, see his own account 
 in the Appendix. S. 
 
 VOL. I. C 2 C>C
 
 V 
 
 10 TfcE LfFE 
 
 of his only son; and as he was but just beginning 
 the world, left his widow in very distressed circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Jonathan Swift, afterward the celebrated dean 
 of St. Patrick's, was born on the 30th of Novem- 
 ber 1667, in Hoey's court, Dublin. When he 
 was but a year old, he was, without the know- 
 ledge of his mother or relations, stolen away by his 
 nurse, and carried to Whitehaven*, which place 
 she was under necessity of visiting, on account of 
 the illness of a relation, from whom she expected a 
 legacy; and, as is usual among Irish nurses, she 
 bore such an affection to the child, that she could 
 not think of going without him. There he con- 
 tinued for almost three years; and she took such 
 care of him, that he had learned to spell, and could 
 read any chapter in the Bible before he was five 
 years old. 
 
 At the age of six he was sent to the school of 
 Kilkenny -f-; and at fourteen admitted into the uni- 
 versity of Dublin; the expense of liis education 
 
 * He retained his affection for Whitehaven to the last, as if 
 it were his native place ; and when one of his friend*, who 
 had spent a little time there in 1739* told lum in the Spring 
 following, that a merchant from thence, with his son and 
 daughter, were then in Dublin, he invited them to dinner, and 
 shewed them many civilities whilst they stayed in that city. N. 
 
 + This - school, or college as it is called, of Kilkenny, is a 
 large building erected for that purpose, founded and endowed 
 by the Ormond family. In the school-room Swift's name still 
 remains, as he cut it. on the side-board of the seat of his class 
 with his knife, after the custom of boys. And here he said he 
 first learned, soon after he entered the school, these words, 
 which he termed l.atino-Anglice, " Mi dux, et amasti lux." 
 This species of writing became afterwards one of those whim- 
 sical amusements with which he entertained himself as he sunk 
 in vears. N.
 
 OP DOCTOR- SWIFT. 21 
 
 being defrayed by his uncle Godwin Swift, the 
 eldest of the brothers who had settled in Ireland. 
 He was a lawyer of great eminence, and had made 
 considerable sums of money, which were for the 
 most part squandered away in idle projects. By 
 means of which, soon after his nephew had entered 
 the college, he found himself involved in great 
 difficulties; and being father of a numerous offspring 
 by four wives, he was under a necessity of reducing 
 the stipend allowed to his nephew for his support at 
 the university, as low as possible. The real situa- 
 tion of Godwin's affairs not being then known to 
 the world, and as he was looked upon to be much 
 the richest of the family, Swift's other relations 
 seemed at that time to think that their aid was not 
 at all necessary ; so that he was obliged to make the 
 best shift he could, with the wretched allowance 
 that his uncle gave him. Thus was one of the 
 most aspiring and liberal minds in the world, early 
 checked and confined, by the narrowness of his cir- 
 cumstances; with this bitter aggravation to a gene- 
 rous spirit, that the small pittance afforded by his 
 uncle, seemed to him, from the manner in which it 
 was given, rather as an alms doled out for charity, 
 than an act of beneficence due from so near a rela- 
 tion; who was supposed by him, as well as by the 
 rest of the world, to be in- circumstances that might 
 have afforded a much more liberal stipend, without 
 prejudice to his own family. Under this load did 
 the spirit of Swift groan for the space of near seven 
 years that he resided in the college of Dublin; 
 which made so deep an impression on him, that he 
 never afterward could think with patience of his )( 
 uncle Godwin, nor could heartily forgive the neg- 
 lect
 
 22 *HE LIFE 
 
 lect shown him during that time by his other relations. 
 The uneasy situation of mind which a young man 
 of high spirit must have been in, under such cir- 
 cumstances, produced consequences likely to prove 
 destructive of his future fortunes. For in such a 
 state, he could not bear to give the necessary appli- 
 cation to some of the more dry parts of the acade- 
 mick studies, for which he had indeed naturally no 
 great relish; but passed his time chiefly in reading 
 books of history and poetry ; which were better 
 suited to his taste, and more calculated to relieve 
 the troubles of his mind. In consequence of this, 
 when the time came fqr his taking the degree of 
 bachelor of arts, he was stopped, as he himself ex- 
 presses it, ee for dullness and insufficiency." It is 
 to be supposed that the word dullness was on this 
 occasion used by Swift jocosely, as the cause as- 
 signed for stopping any person of a degree, is an- 
 swering badly in any branch of literature appointed 
 for that particular examination ; which does not 
 necessarily imply dullness, as it may as well proceed 
 from idleness. But in Swift's case it was rather to be 
 imputed to contumacy, than either the one or the 
 other. ' For the fact is, there was one branch of the 
 examination, on which the greatest stress was laid in 
 those days, in which he could not be said to answer 
 badly, for he did not attempt to answer at all. This 
 account I had from his own lips. He told me that 
 he had made many efforts, upon his entering the 
 college, to read some of the old treatises on logick 
 writ by Smeglesius, Keckermannus, Burgersdicius, 
 &c. and that he never had patience to go through 
 
 three
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 23 
 
 three pages of any of them, he was so disgusted at 
 the stupidity of the work. When he was urged by 
 his tutor to make himself master of this branch, 
 then in high estimation, and held essentially neces- 
 sary to the taking of a degree ; Swift asked him, 
 " what it was he was to learn from those books r" 
 His tutor told him, " the art of reasoning." Swift 
 said, " that he found no want of any such art ; that 
 he could reason very well without it ; and that as far 
 as he could observe, they who had make the greatest 
 proficiency in logick, had, instead of the art of rea- 
 soning, acquired the art of wrangling; and instead 
 of clearing up obscurities, had learned how to per- 
 plex matters that were clear enough before. For his 
 own part, he was contented with that portion of 
 reason which God had given him, and he would 
 leave it to time and experience to strengthen and di- 
 rect it properly ; nor would he run the risk of having 
 it warped or falsely biassed, by any system of rules 
 laid down by such stupid writers ; of the bad effects 
 of which he had but too many examples before his 
 eyes, in those reckoned the most acute logicians." 
 And accordingly he made a firm resolution that he 
 never would read any of those books. Which he so 
 pertinaciously adhered to, that though he was stopped 
 of his degree the first time of sitting for it, on ac- 
 count of his not answering in that branch, he went 
 into the hall a second time, as ill prepared in that 
 respect as before ; and would also have been stopped 
 a second time, on the same account, if the interest 
 of his friends, who well knew the inflexibility of his 
 temper, had not stepped in, and obtained it for him ; 
 though in a manner little to his credit, as it was in 
 
 serted
 
 24 THE LIFE 
 
 serted in the college registry, that he obtained it 
 specmli gratia ; where it still remains upon record*. 
 
 In going through the usual forms of disputation 
 for his degree, he told me he was utterly unacquainted 
 even with the logical terms, and answered the argu- 
 ments of his opponents in his own manner, which 
 the proctor put into proper form. There was one 
 circumstance in the account which he gave of this, 
 that surprized me with regard to his memory ; for he 
 told me the several questions on which he disputed, 
 and repeated all the arguments used by his opponents 
 in syllogistick form, together with his answers. 
 I ' He remained in the college near three years after 
 this, not through choice, but necessity ; little known 
 or regarded. By scholars he was esteemed a block- 
 head ; and as the lowness of his circumstances would 
 not permit him to keep company of an equal rank 
 with himself, upon an equal footing, he scorned 
 to take up with those of a lower class, or to be ob- 
 liged to those of a higher. He lived therefore much 
 alone, and his time was employed in pursuing his 
 course of reading in history and poetry, then very 
 unfashionable studies for an academick ; or in gloomy 
 meditations on his unhappy circumstances. Yet un- 
 der this heavy pressure, the force of his genius broke 
 out, in the first rude draught of the " Tale of a 
 Tub," written by him at the age of nineteen, though 
 communicated to nobody but his chamber fellow Mr, 
 Waryng ; who, after the publication of the book, 
 made no scruple to declare that he had read the first 
 
 * Some others of the same class were at the same time ad- 
 mitted in the like manner ; namely, Nathanael Jones, John Jones, 
 Michael Vandeleur, and William Brereton. N. 
 
 sketch
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 25 
 
 sketch of it in Swift's handwriting, when he was of 
 that age*. 
 
 Soon after this, his uncle Godwin was seized with 
 a lethargy, which rendered hiin incapable of busi- 
 ness ; and then it was that the broken state of his 
 affairs was made publick. Swift now lost even the 
 poor support that he had before ; but his uncle 
 William supplied the place of Godwin to him, 
 though not in a more enlarged way, which could 
 not be expected from his circumstances ; yet with 
 so much better a grace, as somewhat lightened the < 
 burden of dependance, and engaged Swift's grati- 
 tude afterward, who distinguished him by the title 
 of <f the best of his relations." He had no expec- 
 tation however of receiving any thing more from him 
 than what was absolutely necessary for his support; and 
 his chief hopes now for any thing beyond that, rested 
 in his cousin Willoughby Swift, eldest son of his 
 uncle Godwin, a considerable merchant at Lisbon. 
 Nor was he disappointed in his expectations. For, 
 soon after the account of his father's unhappy situa- 
 tion had reached Willoughby Swift at Lisbon, he, re- 7 
 fleeting that his cousin Jonathan's destitute condition 
 demanded immediate relief, sent him a present of a 
 larger sum thaiT ever Jonathan had been master of 
 jn his life before. This supply arrived at a critical 
 juncture ; when Swift, without a penny in his purse, j 
 was despondingly looking out of his chamber win- 
 dow, to gape away the time, and happened to cast 
 his eye upon a seafaring man, who seemed to be 
 
 * He appears also to have intended to write " An Account of 
 the Kingdom of Absurdities" aboui the same time. In the " Tale 
 of a Tub" sueh a tract is mentioned, as intended by the anony- 
 mous author. N. 
 
 makinp-
 
 A 
 
 26 THE LIFE 
 
 making inquiries after somebody's chambers. The 
 thought immediately came into Swift's head, that 
 this might be some master of a vessel who was the 
 bearer of a present to him from his cousin at Lisbon. 
 He saw him enter the building with pleasing expec- 
 tation, and soon after heard a rap at his door, which 
 he eagerly opening, was accosted by the sailor with, 
 " Is your name Jonathan Swift r" Yes !" Why 
 then I have something for you from master Wil- 
 loughby Swift of Lisbon." He then drew out a large 
 leathern bag, and poured out the contents, which 
 were silver cobs, upon the table. Swift, enraptured 
 at the, sight, in the first transports of his heart, 
 pushed over a large number of them, without rec- 
 koning, to the sailor, as a reward for his trouble ; 
 bat the honest tar declined taking any, saying 
 i<r that he would do more than that for good master 
 Willoughby." This was the first time that Swift's 
 disposition was tried with regard to the management 
 of money ; and he said that the reflection of his 
 constiint sufferings through the want of it, made him 
 husband it so well, that he was never afterward with- 
 out something in his purse. 
 
 Soon -after this, upon the breaking out of the war 
 in Ireland, Swift determined to leave that kingdom, 
 and to visit his mother at Leicester, in order to con- 
 sult with lief upon his future plan of life. 
 
 Such was the opening of this great man's life ; and 
 from such a beginning, who could at that time have 
 imagined that such mighty things were to ensue ? He 
 was now in his one and twentieth year ; unqualified 
 for any profession but that of the church ; in which 
 he had no prospect of succeeding from interest ; and 
 the disgraceful manner of taking his degree, was a 
 
 strong
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. *1J 
 
 strong bar to any hopes on the score of merit. He 
 had made no advances in any of the useful studies 
 necessary to put a young man forward in the world ; 
 the recluseness of his life had rendered him little 
 known ; and a temper naturally splenetick, soured by 
 the misery of his situation, did not qualify him 
 much for making personal friends. How unpro- 
 mising were the prospects of such a man, just en- 
 tering into the world, under such circumstances ! N 
 and yet it is to those very circumstances, proA / 
 bably, that the world owes, a Swift ; to the want\r' 
 of money, want of learning, want of friends. Who- 
 ever is acquainted at all with the life and writings of 
 Swift, must see that he had an uncommon share of 
 spirit and fire in his constitution. Such as, had it 
 not been kept under during the heat of youth, would 
 probably have precipitated him into some extravagant 
 courses. Nothing less than the lowness of his cir- 
 cumstances from his birth, could have kept that fire 
 from bursting out; nothing less than the galling 
 yoke of dependance, could have restrained that proud 
 spirit within due bounds. His poverty and his pride 
 were two excellent guards set over him, during that 
 most dangerous time of life, to fix and keep him in 
 a course of virtue. The one debarred him from ex- 
 cesses in the pleasurable gratifications of youth, which 
 money only can procure ; the other kept him from 
 endeavouring to obtain from the purse of others, by 
 mean compliances, any pleasures that he could not 
 purchase from his own fund. Thus necessarily fixed 
 in a course of temperance, the practice of other mo- 
 ral duties became easy to him. And indeed there was 
 no flaw to be found in his moral character, during his 
 residence in the college., however low his parts might 
 
 be rated. 
 
 2 Thus
 
 28 THE LIFE 
 
 Thus far I have shown the benefits which were 
 probably derived to him from his want of fortune. I 
 , shall now show what advantages it is likely he de- 
 rived from want of learning. 
 
 Had Swift met with sufficient encouragement to 
 apply himself to the learning of the times ; had his 
 situation in the college been rendered easy to him, 
 so that he might have pursued his studies with an 
 undisturbed mind; had his emulation been rouzed 
 in such a way as to make him enter into a compe- 
 tition with those of his own standing; it is highly 
 probable, from the greatness of his parts, tha he 
 would have thrown all competitors at a distance. 
 And in that case he might have acquired a fondness 
 for those studies by which he obtained fame, how- 
 ever disagreeable they might have been to him at first. 
 He might have proved the foremost logician, metaphy- 
 sician, or mathematician of his time ; he might have 
 passed his life, like some of the most eminent of his 
 fellow students, in useless speculations ; and instead 
 of writing a Laputa, he might himself have been 
 qualified for a professorship in the academy of that 
 airy region. 
 
 Let us only suppose Swift to have been a distin- 
 guished scholar in the university, and we may rea- 
 sonably suppose also, that, circumstanced as he was, 
 his friends would have made him sit for a fellow- 
 ship there, as the surest and best provision for any 
 one so educated. Or else, encouraged by the hope- 
 ful expectations raised from the distinguished figure 
 he made in the college, they would have pushed 
 all their interest to have gotten him some small pre- 
 ferment in the church. In either of which cases, 
 the Swift of the world, might have been lost in a 
 
 university
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. ig 
 
 university monk, or a country vicar. On the other 
 hand, the disgrace thrown on him in the college, V 
 deprived him of all hopes of preferment, and ren- 
 dered his friends so cold to his interest, that he had 
 no expectations of future support, but by changing 
 the scene to another country ; where only there was 
 a field large enough for the exertion of those high 
 talents, which yet in a great measure lay dormant 
 in him. 
 
 x\nd with respect to the third article, the want of 
 friends ; had it not been for that circumstance, he 
 would not have been under a necessity of going to 
 seek for new ones, in another country ; and he might 
 probably never have fallen into the hands of that par- \f 
 ticular friend, who was perhaps the only one living, 
 capable of forming his mind to those great things 
 which he afterward executed. 
 
 It was in the year l6$S- that Swift left Ireland ;- 
 he was then in his one and twentieth year. Suppose 
 him landed in a country where he was utterly un- 
 known, and without recommendatory letters that 
 might introduce him to the acquaintance, or pro- 
 cure him the assistance of any one in that country, 
 with regard to any future plan of life. Let us stop a 
 while, and survey the future Swift, setting out on 
 foot from Chester, in order to go to a mother, who 
 was utterly incapable of affording him the least as- 
 sistance, as she herself was chiefly supported by pre- 
 sents and contributions from her relations. One 
 can hardly imagine a situation more hopeless with 
 regard to externals : and with respect to his own 
 internal powers, he had yet given no proofs of those 
 which would not rather occasion despondency in his 
 relations, than raise in them any hopes of his being 
 
 1 able
 
 30 THE LIFE 
 
 able to push his own way in the world. And in- 
 deed at that juncture perhaps there were few living 
 less qualified than he to do any thing for his own 
 support. 
 
 " The world was all before him where to choose 
 " His place of rest, and Providence his guide." 
 
 And he seems indeed to have been then under the 
 immediate guidance of Providence ; for, hopeless as 
 the end of such a journey might at that time have 
 appeared, it proved in fact the means of all his fu- 
 ture greatness. 
 
 After a residence of some months with his mother, 
 he laid before her the uncomfortableness of his pre- 
 sent situation, and the gloominess of his future pros- 
 pects ; requesting her advice what course he should 
 pursue. She clearly saw that her son's case required 
 the assistance of some powerful friend, and the un- 
 fortunate can seldom number such among their ac- 
 quaintance She recollected however that sir Wil- 
 liam Temple's lady was her relation ; and that there 
 had been a long intimacy between sir John Temple, 
 father to sir William, and the family of the Swifts in 
 Ireland ; she knew also that a cousin german of her 
 son's, the reverend Thomas Swift, had been chap- 
 lain to sir William Temple, and had been provided 
 for by him in the church, on the score of family 
 connexions. She recommended it therefore to her 
 son to go to sir William, and make his case known 
 to him. 
 
 However grating such an application might be to 
 the proud spirit of Swift, yet, as it was his only re- 
 source, he followed his mother's advice, and soon 
 afterwards presented himself to sir William Temple 
 
 at
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 31 
 
 at Sheen*, requesting his advice and assistance. 
 Sir William was a man of too much goodness and 
 humanity, not to take compassion on a young man 
 born an orphan, without fortune, distressed from his 
 cradle, and without friends or interest to push him 
 forward in life ; who at the same time had a double, 
 claim to his favour, as related by blood to a wife for 
 whom he had the highest honour and affection ; and 
 as the offspring of a family with whom his father had 
 lived in the closest ties of friendship. He accord- 
 ingly received him cheerfully into his house, and 
 treated him with that hospitable kindness which fa- 
 mily connexions, and what was still more to a gene- 
 rous mind, his unfortunate situation demanded of 
 him. But yet we do not find, for a long time, that 
 his kindness to him was increased from motives of 
 personal regard, on a nearer acquaintance with him. 
 It is probable that sir William early sounded his 
 depth of knowledge, and examined into the progress 
 he had made in his studies ; which was far from be- 
 ing so great as might have been expected from his 
 course of education and time of life. The first good 
 office that sir William could do him, therefore, was 
 
 * Moor Park having been purchased by sir William Temple in 
 \686, he resided there when Swift came to him in l6'S8. At the 
 Revolution, which happened about the end of that year, Moor 
 Park growing unsafe, by lying in the way of both armies, sir Wil- 
 liam came back to the house which he had given up to his son at 
 Sheen; and, in the end of l(>89, again retired to Moor Park. 
 On a review of these dates, it will be seen that, in the two years 
 which Swift passed with sir William Temple, he resided first at 
 Moor Park ; then at Sheen, where he had the honour of fami- 
 liarly conversing with king William ; and afterwards at Moor 
 Park again, where his majesty likewise visited sir William. Sge 
 the Life prefixed to sir William Temple's Works. N. 
 
 to
 
 32 THE LIFE 
 
 to put him into a course of reading, in order that he 
 might redeem lost time. Accordingly we find that 
 Swift, during his residence with sir William, ap- 
 plied himself with great assiduity to his studies ; in 
 which, for the space of eight years, he was employed, 
 by his own account, at least eight hours a day, with 
 but few intermissions. The first of these was occa- 
 sioned by an illness, which he attributed to a surfeit 
 of fruit, that brought on a coldness of stomach, and 
 giddiness of head, which pursued him more or less 
 during the remainder of his life. After two years 
 residence at Moor Park, to which place he had re- 
 moved with sir William when the troubles were 
 ended, his state of health was so bad, that he was ad- 
 vised by physicians to try the effects of his native air 
 toward restoring it. In pursuance of this advice he 
 revisited Ireland ; but finding himself growing worse 
 there, he soon returned to Moor Park. ; where, upon 
 the abatement of his illness, he renewed his applica- 
 tion to his studies. 
 
 It does not appear that sir William Temple knew 
 any thing of the value of his young guest, till ahout 
 this time ; and Swift himself says that it was" then he 
 began to grow into some confidence with him. The 
 little progress Swift had made in learning at his first 
 arrival at Sheen, must have given sir William but a 
 mean opinion of his capacity ; and the few things 
 which he wrote during his first two years residence 
 with him, could have given him no very high idea of 
 his genius. For Swift had at that time so far mista- 
 ken his talents, that he tried his strength only in Pin- 
 darick odes ; in which, though there appeared some 
 vigour of mind, and efforts of an uncommon genius, 
 yet it was apparent that it was vigour improperly 
 
 exerted,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 33 
 
 exerted, and the efforts of a genius misapplied. The 
 sentiments were strained and crowded ; and the 
 numbers irregular and harsh*. How then shall we 
 account for the sudden change of sir William's sen- 
 timents toward him ? It could not, be on account of 
 his progress in literature, for he had not had time 
 enough to stand highly in the opinion of so distin- 
 guished a scholar as sir William was on that score. 
 And indeed, with all his assiduity, it is probable that 
 he had not then so far recovered lost time as to be 
 master of the learning which his standing required. 
 The most probable conjecture is, that Swift had, at 
 his leisure, revised and corrected his il Tale of a 
 Tub," which was sketched out by him in the college, 
 as was before mentioned, and now first showed it to 
 sir William. A work, bearing such a stamp of ori- 
 ginal genius, must, in a man of sir William Temple's 
 delicate taste, and nice discernment, have at once 
 raised the author into a high place in his esteem, and 
 made him look upon him afterward with very dif- 
 ferent eyes. Accordingly we find that, about this 
 period, he trusted him with matters of great impor- 
 tance. He introduced him to king William, and 
 suffered him to be present at some of their confer- 
 ences"!"'. He employed him in a commission of con- 
 sequence 
 
 * A few of these Odes, as being the first that have appeared of 
 his poetical writings, are placed at the head of his Poems, iri the 
 sixteenth volume of this edition. N. 
 
 + Sir William had been ambassador and mediator of a general 
 peace at Nimeguen, before the Revolution. In this character he 
 contracted a close intimacy with the prince of Orange; who, after 
 he had ascended the EngHhh throne, frequently visited him at 
 Sheen, and took his advice in affairs of the utmost importance. 
 Sir William being then lame of the gout, substituted Swift to at- 
 
 vot, I. D tend
 
 34 THE- LIFE 
 
 sequence to the king*, when he was unable to at- 
 tend him himself, which required dexterity, and 
 knowledge in the history of England. And above 
 all, he consulted him constantly, and employed him 
 In the revisal and correction of his own works. 
 
 In this situation Swift continued, still applying 
 closely to his studies till the year 1 6Q2, when he went 
 to Oxford in order to take his master's degree : to 
 which he was admitted on the 5th of July \6Q2. 
 
 From his delaying so long to take this degree, it 
 may be concluded that Swift was determined to pre- 
 pare himself for it in such a way, as might do him 
 credit in the eyes of the university, in order to wipe 
 off the disgrace of the former. And we may judge 
 that his progress in academick studies had been very 
 small, when it required four years application before 
 he thought himself qualified to appear at Oxford with 
 that view. Nor can there be any other reason as- 
 signed for his not having done it sooner, as he was 
 of sufficient standing to have applied for his master's 
 
 tend his majesty in Lis walks round the gardens; who admitted 
 him to such familiarity, that he showed him how to cut asparagus 
 in the Dutch fashion ; and or.ee ottered to make him a captain of 
 horse. But Swift appears to have fixed his mind very early on an 
 ecclesiastical life; and it is therefore probable that, upon declin- 
 ing this offer, he obtained a promise of preferment in the church j 
 for in a letter to his uncle William, dated lo't)2, he says, " I am 
 not to, take orders til! the king gives me a prebend." S. 
 
 * It appears that Swift had access to king William's ear at other 
 times, beside thai of his residence at Moor Park ; for, in his let- 
 ter concerning the repeal of the Sacramental Test, written in 
 . 1/OS, he says thus, " I remember, when I was last in England, I 
 told the king, that the highest Tories we had. with us (in Ireland) 
 would make tolerable Whigs there (in England)." Now it is cer- 
 tain that Swift was often in England from the death of sir* William 
 Temple to 170S. N. 
 
 degree
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 36 
 
 degree in the first year of his residence at Moor 
 Park. From the . satisfaction he expresses at the be- 
 haviour of the university of Oxford, and the civilities 
 he met with there, it is probable that he was not 
 undistinguished as a scholar; and that he found 
 the first end he proposed by his studies, fully an- 
 swered. 
 
 From Oxford he paid a visit to his mother, and 
 then returned to Moor Park. Not with a design of 
 continuing there, for~he now wanted to enter into the 
 world ; but in expectation of getting some preferment 
 by means of sir William's interest with the king, 
 which he had promised to exert in his behalf, and 
 had already indeed obtained an assurance of that sort 
 from his majesty. But Swift at this time entertained 
 some suspicion, that sir William was not so for- 
 ward on the occasion as he could wish ; and the rea- 
 son he assigned for it was, that sir William was ap- 
 prehensive Swift would leave him, and upon some 
 accounts he thought him a little necessary to him*. 
 Swift was indeed by this time become very necessary 
 to a man in the decline of life, generally in an ill 
 state of health, and often tortured with the most ex- 
 cruciating disorders. The loss of such a companion 
 as Swift, after such a long domestick intimacy, 
 would have been like the loss of a limb. Besides, as 
 he seems to have had nothing so much at heart in 
 the latter part of his life, as the leaving behind him 
 a corrected copy of all his writings, done under his 
 own inspection, he could not bear the thought that 
 Swift should leave him till that point was accom- 
 
 ; * Thus Swift expresses himself in a letter to his uncle William, 
 dated Moor Park, Nov. C >Q, l6V)2. S. 
 
 d 2 plished.
 
 3<5 THE LIFE 
 
 plished. He had already experienced the use that 
 he was of to him in that respect, and knew that his 
 place was not easily to be supplied. And his ill state 
 of health occasioned the work to advance but slowly, 
 as it was only during the most lucid intervals he ap- 
 plied to it. On these accounts, sir William was in 
 no haste to procure any preferment for his young 
 friend, to the great mortification of Swift. In this 
 uneasy state he continued at Moor Park two years 
 longer, and then, quite wearied out with fruitless ex- 
 pectation*, he determined at all events to leave sir 
 William, and take his chance in the world^. When 
 this his resolution was made known to sir William, 
 he received it with evident marks of displeasure ; but 
 that he might seem to fulfil his promise to Swift, of 
 making some provision for him, he coldly told him, 
 " that since he was so impatient, it was not at that 
 time in his power to do any thing more for him, than* 
 to give him an employment, then vacant in the office 
 of the Rolls in Ireland, to the value of somewhat 
 more than a hundred pounds a year." Swift imme- 
 diately -replied, " that, since he had now an oppor- 
 tunity of living, without being driven into the church 
 for a maintenance, he was resolved to go to Ireland to 
 take holy orders." To comprehend the full force of 
 this reply, it will be necessary to know that sir Wil- 
 liam was well acquainted with Swift's intention of go- 
 ing into the church, from which he had been hitherto 
 restrained only by a scruple of appearing to enter upon 
 
 * Me received frequent remittances from his uncle Wil- 
 liam and his cousin William Swift, during his residence at Moor 
 Park. N. 
 
 .+ See his account of this, in his letter to hi-s cousin Dean Swi!:, 
 dated June 8, l6<H. S. 
 
 that
 
 OP BOCTOR SWIFT. 37 
 
 that holy office, rather from motives of necessity, 
 than choice. He therefore saw through sir William's 
 design, in making him the offer of an employment 
 which he was sure would not be accepted by Swift. 
 With great readiness and spirit therefore, he made 
 use of this circumstance, at once to show a proper 
 resentment of the indelicacy of sir William's beha- 
 viour toward him ; and to assign an unanswerable 
 motive for immediately carrying his long-formed re- 
 solution into act. Their parting on this occasion was 
 not without manifest displeasure on the side of sir 
 William, and some degree of resentment, not ill 
 founded, on the part of Swift. 
 
 He procured a recommendation to lord Capel, 
 then lord deputy of Ireland, from whom is uncer- 
 tain, but it may be presumed, from the smallness of 
 the provision made for him in consequence of it, 
 that it was not a powerful one ; and therefore, that 
 sir William Temple had no share in it. He went 
 over to Ireland, and was ordained in September 
 1694, being then almost 27 years old. Soon after 
 this, lord Capel gave him the prebend of Kilroot 
 in the diocese of Connor, worth about one hundred 
 pounds a year*. To this place Swift immediately 
 repaired, in order to reside there, and discharge the 
 duties of his office. He now for the first time en- 
 joyed the sweets of independence ; but these sweets 
 were not of long duration, as he soon saw that the 
 scene of his independence could not possibly afford 
 him any other satisfaction in life. He found him^) 
 self situate in an obscure corner of an obscure coiin- f 
 try, ill accommodated with the conveniences of ) 
 
 * This preferment, in 178(5, was worth about 170). a year. N. 
 
 1.8 V60.
 
 3S THE LITE 
 
 life, without a friend, a companion, or any convex 
 sation that he could relish. What a contrast was 
 this to the delightful scene at Moor Park*! replete 
 with all the beauties, and adorned with every ele- 
 gance, that could charm the senses, or captivate the 
 fancy ; and where the mind had a continual feast of 
 the most rational and refined conversation. But 
 still the spirit of Swift so far prized liberty above all 
 other blessings in life, that had he had no other al- 
 ternative, he would certainly have preferred that 
 uncomfortable situation, to any state of dependance. 
 But he now began*to feel his own strength, and, 
 conscious of his powers, could not conceive they 
 were meant for so narrow a sphere as that of a small 
 country living. He felt an irresistible impulse once 
 more to launch into the world, and make his way 
 to a station more suited to his disposition. In this 
 -temper of mind, he received accounts from his 
 friends, that sir William Temple's ill-founded re- 
 sentment had subsided soon after his departure, and 
 that he w^as often heard to lament the loss of his 
 company. Soon after, Upon receiving a kind letter 
 from sir William himself, with an invitation to 
 Moor Park, his resolution was at once fixed. He 
 determined upon returning to England, but first re- 
 solved to resign his living. As there were some 
 singular circumstances attending this resignation, I 
 shall relate them exactly as I received them from a 
 gentleman of veracity, who declared he had the ac- 
 count from Swift himself. He said, that soon after 
 he had come to this determination, he was taking 
 
 -t In one of his letters, vol. II. p. 4.53, sir William Temple says, 
 " I spend all the time I possibly can at Sheen, and jiever saw any 
 thing pleasanter than my garden." N. 
 
 hif
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 39 
 
 his customary walk, and met an elderly clergyman 
 riding along the road. After the usual salutation, 
 he fell into discourse with him ; and was so pleased 
 with what passed between them, that he invited 
 him to dinner, and easily prevailed on him to be his 
 guest for a day or two. During this time Swift 
 found that he was a man of great simplicity of man- 
 ners, good sense, some learning, and unaffected 
 piety. And upon inquiring into his circumstances, 
 learned that he had only a curacy of forty pounds a 
 year, for the maintenance of a wife and eight chil- 
 dren. Swift lamented his situation, and told him 
 " that he had some interest which he would exert in 
 his behalf, and endeavour to procure him a living, i 
 lie would only lend him his black mare to carry him 
 to Dublin ;" for Swift was not at that time pos 
 sessed of a horse. The clergyman readily con- 
 sented, and went home on foot ; promising to meet 
 him any time he should appoint on his return. 
 Swift went to town, and represented the poor cu- 
 rate's case to his patron in such strong terms, as 
 soon prevailed on him to consent that Swift's living 
 should, upon his resignation, which was proposed at 
 the same time, be made over to him. Nor was 
 this a- difficult point to accomplish, as, beside mo- 
 tives of humanity, it was for the interest of the pa^ 
 tron to accept of an old incumbent of near sixty 
 years of age, in the room of a young one of twenty- 
 seven. Swift, having dispatched this business, re- 
 turned as soon as possible to the country, and gave 
 notice to the old gentleman to meet him. He found 
 him at his door on his arrival, and immediately upon 
 their going into the parlour put the presentation 
 into his hand, desiring him to read it, Swift said, 
 
 that
 
 40 THB LIFE 
 
 that while he was doing so, he kept his eyes steadily 
 fixed on the old man's face, in which the joy of 
 finding that it was a presentation to a living, was 
 visibly expressed : but when he came to that part 
 of t'.e writing which mentioned the name of the 
 living, and found that it was Swift's own which he 
 had resigned in his favour, he looked at him >for 
 some time in silence, with such a mixed emotion of 
 astonishment and gratitude in his countenance, as 
 presented to Swift one of the most striking pictures 
 of the mind expressed in the face, he had ever seen ; 
 and he said, that he never before had felt such ex- 
 quisite pleasure of mind as he did in that hour. Nor 
 is this to be wondered at, since it was the first op- 
 portunity he ever had of letting loose that spirit of 
 generosity and benevolence, whose greatness and 
 vigour, when pent up in his own breast by poverty 
 and dependance, served only as an evil spirit to tor- 
 ment him. And when we consider the nature of 
 this action in all its circumstances, that the object 
 of it was the worthy father of a numerous family, for 
 whom it was impossible he could make any provi- 
 sion from so poor an income as he then possessed ; 
 that the motive to it was pure disinterested bene- 
 volence, without any alloy, as the man was a stran- 
 ger to him, and therefore there could be no incen- 
 tive to it from ties of blood or friendship ; that the 
 gift was such as would brighten the latter days of 
 a well-spent life, though hitherto clouded with in- 
 digence, and make a whole family happy ; and 
 lastly, that this gift was not like that of a wealthy 
 man, w ho might easily spare it without feeling the 
 loss, but the whole visible income Swift possessed 
 for present and future support, the sole means in 
 
 his
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 4\ 
 
 iiis power of preserving that independence which 
 he had so long sighed for, and at last with difficulty 
 obtained : it is no wonder, I say, all these circum- 
 stances considered, that the great mind of Swift 
 should have exulted in so glorious an opportunity, 
 of paying off at once, the large debt, which, from 
 the narrowness of his circumstances, he had been 
 contracting all his life, to benevolence. 
 
 After seeing his* successor established in the 
 living, he soon settled his affairs, and set out for 
 Dublin, in his way to England. The old man, 
 before his departure, pressed him to accept of his 
 black mare, which was the most valuable of hi* 
 possessions, as a small token of his gratitude ; and 
 Swift was too well acquainted with the sensibility 
 of a generous heart, under obligations, to hurt him 
 by a refusal. 
 
 With about fourscore pounds in his pocket, which 
 by his own account was all his worldly wealth at that 
 time, Swift once more embarked for England, and 
 arrived at Moor Park in the year 1695, after some- 
 what more than a year's absence. 
 
 To all appearance he had but little bettered his 
 condition by his journey to Ireland. He was now 
 returned to the same state of dependance, which 
 had before proved so irksome to him, that he deter- 
 mined to break awav from it, at all hazards. But 
 there were several circumstances which contributed 
 to make his present state, though still dependant, 
 of a very different nature from the former. In the 
 first place, his situation now was not the effect of 
 necessity or constraint, but the object of his choice. 
 Jn the next, he was highly gratified with an oppor- 
 tunity of showing his regard and attachment to sir 
 
 William,
 
 41 THE LIFE 
 
 William, by returning voluntarily to him, when it 
 was in his power to have lived independently, 
 though he scorned to be compelled into it from mo- 
 tives of necessity. Then, by so readily complying 
 with sir William's request, and giving up all his 
 visible support in order to do so, he had laid him 
 under such an obligation as entitled him to all future 
 favours, which might be in his power te bestow*. 
 Accordingly we find, that Swift's mind being qpw 
 perfectly at ease, and sir William considering his 
 return, with all its circumstances, in the most oblig- 
 ing light, these two great men lived together to the 
 time of sir William's death, in the most perfect 
 harmony, and with marks of mutual confidence and 
 esteem. Nor do we find during that space, which 
 was almost four years, that Swift was at all pressing 
 on the score of preferment promised him ; which, 
 had he been so, he would certainly have obtained ; 
 but, from a true generosity of mind, he seemed de- 
 termined to stay with his friend in order to cheer his 
 latter days, which were embittered by illness and 
 pain, and required such a- cordial to make life sup- 
 portable ; and to lay aside all views with regard to 
 himself, till his friend's death should release him 
 from the benevolent task, and leave him at liberty 
 to pursue his own interest. 
 
 During this space Swift's time was fully and 
 usefully employed-i". He devoted eight hours a 
 
 day 
 
 * That Swift resigned his preferment in Ireland on the promise 
 of having a better here, appears by a letter from his sister, dated 
 May 2(5, 1 6^9. N. 
 
 f Several copious extracts from Cyprian, Irenaeus, Sledan's 
 Commentaries, Tertul'.ian, Epipbanius, Diodorus Sicufus, Tim- 
 
 cydjdes,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 43 
 
 day as before, to the prosecution of his studies*. 
 His function as a clergyman was confined to a pri- 
 vate family, but he was regular in the discharge of it, 
 having stated times in the morning and evening for 
 their meeting together at prayers. He took upon 
 himself the office of preceptor to a young lady, niece 
 to sir William Temple, residing in his house, teaching 
 her English, and directing her in a proper course of 
 reading. At the same time miss Johnson, afterward . 
 so well known by the name of Stella, was a fellow 
 student with the other young lady, and partook of 
 the benefit of the same instruction. Miss Johnson 
 was daughter to sir William Temple's steward; and 
 was at that time about fourteen years of age, beau- 
 tiful in her person, and possessed of such fine talents, 
 as made Swift take great delight in cultivating and 
 forming: "her mind. At this time too he writ his 
 famous Digressions to be found in the " Tale of a 
 Tub;" and the " Battle of the Books," in honour of 
 Jiis great and learned friend. 
 
 In 
 
 , cydides, and Father Paul's History of the Council df Trent, were 
 found among his papers, which appear, by memoranda in his 
 own hand-writing, to have been made while he lived with sir 
 William Temple. D. S. 
 
 * As many may be curious to know of what nature his studies 
 were, the following account of the books which he read in one 
 year, preserved in his own hand-writing, may afford some satis- 
 faction. N. 
 
 Conformite de Religion, tyc 
 From Jan. J, lQ9^-7- Dialogues des Morts, 2 vol. 
 
 Jjord Herbert's Henry Vlll.Jbl, Lucretius, ter. 
 Sleidan's Commentaries ab- Histoire de Mr. Constance. 
 
 stracted,yo/. Histoire d'Ethiopie. 
 
 Council of Trenf, abstracted, Histoire de Cotes de, &c. 
 iol. Diodorus Siculus, abstr.Jo/. 
 
 7 Virgil,
 
 44 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 In the year 1 6gg, sir William Temple died, leav- 
 ing Swift a legacy, and the care, trust, and advan- 
 tage, of publishing his posthumous writings*. As 
 he had also obtained a promise from king William, 
 that he would give Swift a prebend either of Can- 
 terbury or Westminster, he thought he had made 
 a sufficient return for all his merits toward him 
 and that he left him in the high road to prefer- 
 ment. 
 
 Before we accompany Swift into the world, let us 
 review the manner of his passing his life, from the 
 time that we stopped to survey him on his way to 
 Leicester, when, forlorn and hopeless as his con- 
 dition was, the unseen hand of Providence was 
 guiding him to the means of all his future, greatness, 
 in placing him under the hospitable roof of sir Wil- 
 
 Virgil, his. 
 
 Horace, <) vols. 
 
 Sir W. Temple's Memoirs. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 Camden's Elizabeth. 
 
 Prince Arthur. 
 
 Hist oi re de Chypre. 
 
 Voyage de Syam. 
 
 Voiture. 
 
 Memoires de Maurier. 
 
 Lucius Elorus, ter. 
 
 Collier's Essays, 2 vols. 
 
 Count Gahalis. 
 
 Sir John Davies, "of the Sonl. 
 
 * Such was the love and attention which Swift showed to 
 this great man, that in his last illness he kept a daily register of 
 the variations which appeared in his constitution, from July J 
 ]6}8, to the 27th of January following, when he concludes with 
 this note, "He died at one o'clock in the morning, and v. ith 
 him all that was great and good among men." This paper 
 is intituled, "Journal d'estat de Mr. T devant sa Moit." N. 
 
 liam 
 
 Cyprian & Ircna?us, nbstr. Jbf, 
 Voyage de Maroce, ex, 
 Lilian, Vol. I. 
 Homer, Iliad, & Odyss. 
 Cicero's Epistles. 
 Bender's Grand Mosul, 2 vols. 
 Burnet's Hist, of Reform. /o/. 
 Petronius Arbiter. 
 Oeuvres melees, .5 vols. 
 
 From Jan. 7, lo<)7-8. 
 Thucydides, by Hobbes, abi.tr. 
 
 r Pi 
 
 Theophrasti Chatacteres. 
 
 Vossius de Sibyllinis.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 45 
 
 Ham Temple. However bounteous nature had been, 
 in bestowing on Swift extraordinary talents, yet 
 were they of such a kind, as required much time and 
 application to bring them to perfection, and fit them 
 to answer their destined ends. He had missed the 
 usual season of cultivating those talents, but at the 
 same time he had escaped the danger of their being 
 perverted and misapplied. His mind had not been 
 straitlaced into that fashionable shape which seemed 
 most beautiful to the eyes of pedantry, but was suf- 
 fered to reach its full growth according to the course 
 of nature. Thus did it attain an unusual size, vigour, 
 and ease. He did not enter seriously upon his stu- 
 dies till his understanding was mature ; thus all that 
 he read was to some useful end, nor was his me- 
 mory charged with those important trifles, about 
 which the scholastick world is generally so busy, t 
 He read the classicks at a time when he could pene- 
 trate into their profoundest depths, and enrich him- 
 self with the spoils of their hidden treasures; not at 
 the usual season of boyishness, when the weak sight 
 can be regaled only with such flowery beauties as are 
 pointed out to it on the surface. Thinking for hirff^ 
 self as a man, he soon saw that no science was so 
 valuable to man, as that of human nature. He 
 judged that the best way to obtain a general know- 
 ledge of that, was from history: and a more parti- 
 cular view of it, from studying mankind. He could 
 not possibly have been better situate than at Moor 
 Park, to have made observations on the higher and 
 more refined life ; and he studiously sought all oppor- 
 tunities, during his little excursions and journies, to 
 make himself acquainted with low life ; often pre- 
 ferring the conveyance of waggons, and their inns, 
 
 to
 
 46 THE LIFE 
 
 to those of coaches. Scenes of middling life must, 
 of course, often fall in his way; and where, to a 
 boundless curiosity, there was added from nature 
 an uncommon penetration, it is no wonder he be- 
 came such an adept in the knowledge of man, 
 and of the world. A science essentially necessary 
 to him to make that figure which he afterwards did 
 in life. 
 
 His situation at sir William Temple's was indeed 
 in every respect the happiest that-could have been 
 chosen, to prepare this great genius for the compli- 
 cated part he was to act in the world. Swift was 
 to figure as a writer, as a politician, as a patriot. 
 And where could a young man have found such a 
 director and assistant in fitting him for the perform- 
 ance of these several parts, as sir William Temple; 
 who was himself one of the finest writers, one of the 
 ablest statesmen, and the truest lover of his country, 
 that had been produced in that, or perhaps in any 
 other age ? 
 
 It was from the frequent revisal of that great 
 man's works under his own inspection, that Swift 
 acquired his first lights with regard to propriety and 
 purity of style, which he was afterward allowed to 
 carry to a greater degree of perfection than any 
 English writer whatsoever. The high opinion he 
 entertained of sir William's works in this respect, 
 was known to rne from the following circumstance. 
 When I was an undergraduate in the college, he 
 recommended it to me to lay aside some portion of 
 time every day for the study of English ; and when 
 I asked him what authors he would advise me to 
 read, he immediately replied, "sir William Temple; - 
 not," said he, " his latter works, written during or 
 
 after
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 41 
 
 after ois long residence abroad, for his style became 
 then somewhat corrupted by the introduction of 
 newfangled foreign words and phrases, which he 
 fell into by conversing and writing so much in fo. 
 reign languages; but such of his works as were 
 written before his going ambassador to Nimeguen. 
 And after him," added he, " I do not know any writer 
 in our language that I would recommend to you as 
 a model." I had upon this occasion a fair oppor- 
 tunity of paying him a just compliment ; but I knew 
 his detestation of any thing that carried the appear- 
 ance of flattery with it, too well, to make mention of 
 his own works to him. 
 
 With respect to politicks, it must be allowed that 
 there was no man of that age better qualified than 
 sir William, Temple, not only to instruct Swift in 
 the general system of politicks pursued in the several 
 states of Europe, but likewise to lay open to him all 
 the arcana of state, all the most secret springs of 
 action, with regard to publick affairs, both foreign 
 and domestick, during his time; in which, he him- 
 self had born so principal a part; and with regard 
 to patriotism, sir William Temple must be allowed 
 to have been the most shining example of that no- 
 blest of virtues, produced in that age ;. as he passed 
 all the vigorous parts of his life in the most indefati- 
 gable endeavours for the good of his country, upon 
 the most disinterested principles; never having re- 
 ceived any reward, nor seeming solicitous about any, 
 for a long series of the most important services ren- 
 dered to his king and country, often at his own ex- 
 pense ; and at lastly nobly declining the highest sta- 
 tion to which a subject could be raised, when of- 
 fered to him, as it was at a time of life, when he 
 
 found
 
 48 THE LIFE 
 
 found the vigour of his mind so far abated, that ha 
 did not think himself equal to the arduous employ* 
 ment of first minister. And with respect to pri- 
 vate virtue, there could not have been a more illus- 
 trious example placed before the eyes of a young 
 man than that of an old courtier, who during the 
 dissolute reign of Charles II. had singly at court 
 maintained his integrity unshaken, and his morals 
 untainted. 
 
 Under the direction of such a tutor, such a guide, 
 under the influence of such an example; how hap- 
 pily was the most dangerous season of life passed in 
 studious retirement, far from the dangers and temp- 
 tations of a corrupt world. 
 
 When we reflect that Swift was first brought up 
 in the school of adversity (who though she be a 
 severe mistress, yet does she generally make the best 
 scholars) and that he was thence removed to another 
 Lyceum, where presided a sage, in whom were blend- 
 ed Socratic wisdom, stoical virtue, and Epicurean 
 elegance; we must allow his lot to have been most 
 happily cast for forming a great and distinguished 
 character in life. Nor did he fail to answer the high 
 expectation that might be raised of a young man 
 endowed by nature with uncommon talents, which 
 were improved to the utmost by a singular felicity of 
 situation, into which fortune had thrown him. 
 
 Let us now accompany Swift into the world, from 
 entering into which he was happily detained till 
 his thirty-first year. His mind was now stored 
 with variety of useful knowledge; his understand- 
 ing had arrived at its utmost maturity and strength ; 
 his fancy was in its prime; and his heart, long 
 filled with the noblest affections toward God, and 
 
 toward
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 49 
 
 toward man', swelled with impatience for proper 
 opportunities of discharging his duty to both. 
 With such abilities, and such dispositions, behold 
 him now entering on the great stage of the world, 
 to perform the character allotted to him in the 
 drama of life, that of an able, bold, and unwearied 
 champion, in the cause of religion, liberty, and 
 virtue. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 PROM THE DEATH OP SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE TO 
 THE TIME OP HIS INTRODUCTION TO LORD 
 OXFORD. 
 
 UPON the death of sir William Temple, Swift 
 immediately removed to London ; where his first 
 care was to discharge the trust reposed in him, that 
 of publishing a correct edition of sir William Tem- 
 ple's works ; which he effected as speedily as pos- 
 sible, and presented them to king William, with a 
 short dedication written by himself, as publisher*. 
 He thought he could not pay a more acceptable 
 compliment to the king, than by dedicating to him 
 the posthumous works of a man, for whom, from 
 his earliest days, when Prince of Orange, he had 
 professed the highest friendship and jesteem; and 
 with whom he lived, after his arrival at the crown 
 of England, on the most intimate footing ; fre- 
 quently visiting sir William in his retreat, after he 
 had found his endeavours vain to draw him out of 
 it, by the tempting offer of making him his fir& mi- 
 
 * See this in the second volume of the present collection. N. 
 
 vol. i. E nister.
 
 N 
 
 50 THE LIFE 
 
 nister. There was another reason too, which must 
 have made the publication of these works pecu- 
 liarly acceptable to the king; which was, that some 
 of the most important transactions mentioned in those 
 writings, were relative to himself; and many per- 
 sonal anecdotes with regard to him, were now 
 brought to light, which could have been disclosed by 
 no one but sir William, and which put the character 
 of that truly heroick prince in a high point of view. 
 On these accounts Swift thought that such a dedica- 
 tion was not only the politest method of reminding 
 the king of his promise made to sir William Temple 
 in his behalf, but the likeliest means of having it 
 speedily carried into execution. However, as he did 
 not find the event answer his expectation, he applied 
 to that monarch by memorial. 
 
 But after waiting some time, he found that his me- 
 morial produced no better effect than his dedication. 
 He therefore readily accepted of an offer made to him 
 by lord Berkeley, then appointed one of the lords 
 justices of Ireland, to attend him to that kingdom, 
 in the double capacity of chaplain and private secre- 
 tary. 
 
 This total neglect of his promise, made in conse- 
 quence of a last, and it may be called a dying re- 
 quest, of his particular friend, seems to bear not a 
 little hard on the character of king William. But it 
 is to be observed that Swift was the most unfit man 
 in the world to solicit a point of that sort in due 
 form, without which nothing is to be done at court. 
 He thought that his showing himself there, or at most 
 the dedication of sir William's works, was all that 
 was necessary to be done on his part. And with re- 
 gard to the memorial, he himself exonerated king 
 
 William
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 5i 
 
 William so far, as to say often that he believed it 
 never was received. For he put it into the hands of 
 a certain nobleman, who professed great regard to 
 him, and offered to present it to the king, and second 
 it with all his might ; but Swift had afterward reason 
 to believe that he had sunk it, and said not a word oif 
 the matter. 
 
 Swift acted as secretary to Lord Berkeley > till they 
 arrived at Dublin ; when he was supplanted in that 
 office by one Bush, who had by some means ingra- 
 tiated himself with my lord ; and representing the 
 office of secretary as an improper one for a clergy- 
 man, he was appointed in Swift's room. Lord Berke- 
 ley making the best apology to him that he could, 
 and at the same time promising to make him 
 amends, by bestowing on him the first good church 
 preferment that should fall in his gift* Swift was 
 not a man to be treated in this manner with impu- 
 nity. Accordingly* he gave free scOpe to his resent- 
 ment, in a severe copy of verses, which placed the 
 governor and his new-made secretary in a most ridi- 
 culous point of light, and which was every where 
 handed about to their no small mortification. Soon 
 after this the rich deanery of Derry became vacant* 
 and as it was the earl of Berkeley's turn to present 
 to it, Swift applied to him for it upon the strength 
 of his promise*. Lord Berkeley said, " that Bush 
 
 had 
 
 * Swift was set aside on this occasion, from the suggestion Of 
 Dr. King then bishop of Derry, that he was too young. " 1 have 
 no objection to Mr. Swift," says the bishop. " I know him to be 
 a sprightly, ingenious young man : but, instead of residing, I 
 dare, say, he will be eternally flying backward and forward to 
 London; and therefore I intreat that he may be provided for in 
 
 s 2 some
 
 52 THE LIFE 
 
 had been beforehand with him, and had got the pro- 
 mise of it for another*. Upon seeing Swift's indig- 
 nation rise at this, my lord, who began to be in no 
 small fear of him, said " that the matter might still 
 be settled if he would talk with Bush." Swift imme- 
 diately found out the secretary, who very frankly 
 told him " that he was to get a thousand pound for 
 it, and if he would lay down the money, he should 
 have the preference. To which Swift, enraged a to 
 the utmost degree, at an offer which he considered 
 as the highest insult, and done evidently with lord 
 Berkeley's participation, made no other answer but 
 this; " God confound you both for a couple of 
 scoundrels." With these words he immediately 
 quitted the room, and turned his back on the castle, 
 determined to appear there no more. But lord 
 Berkeley was too conscious of the ill treatment he 
 had given him, and too fearful of the resentment of 
 
 some other place." But, as if his stars had destined him a paral- 
 lel revenge, he lived to see the bishop of Dcrry afterward set aside 
 on account of age. That prelate had been archbishop of Dublin 
 many years, and had been long celebrated for his wit and learn- 
 ing, when Dr. Lindsay died. Upon his death, archbishop King im- 
 mediately laid claim to the primacy, as a preferment to which he 
 had a right from his station in the see of Dublin, and from his 
 acknowledged character in the church. Neither of these preten- 
 tions were prevalent ; he was looked upon as too far advanced in 
 years to be removed. The reason alledged was as mortifying as 
 the refusal itself: but the archbishep had no opportunity of shew- 
 ing his resentment, except to the new primate Dr. Boulter, whom 
 . he received at his own house, and in his dining-parlour, without 
 rising from his chair ; and to whom he made an apology, by say- 
 ing, in his usual strain of wit, and with his usual sneering coun- 
 tenance, " My lord, I am certain your grace will forgive me 
 because, You know I am too old to rise." See Orrery's Re- 
 marks. W. B. 
 t The deanery was given to Dr. Boulter. N. 
 
 an
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 53 
 
 an exasperated genius, not to endeavour to pacify 
 him. He therefore immediately presented him with 
 the rectory of Agher, and the vicarages of Laracor, 
 and Rath-beggan, then vacant, in the diocese of 
 Meath*. Though these livings united did not make 
 up a third of the deanery in value-}-, and though 
 from the large promises, which had been made him, 
 he had reason to expect much greater preferment, 
 yet, considering the specimens already given of the 
 performance of those promises, Swift thought it most 
 prudent to accept of those livings, dropping all fu- 
 ture expectations from that quarter. Nor did he af- 
 terward estrange himself from lord Berkeley's family, 
 but continued still in his office of chaplain ; to which 
 he seems to halve been chiefly induced, from the great 
 honour and respect which he had for his excellent 
 lady : whose virtues he has celebrated in so masterly 
 a manner, in the Introduction to the " Project for 
 the Advancement of Religion." 
 
 From this behaviour to lord Berkeley, we may 
 judge how little Swift was qualified to rise at court, 
 in the usual way of obtaining preferment ; and we 
 
 He was instituted March 22, 1 699- 1700. N. 
 
 + Not even after his purchase (for 260/.) of the rectorial tithes 
 of one part of the parish, called Effernock, which he gave by his 
 last will to his successors for ever. In his account-book he rec- 
 kons the annual value of the said union about 230/. ; and within 
 the first year, from March 1699, to Nov. ], 1700, the expence 
 of his titles, rent, curate, &o amounted to l\Jl. He got the 
 prebend of Dunlavan, in the chapter of St. Patrick, Sept. 23, 
 i 700. Being in actual attendance as domestick chaplain to the earj 
 of Berkeley, he had a dispensation from the bishop of Meath 
 that year, in May, for not reading his assent and consent at La- 
 racor and Rath-beggan until the month of June, at which time 
 iie went through the necessary form. N. 
 
 may
 
 54 THE LIFE 
 
 may estimate the greatness of his spirit, by the de- 
 gree of resentment shown to the man, in consequence 
 of ill treatment, upon, vvhem all his hopes of prefer- 
 ment then rested. 
 
 It was at this time that Swift's true humorous vein 
 in poetry began to display itself, in several little pieces, 
 written for the private entertainment of lord Berkeley's 
 family ; among which was that incomparable piece of 
 low humour, called " The humble Petition of Mrs. 
 Frances Harris, &c." 
 
 When lord Berkeley quitted the government of 
 Ireland, Swift went to reside on his living at Lara- 
 cor ; where he lived for some time in the constant and 
 strict discharge of his duty. 
 
 It was about this time that Mrs. Johnson (the 
 afterward celebrated Stella) arrived in Ireland, ac- 
 companied by another lady of the name of Dingley, 
 who was related to the family of the Temples. Sir 
 William Temple had bequeathed to Mrs. Johnson a 
 legacy of a thousand pounds, in consideration of her 
 father's faithful services, and her own rising merits. 
 After sir William's death, she lived for some time 
 with Mrs. Dingley, a lady who had but a small an- 
 nuity to support her. In this situation Swift advised 
 his lovely pupil to settle in Ireland, as the interest 
 of money was at that time ten per cent in that king- 
 dom ; and considering the cheapness of provisions, 
 her income there would afford her a genteel support, 
 instead of a mere subsistence in England ; for the 
 same reason also he recommended it to Mrs. Dingley 
 to accompany her. This proposal was very agree- 
 able to both the ladies. To the latter, as she had 
 scarce a sufficient income to subsist on in England, 
 though managed with the utmost frugality ; to the 
 
 former,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 55 
 
 former, that she might be near her tutor, whose 
 lessons, however they might dwell on her memory, 
 had sunk still deeper into her heart. These ladies 
 soon after their arrival, took a lodging at Trim, a 
 village near Laracor, which was the place of Swift's 
 residence. The conversation of this amiable woman, 
 who, by his own account, had the most and finest 
 accomplishments of any person he had ever known 
 of either sex, contributed not a little to sweeten his 
 retirement, which otherwise must soon have become 
 burthensome to so active a spirit. But though 
 Stella's beauty was at that time arrayed in all the 
 pride of blooming eighteen*, yet it is certain that he 
 never dropped the least hint that might induce 
 her to consider him in the light of a lover. In his 
 whole deportment he still maintained the character 
 of a tutor, a guardian, and a friend ; but he so stu- 
 diously avoided the appearance of any other attach- 
 ment to her, that he never saw, or conversed with 
 her, but in the presence of some third person. The 
 truth is, that Swift at that time, knew not what the 
 passion of love was ; his fondness for Stella was 
 only that of an affectionate parent to a favourite 
 child ; and he had long entertained a dislike to ma- 
 trimony. He seems to have been under the domi- 
 nion of a still more powerful passion, that of ambi- 
 tion : a passion which, from his boyish days, had ta- 
 ken strong hold of his mind, and never afterward for- 
 
 * Stella is said by most writers to have been in her l6"th year 
 when she first went to Ireland in 1699 ; but Mr. Sheridan and 
 Mr. Deane Swift both say she was 18. As her name is not to be 
 found in the parish register, which begins in 16*82, they probably 
 are right. In 1(>8.3 is an entry of Anne the daughter of Edward 
 Johnson, baptised ; but Mrs. Johnson's name was Esther. See 
 Lysons, 11.453. N. 
 
 sook
 
 56 THE LIFE 
 
 sook him, till all hopes of its being farther gratified 
 had failed. 
 
 Urged by this restless spirit, he every year paid a 
 visit to England*, absenting himself for some 
 months from the duties of his parish, and the charm- 
 ing conversation of the amiable Stella, in hopes of 
 finding some favourable opportunity of distinguish- 
 ing himself, and pushing his fortune in the world. 
 His first visit to London, from the time he had taken 
 possession of his living, was in the year 1701. At 
 which time he found the publick in a ferment, oc- 
 casioned by the impeachment of the earls of Port- 
 land and Orford, lord Somers, and lord Halifax, by 
 the house of commons. Upon this occasion Swift 
 wrote and published his first political tract, entitled, 
 <c A Discourse of the Contests and Dissensions in 
 Athens and Rome," in which he displayed great 
 knowledge in ancient history, as well as skill in the 
 English constitution, and the state of parties. The 
 author of this piece concealed his name with the 
 greatest precaution, nor was he at that time perso- 
 nally known to any of the nobles, in whose favour 
 it seems to have been written ; and indeed from the 
 spirit of the piece itself, we may see that Swift was 
 induced to write it from other motives than such as 
 were private and personal. As no one understood 
 
 * In April 1701, Swift went to London ; returned to Ireland in 
 September following; took his doctor's degree on 10 Feb. af- 
 ter, which cost him in fees and treat 44/. and upwards. In 
 April 1702, he went to Leicester, to see his mother ; in May, 
 to London ; in July, to Moor Park ; in October, to Ireland. The 
 next year, in November 1703, he went to Leicester; thence to 
 London ; and May 30, 1704, returned to Dublin, whence he 
 went directly to Laracor. This he calls, in his accompt book, 
 " his lGth voyage." N. 
 
 5 the
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 57 
 
 the English constitution better, so no one loved it 
 more, or would have gone greater lengths to pre- 
 serve it, than Swift. He saw clearly that the ba- 
 lance, upon the due preservation of which the very 
 life of our constitution depends, had been for some 
 time in a fluctuating state, and that the popular scale 
 was likely to preponderate. All the horrours of 
 anarchy, and the detested times of a Cromwell, came 
 fresh into his mind. He therefore thought it his 
 duty to lay before the publick the fatal consequences 
 of the encroachments then making by the commons 
 upon the other two branches of the legislature; 
 which he executed in a most masterlv manner, with 
 great force of argument, assisted by the most strik- 
 ing examples of other states in similar circumstances ; 
 and at the same time in a stile and method so per- 
 spicuous, as to render the whole clear to common 
 capacities. Another reason for supposing that Swift 
 wrote this wholly from a principle of duty, is, that 
 the author deals throughout in generals, excepting 
 only one oblique compliment to the four lords who 
 were impeached by the commons, which at the same 
 time served to strengthen his general argument. 
 The truth is, Swift, at that time, was of no party ; X, 
 he sided with the whigs merely because he thought 
 the tories were carrying matters too far, and by the 
 violence of their proceedings were likely to over- 
 turn that happy balance in our state, so lately settled 
 by the glorious revolution ; to which there was not 
 a faster friend in England than himself. However 
 it is certain that it remained for some time a profound 
 secret to the world, who the author of that admira- 
 ble piece was. And the first discovery made of it, 
 was by Swift himself, upon the following occasion. 
 
 After
 
 58 THE LIFE 
 
 After his return to Ireland, he happened to fall into 
 company with bishop Sheridan*, where this much 
 talked of pamphlet became the topick of conversa- 
 tion. The bishop insisted, " that it was written by 
 bishop Burnet, and that there was not another 
 man living equal to it-}-." Swift maintained the con- 
 trary ; at first by arguments drawn from difference 
 of style, manner, &c. and afterward upon being 
 urged, said, that to his certain knowledge it was not 
 written by Burnet. " Then pray," said the bishop, 
 U who writ it? Swift answered, " My lord, I 
 writ it." As this was the only instance in his life 
 that Swift was ever known to have owned directly 
 any piece as his, it is to be supposed that the con- 
 fession was drawn from him by the heat of argu- 
 ment. 
 
 Early in the ensuing spring, king William died ; 
 and Swift, on his next visit to London, found queen 
 Anne upon the throne. It was generally thought, 
 upon this event, that the tory party would have had 
 the ascendant ; but, contrary to all expectation, the 
 whigs had managed matters so well, as to get en- 
 tirely into the queen s confidence, and to have the 
 whole administration of affairs in their hands. 
 Swift's friends were now in power ; and the whigs 
 in general, knowing him to be the author of the 
 Discourse on the Contests, &c. considered them- 
 selves as much obliged to him, and looked upon 
 him as fast to their party. The chiefs accordingly 
 
 * Dr. William Sheridan, bishop of Kilmore, 1()81 ; deprived 
 1691 ; died Oct. I, 1711. N. 
 
 f When Swift seemed to doubt Burnet's right to the work, he 
 was told by the bishop that he " was a young man ;" and still per- 
 isting to doubt, that he was " a very young man.'' Johnson. 
 
 applied
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 50, 
 
 applied to him for his assistance in the measures 
 which they were taking; and there is no doubt 
 that he had now a fair opening for gratifying his 
 ambition to the utmost, only by joining heartily 
 with them, and exerting his talents on their side. 
 Put great as his ambition was, he would not have 
 purchased its highest gratifications at the expense 
 of his principles ; nor would all the wealth and 
 honours of the realm accumulated, have tempted 
 him to act contrary to the conviction of his mind. 
 Upon examining into their new political system, 
 which varied in many points from that of the old 
 whigs, he considered several of their measures as 
 of a dangerous tendency to the constitution. Not- 
 withstanding therefore, both his interest and per- 
 sonal attachments were of their side, he declined 
 all overtures made to him by the heads of the 
 whiggish party, and after some time determined to 
 have no concern in their affairs. This conduct in. 
 Swift was so unexpected, for they had all along 
 counted upon him as a sure man, that it met with 
 the same sort of resentment from the whigs, as if 
 he had deserted their party, and gone over to the 
 enemy ; though Swift, in reality, so little liked the 
 proceedings of either, that for several years he kept 
 himself entirely a neutral, without meddling in any 
 shape in politicks. 
 
 The chief reason that made him decline any con- 
 nexion with the whigs at that time, was, their open 
 profession of low church principles ; and under the 
 specious name of toleration, their encouragement of 
 fanaticks and sectarists of all kinds to join them. 
 But what above all most shocked him, was, their 
 inviting all Deists, Freethinkers, Atheists, Jews, 
 
 and
 
 60 THE LIFE 
 
 and Infidels, to be of their party, under pretence of 
 moderation, and allowing a general liberty of con- 
 science. As Swift was in his heart a man of true 
 religion, he could not have borne, even in his private 
 character, to have mixed with such a motley crew. 
 Bat when we consider his principles in his political 
 capacity, that he looked upon the church of Eng- 
 land, as by law established, to be the main pillar 
 of our newly erected constitution, he could not, 
 consistently with the character of a good citizen, 
 join with those who considered it more as an orna- 
 ment, than a support to the edifice; who could 
 therefore look on with composure while they saw it 
 undermining, or even open the gate to a blind mul- 
 titude, to try, like Sampson, their strength against 
 it, and consider it only as sport. With such a party, 
 neither his religious nor political principles would 
 suffer him to join ; and with regard to the tories, as 
 is usual in the violence of factions, they had run into 
 opposite extremes, equally dangerous to the state. 
 He has fully given us his own sentiments upon the 
 state of parties in those times, in these words : 
 " Now, because it is a point of difficulty tb choose 
 an exact middle between two ill extremes ; it may be 
 worth inquiring in the present case, which of these 
 a wise and good man would rather seem to avoid : 
 taking therefore their own good and ill characters of 
 each other, with due abatements, and allowances for 
 partiality and passion ; I should think, that in order 
 to preserve the constitution entire in the church and 
 state, whoever has a true value for both, would be 
 sure to avoid the extremes of whig, for the sake of 
 the former; and the extremes of tory, on account of 
 the latter." 
 
 This
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 6l 
 
 This was a maxim, which, however well founded, 
 was not likely to influence the opinion of many, amid 
 the violence of party rage ; however, as Swift was 
 firmly persuaded of the truth of it, it was by that 
 principle he governed his conduct, though on that 
 account he stood almost alone. 
 
 Finding therefore that he could be of no use to 
 the publick in his political capacity, while things re- 
 mained in the same state, he turned his thoughts 
 wholly to other matters. He resided for the greatest 
 part of the year at his living, in the performance of 
 his parochial duties, in which no one could be more 
 exact ; and once a year he paid a visit to his mother 
 at Leicester, passing some time also in London, to 
 take a view of the state of things, and watching some 
 favourable crisis. 
 
 During this period, Swift's pen was hardly ever 
 employed, except in writing sermons ; and he does 
 not seem to have indulged himself even in any sal- 
 lies of fancy, for some years, excepting only the 
 " Meditation on a Broomstick," and the " Tritical 
 Essay on the Faculties of the Mind," both written 
 in the year 1703. As Swift has been much cen- 
 sured for writing the former of these pieces, on 
 account of the ridicule contained in it of the style 
 and manner of so great and pious a man as Mr. 
 Boyle, it may not be improper here to relate an 
 anecdote which I had from undoubtedly good au- 
 thority, with regard to the occasion of writing that 
 piece, and which will in a great measure exonerate 
 Swift from the charge brought against him on that 
 account*. In the yearly visits which he made to 
 
 * This anecdote came from lady Betty Germain, daughter of 
 lady Berkeley ; and was communicated to me by the late lady 
 Lambert, an intimate of lady Betty's. S,
 
 62 THE LIFE 
 
 London, during his stay there, he passed much of 
 his time at lord Berkeley's, officiating as chaplain 
 to the family, and attending lady Berkeley in her 
 private devotions. After which, the doctor, by her 
 desire, used to read to her some moral or religious 
 discourse. The countess had at this time taken a 
 great liking to Mr. Boyle's Meditations, and was 
 determined to go through them in that manner ; 
 but as Swift had by no means the same relish for 
 that kind of writing which her ladyship had, he 
 soon grew weary of the task ; and a whim coming 
 into his head, resolved to get rid of it in a way 
 which might occasion some sport in the family ; for 
 which they had as high a relish as himself. The next 
 time he was employed in reading one of these Medi- 
 tations, he took an opportunity of conveying away 
 the book, and dexterously inserted a leaf, on which 
 he had written his own " Meditations on a Broom- 
 stick ;" after which, he took care to have the book 
 restored to its proper place, and in his next attendance 
 on my lady, when he was desired to proceed to the 
 next Meditation, Swift opened upon the place where 
 the leaf had been inserted, and with great compo- 
 sure of countenance read the title, " A Meditation 
 on a Broomstick." Lady Berkeley, a little surprised 
 at the oddity of the title, stopped him repeating the 
 words, " A Meditation on a Broomstick ! Bless me, 
 what a strange subject ! But there is no knowing 
 what useful lessons of instruction this wonderful man 
 may draw, from things apparently the most trivial. 
 Pray let us hear what he says upon it." Swift then, 
 with an inflexible gravity of countenance, proceeded 
 to read the Meditation, in the same solemn tone 
 which he had used in delivering the former. Lady 
 
 Berkeley,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 05 
 
 Berkeley, not at all suspecting a trick, in the ful- 
 ness of her prepossession, was every now and then, 
 during the reading of it, expressing her admiration 
 of this extraordinary man, who could draw such 
 fine moral reflections from so contemptible a subject ; 
 with which, though Swift must have been inwardly 
 not a little tickled, yet he preserved a most perfect 
 composure of features, so that she had not the least 
 room to suspect any deceit. Soon after, some com- 
 pany coming in, Swift pretended business, and with- 
 drew, foreseeing what was to follow. Lady Berkeley, 
 full of the subject, soon entered upon the praises of 
 those heavenly Meditations of Mr. Boyle. " But," 
 said she, " the doctor has been just reading one to 
 me, which has surprised me more than all the rest." 
 One of the company asked which of the Meditations 
 she meant. She answered directly, in the simplicity 
 of her heart, " I mean, that excellent Meditation on 
 a Broomstick." The company looked at each other 
 with some surprise, and could scarce refrain from 
 laughing. But they all agreed that they had never 
 heard of such a Meditation before. " Upon my 
 word," said my lady, " there it is, look into that 
 book, and convince yourselves." One of them 
 opened the book, and found it there indeed, but in 
 Swift's handwriting ; upon which a general burst of 
 laughter ensued ; and my lady, when the first sur- 
 prise was over, enjoyed the joke as much as any of 
 them ; saying, il What a vile trick has that rogue 
 played me ! But it is his way, he never balks his hu- 
 mour in any thing." The affair ended in a great deal 
 of harmless mirth, and Swift, you may be sure, was 
 not asked to proceed any farther in the Meditations. 
 Thus we see that his original intention in writing this 
 3 piece,
 
 64 THE LIFE 
 
 piece, was not to ridicule the great Robert Boyle, but 
 only to furnish occasion for a great deal of innocent 
 mirth on lady Berkeley's enthusiasm, and simplicity 
 of heart ; and at the same time to get rid of the dis- 
 agreeable task of reading to her writings which were 
 not at all to his taste. And that it afterward got out 
 into the world, was owing to the eagerness of those 
 who were acquainted with the Berkeley family, to 
 procure copies of a piece of such exquisite humour* 
 This was the case indeed in almost all the small 
 things afterward written by Swift, scarce any of 
 which were published by himself, but stole into the 
 world in that way. 
 
 Though the greatness of Swift's talents was known 
 to many in private life, and his company and conver- 
 sation much sought after and admired, yet was his 
 name hitherto little known in the republick of let- 
 ters. The only pieces which he had then published, 
 were " The Battle of the Books," and " The Con- 
 tests aiad Dissensions in Athens and Rome," and both 
 without a name. Nor was he personally known to 
 any of the wits of the age, excepting Mr. Congreve, 
 and one or two more, with whom he had contracted 
 an acquaintance at sir William Temple's. The knot 
 of wits used at this time to assemble at Button's cof- 
 feehouse ; and I had a singular account of Swift's 
 first appearance there from Ambrose Philips, who was 
 one of Mr. Addison's little senate. He said that they 
 had for several successive days observed a strange 
 clergyman come into the coffeehouse, who seemed 
 utterly unacquainted with any of those who frequented 
 it ; and whose custom it was to lay his hat down on a 
 table, and walk backward and forward at a good pace 
 for half an hour or an hour, without speaking to any 
 
 mortal,
 
 OF DOCTOIt SWIFT. 05 
 
 mortal, or seeming in the least to attend to any thing 
 that was going forward there. He then used to take 
 up his hat, pay his money at the bar, and walk away 
 without opening his lips. After having observed this 
 singular behaviour for some time, they concluded him 
 to be out of his senses; and the name that he went 
 by among them, was that of " the mad parson." 
 This made them more than usually attentive to his 
 motions ; and one evening, as Mr. Addison and the 
 rest were observing him, they saw him cast his eyes 
 several times on a gentleman in boots, who seemed 
 to be just come out of the country, and at last ad- 
 vanced toward him as intending to address him. 
 They were all eager to hear what this dumb, mad 
 parson, had to say, and immediately quitted their 
 seats to get near him. Swift went up to the 
 country gentleman, and in a very abrupt man- 
 ner, without any previous salute, asked him, " Pray, 
 sir, do you remember any good weather in the 
 world ?" The country gentleman, after staring a little 
 at the singularity of his manner, and the oddity of 
 the question, answered, " Yes, sir, I thank God, I 
 remember a great deal of good weather in my time." 
 <f That is more," said Swift, " than I can say ; I 
 never remember any weather that was not too hot, 
 or too cold ; too wet or too dry ; but, however 
 God Almighty contrives it, at the end of the year 
 'tis all very well." Upon saying this, he took up 
 his hat, and without uttering a syllable more, or 
 taking the least notice of any one, walked out of 
 the coffeehouse ; leaving all those who had been 
 spectators of this odd scene staring after him, and 
 still more confirmed in the opinion of his being mad. 
 There is another anecdote recorded of him, of what 
 vol. i. F passed
 
 
 66 THE LIFE 
 
 passed between him and doctor Arbutbnot in the 
 same coffeehouse. The doctor had been scribbling 
 a letter in great haste, which was much blotted ; 
 and seeing this old parson near him, with a design 
 to play upon him, said, " Pray, sir, have you any 
 sand about you?" " No," replied Swift, " but I 
 have the gravel, and if you will give me your let- 
 ter I'll p-ss upon it." Thus singularly commenced 
 an acquaintance between those two great wits, 
 which afterward ripened into the closest friendship. 
 After these adventures they saw him no more at 
 Button's till " The Tale of a Tub" had made its 
 appearance in the world, when, in the person of 
 the author of that inimitable performance, they re- 
 cognized their mad parson. This piece was first 
 published in the following year 1704; and though 
 without a name, yet the curiosity excited by the 
 appearance of such a wonderful piece of original 
 composition, could not fail of finding out the au- 
 thor, especially as not only the bookseller knew 
 him, but as the manuscript had at different times 
 been shown to several of sir William Temple's re- 
 lations, and most intimate friends. When it is 
 considered that Swift had kept this piece by him 
 eight years, after it had been, by his own confes- 
 sion, completely finished, before he gave it to the 
 world ; we must stand astonished at such a piece 
 of self-denial, as this must seem, in a young man, 
 ambitious of distinction, and eager after fame ; and 
 wonder what could be his motive for not publishing 
 it sooner. But the truth is, Swift set but little 
 value on his talents as a writer, either at that time, 
 or during the whole course of his life, farther than 
 as they might contribute to advance some nobler 
 6 ends,
 
 : 
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIPT; 67 
 
 ends, which he had always in view. Unsolicitous 
 therefore about fame merely literary* or the reputa- 
 tion of an author, he could with the most perfect 
 sangfroid lock up this admirable piece in his deskj 
 and wait with the most philosophick patience, for 
 a favourable season to produce it, when it might 
 answer some more important purpose. After the 
 time he had given the last finishing to it, the violence 
 of parties ran so high for some years, and their dis- 
 putes were carried on with such animosity, that he 
 did not think the publick in a temper fit to receive 
 the work, so as to produce the effects which he pro- 
 posed from it. But as the rage of party began to 
 cool at that time, and the opposition from the tories 
 grew daily more feeble, as the power of the whigs 
 increased; and as a firm establishment of the whig 
 interest seemed to threaten, upon their principles, 
 an entire disregard to, and neglect of all religion; 
 Swift thought this a proper juncture to revive the 
 topick of religion, and to show the excellency of 
 the established church, over its two rivals, in a 
 new way adapted to common capacities, with re- 
 gard to the understanding; and calculated to make 
 way to the heart, through the pleasure which it 
 afforded to the fancy. And without some artifice of 
 that sort, it would have been impossible to have 
 gained any attention at all to the topick of religion. 
 People were quite wearied out with the continual 
 repetition of the same dull arguments ; or sore, on 
 account of the ill temper with which the disputes 
 were carried on, and the ill blood which they occa- 
 sioned. The bulk of mankind were therefore in a 
 fit disposition to fall in with the principle of mode- 
 ration held out by the whigs; but as it was easy to 
 
 p 2 see
 
 68 *HE LIFB 
 
 see from some of their political measures, that mo- 
 deration was not the point at which they intended 
 to stop; but that an indifference with regard to any 
 form of religion was likely to ensue, in consequence 
 of some of their tenets; Swift thought it high time 
 that the attention of the people toward the security 
 of the established church should be roused, that 
 they might be guarded against the undermining 
 artifices of its enemies, secretly carried on under 
 covert of her pretended friends ; who in their 
 hearts were little solicitous about her interests, 
 being wholly absorbed in worldly pursuits. And 
 surely nothing could be contrived better to answer 
 this end, than to make religion once more a general 
 topick of conversation: but of such conversation as 
 no longer excited the disagreeable and malevolent 
 passions, but gave rise to cheerfulness and mirth. 
 Stripped of the frightful mask with which her face 
 had been covered by bigotry and enthusiasm, and 
 adorned with all the graces of the comick muse, she 
 became a welcome guest in all companies. The 
 beautv of the church of England, by a plain and 
 well conducted allegory, adapted to all capacities, 
 was shown, in the most obvious light, by the cha- 
 racters of simplicity and moderation, which are the 
 true marks of Christianity, in opposition to the 
 pageantry, superstition, and tyranny of the church 
 of Rome, on the one hand; and the spleen, hypo- 
 crisy, and enthusiasm of Calvinism, on the other. 
 This had been often done before in a serious way, 
 but it was the new manner of treating the subject 
 that produced the great effect. While the English 
 divines had for more than a century been engaged 
 in a constant state of warfare with their antagonists, 
 
 and
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 69 
 
 and attacked them with serious reasoning, and 
 vehemence of argumentation, their antagonists 
 were always considered as powerful and formidable ; 
 and though often foiled, were never looked upon as 
 subdued. While these different religions were ren- 
 dered odious or terrible to the imaginations of 
 people, the very feelings of that hatred and fear, 
 were accompanied with die ideas of danger and 
 power in the objects which excited them, and of 
 course gave them a consequence. But the instant 
 they were rendered ridiculous, they became con- 
 temptible, and their whole power vanished; nor 
 was there ever a stronger instance of the truth of 
 Horace's rule, 
 
 Ridiculutn acri 
 
 Fortius C5? melius magnas plerumque secat res*, 
 than in the effects produced by the " Tale of a 
 Tub," with regard to the weakening of the powers 
 of popery and fanaticism in this country. Effects 
 not merely temporary, but which, with their cause, 
 are likely to last, as long as the English language 
 shall be read. 
 
 After the publication of this work, Swift wrote 
 nothing of consequence for three or four years |; 
 during which time his acquaintance was much 
 sought after by all persons of taste and genius. 
 There was, particularly, a very close connection 
 
 * Well-season'd Irony will oft prevail, 
 
 When stern rebukes and strongest reasonings fail. 
 
 DUNCOMBE. 
 
 t He was appointed proctor for the dean and chapter of St. 
 Patrick's, in the Irish convocation, July 24, 1707; and was very 
 active in it, as appears by his protest, Oct. 30, 1707, signed 
 singly by himself, in the presence of Thp. Trotter, notary 
 public. N. 
 
 formed
 
 70 THE LIFE 
 
 formed between Mr. Addison * and him, which 
 ended in a sincere and lasting friendship, at least 
 on Swift's part. Addison's companionable qualities 
 were known but to a few, as an invincible bashful- 
 ness kept him for the most part silent in mixed 
 companies; but Swift used to say of him, that his 
 conversation in a tite a the, was the most agreeable 
 he had ever known in any one; and that in the 
 many hours which he had passed with him in that 
 way, neither of them ever wished for the coming in 
 of a third person. 
 
 In the beginning of the year 1708, Swift started 
 forth from his state of inactivity, and published 
 several pieces upon religious and political subjects, 
 as also in the humorous way. That which re- 
 garded religion chiefly, was, ' f An Argument 
 against abolishing Christianity ;" in which he pur- 
 sues the same humorous method, which was so 
 successfully followed in the " Tale of a Tub." 
 Perhaps there never was a richer vein of irony than 
 runs through that whole piece; nor could any 
 thing be better calculated to second the general imr 
 pression made by the " Tale of a Tub." It is 
 certain, that Swift thought the state of the church 
 in great danger, notwithstanding any vote of par 
 
 * In 170.5, Mr. Addison made a present of his book of 
 Travels to Dr. Swift; in the blank leaf of which he wrote th* 
 following words: 
 
 " To Dr. Jonathan Swift, 
 The most agreeable companion, 
 
 The truest friend, 
 And the greatest genius of his age, 
 This Book is presented by his 
 Most humble servant, 
 
 The AUTHOR." N. 
 
 liament
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 7* 
 
 liament to the contrary ; and this chiefly from a 
 sort of lethargick disorder, which had in general 
 seized those who ought to have been its watchful 
 guardians. To rouse them from this state, he 
 found tickling to be more effectual than lashing; 
 and that the best way to keep them wakeful, was to 
 make them laugh. 
 
 It was at this juncture too he chose to publish his 
 political principles. Swift had been hitherto always 
 classed among the whigs, as the only political tract 
 of his which had been published was in their fa- 
 vour, and as his chief connections were among that 
 body. And he himself had adopted the name in a 
 Copy of Verses to the Honourable Mrs. Finch *. 
 And indeed with respect to government, there 
 could not be a stauncher whig than he was upon 
 the old principles of whiggism, as set forth by him ; 
 but he was an utter enemy to some new ones 
 adopted by that party, in order to enlarge their 
 bottom, and which evidently tended to republi- 
 canism. And as to their maxims with regard to 
 religion, he widely differed from them. As these 
 were made an essential part of the character of a 
 whig at that time, he could not be said to be of 
 their body. The truth is, that Swift was a man of 
 too much integrity to belong to either party, while 
 they were both so much in the wrong. This he 
 himself declared in the opening of the political 
 tract printed at this time, entitled, "The Senti- 
 ments of a Church of England Man, with respect 
 
 * And last, my vengeance to complete, 
 May you descend to take renown, 
 Pievail'd on by the thing you hate, 
 
 A whig, and one who wears a gown. S. 
 
 to
 
 72 THE LIF4S 
 
 .to Religion and Government.;" which begins with 
 these words: " Whoever has examined the conduct 
 and proceedings of both parties for some years past, 
 whether in or out of power, cannot well conceive 
 it possible to go far toward the extremes of either, 
 without offering some violence to his integrity or 
 understanding." His motive for publishing this 
 tract at that juncture, he has given in the following 
 words: "When the two parties, that divide the 
 whole commonwealth, come once to a rupture, 
 without any hopes left of forming a third with 
 better principles to balance the others; it seems 
 every man's duty to choose one of the two sides, 
 although he cannot entirely approve of either; and 
 all pretences to neutrality are justly exploded by 
 both, being too stale and obvious; only intending 
 the safety and ease of a few individuals, while the 
 publick is embroiled. This was the opinion and 
 practice of the latter Cato, whom I esteem to have 
 been the wisest and the best of all the Romans. 
 But before things proceed to open violence, the 
 truest service a private man may hope to do his 
 country, is, by unbiassing his mind as much as 
 possible, and then endeavouring to moderate be- 
 tween the rival powers; which must needs be 
 owned a fair proceeding with the world; because 
 it is, of all others, the least consistent with the 
 common design of making a fortune, by the merit 
 of an opinion. 
 
 Swift, from several circumstances at that time, 
 apprehended that the parties would speedily come 
 jtp an open rupture; he therefore thought it the 
 duty of a good citizen to endeavour to form a third 
 party out of the more moderate of each, that should 
 
 serve
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 73 
 
 serve as a check upon the violence of both. With 
 this view he represents the extremes of both par- 
 lies, and the evil consequences likely to ensue from 
 each, in the strongest light ; at the same time he 
 clearly shows that the moderate of both hardly dif- 
 fered in any material point, and were kept asunder 
 only by the odious distinction of a name. He set 
 .down in this piece such a just, political, and reli- 
 gious creed, so far as related to any connexion be- 
 tween church and state, as every honest subject of 
 the church of England must at once assent to. 
 And indeed if it were in the nature of things, that 
 a party could have been formed upon principles of 
 moderation, good sense, and publick spirit, his 
 scheme would have taken place, from the masterly 
 manner in which it was proposed. His design was, 
 to engage all those of both parties, who wished well 
 to the established church, to unite together under 
 the denomination of church of England men, in- 
 stead of the odious terms of high and low church, 
 calculated to keep up animosity ; and by so doing, 
 to leave the most violent of both parties, whose 
 numbers would in that case be much reduced, ex- 
 posed to the world in their true colours, merely by 
 being singled out in the different herds of their as- 
 sociates. In that case, there were few whigs, so 
 lost to all sense of shame, as would choose to be 
 one of a handful of English protestants, at the head 
 of a numerous body of sectaries of all kinds, infi- 
 dels and atheists ; as there would be few tories 
 who would wish to appear leaders of papists and 
 Jacobites only. Under the name of church of 
 England man, none of those enemies to our con- 
 stitution could have listed ; whereas under the 
 
 vague
 
 74 THE LIFE 
 
 vague names of whig and tory, persons of all deno- 
 minations and principles were enrolled without 
 scruple by both, merely to increase their numbers, 
 and swell the cry. This project, for the uniting of 
 parties, seems to have taken strong possession of 
 Swift, and not to have quitted him for some time, 
 as we find he mentions it in a * letter to colonel 
 Hunter, in the beginning of the following year. 
 ^However, if this design failed, he was determined, 
 whenever matters should come to an open rupture 
 between the parties, not to remain neutral ; but to 
 choose that side, which, upon the whole, should 
 appear to him the best, according to the maxim 
 before laid down. In order therefore to render 
 himself of the greater consequence, he seems to 
 have exerted himself this year in the display of his 
 various talents. Beside the two admirable tracts 
 before mentioned, he published " A Letter from a 
 Member of the House of Commons in Ireland, to 
 a Member of the House of Commons in England, 
 concerning the Sacramental Test." As he always 
 kept a watchful eye upon the motions of the pres- 
 byterians, the intention of this piece was, not only 
 to frustrate their attempt to get the test act repealed 
 in Ireland, but also to alarm the people in England, 
 by showing that their design was deeper laid, and 
 that the carrying of it first in that country, was only 
 intended as a precedent for doing the same here. In 
 the humourous way, he wrote also in this year those 
 
 * " I amuse myself sometimes with writing verses to Mrs. Finch, 
 and sometimes with projects for the uniting of parties, which I 
 perfect over night, and burn in the morning." Swift's Letters to 
 Col. Hunter, Jan. 1Q, 1708-9. 
 
 admirable
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 75 
 
 admirable papers on Partridge the almanack maker, 
 which appeared under the name of Isaac Bickerstaff, 
 esq. ; and in poetry, " An Elegy on the supposed 
 Death of Partridge ;" the Story of " Baucis and 
 Phile*mon ;" and two copies of verses on Vanbrugh's 
 house*. So wide a display of such different talents ; 
 such knowledge in political affairs ; so much good 
 sense and strength of reasoning, joined to so pure 
 and masterly a style; and above all, so much wit, 
 and such uncommon powers of ridicule, could not 
 fail of raising prognosticks, that he would prove the 
 most able and formidable champion living, of that 
 party whose cause he should espouse. The whigs 
 therefore, who had hitherto neglected him, as consi-. 
 dering him in the light of a half brother, began now 
 to dread, and consequently to pay him great court, 
 
 * It appears from a memorandum in Swift's handwriting on the 
 back of a letter directed to him, in Oct. 1708, at lord Pem- 
 broke's 'house in Leicester-fields, that he had an intention this 
 year to publish a volume of his works, consisting of the following 
 articles : 
 
 SUBJECTS FOR A VOLUME. 
 
 Discourse on Athens and Rome. Essay on Conversation. 
 BickerstafF's Predictions. Conjectures on the Thoughts 
 Elegy on Partridge. of Posterity about me. 
 Letter to Bishop of Kfjllala.] On the present Taste of Read- 
 Harris's Petition. ing. 
 Baucis and Philemon. Apology for the Tale, &c. 
 Vanbrugh's House. Part of an Answer to Tindal. 
 The Salamander. History of Van's House. 
 Epigram on Mrs. Floyd. Apollo outwitted. To Aide- 
 Meditation on a Broomstick. lia. 
 Sentiments of a Church of Eng- Project for Reformation of 
 
 land Man. Manners. 
 
 Reasons against abolishing A Lady's Table-book. 
 
 Christianity. Tritical Essay. N. 
 
 Their
 
 7$ THE LIFE 
 
 Their apprehensions were quickened by the narrow 
 escape which they just then had of being turned out 
 of power, by the intrigues of Mr. Harley ; which 
 had very nearly taken place then, in the manner 
 thev did two years afterward. No solicitations or 
 promises were wanting, on their parts, to engage 
 Swift on their side ; but they found him a man of 
 stubborn integrity ; nor could any temptation pre- 
 vail on him to go the lengths which they wanted. 
 Failing in this, their next wish was to send him out 
 of the way, in some honourable post. That of se- 
 cretary to an intended embassy to the court of 
 Vienna, was first designed for him ; but that pro- 
 ject going off, there was a scheme on foot to make 
 him bishop of Virginia, with a power to ordain 
 priests and deacons, and a general authority over all 
 the clergy in the American colonies. There could 
 not have been a stronger bait thrown out to Swift 
 than this ; as it would gratify his ambition, by a 
 most extensive power, in the very sphere where he 
 most wished to have it, in the church ; as religion 
 was always nearest his heart. Accordingly we find 
 that he was very earnest in the pursuit of that point ; 
 but, unfortunately for the interests of religion in 
 America, and as unfortunately for the whiggish mi- 
 nistry, notwithstanding their promises, that it should 
 be done, the design fell to the ground, and Swift re- 
 mained in the same state; remained on the spot, 
 filled with resentment at their treatment of him, and 
 determined to wreak his vengeance on them, when 
 opportunity should serve, which was not now far 
 distant. 
 
 Early in the following year, Swift published that 
 
 admirable piece, called, " A Project for the Ad~ 
 
 7 yancement
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 77 
 
 vancement of Religion ;" in which, after enume- 
 rating all the corruptions and depravities of the age, 
 he shows, that the chief source of them was the 
 neglect, or contempt of religion, which so gene- 
 rally prevailed. Though at first view this pamphlet 
 seemed to have no other drift, but to lay down a 
 very rational scheme for a general reformation of 
 manners, yet upon a closer examination it will ap- 
 pear to have been a very strong, though covert at- 
 tack, upon the power of the whigs. It could not 
 have escaped a man of Swift's penetration, that the 
 queen had been a long time wavering in her senti- 
 ments, and that she was then meditating that change 
 in the ministry, which some time afterward took, 
 place. To confirm her in this intention, and to 
 hasten the execution of it, appears, from the whole 
 tenour of the pamphlet, to have been the main ob- 
 ject he had in view, in publishing it at that time. 
 For though it seems designed for the use of the world 
 in general, and is particularly addressed to the coun- 
 tess of, Berkeley, yet that it was chiefly calculated for 
 the queens perusal, appears from this ; that the whole 
 execution of his project depended upon the impression 
 which it might make upon her mind; and the only 
 means of reformation proposed, were such as were 
 altogether in her own power. At setting out, he 
 says ; " Now, as universal and deep rooted as these 
 corruptions appear to be, I am utterly deceived, if an 
 effectual remedy might not be applied to most of 
 them ; neither am I now upon a wild speculative pro- 
 ject, but such a one as may be easily put in execution. 
 For, while the prerogative of giving all employments 
 continues in the crown, either immediately, or by 
 subordination ; it is in the power of the prince to 
 
 make
 
 78 THE LIFE 
 
 make piety and virtue become the fashion of the 
 age, if, at the same time, he would make them ne- 
 cessary qualifications for favour and preferment." He 
 then proceeds to show the necessity of her majesty's 
 exerting her authority in this way, by a very free 
 observation, couched under one of the finest com- 
 pliments that ever was penned : u It is clear from 
 present experience, that the bare example of the 
 best prince, will not have any mighty influence 
 where the age is very corrupt. For, when was there 
 ever a better prince on the throne than the present 
 queen ? I do not talk of her talent for government, 
 her love of the people, or any other qualities that are 
 purely regal ; but her piety, charity, temperance, 
 conjugal love, and whatever other virtues do best 
 adorn a private life ; wherein, without question, or 
 flattery, she has no superiour : yet, neither will it be 
 satire or peevish invective to affirm, that infidelity and 
 vice are not much diminished since her coming to the 
 crown ; nor will, in all probability, until more effec- 
 tual remedies be provided." 
 
 The chief remedy he proposes, is, " To bring re- 
 ligion into countenance, and encourage those who, 
 from the hope of future reward, and dread of future 
 punishment, will be moved to act with justice and 
 integrity. This is not to be accomplished in any 
 other way than by introducing religion as much as 
 possible, to be the turn and fashion of the age, which 
 only lies in the power of the administration ; the 
 prince, with utmost strictness, regulating the court, 
 the ministry, and other persons in great employment ; 
 and these, by their example and authority, reforming 
 all who have dependence on them." 
 
 Having expatiated on this topick, and shown how 
 
 easily
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 7Q 
 
 easily such a design might he carried into execution, 
 if the queen would only form such a determination, 
 he proceeds to enforce his arguments by conscien- 
 tious motives ; which were likely to have the strong- 
 est effects upon one of such a truly religious turn as 
 the queen was. After having just mentioned some 
 points of reformation, in which the aid of the legis- 
 lature might be found necessary, he says, " But this 
 is beside my present design, which was only to show 
 what degree of reformation is in the power of the 
 queen, without interposition of the legislature ; and 
 which her majesty is, without question, obliged in 
 conscience to endeavour by her authority, as much as 
 she does by her practice." 
 
 And in another place he still more forcibly urges 
 arguments of the same nature : " The present queen 
 is a prince of as many and great virtues, as ever filled 
 a throne : how would it brighten her character to 
 the present, and after ages, if she would exert her 
 utmost authority to instil some share of those virtues 
 into her people, which they are too degenerate to 
 learn, only from her example. And^ be it spoke 
 with all the veneration possible for so excellent a so- 
 vereign ; her best endeavours in this weighty affair, 
 are a most important part of her duty, as well as of 
 her interest, and her honour." 
 
 Nothing could have been better contrived to work 
 upon the queen's disposition, than the whole of this 
 tract. In* which the author first shows that all the 
 corruptions and wickedness of the times, arose from 
 irreligion : he shows that it is in her majesty's power 
 alone, without other aid, to restore religion to its 
 true lustre and force, and to make it have a general 
 influence on the manners and conduct of her people: 
 
 and
 
 80 THE LIFE 
 
 and then he urges the strongest motives, of honour, 
 of interest, and of duty, to induce her to enter upon 
 the immediate exercise of that power. And to ren r 
 der what he offered upon that head more forcible, it 
 was apparently written by some disinterested hand, 
 from no other principle but a due regard to religion 
 and morality. For the author artfully suppressed all 
 mention of party : and yet, upon a closer examina- 
 tion, it would appear, that nothing could be more 
 directly, though covertly, aimed at the destruction 
 of the power of the whigs. For, the first step pro- 
 posed to render the design effectual, was, that the 
 queen should employ none in her ministry, or in any 
 offices about her person, but such as had the cause 
 of religion at heart : now this was in effect to say, 
 that she must begin with turning out the whigs, or 
 low church party, who in general professed either an 
 indifference to, or contempt of religion ; and choose 
 her officers from among the tories, or high church 
 party, with whom the support of the interests of 
 religion was the first and most generally avowed 
 principle. 
 
 After the publication of this piece, Swift went to 
 Ireland, where he remained till the revolution in the 
 ministry took place, which happened in the following 
 year ; when Mr. Harley, and Mr. St. John, the 
 heads of the tory party in the house of commons, 
 were appointed to fill the chief offices ; the former, 
 that of chancellor of the exchequer, the latter, that 
 of principal secretary of state. During this interval, 
 Swift passed much of his time with Mr. Addison, 
 who had gone over to Ireland as first secretary to 
 the earl of Wharton, then lord lieutenant of that 
 kingdom. By this means he had an opportunity 
 
 of
 
 Ofr DOCTOR SWIPf. 81 
 
 of being an eye witness of the corrupt administration 
 of affairs in that kingdom, under that lord's govern- 
 ment, which he afterwards 1 exposed to the world in 
 such strong and odious colours. Had Swift been 
 intent only on his own promotion, it is probable that 
 he might easily have obtained preferment in Ireland 
 at that juncture, on account of his great intimacy 
 with the secretary ; but he would have scorned to pay 
 court to a viceroy of such a character, or even to 
 have accepted any favour at his hands. Upon the 
 change of affairs at court, when a new ministry was 
 appointed, Swift was requested by the bishops of 
 Ireland to take upon him the charge of soliciting a 
 remission of the first fruits, and twentieth parts, to 
 the clergy of that kingdom. It was not without 
 great reluctance that he accepted of this office, for 
 reasons hereafter to be assigned; but his regard to 
 the interests of the church, outweighed all other 
 considerations, and he accordingly set out for Eng- 
 land as soon as his credentials were ready. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 FROM THE INTRODUCTION TO MR. HARLEY, TO THE 
 DEATH OP THE QUEEN. 
 
 vjN his arrival in London in the month of Septem- 
 ber 1710, he found that open war was declared be- 
 tween the two parties, and raged with the utmost 
 violence. There was no room for moderating 
 schemes, and according to his own maxim, that a 
 good citizen could not remain neutral in such a situ- 
 ation of affairs, Swift was to choose his party, and to 
 vol. 1. G declare
 
 82 THB LItfK 
 
 declare himself accordingly. His arrival at that 
 crisis, filled the whigs with joy, as in general they 
 looked upon him to be of their party ; but the leaders 
 among them were not without their apprehensions, 
 being conscious of the ill treatment he had met with 
 at their hands. Of this, take the following account 
 from Swift himself * : All the whigs were ravished 
 to see me, and would have laid hold on me as a twig* 
 to save them from sinking; and the great men were 
 all making their clumsy apologies. It is good to see 
 what a lamentable confession the whigs all make of 
 my ill usage." On the other hand, the tories were 
 exceedingly alarmed at his arrival, as they had always 
 considered him in the light of a whig, and as the 
 leaders of their party had not even the least personal 
 knowledge of him ; how strong their apprehensions 
 must have been, we may judge from a passage in 
 Swift's Journal of the following year, dated June 30, 
 1711, where he says, that, " Mr. Harley and Mr. 
 secretary St. John frequently protested, after he had 
 become their intimate, that he was the only man in 
 
 England they were afraid of.'* Iivsuch a disposition, 
 
 I 
 
 * At this time, and during his connexion with the ministry af- 
 terward, Swift kept a regular journal of all the most remarkable 
 events, as well as little anecdotes; which he transmitted every 
 fortnight to Stella, for her private perusal, and that of Mrs. 
 Dingley, but upon condition that it should be communicated to 
 no other person whatsoever. This journal was luckily preserved, 
 and some time since given to the world. As nothing could better 
 *how Swift's own sentiments with regard to afi'airs at that time, 
 and the motives which induced him to take the part he did in 
 them, than such a journal, written as it were to the hour, and 
 transmitted to that person in the world to whom his heart was- 
 most open ; the account of his conduct, during that busy time, 
 will, wherever there is an opportunity, be corroborated by extracts 
 from it. $. 
 
 therefore,
 
 OF DOCTOfc SWIFT. 83 
 
 therefore, it is to be supposed, that a visit from Dr. 
 Swift to Mr. Harley, was by no means an unaccept- 
 able thing. The occasion of this visit is set forth at 
 large, in the letters which passed between Dr. King, 
 archbishop of Dublin, and Dr. Swift, published in 
 his works. Upon his leaving Ireland, Swift had 
 undertaken to solicit the affairs of the first fruits, and 
 twentieth parts, for the benefit of the clergy in Ire- 
 land, which had been long depending, and in vain 
 attempted by two bishops sent over for that purpose 
 by the whole body. In his first letter to the arch- 
 bishop on that subject, he says <e As soon as I re- 
 ceived the packets from your grace, I went to wait 
 upon Mr. Harley. I had prepared him before by 
 another hand, where he was very intimate ; and got 
 myself represented (which I might justly do) as one 
 extremely ill used' by the last ministry, after some ob- 
 ligations, because I refused to go certain lengths they 
 would have me." He afterward gives such an account 
 of the whole transactions as might be proper to be 
 shown. 
 
 But in his Journal to Stella, he is more parti- 
 cular: 
 
 Oct. 4, 1710. ' Mr. Harley received me with 
 the greatest respect and kindness imaginable, and ap- 
 pointed me an hour, two or three days after, to open 
 my business to him." 
 
 Oct. 7. "I had no sooner told him my business, 
 but he entered into it with all kindness ; asked me 
 for my powers, and read them ; and read likewise the 
 memorial I had drawn up, and put it into his pocket 
 to show the queen : told me the measures he would 
 take ; and in short, said every thing I could wish. 
 Told me he must bring Mr. St. John and me ac- 
 
 g % quainted ;
 
 84 TI<E LIFE- 
 
 quainted ; and spoke so many things of persona! 
 kindness and esteem, that I am inclined to believe 
 what some friends had told me, that he would do 
 every thing to bring me over. He desired me to dine 
 with him on Tuesday ; and, after four hours being 
 with him, set me down at St. James's coffeehouse in 
 a hackney coach. 
 
 " I must tell you a great piece of refinement in 
 Harley. He charged me to come and see him often ; 
 I told him I was loth to trouble him, in so much bu- 
 siness as he had, and desired I might have leave to 
 come at his levee ; which he immediately refused, 
 and said/' That was no place for friends.* 
 
 " Oct. 10. " Harley tells me he has shown my 
 memorial to the queen, and seconded it very heartily ; 
 because, said he, the queen designs to signify it to 
 the bishops of Ireland in form, and take notice that 
 it was done upon a memorial from you ; which he said 
 he did to make it look more respectful to me ; I be- 
 lieve never was any thing compassed so soon : and 
 purely -done by my personal credit with Mr. Harley ; 
 who is so excessively obliging, that 1 know not what 
 to make of it, unless to show the rascals of the other 
 party, that they used a man unworthily who had de- 
 served better. He speaks all the kind things to me 
 in the world." Oct. 14. " I stand with the new 
 people ten times better than ever I did with the old, 
 and forty times more caressed." 
 When we conskler the rapidity of Mr. Harley 's 
 motions on this occasion, who was remarkable for 
 procrastination, and the open freedom of his beha- 
 viour toward Swift, so contrary to that closeness and 
 reserve, which were his characteristic^, we may 
 judge of his eager desire to fix him in their partv 
 
 Nor
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 85 
 
 Nor was this hard to be accomplished: Swift had long 
 in his own mind been of their side ; and he only 
 waited for such a favourable juncture as now offered 
 to declare himself. Mr. Harley's uncommon conde- 
 scension, flattered his pride ; and the obligingness of 
 his behaviour, engaged his friendship. Accordingly, 
 after he had inquired into their plan, and the mea- 
 sures which they intended to pursue, as he found* 
 them entirely consonant to his own sentiments, he 
 embarked without hesitation in their cause, and en- 
 tered into their interests with his whole heart. His 
 approbation of their measures he expresses in the fol- 
 lowing manner in his Journal. 
 
 Nov. 29. " The present ministry have a difficult 
 task, and want me. According to the best judgment 
 I have, they are pursuing the true interest of the 
 publick, and therefore I am glad to contribute what 
 lies in my powder." 
 
 The writers on both sides had before this taken 
 the field, and attacked each other with great acri- j 
 mony. On the whig side, were Mr. Addison, bishop 
 Burnet, sir Richard Steele, Mr. Congreve, Mr. 
 Rowe, and many others of less note. On the part 
 of the tories, the chief writers were, lord Boling- 
 broke, bishop Atterbury, and Mr. Prior. They had 
 begun a weekly paper, called, " The Examiner," 
 which was the joint work of those three celebrated 
 writers, and had published twelve numbers*. But as 
 soon as Swift declared himself, they thought all aid 
 to him unnecessary, and the whole conduct of that 
 paper was from that time put into his hands. He 
 entered the rleld alone, and, with a Sampsonlike 
 
 * They had published thirteen. See Vol. IV. p. 3. N. 
 
 strength, 
 
 i
 
 86 THE LIFE 
 
 strength, scorned assistance, and despised numbers. 
 His power of ridicule was like a flail in his hand, 
 against which there was no fence. Though he in- 
 dustriously concealed his name, yet his friend Ad- 
 dison soon discovered him, and retired prudently 
 from the field of battle, leaving the rest exposed to 
 the attacks of this irresistible champion ; by whom it 
 must be allowed they were unmercifully handled, 
 till, one after another, they were all laid low. His 
 first paper was published on the 2d of November, 
 1/10, No. 14 of the Examiner, which was about a 
 month after his introduction to Mr. Harley ; and he 
 continued them without interruption till June 7> 
 1/11, where h^ dropped it, closing it with No. 45, 
 and then leaving it to be carried on by other hands. 
 During this time he lived in the utmost degree of 
 confidence and familiarity, not only with Mr. Har- 
 ley, but the whole ministry. Mr. becretary St. John 
 was not behind Mr. Harley, either in desire of cul- 
 tivating Swift's acquaintance, or in address, which 
 the following extract from his Journal will sufficiently 
 show. 
 
 Nov. 11, 1710. "I dined to-day, by invitation, 
 with the secretary of state, Mr. St. John. Mr. Har- 
 ley came into us before dinner, and made me his 
 excuses for .not dining with us, because he was to re- 
 ceive people who came to propose the advancing of 
 money to government. The secretary used me with 
 all the kindness in the world. Prior came in after 
 dinner ; and upon an occasion, the secretary said to 
 him, * The best thing I ever read is not your's, but 
 Dr. Swift on Vanbrugh ;* which I do not reckon so 
 very good neither; but Prior was damped, till I 
 stuffed him with two or three compliments. He 
 
 told
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 87 
 
 told me, among other things, that Mr. Harley com- 
 plained he could keep nothing from me, I had the 
 way so much of getting into him. I knew that was 
 a refinement, and so I told him ; and it was so. 
 Indeed it is hard to see these great men use me like 
 one who was their betters, and the puppies with you 
 in Ireland hardly regarding me. But there are some 
 reasons for all this, which I will tell you when we 
 meet." 
 
 In another place, he says, March 3, 17 JO-1 1. "I 
 dined with Mr. Harley to-day. Every Saturday, 
 lord keeper, secretary St. John, and I, dine with him, 
 and sometimes lord Rivers, and they let in none 
 else. I staid with Mr. Harley till nine, when we 
 had much discourse together, after the rest were 
 gone, and I gave him very truly my opinion, when 
 he desired it." 
 
 Feb. 18, 1710-11. " Secretary St. John would 
 need have me dine with him to-day ; and there I 
 found three persons I never saw, two I had no ac- 
 quaintance with, and one I did not care for ; so I left 
 them early, and came home, it being no day to 
 walk, but scurvy rain and wind. The secretary tells 
 me he has put a cheat upon me ; for lord Peterbo- 
 row sent him twelve dozen flasks of Burgundy, on 
 condition I should have my share ; but he never was 
 quiet till they were all gone ; so I reckon he owes me 
 thirty-six pounds." 
 
 Feb. 25. "I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. 
 John, on condition I might choose my company, 
 which were lord Rivers, lord Carteret, sir T. Mansel, 
 and Mr. Lewis. I invited Masham, Hill, sir John 
 Stanley, and George Granville, but they were en- 
 gaged ; and I did it in revenge of his having such 
 
 bad
 
 88 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 bad company when I dined with him before. So we 
 
 laughed, &c. 
 
 In the beginning of February, there was a piece of 
 behaviour in Mr. Harley toward Swift, which net- 
 tled him to the quick, and had nearly occasioned a 
 breach between them. Of this Swift gives the fol- 
 lowing account in his Journal. 
 
 Feb. 6, )7io. " Mr. Harley desired me to dine 
 with him again to-day, but I refused him ; for I fell 
 out with him yesterday, and will not see him again 
 till he makes me amends." 
 
 Feb. 7- " I was this morning early with Mr. Lewis 
 of the secretary's office, and saw a letter Mr. Harley 
 had sent him, desiring to be reconciled ; but I was 
 deaf to all entreaties, and have desired Lewis to go 
 to him, and let him know that I expected farther sa- 
 tisfaction. If we let these great ministers pretend 
 too much, there will be no governing them. He 
 promises to make me easy, if I will but come and 
 see him ; but I won't, and he shall do it by message, 
 or I will cast him off. I will tell you the cause of 
 our quarrel when I see you, and refer it to yourselves. 
 In that he did something, which he intended for a 
 favour, and I have taken it quite otherwise, dis- 
 liking both the thing and the manner, and it has 
 heartily vexed me ; and all I have said is truth, 
 though it looks like jest : and I absolutely refused to 
 submit to his intended favour, and expect farther sa- 
 tisfaction." 
 
 In a subsequent part of the Journal he acquaints 
 Stella with the cause of quarrel. 
 
 March 7. " Yes I understand a cipher, and Ppt* 
 
 * Stella. S. 
 
 guesses
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 80 
 
 guesses right, as she always does. He gave me at 
 bsadnnk Iboinlpt dfaonr ufawfbtoy dpeonufnad * ; 
 which I sent him again by Mr. Lewis, to whom I 
 wrote a very complaining letter, that was showed 
 him, and so the matter ended. He told me he had 
 a quarrel with me; I said I had another with him, 
 and we returned to our friendship, and I should think 
 he loves me as well as a great minister can love a man 
 in so short a time." 
 
 Nothing could have been considered by Swift as 
 a greater indignity, than this offer of Mr. Harley's, \i 
 which put him on the footing of a hireling writer. 
 Accordingly, he was determined to let him see how 
 much he had mistaken his man, by refusing to see 
 him again till he had asked his pardon by a third 
 hand. He laid hold of this opportunity, to let the 
 ministry know how he expected to be treated by 
 them for the future : as a man, who not only-scorned . 
 a state of dependance, but who could not bear any r\. 
 thing that might carry the least appearance of it ; as 
 one who entered a volunteer in their cause, and who 
 scorned to lie under any obligation, or accept of any 
 thing to which he was not justly entitled by his me- 
 rits : and lastly, as one, who, conscious of his abili- 
 ties to serve the publick, expected to be considered 
 by them as their coadjutor in the cause, and to be 
 treated on a footing of entire equality. Accordingly, 
 immediately after Mr. Harley had made his peace 
 
 * This is a sort of cipher, in which, to disguise the words, su- 
 perfluous letters are introduced ; and the way to read it is to pass 
 oVer those letters, and retain only such as will make out words 
 and sense, in the following manner, where the letters to be re- 
 tained are capitals. Al BsAdNnK lBoInLpt dFuOnli uFalnF- 
 bToY dPeOnUiNaD, That is, A Bank Bill for Jiffy pound. S. 
 
 with
 
 SO THE LIFK 
 
 with him, he showed, by an extraordinary piece of 
 behaviour, that he was determined to extract this from 
 them, without bating the smallest article. The cir* 
 cumstance is mentioned in the following passage of 
 the Journal. 
 
 Feb. J 2. "I dined to-day with Mr. secretary St. 
 John: I went to the Court of requests at noon, and 
 sent Mr. Harley into the house to call the secretary, 
 to let him know I would not dine with him if he 
 dined late.'* 
 
 When this story is told, without any other circum- 
 stance, and we are informed that a private clergy- 
 man, vicar of a small country living, in an obscure 
 part of the world, sent the prime minister of Great 
 Britain, to bring out to him the first secretary of 
 $tate from the senate house, where he was engaged 
 in the important business of the nation, upon so fri- 
 volous an occasion, we should be apt to consider it 
 was a wanton exertion of the most insolent pride. 
 But when we reflect that this was done the very day 
 after he was reconciled to Mr. Harley, and that he 
 took the first opportunity of retaliating the slight 
 put upon him a few days before, it can only give us 
 a high opinion of his magnanimity. Besides, upon 
 this reconciliation, he thought it necessary to give 
 both ministers a specimen of the terms upon which 
 alone their union could continue, the principal of 
 which was a most perfect equality. How little Swift 
 was willing to allow them any superiority, may be 
 judged by an expression in his journal the next day 
 after this accident. 
 
 Feb. 13. " I have taken Mr. Harley into favour 
 *gain," 
 
 And
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. gl 
 
 And it soon afterward appeared how readily these 
 ministers came into his terms, as may be seen from 
 the following passage. 
 
 Feb. 1 7 . " The ministers are good honest hearty %] 
 fellows : I use them like dogs, because I expect they 
 will use me so. They call me nothing but Jonathan, 
 and I said I believed they would leave me Jonathan 
 as they found me ; and that I never knew a minister 
 do any thing for those whom they make companions 
 of their pleasures : and I believe you will find it so, 
 but I care not." 
 
 How tenacious he was of his rights in this respect, 
 and how ready to take the alarm upon the least ap- 
 pearance of their being infringed, we may judge from 
 the following account of what passed between the se-t 
 cretary and him, some time after, on an occasion of 
 that sort. 
 
 April 1, 1/11. "I dined with the secretary 
 who seemed terribly down and melancholy ; which 
 Mr. Prior and Lewis observed as well as I : perhaps 
 something is gone wrong ; perhaps there, is nothing 
 in it." 
 
 April 3. "I called at Mr. secretary's, to see what 
 
 the d ailed him on Sunday : I made him a very 
 
 proper speech, told him I observed he was much out 
 of temper ; that I did not expect he would tell me 
 the cause, but would be glad to see he was in bet- 
 ter ; and one thing I warned him of, never to appear 
 cold to me, for I would not be treated like a schools 
 boy ; that I had felt too much of that in my life aU 
 ready, that I expected every great minister, who 
 honoured me with his acquaintance, if he heard or 
 saw any thing to my disadvantage, would let me 
 fcnow it in plain words, and not put me in pain to 
 
 guess
 
 \ 
 
 $3 TIIE LIFE 
 
 guess by the change or coldness of his countenance or 
 behaviour ; for it was what I would hardly bear from 
 a crowned head, and I thought no subject's favour 
 was worth it* ; and that I designed to let my lord 
 keeper, and Mr. Harley, know the same thing, that 
 they might use me accordingly. He took all right ; 
 said I had reason ; vowed nothing ailed him, but sit- 
 ting up whole nights at business, and one night at 
 drinking; would have had me dine with him and 
 Mrs. Masham's brother, to make up matters ; but I 
 would not : I don't know, but I would not. But in- 
 deed I was engaged with my old friend Roliinson ; 
 you never heard of him before." 
 
 From this time we find that Swift was treated by 
 the ministry with the most unreserved confidence in 
 regard to publick affairs, and the most familiar inti- 
 macy in private ; being always present at their most 
 secret consultations in political matters, and a con- 
 stant companion of their chosen parties to enliven 
 their social hour. 
 
 Swift has given us the following view of the light 
 in which he considered the situation of affairs about 
 that time. "March 4, 17 10. " This kingdom is cer- 
 tainly ruined, as much as was ever any bankrupt mer- 
 chant. We must have a peace, let it be a bad or a 
 good one ; though nobody dares talk of it. The nearer 
 I look upon things, the worse I like them. I believe 
 the confederacy will soon break to pieces, and our fac- 
 tions at home increase. The ministry is upon a very 
 
 * In a subsequent part of the Journal to Stella, he says, " Don't 
 jou remember how I used to be in pain, when sir William Temple 
 would look cold and out of humour for three or four days, and I 
 used to suspect a hundred reasons ? 1 have plucked up my spirit 
 since then, faith ; be spoiled a fine gentleman.'' S. 
 
 narrow
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. Q3 
 
 narrow bottom, and stand like an isthmus between 
 the whigs on one side, and violent tories on the 
 other. They are able seamen, but the tempest is too 
 great, the ship too rotten, and the crew all against 
 them. Lord Somers has been twice in the queen's 
 closet, once very lately ; and the duchess of Somerset, 
 who now has the key, is a most insinuating woman ; 
 and I believe they will endeavour to play the same 
 game that has been played against them. I have 
 told them all this, which they know already ; but 
 they cannot help it. They have cautioned the queen 
 so much against being governed, that she observes it 
 too much. I could talk till to-morrow upon these 
 things, but they make me melancholy. I could not 
 but observe lately, after much conversation with Mr* 
 Harley; though he is the most fearless man alive, 
 and the least apt to despond, he confessed to me, 
 that, uttering his mind to me, gave him ease." 
 
 Swift was employed chiefly in writing the Exa- 
 miners till the beginning of the following June ; 
 when, having with ease foiled all his opponents in 
 this skirmishing way of fighting, he retired to pre- 
 pare for the general engagement, expected at the 
 opening of the next campaign, and which was likely 
 to prove decisive with regard to the fate of the two 
 parties. It is certain, that his apprehensions for the 
 side which he had embraced, were daily increasing ; 
 and as he said himself, " the nearer he looked 
 upon things, the worse he liked them." But his 
 apprehensions were either confined within his own 
 breast, or communicated only to the ministry, ex- 
 cepting in the Journal to Stella, where he is wholly 
 without reserve. He had said to her, so early as Ja- 
 nuary 7, J 7JO-1 1 : " In my opinion we have nothing 
 
 r\
 
 g4 rfE iim 
 
 to save us but a peace, and I am sure we cannot 
 have such a one as we hoped ; and then the whigs 
 will bawl what they would have done, had they con- 
 tinued in power. I tell the ministry this as much 
 as I dare, and shall venture to say a little more to 
 them." 
 
 Afterward, he gave her an account of the danger 
 they were in, frOm the most violent members of their 
 own party. 
 
 Feb. 18. " We are plagued with an October 
 club, that is, a set of above a hundred parliament 
 men of the country, who drink October beer at 
 home, and meet every evening at a tavern near the 
 parliament, to consult on affairs, and drive things to 
 extremes against the whigs ; to call the old ministry 
 to account, and get off five or six heads. The mi- 
 nistry seem not to regard them ; yet one of them in 
 confidence told me, that there must be something 
 thought on to settle things better. I'll tell you one 
 great secret : the queen, sensible how much she was 
 governed by the late ministry, runs a little into the 
 other extreme ; and is jealous in that point, even of 
 those who got her out of the other's hands. The 
 ministry is for gentler measures, and the other tories 
 for more violent. Lord Rivers, talking to me the 
 other day, cursed the paper called The Examiner, 
 for speaking civilly of the duke of Marlborough. 
 This I happened to talk of to the secretary, who 
 blamed the warmth of that lord, and some others ; 
 and swore, if their advice were followed, they would 
 be blown up in twenty-four hours. And I have rea- 
 son to think, they will endeavour to prevail on 
 the queen, to put her affairs more in the hands of a 
 ministry, than she does at present ; and there are twor 
 
 men
 
 \ 
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. gS 
 
 men thought on, one of whom you have often met 
 the name of in my letters." 
 
 But though there were many external cir >iim- 
 stances which rendered the situation of the ministry 
 very precarious, yet the chief danger arose from 
 themselves, through a want of concert and mutual 
 confidence, so necessary to men embarked in so dif- 
 ficult an undertaking. This was chiefly owing to 
 the reserve and mysterious conduct of Mr. Harley, 
 which gave great umbrage to Mr. St. John, and had 
 very nearly occasioned a breach between them about 
 that time, of which Swift makes the following men- 
 tion in his Journal. 
 
 August 27, 1711. <e The whigs whisper that 
 our ministry differ among themselves, and they begia 
 to talk out the secretary. They have some reasons 
 for their whispers ; though I thought it was a greater 
 secret. I do not much like the present posture 
 of things ; I always apprehended that any falling 
 out would ruin them, and so I have told them seve- 
 ral times." 
 
 Besides this reserve in the treasurer, there was a 
 procrastination in his temper, which ill suited such a 
 juncture of affairs, as required the utmost vigour and 
 dispatch. And though the secretary was a man of 
 great parts and fire, yet had he such a turn to dissi- 
 pation, as made him lose opportunities, and produced 
 as ill effects, as the procrastinating turn of the trea- 
 surer. Of this Swift complains in the following pas- 
 sage of his Journal. 
 
 Oct. 31,1711. " The deuse is in the secretary ; 
 when I went to him this morning he had people 
 with him ; hut says, we are to dine with Prior to-day, 
 %nd then will do all our business in the afternoon : 
 
 7 at
 
 Qd the life 
 
 at two, Prior sends word he is otherwise engaged i 
 then the secretary and I go and dine with brigadier 
 Britton, sit till eight, grow merry, no business done j 
 we part, and appoint no time to meet again. This 
 is the fault of all the present ministers ; teazing 
 me to death for my assistance, laying the whole 
 weight of their affairs upon it, and slipping oppor- 
 tunities." 
 
 On these, and many other accounts, things wore 
 but a very unpromising aspect on the side of the 
 tories ; especially as the leaders of the whig party 
 were active, vigilant, let slip no opportunity ; and at 
 the same time, being exasperated to the last degree 
 at the loss of their power, were determined to stop 
 at nothing, to compass the ruin of those who had 
 supplanted them. Yet, however gloomy the pros- 
 pect might be, Swift was not of a temper to give way 
 to despondency. It is certain, that from the time he 
 took a nearer view of the state of things, he had 
 little hopes that the cause in which he had en- 
 gaged would be brought to a happy issue ; yet he de- 
 termined, that, whenever it should fail, no part of 
 the miscarriage should be laid at his door ; and ac- 
 cordingly he exerted himself with the same sort of 
 ardour as is usually raised only by a near prospect 
 of success upon vigorous measures. Not content 
 with performing every thing that was allotted to him 
 in his own department, he let no opportunity slip of 
 urging the ministers to do what was proper on their 
 parts. He, with great freedom, told them of their 
 faults or omissions, sometimes in a serious, some- 
 times in a jocose way, as opportunities ofFered. 
 There is a little anecdote of that sort, which show* 
 how freely he indulged himself in this vein. Swift 
 
 had
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. (J7 
 
 had received a present of a curious snufF box from 
 colonel Hill, beautifully painted with a variety of 
 figures, which he showed to lord Oxford ; who, after 
 having examined the workmanship, turned up the 
 bottom of the box, where he spied a figure resem- 
 bling a goose, studded on the outside of the box 3 
 upon which, turning to Swift, he said, " Jonathan, 
 I think the colonel has made a goose of you." " Tis 
 true, my lord," replied Swift, " but if you will look 
 a little farther, you will see I am driving a snail be- 
 fore me :" which indeed happened to be the device* 
 " That's severe enough, Jonathan," said my lord, 
 " but I deserved it." 
 
 On another occasion, he observed to lord Boling- 
 broke, that men of great parts are often unfortunate 
 in the mangement of publick business, because they 
 are apt to go out of the common road, by the quick- 
 ness of their imagination : and he desired his lordship 
 to take notice, that the clerks in his office used a 
 sort of ivory knife, with a blunt edge, to divide a 
 sheet of paper, which never failed to cut it even, 
 only requiring a steady hand ; whereas, if they 
 should make use of a sharp penknife, the sharpness 
 would make it go often out of the crease, and dis- 
 figure the paper. 
 
 These friendly admonitions of Swift, though they 
 might sometimes produce good effects in particular 
 cases, when properly timed, yet could they do but 
 little toward eradicating faults which seem to have 
 been in a great measure constitutional, and which 
 were grown too strong by habit to be easily overcome. 
 Happy therefore was it for the ministry, that they 
 had, in Swift, such a faithful monitor, to remind 
 them of their errour3, and such an able coadjutor, to 
 
 vol. 1. H supply
 
 98 THE LIFE 
 
 supply their deficiences. As no man perhaps ever 
 possessed a greater degree of natural sagacity than 
 Swift, or was master of a deeper penetration from 
 close observations made on human nature, he often 
 warned the ministers of dangers in their own sphere, 
 which they did not see, though they had the advan- 
 tage of being much nearer the springs of action ; but 
 the acuteness of his sight more than made up for the 
 different degrees of distance. This was sufficiently 
 shown by the event, as all his conjectures proved to 
 be well-founded; nor was there a single prognostick 
 of his that failed. k These he was never sparing to 
 communicate to the ministers, though the phlegm 
 of one, and dissipation of the other, generally ren- 
 dered such notices of little effect. They were indeed 
 so very dilatory or remiss in their preparations for 
 the approaching contest, and their enemies so vigi- 
 lant and active, that their ruin must inevitably have 
 been accomplished soon after the meeting of the 
 parliament, had it not been for the measures taken 
 by Swift to prevent it. Finding that he could not 
 rouse the minister to that activity, which so critical a 
 juncture required, he determined to leave nothing 
 undone, that lay in his own power, toward the sup- 
 port of the common cause. There were two points, 
 which he thought of the utmost importance, and 
 which therefore demanded the highest attention : the 
 one was, to put an end to the cabals of the October 
 club, which threatened the most dangerous conse- 
 quences to the ministry; the other was, the making 
 of a peace; without which, it was a maxim with 
 him that the ministry could not stand. The first of 
 these points he soon accomplished. He procured a 
 meeting of some of the principal members of the 
 
 club
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. QQ 
 
 club at the tavern; where he gave them such co- 
 gent reasons for the conduct of the ministry, as re- 
 moved their fears and jealousies. This meeting oc- 
 casioned a suspicion in many of the absent members, 
 which was followed by a division of the club; after 
 which, their meetings being neither so numerous nor 
 so frequent, they gradually dwindled away; and, 
 upon the seasonable publication of a little pamphlet, 
 by Swift, called, " Some Advice to the Members 
 of the October Club," they were in general so well 
 satisfied, that their meetings were no more heard of; 
 and these very members were afterward the staunch- 
 est friends that the ministry had in the house of com- 
 mons. The affair of the peace was at a greater dis- 
 tance, and a point of infinitely more difficulty. Ne- 
 cessary as it was that it should be accomplished, in 
 the disposition that the nation then was, the mi- 
 nistry did not even dare to hmt it, and there was but 
 one way in which they could attempt it, with the 
 least degree of safety to themselves; and that was 
 by raising such a clamour for peace, as should make 
 the steps taken toward it by the ministry, appear to 
 be in consequence of the attention due to the gene- 
 ral voice of the nation. This Swift undertook to 
 accomplish; and with that view he took uncommon 
 pains in drawing up that famous political tract, called 
 " The Conduct of the dilies" the effects of which 
 will presently be shown. 
 
 But Swift had still a more difficult point to ma- 
 nage; and one, which was attended with more im- 
 mediate danger than all the rest; I mean, that of \J 
 keeping the ministry from quarrelling among them- I \ 
 Selves, which he foresaw must end in their total des- 
 
 h 1 truction.
 
 100 THE LIFE 
 
 truction *. The treasurer and secretary were of such 
 different dispositions, and so little agreed about the 
 means to be pursued toward the attainment of the 
 common end they had in view, that it required the 
 utmost address to prevent their coming to an open 
 rupture; which would probably have happened, even 
 at that critical time, had it not been for Swift's inter- 
 position. Perhaps there was no man living so well 
 qualified for the office of a mediator between them, 
 as Swift. The case required the constant interpo- 
 sition of some common friend to both, who should 
 not be suspected of any partiality to either, or of any 
 interested views in the advice he should give; at the 
 same time of one, who would speak his mind with 
 unlimited freedom to each separately, or both to- 
 gether, without fear of disobliging. He must 
 therefore be a man, whose assistance was of so much 
 moment to each in the prosecution of their several 
 designs, that neither would dare to break with the 
 other unreasonably, lest his whole weight should be 
 thrown into the opposite scale. And perhaps there 
 was no man living at that juncture, who could per- 
 fectly answer this description, but Swift. Accordingly 
 we find, that for the space of more than two years 
 afterward, though there was much ill blood, and many 
 bickerings between them, he kept them from coming 
 to an open rupture ; and the incurable breach which 
 
 * Swift, in a letter to the archbishop of Dublin, dated August 
 11, 1711, says, " I take the safety of the present ministry to consist 
 in the agreement of these great men, lord keeper, lord treasurer, and 
 Mr. Secretary ; and so 1 have told them together, between jest 
 and earnest, and two of them separately with more seriousness." 
 
 S. 
 afterward
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 101 
 
 afterward ensued, was made during his absence in 
 Ireland, when he went to take possession of his 
 deanery. 
 
 In this critical situation of affairs, and in the midst 
 of that load of business which was thrown upon 
 Swift's shoulders, let us stop a while, to admire the 
 vigour and activity of his mind, which, at such a 
 juncture, could find leisure to throw out, as if it 
 were a holiday task, his favourite design, of esta- 
 blishing the English language on some solid foun- 
 dation. 
 
 In a letter to the archbishop of Dublin, dated 
 July \1, 171 1, there is this passage: " I have been 
 engaging my lord treasurer, and the other great men, 
 in a project of my own, which they tell me they 
 will embrace, especially his lordship. He is to erect 
 some kind of society, or academy, under the pa- 
 tronage of the ministers, and protection of the queen, 
 for correcting, enlarging, polishing, and fixing our 
 language. The methods must be left to the society; 
 only I am writing a letter to my lord treasurer, by 
 way of proposals, and some general hints, which 
 I design to publish, and he expects from me. All 
 this may come to nothing, although I find the in- 
 genious and learned men of all my acquaintance fait 
 readily in with it; and so I hope will your grace, 
 if the design can be well executed. I would desire 
 at leisure some of your grace's thoughts on this 
 matter." 
 
 As the time of the parliament's meeting ap- 
 proached, which was to decide the fate of the par- 
 ties, Swift applied himself closely to the finishing of 
 a work, from which great matters were expected, 
 toward inclining people to the main object of the 
 ministry, a peace.
 
 102 THE LIFE 
 
 His first mention of it to Stella, is in his journal, 
 Oct. 26, n 11. " We have no quiet with the whigs, 
 they are so violent against a peace ; but I will cool 
 them with a vengeance very soon. I have written 
 a paper, which the ministers reckon will do abund- 
 ance of good, and open the eyes of the nation, who 
 are half bewitched against a peace. Few of this 
 generation can remember any thing but war and 
 taxes, and they think it is as it should be; whereas 
 it is certain, we are the most undone people in Eu- 
 rope, as I am afraid I shall make appear beyond all 
 contradiction." 
 
 Upon the meeting of parliament, on the 7th of 
 December 1711? Swift's apprehensions and prog- 
 nosticks proved to be but too well founded. He 
 saw clearly, that if the queen did not stand firm 
 in support of the ministry, they were undone; 
 and from a knowledge of her temper, he dreaded 
 some change in her, from the influence which the * 
 duchess of Somerset had over her; who had suc- 
 ceeded the duchess of Marlborough in her favour, 
 and whose husband was avowedly bent on the destruc- 
 tion of the ministry. His fears proved indeed to 
 have been too well founded. What passed on this 
 occasion, is thus related in his journal, Dec. 7, 1711* 
 "The earl of Nottingham began, and spoke against 
 a peace, and desired, that in their address they might 
 put in a clause, to advise the queen not to make a 
 peace without Spain; which was debated, and carried 
 
 * In a letter to the archbishop of Dublin, dated August 26, 
 1711, Swift says, " You know the duchess of Somerset is a groat 
 favourite, and has got the duchess of Marlborough's key. She is 
 insinuating, and a woman of intrigue; and wHI, I believe, do what 
 jll offices she can to the secretary." S. 
 
 <5 by
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 103 
 
 by the whigs, by about six voices, in a committee 
 of the whole house." The question's being then 
 carried against the ministry, was no small surprise 
 to them, as they did not expect it, though Swift 
 had often warned them of it, and pointed out the 
 means by which it would be effected. But the 
 behaviour of the queen, upon that occasion, was 
 such a thunderclap, as perfectly astounded them, 
 and made them give over all as lost. This circum- 
 stance is thus related by Swift in his Journal, Dec. 
 8,1711. " When the queen was going from the 
 house of lords, where she sat to hear the debate, on 
 the 7 th of December, 1711, the duke of Shrews- 
 bury, lord chamberlain, asked her majesty, whether 
 he, or the great chamberlain Lindsey, ought to lead 
 her out ! she answered short, * Neither of you,' and 
 gave her hand to the duke of Somerset, who was 
 louder than any in the house against a peace." 
 This behaviour of the queen could be construed in 
 no other light than a desertion of the ministry, and 
 accordingly it produced such an effect, that Swift 
 tells us, " the clause was carried the next day, in the 
 house of lords, almost two to one," The conse- 
 quences of this, are thus described by Swift, in his 
 History of the Peace of Utrecht. " When this ad- 
 dress, against any peace without Spain, &c. was car- 
 ried in the house of lords, it is not easy to describe 
 the effect it had upon most men's passions. The 
 partisans of the old ministry triumphed loudly, and 
 without any reserve, as if the game were their own. 
 The earl of Wharton was observed in the house to 
 smile, and to put his hands to his neck, when any 
 of the ministry was speaking; by which he would 
 have it understood, that some heads were in danger. 
 
 Parker,
 
 104 THE LIFE 
 
 Parker, the chief justice, began already, with great 
 zeal and officiousness, to prosecute authors and prin- 
 ters of weekly and other papers, and written in de- 
 fence of the administration: in short, joy and ven- 
 geance sat visible in every countenance of that party. 
 " On the other side, all well wishers to the church, 
 the queen, or the peace, were equally dejected; and 
 the treasurer stood the foremost mark, both of his 
 enemies fury, and the censure of his friends. Among 
 the latter, some imputed this fatal miscarriage to 
 his procrastinating nature; others, to his immea- 
 surable publick thrift ! Both parties agreed^ that a 
 first minister, with very moderate skill in affairs, 
 might easily have governed the events ; and some 
 began to doubt, whether the great fame of his abili- 
 ties, acquired in other stations, where what he justly 
 deserved." Swift gives the following account of his 
 first interview with the lord treasurer on this occa- 
 sion, in his Journal, Dec. 8, 17 1 1. " Mr. Masham 
 begged us to stay, because lord treasurer would call, 
 and we were resolved to fall on him about his negli- 
 gence in securing a majority. He came, and ap- 
 peared in good humour, as usual, but I thought his 
 countenance was much cast down. I rallied him, 
 and desired him to give me his staff, which he did ; 
 I told him, if he would secure it me a week, I would 
 set all right; he asked, how? I said, I would im- 
 mediately turn lord Marlborough, his two daughters, 
 the duke and duchess of Somerset, and lord Chol- 
 mondeley, out of all their employments ; and I be- 
 lieve he had not a friend but was of my opinion. 
 Ar-buthnot asked, How he came not to secure a ma- 
 jority ? He could answer nothing, but that he could 
 not help it, if people would lie and forswear. A 
 
 poor
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 103 
 
 poor answer for a great minister. There fell from him 
 a scripture expression, that the hearts of kings are un- 
 searchable. I told him, it was what I feared, and was 
 from him the worst news he could tell me. I begged 
 him to know what he had to trust to: he stuck a little, 
 but at last bid me not fear, for all would be well yet.'* 
 
 Swift's private sentiments on the occasion, are thus 
 expressed in his Journal, Dec. 8,1711. " This is 
 a long Journal, and of a day that may produce great 
 alterations, and hazard the ruin of England. The 
 whigs are all in triumph, they foretold how all this 
 would be, but we thought it boasting. Nay, they 
 say the parliament should be dissolved before Christ- 
 mas, and perhaps it may. This is all your d d 
 
 d of Somerset's doing : I warned the ministers of 
 it nine months ago, and a hundred times since. The 
 secretary always dreaded it. I told lord treasurer I 
 should have the advantage of him, for he would lose 
 his head, and I should only be hanged, and so carry 
 my body entire to the grave." 
 
 Dec. 15, 1711. " Here are the first steps toward 
 the ruin of an excellent ministry, for I look upon 
 them as certainly ruined. Some are of opinion the 
 whole ministry will give up their places next week; 
 others imagine, when the session is over. I do re- 
 solve, if they give up, or are turned out soon, to re- 
 tire for some months, and I have pitched upon the 
 place already ; I would be out of the way, upon the 
 first of the ferment; for they lay all things upon me, 
 even some I have never read." 
 
 Lord Oxford now perceived the ill effects of his 
 too great security ; but, as he was a man of great 
 firmness of mind, instead of being daunted at the 
 dangerous situation of affairs, he applied himself 
 
 vigorously
 
 100 THE LIFE 
 
 vigorously to retrieve what had been lost. Swift 
 speaks of him as a man fruitful in expedients, and 
 says, " He never wanted a reserve upon any emer- 
 gency, which would appear desperate to others:'* 
 and never did any occasion call more for the exertion 
 of such talents. The first necessary step was to get 
 the queen back out of the hands into which she had 
 fallen, and then to fix her steadily in the pursuit of 
 his measures. He had the address very soon to regain 
 the queen's favour and confidence ; and the first use 
 he made of it was to restore the majority he had lost 
 in the house of lords, by engaging her to create 
 twelve new peers at once. This, it must be allowed, 
 was a desperate step, but the desperate state of their 
 affairs required it. Swift, in speaking of this point, 
 says, " Yet, after all, it is a strange unhappy neces- 
 sity, of making so many peers together; but the queen 
 has drawn it upon herself, by her trimming and mo- 
 deration." This could not fail, however, of raising 
 great clamours and jealousies in the people. (C The 
 adverse party," says Swift in his History, u being thus 
 driven down by open force, had nothing left but to 
 complain, which they loudly did : that it was a per- 
 nicious example set for all ill princes to follow, who, 
 by the same rule, might make at any time a hundred 
 as well as twelve; and by these means become masters 
 of the house of lords, whenever they pleased, which 
 would be dangerous to our liberties." 
 
 This unpopular measure was quickly followed by 
 another, which raised a universal clamour both at 
 home and abroad; and that was, the dismissing of 
 the duke of Marlborough from all his employments. 
 This act, whatever danger might attend it, was, to 
 the ministry, an act of necessity; for matters were 
 
 then
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 107 
 
 then carried to such a height, that there was no al- 
 ternative, but either the duke, or the ministry, must 
 fall. However, though it kept them in for the time, 
 it rendered their situation exceedingly precarious. 
 The people, alarmed at the dismissal of so great and 
 fortunate a general, in the midst of war, expected 
 nothing to follow, but a shameful peace. The cla- 
 mour for the continuance of the war, became louder 
 than ever, which was helped on by the presence of 
 prince Eugene, who had lately arrived in England, 
 with the largest proposals from the emperor for that 
 purpose. All the envoys from the allies bestirred 
 themselves every where to raise a spirit for war; 
 and the whigs, enraged to the last degree, at the total 
 loss of their power, by the fall of their chief, left no 
 stone unturned to rouse the people. In a short time, 
 the nation seemed to have but one voice, which was, 
 for the continuance of the war ; and it was certain, 
 that if the ministry could not carry a peace, it 
 was impossible they should stand. In this critical 
 situation of affairs it was, that Swift's talents shone 
 forth in their highest lustre. It was at this juncture, 
 that his celebrated political tract, called, * The \] 
 Conduct of the Allies," produced such marvellous / 
 effects. Never did any thing of that nature cause so 
 sudden a change in the minds of the people. It im- 
 mediately passed through seven editions, and eleven 
 thousand of them were sold in less than a month. 
 The members during the recess, had full time to read 
 and consider it well ; and Swift, in his Journal, gives 
 the following account of the effects which it pro- 
 duced, Feb. 4, 1711. " The house of commons 
 have this day made many severe votes about our being 
 -abused by our allies. Those who spoke, drew all 
 
 theiF
 
 108 THE LIFE 
 
 their arguments from my book, and their votes con- 
 firm all I wrote. The court had a majority of 150. 
 All agree, that it was my book that spirited them to 
 these resolutions." And shortly afterward, speaking 
 on the same subject, he says, Feb. 8. " The resolu- 
 tions, printed the other day in the votes, are almost 
 quotations from it, and would never have passed, if 
 that book had not been written." That Swift had 
 taken uncommon pains about this tract, appears from 
 another passage, where he says, " It is fit it should 
 answer the pains I have been at about it." Thus 
 did the doctor amply fulfil his prediction with regard 
 to this book, in a passage before cited, where he says, 
 " We have no quiet with the whigs, they are so vio- 
 lent against a peace; but I will cool them, with a 
 vengeance, very soon." The voice of the commons 
 was immediately backed by a great majority without 
 doors, who were made converts by the same argu- 
 ments. Thus was the ministry indebted to Swift, 
 not only for their immediate preservation, from a de- 
 struction which seemed inevitable, but for such a 
 solid establishment in future, as could neither be un- 
 dermined nor shaken by the arts or violence of their 
 enemies ; and they had nothing to fear, but from 
 their own dissensions among themselves. After so 
 signal a service, it is no wonder that he grew into 
 the deepest confidence with them, and that they ever 
 after cherished him in their bosoms. 
 
 As the ministry were now at full liberty to pursue 
 their political plan with security, and to take all pro- 
 per measures toward bringing about a peace : Swift, 
 whose active spirit seems to have known no rest at 
 that juncture, and who was eager to make use of the 
 influence he had obtained, toward doing some great 
 
 publick
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 10Q 
 
 publick good, laid hold of this opportunity to press 
 his plan of an academy. In a letter to the arch- 
 bishop of Dublin, March 2y, 1 7 12, he says, " I 
 lately wrote a letter of about thirty pages to lord 
 treasurer, by way of proposal for an academy, to 
 correct, enlarge, and ascertain the English language : 
 and he and I have named above twenty persons of 
 both parties to be members. I will shortly print the 
 letter, and J hope something will come of it. Your 
 grace sees I am a projector too." In a subsequent 
 one, he says, upon the same subject, " My lord trea- 
 surer has often promised he will advance my design of 
 an academy, so have my lord keeper, and all the mi- 
 nisters ; but they are too busy to think of any thing 
 beside what they have upon the anvil. My lord 
 treasurer and I have already pitched upon twenty 
 members of both parties ; but perhaps it may all come 
 to nothing." 
 
 And afterward, in another letter, he says, " As for 
 any academy to correct and settle our language, lord 
 treasurer talked of it often very warmly; but I doubt 
 is yet too busy until the peace be over." 
 
 Swift indeed soon found, that his eagerness to ac- 
 complish a point, which he had so much at heart, 
 had made him push it at aa improper season ; not 
 only as the hands of the ministry were full, but as 
 he himself had work enough cut out for him of 
 another kind. A numerous body of the whig writers 
 were continually assaulting the ministry, with the 
 utmost violence ; and they relied, for their defence, 
 on the single arm of their doughty champion, Swift. 
 
 On the other side, the two champions, on whom 
 the whigs most depended, were bishop Burnet and 
 Mr. Steele (afterward sir Richard), well known to 
 
 the
 
 110 'f * t THE LIFR 
 
 the world as writer of the greatest number of those 
 ingenious essays, which appeared under the titles of 
 the Tatlers, Spectators, and Guardians. They placed 
 great hopes in two pamphlets, published about this 
 time; one by bishop Burnet, under the title of " An 
 Introduction to the third Volume of his History of 
 the Reformation:" the other by Mr. Steele, called, 
 " The Crisis." These two were immediately answered 
 by Swift, with such infinite humour, wit, ridicule, 
 and strength of argument, as not only blunted the 
 edge of those pieces, but lowered the consequence of 
 the authors themselves so much, by raising the laugh 
 strongly against them, as to deprive them of the 
 power of doing future mischief. We may judge of 
 the effect which those two pamphlets must have pro- 
 duced at that critical time, when we consider with 
 what delight they are read at this day, on account of 
 their intrinsick merit, though we are little interested 
 / with regard to the events which gave them birth. 
 / This indeed distinguishes Swift's political tracts from 
 all others; that these were written for a day; his, 
 for perpetuity: they borrowed their chief merit from 
 circumstances and times; his, from the immensity of 
 his genius : their chief value arose from fashion ; his, 
 from weight. And he seems to have had the same 
 advantage over his antagonists, as Homer has given 
 to Achilles, by cloathing him in celestial armour, 
 and furnishing him with weapons of ethereal temper. 
 It may perhaps seem surprising, that after so many 
 and such important services, Swift should have re- 
 mained so long without preferment, or reward of any 
 kind; and the ministry have on that account, been 
 charged with ingratitude toward him. But they were 
 far from being unmindful of his merits, and had 
 
 recom-
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 1 1 I 
 
 recommended him to the queen to fill a vacant 
 bishoprick. But the duchess of Somerset, who en- 
 tertained an implacable hatred against him, deter- 
 mined to move Heaven and earth to prevent his 
 promotion taking place, She first prevailed on the 
 archbishop of York to oppose it, whose remarkable 
 expression to the queen was, " That her majesty 
 should be sure that the man whom she was going to 
 make a bishop, was a Christian." But as he could 
 give no better colour for this surmise, than that 
 Swift was supposed to be the author of the " Tale 
 of a Tub," the bishop was considered as acting 
 officiously, out of too indiscreet a zeal, and his inter- 
 position was of no avail. The duchess then went in 
 person to the queen, and, throwing herself on her 
 knees, entreated, with tears in her eyes, that she 
 would not give the bishoprick to Swift ; at the same 
 time presenting to her that excessively bitter copy of 
 verses, which Swift had written against her, called, 
 " The Windsor Prophecy." The queen upon read- 
 ing them, was stung with resentment at the very 
 severe treatment which he had given to a lady, who 
 was known to stand highly in her favour, and as a 
 mark of her displeasure, passed Swift by, and be- 
 stowed the bishoprick on another. 
 
 As soon as it was known that Swift was in disgrace 
 with the queen, his enemies began to attack him 
 from all quarters; and, as is usual in such cases, his 
 court friends in general either deserted him, or 
 looked coldly on him. There were several speeches 
 made against him, both in the house of lords and 
 commons; particularly by the earl of Nottingham in 
 the former, and Mr. Walpole (afterward sir Robert) 
 and Mr. Aislabie, who had before professed much 
 
 friend- 
 
 /
 
 112 THE LIFE 
 
 friendship for him, in the latter. The Scotch lords 
 went in a body to the queen, to complain of the 
 author of a pamphlet, called, " The public Spirit of 
 the Whigs," in which were many passages highly in- 
 jurious to the honour of their nation, and desiring 
 that the author might be brought to condign punish- 
 ment. Accordingly, a reward was offered by procla- 
 mation, of three hundred pounds, for the discovery 
 of the author of that piece. But Swift was a man of 
 too much courage, and knew his own strength too 
 well, to be much alarmed at all these threatening ap- 
 pearances. Instead of retiring, he stood boldly on 
 his defence. His friend lord Oxford too, and the 
 rest of the ministry, espoused his cause so warmly, 
 and exerted their influence so strongly in his behalf, 
 that he soon appeared again at court in higher favour 
 than ever. 
 
 In April 1713, soon after the conclusion of the 
 peace, he was appointed dean of St. Patrick's in 
 Dublin; and in the beginning of June following he 
 set out for Ireland, in order to be installed. His in- 
 tention was, to take up his residence there for some 
 time ; but the ministry, to whom his presence was 
 become necessary, would not suffer it ; and were so 
 importunate for his return, that, after he had passed 
 through the necessary forms, and recovered from an 
 indisposition, which had confined him some time at 
 his living in the country, he returned to London, 
 though very unwillingly*. Upon his arrival, he 
 
 * In a letter to the archbishop of Dublin, dated from Ireland, 
 July 16", 1713, he says, " If your grace goeth to London from the 
 Bath, I believe I may have the honour of waiting on you, al- 
 though I shall do all in my power to save the trouble of such a 
 journey, which neither my fortune nor my health will very well 
 bear."* S. 
 
 found
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. llS 
 
 found his presence necessary on two very material 
 Recounts. One was, to prevent if possible a rupture 
 between the ministers, which was daily threatened, 
 as they had no longer the tie of common danger to 
 cement them, since the conclusion of the peace: the 
 other was, to defend the articles of that peace; which 
 were now violently attacked. In the former of these 
 points, he succeeded for some time so far as to make 
 them keep fair appearances toward each other, what- 
 ever ill will might be rankling in their hearts. And 
 with regard to the latter, he applied himself to the 
 finishing of the History of the Peace of Utrecht, in 
 which he had made a considerable progress, before he 
 had gone to take possession of his deanery. He was 
 likewise particularly employed at this juncture with 
 relation to the affairs of Ireland, where party rage 
 had at that time broken out into several violent and 
 dangerous acts. When he had finished the history, 
 he put it into the hands of lord Oxford and lord 
 Bolingbroke, in order that it might be published; and 
 soon after returned to his deanery. But he had 
 scarcely arrived there, when there were a* hundred 
 letters sent after him to recall him with all speed, in 
 order to use his endeavours to reconcile the ministers; 
 who, soon after he had turned his back, had come to 
 an open rupture. Upon this intelligence, Swift re- 
 turned immediately, though he had scarce been a 
 fortnight in Dublin. Upon his arrival, he contrived 
 to bring lord Oxford and lord Bolingbroke together 
 at lord Masham's, where he was left alone with them, 
 and expostulated freely with both, but to little ef- 
 fect. However, they agreed to go to Windsor to- 
 
 * See Swift's letter to the earl df Oxford. S, 
 
 vol. r. I gether
 
 1.1.4 I HE LIFE 
 
 gether the next day. Swift, hoping they might 
 egme to a more free explanation in a tele h tcte, than 
 in the presence of a third person, pretended busi- 
 ness the next morning, and sent them together to 
 Windsor. He followed soon after, but found his 
 scheme had not produced the desired effect. He had 
 one meeting more with them, and finding the breach 
 irreconcilable, he told them he was resolved to retire, 
 saying, " that as he was a common friend to both, 
 he would not, upon a breach, take part with either." 
 And as he foresaw nothing from their disunion, but 
 what would be fatal to he general interest, he was 
 determined to have no farther concern with publick 
 affairs." Swift on this occasion acted the part of a 
 zealous and disinterested friend, but he found no 
 one to second him ; which he laments in several 
 places, as he imagined, if others had done their duty, 
 a reconcilement might have been effected. In a let- 
 ter to Mr. Pope, he says, " I only wish my endea- 
 vours had succeeded better, in the great point I had 
 at heart, which was that of reconciling the ministers 
 to each other. This might have been done, if others, 
 who had more concern, and more influence, would 
 have acted their parts ; and if this had succeeded, 
 the publick interest, both of church and state, would 
 not have been the worse, nor the protestant succes- 
 sion endangered." But Swift was probably the only 
 man among them, who had either the interest of the 
 publick, or of the ministers at heart ; the rest seem 
 rather to have been wholly intent upon considering 
 how their own private advantage might be promoted 
 by this breach, and listed themselves under the se- 
 veral leaders with this view. Had Swift been a 
 selfish man, he might certainly have made what 
 terms lie pleased ; as his weight, thrown into either 
 
 scale
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. U5 
 
 scale, would have been of great moment. But he 
 was actuated upon this occasion by that high prin- 
 ciple of honour, from which he never swerved in the 
 whole course of his life. 
 
 " By faction tir'd, with grief he waits awhile, 
 His great contending friends to reconcile* 
 Performs what friendship, justice, truth require: 
 What could he more, but decently retire? *" 
 
 After his last fruitless conference with the minis- 
 ters, Swift immediately retired, as he said he would, 
 to a friend's house in Berkshire. But this retire- 
 ment was not owing to a timid disposition, which 
 might prompt him to be out of harm's way at this 
 ^dangerous juncture ; nor to a principle of trimming, 
 which might induce him to lie upon the lurch till 
 he saw which party in the ministry should gain the 
 ascendant ; no, it was from a motive consonant to 
 the nobleness of his mind. He had already ac- 
 quitted himself to the utmost in point of friendship 
 to the ministers ; and by endeavouring to unite them, 
 had taken the shortest and surest way to serve the 
 common cause. When this was found impractica- 
 ble, he thought his duty to the publick, at so critical 
 a conjuncture, paramount to all other considerations 
 whatsoever ; he therefore "retired, in order to have 
 leisure to lay open' to the world the true causes of 
 the violent, disorders of the state, let it offend whom 
 it would ; and to point out the only remedies that 
 could effect a cure, however unpalatable they might 
 prove to some of his best friends. It was on this 
 occasion that he wrote that spirited pamphlet, called, 
 " Some free Thoughts upon the present state of af- 
 fairs ;" in which, with great boldness, he charges 
 
 * Swift's Verses on himself. S. 
 
 i 2 the
 
 Il6 THE LIFE 
 
 the ministers as the chief causes of the reigning dis- 
 orders, from their misconduct ; and lays the greatest 
 load of blame on the man whom he loved best in 
 the world, lord Oxford. Acting in this, like a 
 friendly and skilful surgeon, who lays open the sore 
 to the bottom, however painful the operation may 
 prove to the patient, when he sees no other way of 
 preventing a gangrene. The general blame which 
 he throws out upon the ministry, is prefaced in this 
 manner : " It may be matter of no little admiration, 
 to consider in some lights, the state of affairs among 
 us for four years past. The queen, finding herself 
 and the majority of her kingdom grown weary of the 
 avarice and the insolence, the mistaken politicks and 
 destructive principles of her former ministers ; calls 
 to the service of the publick another set of men, who, 
 by confession of their enemies, had equal abilities, at 
 least, with their predecessors ; whose interest made 
 it necessary for them (although their inclinations had 
 been otherwise), to act upon those maxims which 
 were most agreeable to the constitution in church and 
 state ; whose birth and patrimonies gave them 
 weight in the nation, and who (I speak of those who 
 were to have the chief part in affairs) had long lived 
 under the strictest bonds of friendship. With all these 
 advantages, supported by a vast majority of the landed 
 interest, and the inferiour clergy to a man, we have 
 several times seen the present administration in the 
 greatest distress, and very near the brink of rain, 
 together with the cause of the church and monarchy 
 committed to their charge : neither does it appear to 
 me. at the minute I am now writing, that their power 
 or duration is upon any tolerable foot of security ; 
 which I do not so much impute to the address and 
 
 industry
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 117 
 
 industry of their enemies, as to some failures among 
 themselves, which I think have been full as visible in 
 their causes as their effects." 
 
 He then proceeds to enumerate several of those 
 failings, among which, that which is mentioned in 
 the following paragraph is particularly levelled at lord 
 Oxford. " I must therefore take the boldness to 
 assert, that all these discontents, how ruinous soever^ 
 they may prove in their consequences, have most un- 
 necessarily arisen from the want of a due communica- 
 tion and concert. Every man must have a light suf- 
 ficient for the length of the way he is appointed to 
 go : there is a degree of confidence due to all sta- 
 tions ; and a petty constable will neither act cheer- 
 fully, or wisely, without that share of it, which pro . 
 perly belongs to him t although the main spring of a 
 watch be out of sight, there is an intermediate com- 
 munication between it and the smallest wheel, or 
 else no useful motion could be performed. This re- 
 served, mysterious way of acting, upon points where 
 there appeared not the least occasion for it, and toward 
 persons, who, at least in right of their posts, ex- 
 pected a more open treatment, was imputed to some 
 hidden design, which every man conjectured to be 
 the very thing he was most afraid of. 
 
 u But the effects of this mystical manner of pro- 
 ceeding did not end here : for the late dissensions 
 between the great men at court (which have been 
 for some time past the publick entertainment of 
 every coffeehouse) are said to have arisen from the 
 same fountain ; while, on one side, very great 
 reserve, and certainly very great resentment on 
 the other, have inflamed animosities to such a 
 height, as to make all reconcilement impracticable. 
 
 Supposing
 
 118 THE LIPB 
 
 Supposing this to be true, it may serve for a great 
 lesson of humiliation to mankind, to behold the 
 habits and passions of men, otherwise highly ac- 
 complished, triumphing over interest, friendship, 
 honour, and their own personal safety, as well as 
 that of their country ; and probably of a most 
 gracious princess, who had entrusted it to them. 
 A chip's crew quarrelling in a storm, or while their 
 enemies are within gunshot, is but a faint idea of 
 this fatal infatuation ; of which, although it be hard 
 to say enough, some people may think perhaps I 
 have already said too much." 
 
 From the above passages, it is clear that Swift 
 was determined not to spare the incision knife on 
 this occasion. And from the whole drift of the 
 pamphlet, it is highly probable he had discovered 
 that both lord Oxford and lord Bolingbroke had 
 long since lost sight of the publick interest, which 
 had at first cemented them, and had each no other 
 object in view, but that of gratifying his ambition. 
 It could not escape a man of his penetration, that 
 they were in the condition of Pompey and Caesar ; 
 whereof the one could not bear an equal, nor the 
 other a superiour. He resolved therefore to sepa- 
 rate himself from them both, and try what he could 
 do apart for the publick interest. As he found pri- 
 vate admonition ineffectual to persuade, he deter- 
 mined to try whether publick shame, and the fear of 
 the total desertion of their party, might not compel 
 them to a discharge of their duty. He pointed out 
 the only means which could effectually put things 
 once more on a proper footing ; and as he well 
 knew lord Oxford's unwillingness to pursue those 
 means, he was resolved to drive him to it, through 
 
 the
 
 OF DOCTOR SWtPT. 110, 
 
 the fear of his being deserted otherwise both by 
 his party, and the queen ; which is evidently the 
 tendency of the lust paragraph in this piece. " To 
 conclude : the only way of securing the constitution 
 in church and state, and consequently this very 
 protestant succession itself, will be the lessening 
 the power of our domestick adversaries as much as 
 can possibly consist with the lenity of our govern- 
 ment ; and if this be not speedily done, it will be 
 easy to point where the nation is to fix the blame j 
 for we are very well assured, that since the account 
 her majesty received of the cabals, the triumphs, 
 the insolent behaviour of the whole faction during 
 her late illness at Windsor, she has been as willing 
 to see them deprived of all power to do mischief, 
 as any of her most zealous and loyal subjects can 
 desire." 
 
 There was no opportunity however of trying what 
 effect this piece would have had, as the death of the 
 queen, soon after it went to press, put a stop to the 
 publication. This event also put an end to all Swift's 
 noble designs for the publick benefit, and cut off at 
 once all his own future prospects. This was a ter- 
 rible blow to the whole party ; but, though it was felt 
 by no one more severely than by Swift, he had too 
 much fortitude to sink under it. There is an ad- 
 mirable picture given of him upon this occasion, by 
 a few strokes of the masterly hand of an Arbuth- 
 not*: " I have seen a letter from dean Swift; he 
 keeps up his noble spirit, and though like a man 
 knocked down, you may behold him still with a 
 
 * Letter to Pope. S. 
 
 etern
 
 12 THE LIFE 
 
 stern countenance, and aiming a blow at his adver- 
 saries." 
 
 In a few weeks after this event, Swift returned to 
 his deanery in Ireland, where he continued many 
 years without visiting England. 
 
 Before we accompany him into exile, for as such 
 he always considered it, let us take a review of 
 his conduct during the most distinguished era of his 
 life, when he had an opportunity of displaying all 
 the great talents of his mind, and the excellent 
 qualities of his heart, in a most conspicuous light. 
 His engaging with the new ministry was not either 
 the effect of a sudden resolution, or of accident. 
 He had long foreseen the change, and determined 
 what part he should take, whenever it should he 
 brought about; although he prudently concealed 
 his thoughts till the event happened. It was before 
 mentioned, that Mr. Harley had very nearly suc- 
 ceeded in supplanting the whig ministry in the year 
 1708; two years before he actually effected it. While 
 this was in agitation, we find that Swift insinuates his 
 own intentions to his friend the archbishop of Dub- 
 lin, in a letter, dated Nov. 9, 1708. " Although I 
 care not to mingle publick affairs with the interest of 
 so private a person as myself, yet, upon such a revo- 
 lution, not knowing how far my friends may endea- 
 vour to engage me in the service of a new govern- 
 ment, I would beg your grace to have favourable 
 thoughts of me on such an occasion ; and to assure 
 you, that no prospect of making my fortune, shall 
 ever prevail upon me to go against what becomes a 
 man of conscience and truth, and an entire friend to 
 t]ie established church." 
 
 Jiowever,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. l2l 
 
 However, as the design failed at that time, Swift 
 made no advances to the tories, but kept himself at 
 large, waiting for the event ; which he foresaw would 
 certainly be brought about in time. He had leisure 
 mean while to lay down to himself the maxims by 
 which his conduct should be regulated, whenever 
 such a revolution should take place. 
 
 As there was much obloquy thrown on the cha- 
 racter of Swift, on account of his supposed descr-r 
 tion of the whigs, and going over to the tories as 
 soon as they got into power, it will be proper to ex~ 
 amine what foundation the whigs had for such a charge 
 against him. 
 
 Swift, in his " Memoirs relative to the change in 
 the queen's ministry," gives the following account 
 of his first introduction to the leaders of the whig 
 party. Speaking of his pamphlet, entitled " The 
 Contests and Dissensions of the Nobles and Com- 
 mons in Athens and Rome," &c. he says; " This 
 discourse I sent very privately to the press, with 
 the strictest injunctions to conceal the author, and re- 
 turned immediately to my residence in Ireland. The 
 book was greedily bought and read ; and charged, 
 sometimes upon lord Somers, and sometimes upon 
 the bishop of Salisbury ; the latter of whom told me 
 afterward, that he was forced to disown it in a very 
 publick manner, for fear of an impeachment, where- 
 with he was threatened. 
 
 " Returning next year for England, and hearing 
 of the great approbation this piece had received, 
 which was the first I ever printed, I must confess 
 the vanity of a young man prevailed with me, to 
 Jet myself be known for the author ; upon which 
 my lords Somers and Halifax, as well as the bishop 
 
 above-
 
 J 22 THE LIFE 
 
 abovementioned, desired my acquaintance, with great 
 marks of esteem and professions of kindness: not to 
 mention the earl of Sunderland, who had been of my 
 old acquaintance. They lamented that they were not 
 able to serve me since the death of the king, and 
 were very liberal in promising me the greatest pre- 
 ferments I could hope for, if ever it came in their 
 power. I soon grew domestick with lord Halifax, 
 and was as often with lord Somers, as the formality 
 of his nature (the only unconversable fault he had) 
 made it agreeable to me. 
 
 " It was then I began to trouble myself with the 
 difference between the principles of whig and tory : 
 having formerly employed myself in other, and I 
 think, much better speculations : I talked often 
 with lord Somers upon this subject ; told him, that 
 having been long conversant with the Greek and 
 Roman authors, and therefore a lover of liberty, 
 I found myself much inclined to be what they 
 called a whig in politicks; and that besides, I 
 thought it impossible, upon any other principles, 
 to defend the revolution : but as to religion, I con- 
 fessed myself to be a high churchman, and that I 
 did not conceive how any one, who wore the habit 
 of a clergyman, could be otherwise. That I had 
 observed very well with what insolence and haugh- 
 tiness some lords of the high church party treated 
 not only their own chaplains, but all other clergy- 
 men whatsoever ; and thought this sufficiently re- 
 compensed, by their professions of zeal to the 
 church. That I had observed the whig lords took 
 a direct contrary measure; treated the persons of 
 particular clergymen with great courtesy, but showed 
 much ill will and contempt for the order in general. 
 
 That
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 123 
 
 That I knew it was necessary for their party to make 
 their bottom as wide as they could, by taking all de- 
 nominations of protestants to be members of their 
 body. That I would not enter into the mutual re- 
 proaches made by the violent men on either side ; but 
 that the connivance or encouragement given by the 
 whigs, to those writers of pamphlets who reflected on 
 the whole body of the clergy, without any exception, 
 would unite the church, as one man, to oppose 
 them ; and that I doubted his lordship's friends did 
 not consider the consequence of this. My lord So- 
 mers, in appearance, entered very waTmly into the 
 same opinion, and said very much of the endeavours 
 he had often used, to redress the evil I complained of. 
 This his lordship, as well as my lord Halifax, to whom 
 I have talked in the same manner, can very well 
 remember, and I have indeed been told, by an ho- 
 nourable gentleman of the same party, that both 
 their lordships, about the time of lord Godolphin's 
 removal, did, upon occasion, call to mind what I had 
 said to them five years before." 
 
 Hence it appears evidently, that though Swift 
 agreed with the whigs in his political principles, he 
 differed totally from them in those which regarded 
 the church, and therefore was considered by them 
 only as a half-brother ; on which account they were 
 not very solicitous to give him any preferment, though 
 they wished to keep upon good terms with him, by 
 making many fair promises, which it seems they 
 had no intention to perform. Of this we have al- 
 ready seen instances in the affair of his secretaryship 
 to Vienna, and the bishoprick of Virginia. Stung 
 with this treatment, he broke off all connexion with 
 them long before he had access to any of the leaders 
 
 of
 
 124 THE LIFfi 
 
 of the tory party, and while the whigs were yet in 
 the plenitude of power. Nay, he went farther, and 
 published several pieces in opposition to their mea- 
 sures. Of which take the following account, given 
 by himself in his Memoirs, &c. " I mentioned these 
 insignificant particulars, as it will be easily judged, 
 for some reasons that are purely personal to myself; 
 it having been objected by several of those poor 
 pamphleteers, who have blotted so much paper to 
 shew their malice against me, that I was a favourer 
 of the low party. Whereas it has been manifest to 
 all men, that during the highest dominion of that 
 faction, I had published several tracts in opposition 
 to the measures then taken. For instance, A Pro- 
 ject for the Reformation of Manners, in a Letter to 
 the Countess of Berkeley ; The Sentiments of a 
 Church of England Man ; An Argument against 
 abolishing Christianity ; and lastly, A Letter to a 
 Member of Parliament, against taking off the Test 
 in Ireland, which I have already mentioned to have 
 been published at the time the earl of Wharton was 
 setting out to his government of that kingdom." 
 
 The same cry about quitting the whigs was raised 
 against him in Ireland, of which he takes the fol- 
 lowing notice, in his Journal to Stella. " Why 
 should the whigs think I came to England to leave 
 them ? sure my journey was no secret. I protest 
 sincerely I did all I could to hinder it, as the dean 
 can tell you, although now I do not repent it. But 
 who the devil cares what they think ? Am I under 
 obligations in the least to any of them all ? Hot 
 them, for ungrateful dogs, I'll make them repent their 
 usage before I leave this place. They say here the 
 same thing' of my leaving the whigs ; but they own 
 
 they
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 123 
 
 they cannot blame me, considering Ihe treatment I 
 have had." 
 
 On his arrival in London, he says, " The whig* 
 are ravished to see me, and would lay hold on me 
 as a twig, while they are drowning, and the great 
 men are making me their clumsy apologies, &c. 
 But my lord treasurer (Godolphin) received me with 
 a great deal of coldness, which has enraged me so, 
 I am almost vowing revenge." Soon after he says, 
 " At ten I went to the coffeehouse, hoping to find 
 lord Radnor, whom I had not seen. He was there ; 
 and for an hour and a half we talked treason hear- 
 tily against the whigs, their baseness and ingratitude. 
 And I am come home rolling resentments in my 
 mind, and framing schemes of revenge; full of 
 which, having written down some hints, I go to bed.'* 
 In another place, " 'Tis good to see what a lament- 
 able confession the whigs all make me of my ill usage, 
 but I mind them not. I am already represented to 
 Harley as a discontented person, that was used ill for 
 not being whig enough ; and I hope for good usage 
 from him." In a letter to archbishop King, Sept. 
 9, 1710, he speaks more fully to the same effect. 
 " Upon my arrival here, I found myself equally ca- 
 ressed by both parties ; by one, as a sort of bough, 
 for drowning men to lay hold of; and by the other, 
 as one discontented with the late men in power, for 
 not being thorough in their designs, and therefore 
 ready to approve present things. I was to visit my 
 lord Godolphin, who gave me a reception very un- 
 expected, and altogether different from what I ever 
 received from any great man in my life ; altogether 
 short, dry, and morose ; not worth repeating to your 
 grace, until I have the honour to see you." 
 
 In
 
 125 THE LIFE 
 
 In his Journal, Oct. 2 y 17 JO, he says, " Lord 
 Halifax began a health to me to-day ; it was the 
 resurrection of the ivhigs, which I refused, unless he 
 would add their reformation too : and I told him he 
 was the only whig in England I loved, or had any 
 good opinion of*." 
 
 One may form a just idea of the greatness of 
 Swift's resentment, at the treatment he had met with 
 from the whigs, from a passage in his Journal of 
 the following year, after the wonderful success which 
 his writings against them had met with ; where he 
 says, " I have been gaining enemies by scores, and 
 friends by couples, which is against the rules of wis- 
 dom ; because they say, one enemy can do more hurt* 
 than ten friends can do good. But I have had my 
 revenge at least, if I get nothing else. And so let 
 fate govern.'* 
 
 I have been the longer upon this article, because, 
 however Swift might have been acquitted of this 
 charge in England, where the real state of the case 
 was known, I always found the imputation keep its 
 ground in Ireland, and his character stigmatized, as 
 that of a turncoat for preferment, under the tory ad- 
 ministration. 
 
 We have already seen with what eagerness lord 
 Oxford embraced the first overtures made to him by 
 Swift, and what pains he took to engage him in his 
 
 * What obligation Swift hud to that lord, and his party, may be 
 seen by his indorsement on a letter dated Oct. 6, 1709- I kept 
 this letter as a true original of courtiers, and court promises." 
 And in the first leaf of a small 'printed book, entitled, " Poesies 
 Clueiienne* de Mnns. Jolivet," he wrote these words, " Giv<*n 
 me by my lord Halifax, May 3, 1709. I begged it of him, and 
 desired him to remember, it was the only favour I ever received 
 fiora him or his party. S. 
 
 party. 
 
 1
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 127 
 
 party. As Swift well knew his own consequence, 
 and the great necessity the new ministry had for his 
 service, it is certain he might have indulged himself 
 at such a juncture, in the most flattering expecta- 
 tions, of rising soon to the highest dignities in his 
 profession ; and could have made what terms he 
 pleased with regard to his own interest, if that had 
 been the chief point he had in view. But he had 
 long formed in his head some great plans for promot- 
 ing the publick welfare, in regard to which all con- 
 siderations of self, weighed with him but as the dust 
 upon the balance. He therefore determined, upon 
 his engaging with the new ministry, to make use of 
 all the weight and credit to which his services might 
 entitle him, in carrying on those publick plans, and 
 to leave the care of his pwn fortune wholly to chance. 
 How little solicitous he was about that article, may 
 be fully seen in a letter to the archbishop of Dublin, 
 dated Oct. 1, 17 11, where he has been very explicit, 
 both as to his sentiments upon that head, and the 
 conduct he was determined to observe. " I humbly 
 thank your grace for the good opinion you are 
 pleased to have of me, and for your advice, which 
 seems to be wholly grounded on it. As to the first, 
 which relates to my fortune, I shall never be able to 
 make myself believed how indifferent I am about it. 
 I sometimes have the pleasure of making that of 
 others ; and I fear it is too great a pleasure to be a vir- 
 tue, at least in me. Perhaps, in Ireland, I may not 
 be able to prevent contempt, any other way than by 
 making my fortune, but then it is my comfort, that 
 contempt in Ireland will be no sort of mortification 
 to me. When I was last in Ireland, I was above 
 half the time retired to one scurvy acre of ground, 
 
 and
 
 123 TttE LIFE 
 
 and I always left it with regret. I am ag well re- 
 ceived and known at court, as perhaps any man ever 
 was of my level ; I have formerly been the like. I 
 left it then, and perhaps will leave it now (when 
 they please to let me) without any concern but what 
 a few months will remove. It is my maxim to leave 
 great ministers to do as they please ; and if I cannot 
 enough distinguish myself by being useful in such a 
 way, as becomes a man of conscience and honour, I 
 can do no more ; for I never will solicit for myself, 
 although I often do for others." And in another 
 letter to the same, dated in the following year, he 
 says, " I know nothing of promises of any thing 
 intended for myself; but I thank God I am not very 
 warm in my expectations, and know courts too well 
 to be surprised at disappointments ; which, however, 
 I shall have no great reason to fear, if I give my 
 thoughts any great trouble that way, which, without 
 affectation, I do not, although I cannot expect to be 
 believed when I say so." 
 
 In his Journal to Stella, where the inmost recesses 
 of his heart are opened, he makes frequent mention 
 of his little solicitude, and small expectation on that 
 score. In one, dated Jan. \J\\ 9 he says, u My 
 new friends are very kind, and I have promises 
 enough, but I do not count upon them. However, 
 we will see what may be done, and, if nothing at all, 
 I shall not be disappointed." And in that of the 
 June following. " Remember, If I am ill used, and 
 ungratefully, as I have formerly been, 'tis what I am 
 prepared for, and shall not wonder at. Yet I am 
 now envied, and thought in high favour, and have 
 every day numbers of considerable men teasing me 
 to solicit for them. And the ministry all use me 
 
 perfectly
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 129 
 
 perfectly well, and all that know them, say, they 
 love me. Yet I can count upon nothing, &c. They 
 think me useful, they pretend they were afraid of 
 none but me, and that they resolved to have me ; 
 they have often confessed this, yet all makes little 
 impression on me." In that of March 1712, he 
 says, " I had been with the secretary before, to re- 
 commend a friend, one Dr. Freind, to be physician 
 general, and the secretary promised to mention it to 
 the queen. I can serve every body but myself." 
 
 There are many passages to the same effect 
 throughout this Journal, so that we may conclude 
 with certainty, that the desire of serving himself was 
 one of the last motives which engaged him to enter 
 so deeply into the political system at that time* No, 
 he was actuated by a nobler principle, a true spirit of 
 patriotism. He saw now a fair opening for the exer- 
 tion of his extraordinary talents, in support of our 
 excellent constitution, both in church and state ; an 
 occasion which he had long waited for with impa- 
 tience, and which he embraced with ardour. He 
 had, as he mentions in his Journal to Stella, great 
 things in view, to the accomplishment of which he 
 postponed all considerations of self. Beside his po- 
 litical plan, he had formed a design of bringing 
 about a general reformation in manners, and taste, 
 which had been much corrupted under the whig ad- 
 ministration. He was firmly persuaded that the 
 only way to accomplish these points, was to keep 
 them from ever returning again into power. He 
 had a good opinion of the intentions of the new mi- 
 nistry ; or, whether they were sincere or not, the 
 professed principles, upon which they acted, were 
 consonant to his. He says, in a letter to the arch- 
 
 vol. i. K bishop
 
 130 THE LIFE 
 
 bishop of Dublin, iC Wanting wisdom to judge bet- 
 ter, I follow those, who I think, are most for pre- 
 serving the constitution in church and state, without 
 examining whether they do so from a principle of 
 virtue, or of interest." And indeed they were the 
 only persons that could possibly have overturned the 
 whig administration, or, when overturned, have kept 
 them out ; consequently, he could have no hope, 
 but in their continuance in power. He early saw, 
 and told the, ministry, composed of lord Oxford, lord 
 Bolingbroke, and the lord keeper, that all things 
 depended on their union, and this he often repeated 
 to them, when they were together, and separately to 
 each. But he ?oon had occasion to observe, that two 
 of them were formed of such discordant tempers, and 
 had views so opposite, as to threaten a speedy breach. 
 To prevent so great an evil, which would at once 
 ruin their cause, and put an end to all hi* noble de- 
 signs, he determined to keep himself in a situation, 
 that would at all times qualify him for the office of a 
 mediator between them, and at the same time give 
 due weight to his interposition, by his remaining in a 
 state of utter independence, and receiving no ob- 
 ligation in return, while he was daily conferring the 
 greatest upon them. It was on this account that he 
 refused to be chaplain to lord Oxford, who made an 
 offer of it to him, the very day after his being created 
 lord Oxford, and appointed lord treasurer. In his 
 Journal to Stella, of the 24th of May, 1711, there 
 is this passage : " My lord Oxford cannot yet abide 
 to be called my lord ; and when I called him my lorcl t 
 he called me Dr. Thomas Swift*, which lie always 
 
 * A cousin gerraan of Swift, whom he held in ihe utmost con- 
 t.:mpt. S. 
 
 does
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 131 
 
 does when he has a mind to tease me. By a second 
 hand, he proposed my being his chaplain, wkich I by 
 a second hand excused ; but we had no talk of it to 
 day ; but I will be no man's chaplain alive." And in 
 his Preface to the History of the Four last Years of 
 Queen Anne, he says, * I absolutely refused to be 
 chaplain to the lord treasurer, because I thought it 
 would but ill become me to be in a state of depen- 
 dence." For the same reason, very early after his 
 connexion with the ministry, he refused to aCcept of a 
 living from the lord keeper, which he thus mentions 
 in his Journal : " Lord keeper told me, some months 
 ago, he would give me a living when I pleased ; but 
 I told him I would not take any from him." There 
 have been several instances before given of his early 
 conduct toward the ministry, showing, that he ex- 
 pected to be treated by them on a footing of perfect 
 equality ; of which he never slipped any opportunity 
 of reminding them. In a letter to the lord treasurer, 
 he says, " When I was with you, I have said more 
 than once, that I would never allow that quality, or 
 station, made any real difference between men. From 
 these sentiments, I will never write to you, if I can 
 help it, otherwise than as to a private person, or allow 
 myself to have been obliged by you in any other ca- 
 pacity." In a letter to lord Bolingbrokej he says* 
 " I would have you know, sir, that if the queen gave 
 you a dukedom and the garter to morrow, with the 
 treasury staff at the end of them, I would regard you 
 no more than if yoii were not worth a groat." To 
 preserve this equality, which he then thought essen* 
 tial to the great points he had in view, it was necessary 
 he should keep himself free from any particular ob- 
 ligation ; by which means he was considered as a 
 
 K 2 common
 
 132 THE LIFE 
 
 common disinterested friend by all the ministers. And 
 it was in this capacity that he was able to heal many 
 breaches between them, which would have been 
 otherwise incurable. Of this he makes frequent 
 mention in his Journal. In that of August, 171 1, 
 he says, " Do you know that I have ventured all my 
 credit with these great ministers, to clear some mis- 
 understanding between them ; and if there be no 
 breach, I ought to have the merit of it ? 'Tis a plaguy 
 ticklish piece of work, and a man hazards losing both 
 sides." In that of October following, is this passage: 
 " The secretary told me last night he had found the 
 reason why the queen was so cold to him for some 
 months past ; that a friend had told it to him yester- 
 day ; and it was, that they suspected he was at the 
 bottom with the duke of Marlborough. Then he said, 
 he had reflected upon all I had spoken to him long 
 ago ; but he thought it had been only my suspicion, 
 and my zeal and kindness for him. I said I had reason 
 to take that very ill, to imagine I knew so little of 
 the world, as to talk at a venture to a great minister, 
 that I had gone between him and lord treasurer often, 
 and told each of them what I had said to the other ; 
 and that I had informed him so before. He said all, 
 you may imagine, to excuse himself, and approve my 
 conduct. I told him I knew all along, that this pro- 
 ceeding of mine was the surest way to send me back 
 to my willows in Ireland, but that I regarded it not, 
 provided I could do the kingdom service in keeping 
 them well together. I minded him how often I had 
 told lord treasurer, lord keeper, and him together, 
 that all. things depended on their union, and that my 
 comfort was, to see them love one another, and I told 
 them all singly, that I had not said this by chance,"
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 133 
 
 iJc. In September 1712, he says, " I am again en- 
 deavouringj as I was last year, to keep people from 
 breaking to pieces upon a hundred misunderstandings. 
 One cannot withhold them from drawing different 
 ways, while the enemy is watching to destroy both." 
 And in the October following, he says, " I have 
 helped to patch up these people together once more. 
 God knows how long it may last." In many other 
 places, he mentions the disagreeable necessity he was 
 under of continuing his endeavours in this way, and 
 laments that he could get no one to second him. In 
 his " Inquiry into the Behaviour of the Queen's last 
 Ministry, &c." he says, u Neither perhaps would a 
 reconcilement have been an affair of much difficulty, 
 if their friends on both sides had not too much ob- 
 served the common prudential forms of not caring to 
 intermeddle; which, together with the addition of a 
 shrug, was the constant answer I received from most 
 of them, whenever I pressed them upon the subject. 
 And, to. say the truth, most persons had so avowedly 
 declared themselves on one side, or the other, that, 
 these two great men had hardly a common friend left, 
 except myself. I had ever been treated with great 
 kindness by them both ; and I conceived what I 
 wanted in weight and credit, might be made up with 
 sincerity and freedom. The former they never 
 doubted, and the latter they had constant experience 
 of. I had managed between them for almost two 
 years, and their candour was so great, that they had 
 not the least jealousy or suspicion of me." 
 
 The truth of this account is confirmed in a letter 
 written to lord Bolingbroke, soon after the queen's 
 death, where, speaking of the lord treasurer, he says, 
 li I am only sorry it was not a resignation, rather than 
 
 a removal ;
 
 
 \ 
 
 134 THE LIFE 
 
 a removal ; because the personal kindness and dis- 
 tinction I always received from his lordship and you, 
 gave me such a love for you both (if you great men 
 will allow that expression in a little one) that I re- 
 
 3 solved to preserve it entire, however you differed be- 
 tween yourselves ; and in this I did for some time 
 follow your commands and example. I impute it 
 more to the candour of each of you, than to my own 
 conduct, that having been for two years almost the 
 only man who went between you, I never observed 
 the least alteration in either of your countenances 
 toward me." 
 
 \ Nothing can show the character of Swift in a 
 
 higher point of light, than his conduct on this occa- 
 ion; and nothing could possibly have preserved to 
 him the unabated love of these two great rivals for 
 power, who hated each other mortally, in this dis- 
 charge of so delicate an office, but the high opinion 
 which each entertained of his integrity, and perfect 
 disinterestedness. However, it is certain, that had 
 it not beenfor his generous and unwearied endeavours, 
 their whole plan must have been destroyed long be- 
 fore, and the ministry, and the party, involved in the 
 same ruin. So that as they were indebted to him at 
 first, for saving them from the attacks of their ene- 
 mies, and establishing them in power, they where 
 daily afterward obliged to him for preserving them in 
 it, by guarding them against their worst enemies, 
 their own passions. Having thus suspended all 
 regard to his own interest, after such important ser- 
 vices he had an undoubted claim upon the ministers 
 to promote every plan for the good of the publick, 
 and could with a better grace push the fortune of 
 others. Accordingly, we find him bold and frequent 
 
 in
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 13$ 
 
 in his recommendations, whenever merit or com- 
 passion called for his assistance. His first object was 
 to procure marks of distinction and reward, to all 
 men of parts and genius. The claim which he put 
 in on that score to the ministry, was not selfishly con- 
 fined to his own person, but exacted equally for all 
 others,, according to their several pretensions. He 
 insisted, that no distinction of party should be made 
 with regard to them ; and that all of that class, whp 
 had listed under the, banner of the whigs, should 
 still be kept in their employments. In his Journal, 
 he says, " Do you know I have taken more pains to 
 recommend the whig wits to the favour and mercy of 
 the ministers, than any other people. Steele I have 
 kept in his place. Congreve I have got to be used 
 kindly and secured. Rowe I have recommended, and 
 got a promise of a place. Phillips I should certainly 
 have provided for, if he had not run party mad, and 
 made me withdraw my recommendations. I set 
 Addison so right at first, that he might have been 
 employed, and have partly secured him the place he 
 has ; yet I am worse used by that faction than any 
 man." In another place he is particular in his rela- 
 tion of what he had done with regard to Congreve. 
 " I went late to day to town, and dined with my 
 friend Lewis. I saw Will Congreve attending at the 
 treasury, by order, with his brethren, the commis- 
 sioners of the wine licences. I had often mentioned 
 htm with kindness to lord treasurer ; and Congreve 
 told me, that after they had answered to what they 
 were sent for,. my lord called him privately, and spoke 
 to him with great kindness, promising his protection, 
 &c. The poor man said, he had been used so ill of 
 late years, that he was quite astonished at my lord's 
 1 good-
 
 136 THE LIFE 
 
 goodness, &c. and desired me to tell my lord so ; 
 which I did this evening, and recommended him 
 heartily. My lord assured me he esteemed him very 
 much, and would be always kind to him ; that what 
 he said was to make Congreve easv, because he knew 
 people talked as if his lordship designed to turn every 
 body out, and particularly Congreve ; which indeed 
 was true, for the poor man told me he apprehended 
 it. As I left my lord treasurer, I called on Congreve 
 (knowing where he dined) and told him what had 
 passed between my lord and me: so I have made a 
 worthy man easy, and that's a good day ? s work." 
 
 But of all the men of parts in the opposition, Swift 
 seems to be most concerned about his friend Addison, 
 and on his account about Steele; of which he makes 
 frequent mention in his Journal. In that of Oct. 1Q, 
 1710, soon after his first introduction to lord Oxford, 
 then Mr. Harley, there is the following passage : " I 
 was this morning with Mr. Lewis, the under secre- 
 tary to lord Dartmouth, two hours, talking politicks, 
 and contriving to keep Steele in his office of stamp 
 paper. He has lost his place of gazetteer, three hun- 
 dred pounds a year, for writing a Tatler some months 
 ago, against Mr. Harley, who gave it to him at first, 
 and raised the salary from sixty to three hundred 
 pounds. This was devilish ungrateful, and Lewis was 
 telling me the particulars ; but I had a hint given me 
 that I might save him in his other employment ; and 
 leave was given me to clear matters with Steele. Well, 
 I dined with sir Matthew Dudley, and in the evening 
 went to sit with Mr. Addison, and offer the matter 
 at distance to him, as the discreeter person ; but 
 found party had so possessed him, that he talked as if 
 he suspected me, and would not fall in with any thing 
 
 I said.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 137 
 
 I said. So I stopped short in my overture, and we 
 parted very dryly ; and I shall say nothing to Steele, 
 and let them do as they will; but if things stand as 
 they are, he will certainly lose it, unless I save him ; 
 and therefore I will not speak to him, that I may not 
 report to his disadvantage. Is not this vexatious, and 
 is there so much in the proverb of proffered service ? 
 When shall I grow wise ? I endeavour to act in the 
 most exact points of honour and conscience, and my 
 nearest friends will not understand it so. What must 
 a man expect from his enemies ? This would vex me, 
 but it shall not." 
 
 In that of December following, he says, " Mr. 
 Addison and I are different as black and white, and 
 I believe our friendship vyill go off by this damned 
 business of party. He cannot bear seeing me fall in 
 so with the ministry; but I love him still as much as 
 ever, though we seldom meet." 
 
 In the same Journal he gives the following account: 
 " Lewis told me a pure thing. I had been hankering 
 with Mr. Harley, to save Steele his other employ- 
 ment, and have a little mercy on him ; and I had 
 been saying the same thing to Lewis, who is Mr. 
 Harley 's chief favourite. Lewis tells Mr. Harley how 
 kindly I should take it, if he would be reconciled to 
 Steele, &c. Mr. Harley, on my account, falls in 
 with it: and appoints Steele a time to let him attend 
 him, which Steele accepts with great submission, but 
 never comes, nor sends any excuse. Whether it was 
 blundering, sullenness, insolence, or rancour of party, 
 I cannot tell ; but I shall trouble myself no more 
 about him. I believe Addison hindered him out of 
 mere spite, being grated to the soul to think he 
 should ever want my help to save his friend; yet now 
 
 he
 
 138 THE LIFE 
 
 lie is soliciting me to make another of his friends 
 queen's secretary at Geneva, and I'll do it if I can ; 
 it is poor pastoral Phillips." 
 
 In another place he says, " I called at the coffee- 
 house, where I had not been in a week, and talked 
 coldly awhile with Mr. Addison; all our friendship 
 and dearness are off: we are civil acquaintance, talk 
 words of course, of when we shall meet, and that's 
 all. Is it not odd? but I think he has used me ill, 
 and I have used him too well, at least his friend 
 Steele." 
 
 In a few weeks after, he writes thus: " I went to 
 Mr. Addison, and dined with him at his lodgings; I 
 hud not seen him these three weeks. We are grown 
 common acquaintance, yet what have I not done for 
 his friend Steele ? Mr. Harley reproached me the last 
 time I saw him, that to please me he would be re- 
 conciled to Steele, and had promised and appointed 
 to see him, and that Steele never came. Har- 
 rison, whom Mr. Addison recommended to me, I 
 have introduced to the secretary of state, who has 
 promised me to take care of him. . And I have repre- 
 sented Addison himself so to the ministry, that they 
 think and talk in his favour, though they hated him 
 before. Well, he is now in my debt, and there's an 
 end; and I had never the least obligation to him, and 
 there's another end." 
 
 In the following year, May, 1711, he says, " Steele 
 has had the assurance to write to me, that I would 
 engage my lord treasurer to keep a friend of his irt 
 employment." And in his Journal of July following, 
 he says, " Mr. Addison and I have at last met again. 
 I dined with him and Steele to day at young Jacob 
 Tonsons. Mr. Addison and I talked as usual, and 
 
 as
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. !3J> 
 
 as if we had seen one another yesterday ; and Steele 
 and I were very easy, although I wrote him a biting 
 letter, in answer to one of his, where he desired me 
 to recommend a friend of his to lord treasurer." In 
 the year 1712, we find he had brought Addison so far 
 about as to dine with lord Bolingbroke. In his Journal 
 of that year, he says, " Addison and I, and some 
 others, dined with lord Bolingbroke, and sate with 
 him till twelve. We were very civil, but yet, when 
 we grew warm, we talked in a friendly manner of 
 party. . Addison raised his objections, and lord Bo- 
 lingbroke answered them with great complaisance." 
 
 From all these accounts, we may see what an 
 amazing difference there was between the minds of 
 Swift and Addison. What a grandeur in the one, 
 what a littleness in the other ! Swift, though deeply 
 engaged with the successful party, using all his 
 endeavours to prevent a difference in politicks, from 
 creating a disunion among men of genius: Addison, 
 from a narrowness, of mind, growing cool to a man 
 for whose talents he had professed the highest admi- 
 ration, and for whose person the warmest regard, 
 merely because they were of different parties ! Swift, 
 in the plenitude of power, when another would have 
 been glad of so fair a pretence for breaking off all 
 commerce with him, perseveres in his good offices 
 toward him, as if their friendship were still mutual 
 and inviolate ; sets him on a good footing with the 
 ministry, and -preserves him and his friends, not- 
 withstanding the ill behaviour of the latter, in their 
 employments. Addison, notwithstanding he had 
 forfeited all pretensions to Swift's friendship by his 
 unmanly behaviour, and during the continuance of 
 his coldness, is mean enough to solicit Swift's interest 
 
 in
 
 140 THE LIFE 
 
 in favour of some of his friends. Swift, though ne- 
 ver under the least obligation to Addison when he 
 was in power, exerts his interest as if he had been 
 under the highest ; and among others, procures for 
 Harrison, one of Mr. Addison's recommending, an 
 employment of no less than twelve hundred pounds 
 a year. When indeed Steele had the assurance, as 
 Swift jussly expresses it, of desiring the same favour, 
 he shows what a difference he made between the 
 men, by sending him, as he calls it, " a biting 
 answer." Whether it was this which exasperated 
 Steele, or from whatever other cause it were, he 
 some time after wrote a virulent paper in the Guar- 
 dian against Swift, which produced some severe ex- 
 postulations on his part, to be seen in the letters 
 that passed between them on that occasion. Where, 
 on Steele's part, we find the highest insolence, added 
 to the basest ingratitude ; as will immediately appear 
 on a view of those letters. Swift, in one to Addison 
 upon this subject, had said, " Have I deserved this 
 usage from Mr. Steele, who knows very well, that 
 my lord treasurer has kept him in his employment, 
 upon my entreaty and intercession r" This charge 
 Steele answers in the most insulting manner, thus, 
 " They laugh at you, if they make you believe 
 your interposition has kept me thus long in office." 
 To this Swift in his reply, says, " The case was 
 thus : I did with the utmost application, and desiring 
 to lay all my credit upon it, desire Mr. Harley (as he 
 was then called) to show you mercy. Je said he 
 would, and wholly upon my account : that he would 
 appoint you a day to see him ; that he would not ex- 
 pect you should quit any friend or principle. Some 
 days after, he told me he had appointed you a day, 
 2 and
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 141 
 
 and you had not kept it ; upon which he reproached 
 me, as engaging for more than I could answer ; and 
 advised me to be more cautious another time. I told 
 him, and desired my lord chancellor and lord Boling- 
 broke to be witnesses, that I never would speak for 
 or against you, as long as I lived ; only I would de- 
 sire, and that it was still my opinion, you should have 
 mercy, till you gave farther provocations. This is 
 the history of what you think lit to call, in the spirit 
 of insulting, their laughing at me. And you may 
 do it securely ; for, by the most inhuman dealings, 
 you have wholly put it out of my power, as a chris- 
 tian, to do you the least ill office." 
 
 After having read the several passages relative to 
 Steele, before quoted in the Journal, no one can 
 doubt but that Swift has here fairly stated the case, 
 and that he might even have put it in a stronger 
 light. It is hard to say whether Steele's weakness of 
 head, or badness of heart, were most conspicuous in 
 this transaction. Causelessly to attack and insult a 
 man, to whom he lay under such obligations, argued 
 great baseness ; and his defence of himself, by deny- 
 ing an obligation so notoriously conferred, still more 
 so. And to provoke a man to prove the reality of 
 his charge, that it was he alone who had hitherto 
 kept him in his employment, by getting him imme- 
 diately discharged from it, which Swift could have 
 done by speaking a word, was surely weak. But in 
 that point he was secure, he knew his man too well : 
 he knew Swift was incapable of a mean revenge. 
 He might, as Swift nobly says to him, " do it se- 
 curely ;" " for, (as he adds) by the most inhuman 
 dealings, you have wholly put it out of my power, as 
 a christian, to do you the least ill office." Yet, 
 
 though
 
 1-4* *HE LIFE 
 
 though Swift was above a revenge of this sort, he 
 thought himself called upon to answer his challenge, 
 as a writer, and chastise his insolence in his own 
 way. Which he afterward did so effectually, in his 
 famous pamphlet, called " The Public Spirit of the 
 Whigs," and in several subsequent pieces, that, from 
 being an author of some eminence, Steele became for 
 some time an object of ridicule and contempt. How 
 weak, or how vain must the man have been, to have 
 defied such a champion to so unequal a combat ! I 
 have been the longer in the detail of this transaction, 
 because it is, perhaps, the only instance to be found 
 of Swift's ever having broke entirely with any man 
 with whom he had lived on terms of friendship ; 
 and to justify the extreme severity which appeared 
 in his writings against Steele, after so great a provo- 
 cation. 
 
 Having seen the care which Swift took of men 
 of genius, so that even their opposition in party 
 should be of no prejudice to them, we may suppose 
 he was not less solicitous in promoting the interests 
 of others, who were under no demerit of that sort. 
 Accordingly we find, there were not any at that time, 
 of the least pretensions in that way, who were not 
 obliged to him for essential services. 
 
 The famous Dr. Berkeley, afterward bishop of 
 Cloyne in Ireland, owed his fortune wholly to him, 
 as he placed him in the road which led to his promo- 
 tion. In his Journal of April 7, 1713, he says, " I 
 went to court to-day, on purpose to present Mr. 
 Berkeley, one of your fellows of Dublin college, to 
 lord Berkeley of Stratton. That Mr. Berkeley is a 
 very ingenious man, and a great philosopher ; and I 
 have mentioned him to all the ministers, and have 
 
 given-
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. M3 
 
 given them some of his writings, and I will favour 
 him as much as I can. This I think I am bound to 
 in honour and conscience, to use all my little credit 
 toward helping forward men of worth in the world." 
 He afterwards got him appointed chaplain to lord Pe- 
 terborow's embassy, who procured for him the rich 
 deanery of Derry. 
 
 Pope, in his preface to the translation of Homer, 
 expresses the highest obligations to him for his zeal in 
 promoting the subscription to that work. 
 
 Gay, by his interest, was appointed secretary to 
 the embassy to Hanover. 
 
 Harrison, a young man of promising genius re- 
 commended to him by Mr. Addison, was made by 
 him queen's secretary at the Hague, a place of twelve 
 hundred pounds a year, though he lived but a short 
 time to enjoy it. 
 
 We have already seen in what manner he in- 
 troduced, and recommended Parnell to the mi- 
 nistry. 
 
 Nor was he unmindful of such as had but a mo- 
 derate share of merit in that way. He made Dr. 
 King gazetteer ; he made Trapp chaplain to lord 
 Bolingbroke. 
 
 He discovered some marks of original genius in 
 some Sea Eclogues, written by an obscure man, one 
 Diaper, and immediately sought the author out, and 
 brought him into light : of this he gives the follow- 
 ing account in his Journal, December J 7 12: " This 
 morning I presented one Diaper, a poet, to lord Bo- 
 lingbroke, with a new poem, which is a very good 
 one ; and I am to give a sum of money from my lord. 
 I have contrived to make a parson of him, for he is 
 half one already, being in deacon's orders, and a small 
 
 cure
 
 144 THE LIFE 
 
 cure in the country ; but has a sword at his tail here 
 in town. *Tis a poor, little, short wretch, but will 
 do best in a gown, and we will make lord keeper 
 give him a living.** 
 
 . Nor were his good offices confined to men of ge- 
 nius only, but merit of every kind was sure to find 
 in him a warm advocate, and oppressed innocence, 
 a protector. He says in a letter to lady Betty Ger- 
 main, l( When I had credit for some years at court, 
 I provided for above fifty people in both kingdoms, 
 of which not one was a relation." And we find, in 
 his Journal and letters, that he did numberless good 
 offices for others. He says, in more places than one, 
 that lord Oxford never once refused him any request 
 of that sort. His character was so well known in 
 this respect, that we see, in the collection of letters, 
 several addresses to him from persons, either little 
 known to him, or utterly unacquainted with him, 
 requesting his assistance, in cases of compassion ; or 
 protection, in those of oppression. Nor did he ever 
 fail to interfere, in either cases, when any such came 
 to his knowledge by accident, though it were with 
 regard to perfect strangers. There was one remark- 
 able occasion, on which he interposed in favour of a 
 man, though he held him in no degree of estimation, 
 merely from a principle of justice; which was, in 
 the case of the famous Dr. Sacheverell : who, though 
 he had been of infinite use to the tory ministry, nay, 
 was in reality the occasion of their getting into power, 
 yet, when the work was done, was laid by, as the 
 tools of statesmen too often are, when they can be of 
 no farther use, and utterly neglected. That Swift 
 was of this opinion, is clear from the following pas- 
 sage in his Journal : " So Sacheverell will be the 
 
 next
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 145 
 
 next bishop ! He would be glad of an addition of 
 two hundred pounds a year to what he has, and 
 that is more than they will give him, for aught 
 I see. He hates the new ministry mortally, and 
 they hate him and pretend to despise him too. They 
 will not allow him to have been the occasion of the 
 late change, at least some of them will not : but my 
 lord keeper owned it to me the other day." Swift 
 therefore thought it but common justice in the mi- 
 nistry to do something for him ; and, without any 
 application from the doctor, or even any personal 
 acquaintance with him, in the year 1711 he procured 
 a place for his brother ; who, by a failure in trade, 
 had for some years, together with his whole family, 
 been entirely supported by the doctor. This affair 
 is thus related by Swift in his Journal. " Did I tell 
 you that Sacheverell has desired mightily to come 
 and see me ; but I have put it off. He has heard 
 that I have spoken to the secretary in behalf of a 
 brother whom he maintains, and who desires an em- 
 ployment. T'other day, at the court of requests, 
 Dr. Yalden saluted me by name ; Sacheverell, who 
 was just by, came up to me, and made many ac- 
 knowledgments and compliments. Last night I 
 desired lord treasurer to do something for that bro- 
 ther of Sacheverell. He said he never knew he 
 had a brother ; but thanked me for telling him, and 
 immediately put his name in his tablebook. I will 
 let Sacheverell know this, that he may take his mea- 
 sures accordingly ; but he shall be none of my ac- 
 quaintance." A letter from the doctor to Swift, 
 dated Jan. 31, 1711-12, begins thus: " Since you 
 have been pleased to undertake the generous office 
 oi soliciting my good lord treasurer's favour in my 
 vol. i. L behalf,
 
 \46 1HE LIFE 
 
 behalf, I should be very ungrateful, if I did not re- 
 turn you my most hearty thanks for it, and my 
 humblest acknowledgments to,, his lordship for the 
 success it has met with." And in the conclusion, he 
 says, " But for yourself, good doctor, who were the 
 First spring to move it, I can never sufficiently ac- 
 knowledge the obligation." Afterward, in the year 
 1713, soon after the three years silence imposed upon 
 the doctor by the house of lords, in consequence of 
 his impeachment, had expired ; Swift procured for 
 him the rectory of St. Andrew's Holborn, in the fol- 
 lowing whimsical manner : Upon that living's be- 
 coming vacant, he applied for it in behalf of Sa- 
 cheverell, to lord Bolingbroke ; who seemed not at 
 all disposed in his favour, calling him " a busy, med- 
 dling, factious fellow, one who had set the kingdom 
 in a flame." To which Swift replied, It is all true, 
 my lord ; but let me tell you a story. In a sea-fight, 
 in the reign of Charles II. there was a very bloody 
 engagement between the English and Dutch fleets ; 
 in the heat of which, a Scotch seaman was very se- 
 verely bit by a louse on his neck, which he caught, 
 and stooping down to crack it, just as he had put 
 himself in that posture, a chain-shot came and took 
 off the heads of several sailors that were about him ; 
 on which he had compassion on the poor louse, re- 
 turned him to his place, and bid him live thereat dis- 
 cretion ; for, said he, as thou hast been the means of 
 saving my life, it is but just I should save your's." 
 Lord Bolingbroke laughed heartily, and said, " Well 
 then, the louse shall have the living for your story." 
 And accordingly he was soon after presented to it. 
 In all solicitations of this nature, conscious of the 
 goodness of his motives, which were either those of 
 
 merit,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIPT. My 
 
 merit, compassion, or justice, he was bold in j 
 commendations, and made them rather as dein 
 than requests. Of this we have an ins tan 
 following passage of his Journal, Jan. 1 7 1 1 - 
 " This morning I presented my printer and b 
 seller to lord Rivers, to be stationer to the ordnance.. 
 I believe it will be worth three hundred pounds a 
 year to them. This is the third employment I have 
 got for them. Rivers told them the doctor com- 
 manded him, and he durst not refuse." And in the 
 next page, he says, " I was this morning again with 
 lord Rivers, and have made him give the other em- 
 ployment * to my printer and bookseller ; 'tis worth 
 a great deal." His bookseller was Tooke, and his 
 printer, Barber, afterward lord Mayor of London. 
 As they were both very honest men, and ran great 
 risks in publishing some of his bolder pieces, for which 
 Barber was also taken into custody, he thought he 
 could not reward their services and fidelity too highly; 
 and we find, upon the whole, he procured employ- 
 ments for them, to the amount of nearly two thou- 
 sand pounds a year. This was the foundation of 
 Barber's fortune, which he always acknowledged, 
 with the highest gratitude -j-j and to the last made 
 every return in his power to his great patron J. The 
 expression of lord Rivers, " that the doctor com- 
 manded him, and he durst not refuse," was literally 
 true ; not only with regard to him, but to all the mi- 
 nistry, who seemed to look up to him as to one of a 
 
 *This other employment was a reversion of the patent of queen'-d 
 printer after the expiration of the then giant to Mr. Basket;, to 
 commence in January ]?3y. N. 
 
 f See under the Epistolary Correspondence, July 22, 1?3C. N. 
 
 * By his last will, Ik* gave the dean a legacy of 2001. N 
 
 ^ 2 superiour
 
 148 THE LIFE 
 
 superiour class of mortals ; both on account of hte 
 amazing talents, and that noble quality of perfect 
 disinterestedness, perhaps not to be paralleled in his 
 time, and rarely to be found in the annals of history. 
 This gave such a dignity to his character, and such a 
 weight to his recommendations, that it does not ap- 
 pear he ever failed in any. And indeed it would have 
 been strange, that the men in power should have 
 refused any request of that sort, which tended highly 
 to their own honour, by promoting men of talents 
 and worth, to a man who was daily employed in doing 
 them the most important services, without once hint- 
 ing at any return for them to himself. In this state 
 did this extraordinary man continue for near three 
 years without the smallest reward, or the least addi- 
 tion to his fortune, which consisted only of a living of 
 about two hundred and fifty pounds a year, and not 
 quite five hundred pounds in cash ; at the same time 
 \ that he was in such a degree of power, that he was 
 making the fortune of multitudes. Thus did he ve- 
 rify his early declaration to the archbishop of Dub- 
 lin, before quoted. Nothing astonished the people 
 of those times more, than thatso distinguished a man,, 
 and apparently in such high favour, should have re- 
 mained^, for such a length of time, without any promo- 
 tion : and that he should at last be rewarded only with 
 a paltry deanery, in another kingdom, to which he 
 went with the utmost reluctance, and which was 
 
 \ looked upon by himself, as well as by the world, 
 only as a species of banishment, has ever since been 
 considered in so extraordinary a liglrt, that various 
 have been the conjectures of the world to account for 
 it. Some, who knew Swift's real merits toward the 
 ministry, have not been backward in charging them 
 
 4 with
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 140 
 
 with the basest ingratitude on the occasion. Others, 
 not so well acquainted with the history of those 
 times, thought it was impossible Swift could have 
 been a man of such importance as he was repre- 
 sented, otherwise he must certainly have made his 
 way to the highest station in the church ; and con- 
 sidering him only as a writer of some political papers 
 and pamphlets, were not surprised that his reward 
 should be no greater. But, since the publication & 
 the private memoirs of those times, in Swift's last 
 volumes, there is no farther room for conjecture, as 
 this whole affair may be set in its true light, upon 
 undoubted proofs. I have already given many strik- 
 ing instances of the little solicitude Swift had about 
 pushing his own fortune. I shall now remind the 
 reader of the principle upon which he acted, men- 
 tioned in a passage before quoted, from a letter of 
 his to the archbishop of Dublin, dated Oct. ], 171 1. 
 il It is my maxim to leave great ministers to do as 
 they please; and if I cannot distinguish myself 
 enough, by being useful in such a way, as becomes 
 a man of conscience and honour, I can do no more ; 
 for I never will solicit for myself, although I often 
 do for others." This resolution we find, by many 
 other passages, he strictly adhered to; and when we 
 consider the procrastinating disposition of lord Ox- 
 ford, we shall net be surprised at his not being in any 
 haste to provide for a man who never solicited him. 
 Nothing is more common than the deferring of any 
 thing, however strongly in our intention it be to do 
 it some time or other, which we consider as always 
 in our power to do, unless we are particularly called 
 upon to carry it into execution at some certain time: 
 and this was more likely to be the case in one of his 
 
 turn. 
 
 1
 
 150 THE LIFE 
 
 turn. Besides, as he was daily gratifying Swift in 
 his requests for others, he thought he might with rea- 
 son expect that he should wait the most convenient 
 Season for his own promotion. And with regard to 
 Swift himself, I have already assigned some very pow- 
 erful motives, which made him in no haste with res- 
 pect to preferment. But above all, there were many 
 things, while he remained in that situation, which 
 gratified his peculiar disposition and turn of mind to 
 the height. His proud spirit was much fonder of 
 conferring, than receiving obligations. In his Journal 
 to Stella of March 1711-12, where he says, he can do 
 nothing for himself, he adds, " I don't care, I shall 
 liave ministers, and other people obliged to me." And 
 he did not wish to receive any return for his services, 
 till they were swelled to such a height, as to make 
 any reward, how great so ever, fall short of their 
 value, and so free him from any debt on the score of 
 obligation. He had all this time an opportunity of 
 displaying the pride of independence, and of showing 
 that by his own talents and intrinsick worth, with- 
 out any of the usual aids in life, he could raise him- 
 self to a higher degree of consequence and power, 
 than others could do by noble birth, high station, or 
 enormous wealth. It must have been no small gra- 
 tification to him, to think that it was to this little 
 vicar of Laracor, that the ministry were indebted for 
 remaining in their posts ; that he was their protec- 
 tor and preserver in those posts, in spite of their ene- 
 mies, and of themselves. That by degrees he grew 
 into such confidence with them, that there was no- 
 thing done in publick affairs without consulting him ; 
 and that the world in general considered him as the 
 primum mobile of all their conduct, insomuch, that 
 
 there
 
 Or DOCTOR SWIFT. 151 
 
 there were "many speeches made against him by name, 
 on that account, both in the house of lords and com- 
 mons. That he should have the greatest men, fo- 
 reign ambassadors, &c. soliciting the ministry, 
 through him, for favours. That his acquaintance 
 should be courted by persons of the highest rank, 
 and obtained only by a few, not on the score of their 
 quality, or fortune, but merit. Was there not a se- 
 cret pride in receiving these, in a lodging of eight 
 shillings a week, and walking to the doors of all the 
 greatest men of the age, which flew open at his ap- 
 proach ? Never sure was a greater triumph of parts 
 and virtue, over the usual idols of the world. To 
 the immortal honour of Swift be it recorded, that he 
 was the first man of letters and genius that we read of, 
 who asserted the superiority of talents over titles, of 
 virtue over wealth, in the face of the great and the 
 rich; and not content with vain speculations, and 
 idly declaiming on the subject, as all others had done, 
 boldly demanded and received the homage due to 
 such superiority .both for himself and others. This 
 he could never have done, had he not convinced the 
 great that however thev might stand in need of his 
 assistance, he wanted not their's. That he could be 
 perfectly content with his present fortune, small as it 
 was, and return to his willows at a day's notice, on 
 any ill treatment, without the least reluctance. That 
 they could have no hold on him either on the score 
 of avarice, or ambition. As to the former, the no- 
 ble resentment which he showed to the first attempt 
 of lord Oxford, to lay him under a pecuniary obliga- 
 tion; the indignation which he expressed on two or 
 three occasions, on bribes being offered to him for 
 his interest; and, above all, his scorning to make any 
 
 ad vantage
 
 152 THE LIFE 
 
 advantage of his works *, so contrary to the esta- 
 blished practice of all other authors, showed that he 
 was unassailable in that way. And as to ambition, 
 his whole conduct proved that he was determined to 
 owe his rise wholly to his own merits, and not to any 
 solicitation or interest on his behalf. In short, from 
 his many declarations, to others, in his letters before 
 quoted, as well as those made to his bosom friend 
 in his Journal, and from the whole tenour of his ac- 
 tions, consonant to those declarations, we may see 
 that Swift, upon joining with the new ministry, had 
 laid down this rule for his conduct; that he would 
 serve the publick interests, and the common cause, 
 to the utmost of his powers ; that he would exert all 
 his influence in promoting men of talents and worth ; 
 and with regard to his own fortune, leave it wholly to 
 chance, and court gratitude ; of which, however, he 
 had so mean an opinion from former experience, that 
 he relied little on it, and was perfectly prepared 
 against any disappointment. In his Journal of Ja- 
 nuary 17 10-1 1, he says, " My new friends are very 
 kind, and I have promises enough, but I do not count 
 upon them; and besides, my pretences are very 
 young to them. However, we shall see what may 
 be done, and if nothing at all, I shall not be disap- 
 pointed, although perhaps poor M. D. -\- may, and 
 
 * As an instance of this, he says, in his Journal of November 
 3711, "1 am sorry I sent you the Examiner, for the printer is 
 going to print them in a small volume. It seems the author is 
 too proud to have them printed by subscription, though his 
 friends offered, they say, to make it worth five hundred pounds 
 to him." S. 
 
 + By M. D. i? generally meant Stella, though sometimes it 
 stands for Stella and Mrs, Dingley, S. 
 
 then
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 153 
 
 then I shall be sorrier for their sakes than my own." 
 And in that of June following, he says, " Remem- 
 ber, if I am used ill and ungratefully, as I have for- 
 merly been, 'tis what I am prepared for, and shall 
 not wonder at it." And in that of October follow- 
 ing, he says to Stella, " I have no shuddering at all 
 to think of retiring to my old circumstances, if you 
 can be easy." 
 
 But while Swift was thus letting occasions slip, 
 and the ministers deferring the reward of his services, 
 there was a cabal forming at court, which put a stop 
 to his promotion for a while, and had nearly pre- 
 vented a possibility of it during that reign. It is to 
 be observed, that however high he was in favour 
 with the ministry, it does not appear that he ever 
 stood well with the queen, or that she once gave him 
 the least mark of her countenance or favour. Swift 
 had mentioned to Stella, early in his Journal, that 
 Mr. Harley had said, he would present him to the 
 queen; but in his subsequent one of January 1 710-11, 
 he says, " Mr. Harley, of late, has said nothing of 
 presenting me to the queen. I was overseen when 
 I mentioned it to you. He has such a weight of af- 
 fairs on him, that he cannot mind all ; but he talked 
 of it three or four times to me, long before I dropt it 
 to you." Nor does it appear afterward, through the 
 course of the Journal, that this was ever done, or that 
 the queen took the least notice of him. On the con- 
 trary, it is to be seen in many places of Swift's works, 
 that she had imbibed strong prejudices against him ; 
 first, from Dr. Sharpe, archbishop of York, who re- 
 presented him as a freethinker, or infidel ; a character 
 which that religious queen must, above all others, de- 
 test in a clergyman ; and next, from the duchess of 
 
 Somerset,
 
 151 tUE LIFE 
 
 Somerset, lier favourite, who hated Swift mortally, 
 and took every opportunity of representing him in the 
 worst colours to her royal mistress. But, above all, 
 the queen had a reason of her own for disliking 
 Swift, as he was constantly employed in endeavour- 
 ing to counteract her favourite plan. What that 
 was, will sufficiently appear from the following ex- 
 tracts. In his Journal to Stella, so early as February 
 1710-11, he says, "I'll tell you one great state se- 
 cret: the queen, sensible how much she was go- 
 verned by the late ministry, runs a little into t'other 
 extreme, and is jealous in that point, even of those 
 who got her out of the other's hands." He hints the 
 same in other passages of his Journal. But in some 
 of his tracts, published since his death, he is quite 
 explicit on this article, and has laid open a secret 
 spring of government, which was constantly operating 
 during the last four years of that queen ; and which 
 being concealed, except from a very few, rendered 
 the proceedings of the first minister wholly unac- 
 countable to his friends at that time, and to all since 
 who have entered into an examination of his con- 
 duct; but which being now disclosed, at once solves 
 a riddle, hitherto thought inexplicable. In his tract, 
 entitled, " Memoirs relating to the Change in the 
 Queen's Ministry in 1710," there is the following 
 passage: cc She (the queen) grew so jealous upon 
 the change of her servants, that often, out of fear of 
 being imposed on, by an overcaution, she would im- 
 pose upon herself. She took a delight in refusing 
 those who were thought to have greatest power with 
 her, even in the most reasonable things, and such as 
 were necessary for her service, nor would let them be 
 done, until she fell into the humour of it herself." 
 
 Jn
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 155 
 
 In another tract, entitled, " An Inquiry into the Be- 
 haviour of the Queen's last Ministry," there is a pas- 
 sage to the same effect. " But in dispensing her 
 favours, she was extremely cautious and slow; and 
 after the usual mistake of those who think they have 
 been often imposed on, became so very suspicious, 
 that she overshot the mark, and erred on the other 
 extreme. When a person happened to be recom- 
 mended as useful for her service, or proper to be 
 obliged, perhaps, after a long delay, she would con- 
 sent; but if the treasurer offered at the same time a 
 warrant, or other instrument to her, already pre- 
 pared, in order to be signed, because he presumed to 
 reckon on her consent beforehand, she would not; 
 and thus the affair would sometimes lie for several 
 months together, although the thing were ever so 
 reasonable, or that even the publick suffered by the 
 delay. So that this minister had no other remedy, 
 but to let her majesty take her own time, which ne- 
 ver failed to be the very longest, that the nature of 
 the thins: could suffer her to defer it." 
 
 Hence it is evident, that the queen who had long 
 been weary of the bondage in which she was held by 
 the whig ministry, was determined upon a change 
 that she would not bring herself into the same pre- 
 dicament again, but was resolved to show that she 
 had a will of her own, and that she would exert it; 
 and, in order to be able to do this effectually, her 
 plan was, not to suffer the tory interest to grow too 
 strong, but to keep such a number of whigs still in 
 office, as should be a constant check upon her mi- 
 nisters, against any encroachments of that sort. In 
 the abovementioned tract, there are several passages 
 that prove this point. In one it is said, " It is most 
 
 certain,
 
 156 THE LIFE 
 
 certain, when the queen first began to change her 
 servants, it was not from a dislike of things, bat of 
 persons; and those persons were a very small num- 
 ber. And afterward, when, upon some events, 
 things were pushed farther than she at first intended, 
 it was with great regret she saw some of the princi- 
 pal great officers among the whigs resign their em- 
 ployments." For, says the author, Ci she had enter- 
 tained the notion of forming a moderate or compre- 
 hensive scheme, which she maintained with great 
 firmness, nor would ever depart from, until about half 
 a year before her death." This conduct:, no doubt, 
 was good policy in the queen, in order to preserve a 
 due share of authority to herself; but at^ the same 
 time her minister suffered extremely by it, who bore 
 the brunt of all this trimming and moderation, which 
 were imputed to some secret designs of his own, and 
 caused incurable jealousies and suspicions in his 
 friends, as well as the whole tory party. Of this 
 Swift gives the following account in the same tract. 
 " I remember it was then commonly understood and 
 expected, that when the session ended, a general re- 
 moval would be made: but it happened otherwise: 
 for not only few or none were turned out, but much 
 deliberation was used in supplying common va- 
 cancies by death. This manner of proceeding, in a 
 prime minister, I confess, appeared to me wholly 
 unaccountable, and without example; and I was lit- 
 tle satisfied with the solution I had heard, and partly 
 knew, that he acted thus to keep men at his devotion, 
 by letting expectation lie in common; for I found the 
 effect did not answer; and that in the mean time he 
 led so uneasy a life, by solicitations and pursuits, as no 
 man would endure, who had a remedy at hand. About 
 the beginning of his ministry, I did, at the request of 
 
 several
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 157 
 
 several considerable persons, take the liberty of re- 
 presenting this matter to him. His answer was short 
 and cold; that he hoped his friends would trust him ; 
 that he heartily wished that none, but those who 
 loved the church and queen, were employed, but that 
 all could not be done on a sudden. I have reason 
 to believe, that his nearest acquaintance were then 
 wholly at a loss what to think of his conduct. He 
 was forced to preserve the opinion of power, without 
 which he could not act; while, in reality, he had lit- 
 tle or none; and besides, he thought it became him 
 to take the burthen of reproach upon himself, rather 
 than lay it upon the queen, his mistress, who was 
 grown very positive, slow, and suspicious; and from 
 the opinion of having been formerly too much di- 
 rected, fell into the other extreme, and became dif- 
 ficult to be advised. So that few ministers had ever 
 perhaps n harder game to play, between the jealousy 
 and discontents of his friends on one side, and the 
 management of the queen's temper on the other." 
 In another part of the same tract, there is a passage 
 to the same effect. " Upon Mr. Harley's recovery, 
 which was soon followed by his promotion to an earl- 
 dom, and the treasurer's staff, he was earnestly 
 pressed to go on with the change of employments, for 
 which his friends and the kingdom were very impa- 
 tient ; wherein I am confident he was not unwil- 
 ling to comply, if a new incident had not put farther 
 difficulties in his way. The queen, having thought 
 fit to take the key from the duchess of Marlborough, 
 it was, after some time, given to another great lady, 
 (the duchess of Somerset) wholly in the interests of 
 the opposite party; who, by a most obsequious be- 
 haviour, of which she is a perfect mistress, and the 
 
 privilege
 
 158 THfc LIFfi 
 
 privilege of her place, which gave her continual ac- 
 cess, quickly won so far upon the affections of her 
 majesty, that she had more personal credit than all 
 the queen's servants put together. Of this lady's 
 character and story, having spoken so much in other 
 papers, which may one day see the light, I shall only 
 observe, that as soon as she was fixed in her station, 
 the queen, following the course of her own nature, 
 grew daily more difficult, and uncomplying. Some 
 weak endeavours were indeed used to divert her ma- 
 jesty from this choice; but she continued steady, and 
 pleaded, that if she might not have the liberty of 
 choosing her own servants, she could not see what 
 advantage she had gotten by the change of her mi- 
 nistry: and so little was her heart set upon what 
 they call a high church, or tory administration, that 
 several employments in court and country, and a 
 great majority in all commissions, remained in the 
 hands of those who most opposed the present pro- 
 ceedings." And, as a farther confirmation of the 
 queen's disposition in this respect, he says, in the se- 
 cond part of the above tract, " Her only objection 
 against several clergymen, recommended to her for 
 promotions in the church, was their being too vio- 
 lent in party. And a lady * in high favour with her, 
 lias frequently assured me, that whenever she moved 
 the queen to discard some persons, who upon all oc- 
 casions, with great virulence, opposed the court, her 
 majesty would constantly refuse, and at the same time 
 condemn her for too much party-zeal." 
 
 Such being the queen's system of conduct, it is 
 evident that Swift must have been more obnoxious to 
 
 * Lady Mashtm. S. 
 
 her
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 15Q 
 
 hep than any man living, as he was the most un- 
 wearied in his endeavours to counteract her views, by 
 rooting out the whigs entirely, and therefore she 
 must constantly have looked upon him with an evil 
 eye. But when at last he made a direct attempt to 
 get her to discharge her favourite, the duchess of So- 
 merset, in a copy of verses addressed to the queen, 
 the most bitter, with regard to the duchess, perhaps, 
 that ever was penned, called " The Windsor Pro- 
 phecy ;" the queen gave evident marks of her dis- 
 pleasure, and took afterward an opportunity of show- 
 ing her resentment to the author, by proclaiming a 
 reward of three hundred pounds for discovering the 
 author of a pamphlet called " The Public Spirit of 
 the Whigs," which she knew to have been written 
 by Swift, in support of the ministry. This fact he 
 has commemorated, in a copy of verses on him- 
 self, where, speaking of the duchess of Somerset, 
 he says, 
 
 "From her red locks her mouth with venom fills, 
 And thence into the royal car instils. 
 The queen incens'd, his services forgot, 
 Leaves him a victim to the vengeful Scot: 
 Now thro' the realm a proclamation spread, 
 To fix a price on his devoted head : 
 While innocent, he scorns ignoble flight, 
 lire watchful friends preserve him by i. sleight.'' 
 
 And in the Preface to his " History of the Four 
 last Years of Queen Anne," he says, " I was so far 
 from having any obligation to the crown, that, on 
 the contrary, her majesty issued a proclamation, 
 offering three hundred pounds to any person who 
 would discover the author of a certain short treatise, 
 
 which
 
 l60 THE LIFE 
 
 which the queen well knew to have been written 
 by me." 
 
 From all that has been offered upon this head, we 
 may clearly deduce the reason why Swift remained 
 such a length of time without any promotion, and 
 may fairly exonerate lord Oxford from the charges 
 made against him on that score. It is now evident, 
 though before it was a secret to the world, that he 
 had by no means that degree of power which he was 
 supposed to enjoy, in any matter whatever, but in 
 any point that did not fall in with her majesty's plea- 
 sure, he had none at all, much less therefore in such 
 as she was set against. Among which number, that 
 of the promotion of Dr. Swift, for the reasons above- 
 mentioned, seems to have been one. If, as he has 
 related, " her only objection against several clergy- 
 men, recommended to her for promotions in the 
 church, was their being too violent in party;" how 
 much more strongly must this have operated with re- 
 gard to him, whose zeal in the cause he had espoused, 
 transported him so beyond all bounds of moderation, 
 as to keep no measures even with her, though he 
 well knew her disposition. Of this he gave a strong 
 proof in u the Windsor Prophecy;" the tendency 
 of which was, to prevail on her majesty to remove 
 the duchess of Somerset, the patroness of the whig 
 cause, by the most bitter invectives on her character, 
 from her post; and to receive Mrs. Masham, who 
 was equally attached to the tory interest, in her place. 
 He was so indiscreet as to give orders for the publi- 
 cation of that piece, which would have been done, 
 had not Mrs. Masham prevented it. Of this he 
 gives the following account, in his Journal of De- 
 cember
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. l6l 
 
 cember lfl 1. "I called at noon at Mrs. Masham's, 
 who desired me not to let the Prophecy be published^ 
 for fear of angering the queen about the duchess 
 of Somerset; so I wrote to the printer, to stop them. 
 They have been printed, and given about, but not 
 sold." And a little lower, he says, " I entertained 
 our society at the Thatch'd House tavern to day at 
 dinner; but brother Bathurst sent for wine, the house 
 affording none. The printer had not received my 
 letter, and so he brought us a dozen apiece of the 
 Prophecy; but I ordered him to part with no more. 
 'Tis an admirable good one, and people are mad 
 for it." 
 
 As this society consisted of sixteen, we here see 
 there was a sufficient number got abroad, to have 
 it generally spread; so that it was no difficult mat- 
 ter for the duchess to procure a copy, which she 
 kept by her in petto, till she should find a convenient 
 season for wreaking her revenge. This soon offered 
 itself, when he was recommended to the queen for 
 a vacant bishoprick, from which he was precluded by 
 the duchess, in the manner before related. Who - 
 ever reads that Prophecy, is acquainted with the 
 queen's disposition, and knows the ascendency which 
 the duchess maintained over her to the last, will not 
 wonder that Swift remained so long without promo- 
 tion. That lord Oxford was solicitous for his friend's 
 preferment, appears from his recommending him so 
 early to a bishoprick, which was a fact of general 
 notoriety at that time, and since confirmed to me by 
 good authority. And the reasons are now equally 
 obvious, why it was not in the lord treasurer's power 
 to promote him afterward; though it is probable that 
 he studiously concealed this from Swift, as he might 
 
 vol. i. M think
 
 102 THE LIFE 
 
 think the discovery of his inability to serve him might 
 have sent him back to his willows, at a time when he 
 most needed his assistance. But to make him amends, 
 he showed him every personal kindness in his power, 
 provided for all whom he recommended, and never, ad 
 Swift declares, refused him any thing that he asked. 
 
 In this situation Swift remained during the space of 
 two years and a half, from his first acquaintance with 
 the ministry ; often declaring to Stella, that he was 
 weary of the scene in which he was engaged, and of 
 the part which he took in it ; frequently expressing an 
 earnest desire of returning to his former situation, and 
 declaring as often, that nothing restrained him from 
 doing it, but that he thought himself obliged, both 
 in honour and duty, not to desert the cause in which 
 he was engaged, and of which he was the great cham- 
 pion, till he had done every thing in his power toward 
 the establishment and support of it ; when therefore 
 he had nearly finished his " History of the Peace of 
 Utrecht," which was the last work he proposed on 
 the subject, he determined to stay no longer, unless 
 something honourable were done for him. At this 
 juncture, there happened to be vacant three deaneries, 
 in Ireland, and a canonry of Windsor, with some 
 other church preferments in England. Swift there- 
 fore silently resolved, if there were no notice taken of 
 him on this occasion, to return to Laracor, and have 
 done with courts for ever. The account we have of 
 this in his Journal, written to the hour, will best re- 
 present to us his state of mind at that time. Journal, 
 April 13, 1713. " This morning my friend Mr. 
 Lewis came to me, and showed me an order for a 
 warrant for the three vacant deaneries, . but none of 
 them to me. This was what I always foresaw, and 
 
 re-
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 3 63 
 
 received the notice of it better, I believe, than he 
 expected. I bid Mr. Lewis tell my lord treasurer, 
 that I take nothing ill of him, bat his not giving me 
 timely notice, as he promised to do, if he found the 
 queen would do nothing for me. At noon, lord trea- 
 surer hearing I was in Mr. Lewis's office, came to 
 me, and said many things too long to repeat. I told 
 him, I had nothing to do but go to Ireland imme- 
 diately, for I could not, with any reputation, stay 
 longer here, unless I had something honourable im- 
 mediately given to me. We dined together at the 
 duke of Ormond's. He there told me he had stopped 
 the warrants for the deans, that what was done for 
 me might be at the same time, and he hoped to com- 
 pass it to night ; but I believe him not. I told the 
 duke of Ormond my intentions. He is content 
 Sterne should be a bishop, and I have St. Patrick's, 
 but I believe nothing will come of it, for stay I will 
 not ; and so I believe you will see me in Dublin before 
 April ends. I am less out of humour than you would 
 imagine ; and if it were not that impertinent people 
 would condole with me, as they used to give me joy, 
 I would value it less. But I still avoid company, and 
 muster up my baggage, and send them next Monday 
 by the carrier to Chester, and go see my willows, 
 against the expectation of all the world. 
 
 " 14th. I dined in the city to day, and ordered a 
 lodging to be got ready for me, against I came to 
 pack up my things; for I will leave this end of the 
 town as soon as ever the warrants for the deaneries 
 are out, which are yet stopped. Lord treasurer told 
 Lewis that it should be determined to night ; and so 
 he will say a hundred nights ; so he said yesterday, 
 but I value it not. My daily Journals shall be but 
 
 M 2 short.
 
 l64 THE LIFE 
 
 short, till I get into the city, and then I will send 
 away this, and follow it myself; I design to walk it 
 all the way to Chester, my man and I, by ten miles 
 a day. It will do my health a great deal of good. I 
 shall do it in fourteen days. 
 
 ' 15th. Lord Bolingbroke made me dine with him 
 to day (I was as good company as ever) and told me 
 the queen would determine something for me to 
 night. The dispute is Windsor, or St. Patrick's. 
 I told him I would not stay for their disputes, and he 
 thought I was in the right. Lord Masham told me, 
 that lady Masham is angry I have not been to see her 
 since this business, and desires I will come to morrow. 
 " l6th. I was this noon at lady Masham's, who 
 was just come from Kensington, where her eldest 
 son is sick. She said much to me of what she had 
 talked to the queen and lord treasurer. The poor lady 
 fell a shedding of tears openly. She could not bear to 
 think of my having St. Patrick's, &c. I was never 
 more moved than to see so much friendship. I 
 would not stay with her, but went and dined with 
 Dr. Arbuthnot, with Mr. Berkeley, one of your fel- 
 lows, whom I have recommended to the doctor, &c. 
 Mr. Lewis tells me, that the duke of Ormond has 
 been to day with the queen, and she was content that 
 Dr. Sterne should be bishop of Dromore, and I dean 
 of St. Patrick's ; hut then out came lord treasurer, 
 and said, that he would not be satisfied, but that 1 
 must be a prebendary of Windsor. Thus ke per- 
 plexes things. 1 expect neither; but I confess, as 
 much as I love England, I am so angry at this treat- 
 ment, that if I had my choice, I would rather have 
 St. Patrick's. Lady Masham says, she will speak to 
 the purpose to the queen to morrow. 
 
 " 17th. I
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. l65 
 
 " 17th. I went to dine at lady Masham's to day, 
 and she was taken ill of a sore throat, and is aguish. 
 She spoke to the queen last night, but had not much 
 time. The queen says, she will determine to morrow 
 with lord treasurer. The warrants for the deaneries 
 are still stopped, for fear I should be gone. Do you 
 think any thing will be done ? I don't care whether 
 there is or no. In the mean time, I prepare for my 
 journey, and see no great people, nor will see lord 
 treasurer any more, if I go. Lord treasurer told 
 Mr. Lewis it should be done to night, so he said five 
 nights ago. 
 
 " 18th. This morning Mr. Lewis sent me word, 
 that lord treasurer told him the queen would deter- 
 mine at noon. At three, lord treasurer sent to me to 
 come to his lodgings at St. James's, and told me, the 
 queen was at last resolved that Dr. Sterne should be 
 bishop of Dromore, and I, dean of St. Patrick's, and 
 that Sterne's warrant should be drawn immediately. 
 You know the deanery is in the duke of Ormond 1 s gift; 
 but this is concerted between the queen, lord treasurer, 
 and duke of Ormond; to make room for me. I do not 
 know whether it will yet be done ; some unlucky ac- 
 cident may yet come. Neither can I feel joy at 
 passing my days in Ireland ; and I confess I thought 
 the ministry would not let me go ; but perhaps they 
 cannot help it. 
 
 u IQth. I forgot to tell you, that lord treasurer 
 forced me to dine with him yesterday, as usual, with 
 his Saturday company, which I did, after frequent 
 refusals. To day I dined with a private friend, and 
 was not at court. After dinner Mr. Lewis sent me 
 word, that the queen stayed still she knew whether 
 the duke of Ormond approved of Sterne for a bishop. 
 
 I went.
 
 165 THE LIFE 
 
 I went this evening, and found the duke of Ormond 
 at the Cockpit, and told him, and desired he would 
 go to the queen, and approve of Sterne. He made 
 objectiors, and desired I would name any other 
 deanery, for he did not like Sterne ; that Sterne never 
 went to see him ; that he was influenced by the arch- 
 bishop of Dublin, &c. so all is now broken again. I 
 sent out for lord treasurer, and told him this. He 
 says, all will do well ; but I value not what he says. 
 This suspense vexes me worse than any thing else. 
 
 " 20th. I went to day, by appointment, to the 
 Cockpit, to talk with the duke of Ormond. He re- 
 peated the same proposals of any other deanery, &c. 
 I desired he would put me out of the case, and do as 
 he pleased. Then, with gre^t kindness, he said he 
 would consent ; but would do it for no man else but 
 me, &c. And so perhaps something will come of 
 it. I can't tell. 
 
 " 21st. The duke of Ormond has told the queen, 
 he is satisfied Sterne should be bishop, and she con- 
 sents I shall be dean ; and I suppose warrants will be 
 drawn in a day or two. I dined at an alehouse with 
 Parnell and Berkeley ; for I am not in a humour to 
 go among the ministers, though lord Dartmouth in- 
 vited me to dine with him to day, and lord treasurer 
 was to be there. I said I would, if I were out of 
 suspense. 
 
 " 22d. The queen says, the warrants shall be 
 drawn, but she will dispose of all in England and 
 Ireland at once, to be teased no more. This will 
 delay it some time, and while it is delayed, I am not 
 sure of the queen, my enemies being busy. I hate 
 this suspense. 
 
 " 23d. I dined yesterday with general Hamilton : 
 
 I forgot
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. iQj 
 
 I forgot to tell you. I write^short Journals now. I 
 have eggs on the spit. This night the queen has 
 signed all the warrants, among which., Sterne is bishop 
 of Dromore; and the duke of Ormpnd is to send 
 over an order for making me dean of St. Patrick's. I 
 have no doubt of him at all. I think 'tis now 
 past. But you see what a condition I am in. I 
 thought I was to pay but six hundred pounds for the 
 house, but the bishop of Clogher says eight hundred 
 pounds ; first fruits, about one hundred and fifty 
 pounds Irish ; and so with a patent, &c. a thousand 
 pounds in all ; so that I shall not be the better for the 
 deanery these three years. I hope, in some time, 
 they will be persuaded here to give me some money 
 to pay off these debts. I must finish the book I am 
 writing, before I can go over ; and they expect I 
 shall pass next winter here, and then I will drive them 
 to give me a sum of money. However, I hope to 
 pass four or five months with you. I received your's 
 to night ; just ten weeks since I had your last. I 
 shall write next post to bishop Sterne. Never man 
 had so many enemies in Ireland as he. I carried it 
 with the strongest hand possible. If he does not use 
 me well, and gently, in what dealings I shall have 
 with him, he will be the most ungrateful of mankind. 
 The archbishop of York, my mortal enemy, has sent, 
 by a third hand, tliat he would be glad to see me. 
 Shall I see him or not f I hope to be over in a month. 
 I shall answer your- rattle soon ; but no more Jour- 
 nals. I shall be very busy. Short letters from hence- 
 forward. I shall not part with Laracor ; that is all I 
 have to live on, except the deanery be worth more 
 than four hundred pounds a year*. Is it? Pray 
 
 * This deanery was worth more than seven hundred. S. 
 
 I write
 
 l6S THE LIFE 
 
 write me a good humour'd letter immediately, let it 
 be ever so short. This affair was carried with great 
 difficulty, which vexes me. But they say here, it is 
 much to my reputation, that I have made a bishop, 
 in spite of all the world, and to get the best deanery 
 in Ireland*. 
 
 " 20th. I was at court to day, and a thousand 
 people gave me joy ; so I ran out. I dined with lady 
 Orkney. Yesterday I dined with lord treasurer, and 
 his Saturday people, as usual ; and was so be-deand, 
 &c. The archbishop of York says he will never 
 more speak against me" 
 
 From an examination of this extract, we shall 
 clearly see, that the great obstacle to Swift's prefer- 
 ment, was the prejudice conceived against him by the 
 queen, and not any neglect or want of friendship in 
 the ministry. He seems to have been himself of 
 this opinion, where he says, upon finding that none 
 of the deaneries were given to him, " I bid Mr, 
 Lewis tell my lord treasurer, that 1 take nothing ill 
 of him, but his not giving vie timely notice, as he 
 promised to do, if he found the queen would do nothing 
 or me. 
 And afterward, in the progress of this affair, he 
 expresses his suspicion more strongly in that point, 
 where he says, " This will delay it some time, and 
 while it is delayed, / am not sure of the queen, my 
 enemies being busy. I hate this suspense.''' It is 
 evident also, that the lord treasurer, upon hearing 
 Swift's declaration to Mr. Lewis, was greatly alarmed, 
 and begun to bestir himself with all his might. The 
 warrants for the dtans were immediately stopped, to 
 prevent Swift's departing as he threatened he would. 
 
 * The most considerable in point pf rank, but not income. S. 
 
 And
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. l6^ 
 
 And though the affair was not carried on with that 
 dispatch, which Swift's impatience required, yet it is 
 evident, the treasurer was exerting his utmost endea- 
 vours to accomplish the point for him in his own way. 
 He was by no means satisfied that his friend should be 
 sent to Ireland, and was therefore using all his influ- 
 ence to get him a canonry of Windsor, which he knew 
 also would be much more agreeable to him. The 
 affair of the deanery was easily settled, as we see from 
 the following passage in the Journal : u Mr. Lewis 
 tells me, that the duke of Ormond has been to day 
 with the queen, and she was content that Dr. Sterne 
 should be bishop of Dromore, and I, dean of St 
 Patrick's ; but then out came lord treasurer, and said, 
 he would not be satisfied, but that I must be a pre- 
 bendary of Windsor. Thus he perplexes things," &c. 
 In the whole progress of this affair, Swift speaks 
 peevishly of the lord treasurer, and, with all the cap- 
 tiousness of a jealous lover, who will not come to an 
 explanation. The treasurer was really exerting all his 
 endeavours to serve his friend, in the way which he 
 knew would be most agreeable to him; though, ac- 
 cording to his usual reserve, he did not care to inform 
 him of the difficulties in his way. And Swift, who 
 was too proud to inquire into this, suspected him 
 either of want of zeal, or indulging his usual pro- 
 crastination, which is obvious, from all the expressions 
 relative to him in the above quotations. But the 
 truth of the whole matter appears to be this : The 
 queen was willing enough that Swift should have a 
 moderate provision made for him in Ireland, in order 
 to send him into banishment, in a decent, though 
 not very honourable manner. And the minister, on 
 the other hand, wanted to keep him with him at ail 
 
 events.
 
 IJTO THE LIFE 
 
 events. We find, with regard to the Windsor pro- 
 motion, the queen continued inflexible, not only 
 against the solicitations of the treasurer, but of lady 
 Masham, who was her nearest favourite, after the 
 duchess of Somerset. How zealous that lady was in 
 his cause, may be seen in a passage of the above 
 quotation, where, speaking of her, he says, " She 
 said much to me of what she had talked to the queen, 
 and lord treasurer. The poor lady fell a shedding of 
 tears openly. She could not bear to think of my hav- 
 ing St. Patrick's, &c. 
 
 We find afterward, when the lord treasurer saw 
 that the queen was obstinate with regard to this 
 point, there was another bar thrown in the way of 
 Swift's promotion in Ireland, probably contrived 
 between him and the duke of Ormond; which was, 
 that the duke should demur against Sterne's being 
 made a bishop ; nor can this change in the duke of 
 Ormond, when he had before consented to Sterne's 
 promotion, be rationally accounted for in any other 
 way. This probably was the treasurer's last effort, to 
 oblige the queen to do something for Swift in 
 England ; but when Swift himself continued resolute 
 in the other point, probably on a suspicion, that the 
 queen could not be wrought upon to prefer him in 
 England, and urged the duke of Ormond to the ac- 
 complishment of it, and upon his demurring, ex- 
 pressed himself resentfully ; the duke, who loved 
 Swift sincerely, could stand it no longer, but as 
 Swift mentions in the Journal, " with great kindness, 
 he said he would consent, but would do it for no 
 man else but me," &c. 
 
 But there is one circumstance in this transaction, 
 that seems very unaccountable; which is, that Swift 
 
 was
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 171 
 
 was not immediately made bishop of Clogher, instead 
 of dean of St. Patrick's. We do not find, that Dr. 
 Sterne had one friend in the world to recommend 
 him, but Swift himself. On the contrary, we see lie 
 was obnoxious to the ministry, but particularly so to 
 the duke of Ormond, then lord lieutenant of Ire* 
 land, who was chiefly to be consulted in the disposal 
 of preferments there. When it comes to the push 3 
 the only objection the duke offers to Swift's getting 
 St. Patrick's, is his dislike of Sterne, and the re- 
 luctance he shows at his being promoted to a bi- 
 shoprick. Now, was not this difficulty easily smoothed 
 away, by making Swift at once bishop of Clogher? 
 And would not the ministry have been all much better 
 pleased to place him in that see, than a man w r ho was 
 at best indifferent to them, but certainly obnoxious to 
 some, and those the principal among them ? It may 
 therefore be surmised, that this was a point not at- 
 tempted, because they were sure the queen would 
 Tiever consent to make him a bishop, while her dis- 
 pleasure continued so high against him, though she \ 
 was willing to send him into exile, in so moderate a 
 station, as that of dean, even at the expense of pro- 
 moting a man of no weight or consideration, to a 
 higher station, to make room for him. And the 
 ministry certainly showed the greatest readiness to 
 gratify him in any thing which he should desire, when 
 they consented to the promotion of a man, whom 
 they disliked, to make room for his preferment, in 
 a way also which they did not approve of, merely be- 
 cause he made a point of it. So that, however small 
 a recompense the deanery itself might have been 
 considered for Swift's services, yet as there was a 
 bishoprick bestowed at the same time, purely to make 
 
 way
 
 172 THE LIFE 
 
 way for this, and to be charged wholly to his account, 
 the ministry certainly cannot be taxed with a want of 
 a due sense of his merits, and a suitable desire of re- 
 warding them. And however out of humour he 
 might be, where he says, " This affair was carried 
 with great difficulty, which vexes me :" yet he very 
 justly adds, " But they say here, it is much to my 
 reputation, that I have made a bishop in spite of all 
 the world, and to get the best deanery in Ireland." 
 He afterward shows how entirely this was his work, 
 against all opposition, where he says, " I shall write 
 next post to bishop Sterne. Never man had so many 
 enemies in Ireland as he; I carried it with the strongest 
 hand possible. If he does not use me well, and gently, 
 in what dealings I shall have with him, he will be 
 the most ungrateful of mankind." 
 
 In his whole account of this transaction, which 
 exhibits a lively picture of his state of mind to the 
 moment, he seems to have been much under the 
 influence of humour. Though he was conscious 
 that the queen herself was the chief bar to his pro- 
 motion, yet he speaks as peevishly of the treasurer, 
 as if the sole blame lay with him. At one time he 
 seems earnest about obtaining St. Patrick's, and is 
 angry with the treasurer for putting any rub in the 
 way, though in favour of another measure, which 
 would certainly have pleased him more. When he 
 mentions the queen's having consented to Swift's 
 arrangement of the bishoprick and deanery, he 
 adds, much out of humour, " but then out came 
 lord treasurer, and said he would not be satisfied, 
 but that I must be a prebendary of Windsor. Thus 
 he perplexes things. I expect neither ; but I con- 
 fess, as much as I love England, I am so angry at 
 
 this 
 t
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. ]/3 
 
 this treatment, that if I bad my choice I would ra- 
 ther have St. Patrick's." And yet in his Journal of 
 the 18th, the day but one after this, when he learns 
 from the treasurer, that the queen was at last resolved 
 upon the arrangement proposed, he says, " Neither 
 can I feel joy at passing my days in Ireland*, and I 
 confess I thought the ministry would not let me go ; 
 but perhaps they cannot help it." How contrary is 
 this to his former declaration ! But in the whole of 
 this affair, Swift seems to have been deserted by his 
 usual firmness of mind, and to have acted with the 
 frovvardness of an humoursome child, who either does 
 not know his own mind, or will not tell it ; and yet 
 expects that others should find it out, and do what 
 he wants. 
 
 Another reason for his not desiring to procure the 
 bishoprick for himself, might perhaps arise from his 
 supposing, that this might be considered as a full equi- 
 valent for his services, and the ne plus ultra of his 
 preferment, to the exclusion of all future prospects in 
 England, where all his wishes centered. But I am 
 persuaded, that the chief motive to his extraordinary 
 conduct on this occasion, and his so pertinaciously 
 adhering to that particular mode, and no other, of 
 providing for him in opposition to the desire of his 
 best friends, and particularly of the duke of Ormond, 
 was, that he had promised to make Sterne a bishop 
 the first opportunity. As he was remarkably tena- 
 
 * When he went to take possession of the deanery he did not 
 stav in Dublin more than a fortnight, where he did not return one 
 visit of a hundred, which, as he said, were all to the (fean, and 
 none to the doctor. He retired to the parsonage of Laracor, 
 preferring a field bed and an earthen floor to the large deanery- 
 house which belonged. to him in Dublin. N. 
 
 cious
 
 17* *HE LXF1 
 
 cious of his word, he was determined to keep it orr 
 this occasion, though he seems, by some expres- 
 sions, not to have looked upon Sterne as his friend, 
 but rather to have resentment against him, on ac- 
 count of some ill treatment received at his hands*. 
 In his Journal to Stella, October 28, 1712, he says, 
 * c I had a letter to-day from Dr. Coghill, desiring me 
 to get Raphoe for dean Sterne, and the deanery for 
 myself. I shall indeed, I have such obligations to 
 Sterne. But, however, if I am asked who will make 
 a good bishop, I shall name him before any body. 
 
 In the February following, he says, in the same 
 Journal, " I did not write to Dr. Coghill, that I 
 would have nothing in Ireland, but that I was soli- 
 citing nothing any where, and this is true. I have 
 named Dr. Sterne to lord treasurer, lord Boling- 
 broke, and the duke of Ormond, for a bishoprick, 
 
 * The cause of his resentment is thus set forth in a letter to 
 Sterne, then bishop of Clogher, dated July 1/33. u When I 
 first came acquainted with you, we were both private clergymen 
 in a neighbourhood : you were afterwards chancellor of St. Pa- 
 trick's, then was chosen dean ; in which election, I was the most 
 busy of all your solicitors. When the compromise was made be- 
 tween the government and you, to make you easy, and Dr. Synge 
 chancellor, you absolutely and frequently promised to give me 
 the curacy (a) of St. Nicholas Without : you thought fit, in con- 
 cert with the archbishop, to hold it yourself, and apply the re- 
 venue to build another church. Upon the queen's death, when I 
 had done for ever with courts, I returned to reside at my post, 
 yet with some kind of hopes of getting some credit with you, very 
 unwisely ; because upon the affair of St. Nicholas, I had told 
 you frankly, ' That I would always respect you, but never hope 
 for the least friendship from you.' S. 
 
 (a) Though this be called a curacy, yet it is in reality a living 
 pf considerable value. S. 
 
 and
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 1/5 
 
 and I did it heartily. I know not what will come of 
 it ; but I tell you as a great secret, that I have made 
 the duke of Ormond promise me to recommend no 
 body till he tells me, and this for some reasons, too 
 long to mention." 
 
 While the matter was in agitation, he thus writes 
 to Stella, on the 7th of the March following: " I 
 write by this post to the dean, but it is not above 
 two lines ; and one enclosed to you is not above 
 three lines ; and in that one enclosed to the dean, 
 which he must not have, but on condition of burning 
 it immediately after reading, and that before your 
 eyes ; for there are some things in it I would not have 
 liable to accidents. You shall only know in general, 
 that it is an account of what I have done to serve 
 him, in his pretensions on these vacancies, &c. but 
 he must not know that you know so much." 
 
 It is evident, from some of the above quotations, 
 that Swift was far from having any cordial regard for 
 Sterne, and that he had thought himself on some 
 occasions, to have been ill treated by him. Nothing 
 therefore can, in my opinion, account for his obsti- 
 nate perseverance in making him a bishop, in spite of 
 all the world, as he himself expresses it, but the sa- 
 credness of an engagement. 
 
 Whatever ill opinion Swift had formed of Sterne 
 before, thoroughly confirmed by his very ungrateful 
 behaviour to him, immediately after he had made 
 him a bishop. In his Journal of May 16, he writes 
 thus , " Your new bishop acts very ungratefully. I 
 cannot say so bad of him as he deserves. I begged, 
 by the same post his warrant and mine went over, 
 that he would leave those livings to my disposal. I 
 
 shall
 
 1/6 THE LIFE 
 
 shall write this post to him, to let him know how \\\ 
 I take it *." 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 As the brightest and most important part of Swift's 
 life passed during the four last years of queen Anne, 
 when his faculties were all in full vigour, and occa- 
 sions for displaying them arose adequate to their 
 greatness ; I shall omit no circumstance, which may 
 serve to delineate the features and limbs of his mind 
 (if I may be allowed the expression) before disease 
 and age had impaired the bloom of the one, and the 
 strength and agility of the other. To have a perfect 
 portrait and just likeness of a friend, had we our; 
 choice of time, we should certainly prefer that pe- 
 riod of his life, when he was in his prime, to that of 
 his decay. There have been already given many in- 
 stances of such a nobleness of mind, such a disinte- 
 rested spirit in Swift, as are rarely to be found in the 
 annals of history. Yet the part which he acted by 
 his friend Oxford, about the time of the queen's 
 tfeath, exhibits those qualities in a higher point of 
 view, than ever they had appeared in before. It has 
 
 * Swift had afterward cause to complain farther of his ingra- 
 titude, where he says to him in a letter, dated 1753 : " But try- 
 ing to forget all former treatments, I came, like others, to your 
 house, and since you were a bishop, have once or twice recom* 
 mended persons to you, who were no relations or friends of mine, 
 but merely for their general good character ; which availed so lit- 
 tle.- that those very persons had the greatest share of your ne- 
 glect." S. 
 
 been
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 177 
 
 been already mentioned, that, finding all his endea- 
 vours to reconcile his great friends useless, he had 
 retired to Letcomb, in order to make one effort 
 more to compel them to unite for their common in- 
 terest, by the publication of his " Free Thoughts," 
 &c. Lord Bolingbroke, to whom this piece was 
 shown by Barber *, contrived to have the printing of 
 it deferred, as he was then just upon the point of 
 accomplishing his long-concerted plan, of turning 
 out lord Oxford, and stepping into his place. This 
 was effected just four days before the queen's death, 
 on the 27th of July, 1714. One of lord Boling- 
 broke's first objects upon getting into power, was to 
 secure Swift to his interest. He got lady Masham 
 to write to him, in the most pressing terms, on the 
 29th, to return immediately to town. And on the 
 30th, he meant to dispatch Barber to him, with let- 
 ters from himself and lady Masham for the same pur- 
 pose. Which is thus related by Barber, in his letter 
 of J uly 3 1 , past six at night. " I am heartily sorry 
 I should be the messenger of so ill news, as to tell 
 you the queen is dead or dying : if alive, 'tis said 
 she can't live till morning. You may easily imagine 
 the confusion we are all in on this sad occasion. I 
 had set out yesterday to wait on you, but for this sad 
 accident ; and should have brought letters from lord 
 Bolingbroke and lady Masham, to have prevented 
 your going. He said twenty things in your favour, 
 and commanded me to bring you up, whatever was 
 the consequence." 
 
 * From whom it came into the possession of Mr. Faulk- 
 ner. N. 
 
 VOL. I. N It
 
 178 TH3 LIFE 
 
 It was chiefly through the influence of lady 
 Masham, who was then at the height of favour with 
 the queen, and had openly quarrelled with the trea- 
 surer, that he was turned out of his employment, 
 and Bolingbroke appointed minister in his room. 
 Nothing can show, in a stronger light, the great 
 consequence of Swift in all state affairs at that time, 
 than lady Masham's letter to him on this occasion ; 
 which, on that account, I shall here present entire to 
 the reader. 
 
 " Mt good friend, July 29, 1714. 
 
 " I own it "looks unkind in me, not to thank you all 
 this time, for your sincere kind letter ; but I was re- 
 solved to stay till I could tell you, the queen had so 
 far got the better of the Dragon *, as to take her 
 power out of his hands. He has been the most un- 
 grateful man to her, and to all his best friends, that 
 ever was born. I cannot have so much time now to 
 write all my mind, because my dear mistress is not 
 well ; and I think I may lay her illness to the charge 
 of the treasurer, who for three weeks together, was 
 teasing and vexing her without intermission, and she 
 could not get rid of him till Tuesday last. I must 
 put you in mind of one passage in your letter to me, 
 which is, I pray God to send you wise and faithful 
 friends to advise you at this time, when there are so 
 great difficulties to struggle with. That is very plain 
 and true ; therefore will you, who have gone through 
 so much, and taken more pains than any body, and 
 given wise advice (if that wretched man had had sense 
 enough, and honesty to have taken it) I say will you 
 
 * A nickname for lord Oxfoid. S. 
 
 leave
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. ] ?9 
 
 leave us, and go into Ireland ? No, it is impossible ; 
 your goodness is still the same, your charity and 
 compassion for this poor lady *, who has been bar- 
 barously used, won't let you do it. ' I know you take 
 delight to help the distressed ; and there cannot be 
 a greater object than this good lady, who deserves 
 pity. Pray, dear friend, stay here, and don't believe* 
 us all alike, to throw away good advice, and despise 
 every body's understanding but their own. I could 
 say a great deal upon the subject, but I must go 
 to her, for she is not well. This comes to you by a 
 safe hand, so that neither of us need be in any pain 
 about it. 
 
 " My lord and brother are in the country. My 
 sister and girls are your humble servants." 
 
 So warm and pressing a letter from one who made, 
 and unmade ministers (for it was to her lord Oxford 
 owed his advancement, as well as his disgrace) intreat- 
 ing, nay, in a manner imploring him to come and be 
 their chief counsellor and director, in their new plan 
 of administration ; might have opened the most in- 
 viting prospects to Swift, of gratifying his utmost 
 ambition with regard to his own interests ; and at the 
 same time, of accomplishing the plan which he inva- 
 riably pursued, with respect to those of the publick. 
 But to a man of his delicate sense of honour, there 
 was an insuperable bar in the way to prevent his em- 
 bracing so flattering an offer. lie had two days be- 
 fore received the following letter from lord Oxford, 
 upon his losing the staff. 
 
 " If I tell my dear friend the value I put upon his 
 undeserved friendship, it will look like suspecting you 
 
 * The queen. S, 
 
 N 2 or
 
 180 THE LIFE 
 
 or myself. Though I have had no power since the 
 twenty-fifth of July 1713, I believe now, as a private 
 man, I may prevail to renew your licence of absence, 
 conditionally you will be present with me ; for to 
 morrow morning I shall be a private person. When 
 I have settled my domestick affairs here, I go to 
 ^Wimple ; thence, alone, to Herefordshire. If I have 
 not tired you tSte k tSte, fling away so much time 
 upon one, who loves you. And I believe, in the 
 mass of souls, ours were placed near each other. 
 I send you an imitation of Dry den, as I went to Ken- 
 sington. 
 
 " To serve with love, 
 
 And shed your blood, 
 Approved is above : 
 
 But here below, 
 
 TV examples show, 
 
 'Tis fatal to be good." 
 
 In these two letters, there were two roads opened 
 to Swift. One, leading to preferment, power, and 
 all that his most ambitious hopes could aspire after. 
 The other to the melancholy cell of a disgraced mi- 
 nister, abandoned by an ungrateful world; where 
 he might have the satisfaction of affording him in 
 his distress, that sovereign balm of consolation, 
 which can only be administered by a sincere friend. 
 Swift hesitated not a moment in his choice of the 
 alternative, as may be seen by his letter to miss 
 Vanhomrigh, written soon after his receipt of the 
 other two. 
 
 " Who told you I was going to Bath ? No such 
 thing. But poor lord Oxford desires I will go with 
 him to Herefordshire ; and I only expect his answer, 
 whether I shall go therefore, or meet him hereabouts, 
 
 or
 
 op Doctor swift. 181 
 
 or go to Wimple (his son's house) and so with him 
 down : and I expect to leave this place in two or 
 three days, one way or other. I will stay with him 
 till the parliament meets again, if he desires it. I 
 am written to earnestly by somebody, to come to 
 town, and join with tbose people now in power; 
 but I will not do it. Say nothing of this, but guess 
 the person. I told lord Oxford I would go with him 
 when he was out ; and now he begs it of me, I can- 
 not refuse him. I meddle not with his faults, as he 
 was minister of state ; but you know his personal 
 kindness to me was excessive. He distinguished and 
 chose me above all other men, while he was great, 
 and his letter to me, the other day, was the most 
 moving imaginable," &c. * 
 
 There is one expression in lord Oxford's letter 
 which is indeed very affecting, where he says, " I 
 go to Wimple, thence alone to Herefordshire." 
 What ! this great minister, who had conferred so 
 many obligations, and made the fortunes of such 
 numbers, not to find one companion to attend him 
 in his reverse of fortune ! Methinks I see Swift 
 reading this passage, and exclaiming, " What, alone! 
 No, while I exist, my friend shall not go alone into 
 Herefordshire" 
 
 * This resolution of Swift's is fully confirmed in a letter to 
 archdeacon Wall, dated August 8, 1714. " Upon the earl of 
 Oxford's removal, he desired I would go with him into Hereford- 
 shire, which I consented to, and wrote you word of it, desiring 
 you would renew my licence of absence at the end of this month, 
 for I think it then expires. I had earnest invitations from those 
 in power to go to town, and assist them in their new ministry, 
 which 1 resolved to excuse ; but before I could write, news came 
 of the queen's death, and all our schemes broke to shatters." S. 
 
 This
 
 182 THE LIFE 
 
 This conduct was the more noble in Swift, as dur- 
 ing the whole course of their intimacy he never re- 
 ceived one personal favour from the minister, though 
 treated with the most unreserved kindness by the 
 man. Nay, whether it were owing to his procras- 
 tinating temper, or as Swift calls it in another 
 place, his unmeasureable publick thrift, he had ne- 
 glected to procure for him an order for a thousand 
 pound on the treasury, to pay the debt contracted by 
 him upon his introduction to the deanery, which was 
 all the reward Swift ever asked for his services*. 
 And there is reason to believe, from a passage in a 
 letter of Dr. Arbuthnot to him, dated July 14, that 
 Swift was distressed for money at that time, on ac- 
 count of that neglect. The passage is this : " Do 
 not think I make vou a bare compliment in what I 
 am going to say, for I can assure you I am in earnest. 
 I am in hopes to have two hundred pounds before I 
 go out of town, and you may command all, or any 
 part of it you please, as long as you have occasion 
 for it." And in the same letter it appears, that the 
 doctor had been desired by Swift to apply to lord 
 Bolingbroke for fifty pounds due to him from that 
 
 * Nothing can show more the strong desire which lord Boling- 
 broke had to attach Swift to his interest upon his getting into 
 power, than his taking care, during his short ministry of three 
 days only, to have an order signed by the queen on the treasury, 
 to pay that sum to Swift, though by her sudden death he reaped 
 no advantage from it. It appears that Swift had this order in his 
 possession when he visited London in the year 17^6 ; for he says, 
 in a letter to Dr. Sheridan, ?' Tell the archdeacon that I never 
 asked for my thousand pounds, which he hears 1 have got, though 
 I mentioned it to the princess the last time I saw her; but I bid 
 her tell Walpole, I scorned to ask hiin for it." S. 
 
 lord^
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 183 
 
 lord, where he says, " As to the fifty pounds, he 
 (lord Bolingbroke) was ready to pay it, and if he had 
 had it about him, would have given it to me." But 
 it is highly probable, from the great delicacy of 
 Swift's sentiments, that this very circumstance of his 
 lying under no obligation to lord Oxford, was what 
 rendered his attachment to him the stronger, as it 
 must proceed wholly from pure disinterested friend- 
 ship. That this was his way of thinking, may be 
 seen from several of his letters. In that of July 1, 
 1714, on his retiring to Letcombe, he thus expresses 
 himself to the Lord Treasurer ; 
 " My Lord, 
 " When I was with you, I have said more than 
 once, that I would never allow quality or station 
 made any real difference between men. \ Being now 
 absent and forgotten, I have changed my mind : you 
 have a thousand people who can pretend they love 
 you, with as much appearance of sincerity as I ; so 
 that, according to common justice, I can have but a 
 thousandth part in return of what I give. And this 
 difference is wholly owing to your station. And the 
 misfortune is still the greater, because I loved you 
 so much the less for your station : for, in your pub- 
 lick capacity, you have often angered me to the 
 heart ; but as a private man, never once *, So that, 
 
 if 
 
 * In the several accounts given of lord Oxford by Swift in 
 different parts of his writings, there seems to be something coni- 
 tradictory ; as in some places he extols him to the skies, and in 
 others, imputes great weakness and faults to him. But this 
 arises from the view he gives of him in two different characters. 
 As a publick minister, he represents him to have been one of the 
 wisest, the ablest, and the most disinterested that ever lived ; and 
 
 he
 
 184 THE LIFE 
 
 if I only look toward myself, I could wish you a prU 
 vate man to morrow : for I have nothing to ask ; at 
 least nothing that you will give, which is the same 
 thing ; and then you would see, whether I should not 
 uith much more ivillingfiess attend you in a retire- 
 ment whenever you please to give me leave, than 
 ever I did at London or Windsor *. From these 
 sentiments, I will never write to you, if I can help 
 it, otherwise than as to a private man, or allow 
 myself to have been obliged by you in any other 
 capacity, c." 
 
 And in one, many years after, dated Oct. 11, 1722, 
 expostulating with him in a friendly manner on his 
 long silence, he says, " I never courted your ac- 
 quaintance when you governed Europe, but you 
 courted mine ; and now you neglect me, when I use 
 all my insinuations to keep myself in your memory, 
 I am very sensible, that next to your receiving 
 thanks and compliments, there is nothing you more 
 hate than writing letters ; but since I never gave 
 you thanks, nor made you compliments, I have so 
 much more merit than any of those thousands whom 
 you have less obliged, by only making their fortunes, 
 
 he confirms this character by enumerating the many great ser- 
 vices he had done to the state, without reaping the least advan- 
 tage to himself, but rather injuring his private fortune. At the 
 same time he shows that he was utterly unqualified to be the 
 leader of a party, or to rrjanage the private intrigues of a court ; 
 in which respects, partly from his natural disposition, and partly 
 through want of true policy, he committed numberless errours : 
 to which Swift alludes here, where he says, " In your publick ca- 
 pacity you have often angered me to the heart ; but as a private 
 man, never once." S. 
 
 * Lord Oxford had too soon reason to put this declaration of 
 Swift's to the test, and found it nobly answered. S. 
 
 without
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 185 
 
 without taking them into your friendship, as you 
 did me ; whom you always countenanced in too pub- 
 lick and particular a manner, to be forgotten either 
 by the world or myself." The merit of Swift, in 
 thus adhering to his friend at this juncture, was the 
 more extraordinary, because he not only sacrificed to 
 it all regard to his own interest, but that of the pub- 
 lick also. It appears, that the queen in the last six 
 months of her life, had changed her whole system 
 with regard to parties, and came entirely round to 
 that which had been the great object of all Swift's 
 politicks, by making a general sweep of the whigs 
 from all their employments both civil and military : 
 and the only obstacles thrown in the way were by 
 lord Oxford ; who from private motives of his own, 
 set forth by Swift at large in his " Inquiry," &c. * 
 refused to fall into the measure ; and notwithstand- 
 ing every effort used by Swift, continued inflexible 
 in his resolution. He might therefore have had the 
 strongest plea, from v motives of a superiour nature, 
 his duty- to the publick, for deserting him on this oc- 
 casion, and joining all his other friends in promoting 
 his favourite plan, so essentially necessary to the 
 support of the common cause. Nor could he have 
 been liable to the least censure or reproach for such 
 conduct. But his high notions of friendship, and de- 
 licate sense of honour outweighed all other considera- 
 tions, and would not let him hesitate a moment what 
 part he should take. 
 
 It appears, in the course of the Journal, that there 
 grew up between the lord treasurer and Swift, a mu- 
 
 * See '< Inquiry into the Behaviour of the Queen's last mi- 
 nistry." S. 
 
 tual
 
 186 THE LIFE 
 
 tual friendship of the most cordial and purest kind. 
 He mentions dining with him sometimes four, some- 
 times five and six days together ; and if he chanced 
 to absent himself two successive days, he was sure of 
 a friendly chiding for it. He seems to have been 
 adopted into the Harley family, and considered on 
 the footing of a near relation. As an instance of 
 this, he says, in his Journal of March 1713, " I have 
 now dined six days successively with lord treasurer. 
 He had invited a good many of his relations ; and, of 
 a dozen at table, they were all of the Harley family 
 but myself." He was of all his private parties, and 
 constantly accompanied him in his visits to Windsor, 
 In short, lord Oxford never seemed to have any en- 
 joyment in which he was not a partaker. When we 
 consider, that he had found in one and the same man, 
 the clearest and ablest head to give advice ; and most 
 open and candid heart in communicating his senti- 
 ments upon all occasions, without the smallest selfish 
 view ; joined to the most uncommon talents to sup- 
 port his interests, and the most ardent zeal to pro- 
 mote them ; we need not wonder that the minister 
 should use his best endeavours, to attach such a man 
 closely to him. But when in the same person he 
 found the most delightful companion, possessed of 
 an inexhaustible fund of the most original vein of 
 wit and humour, for which he had a perfect relish ; 
 and who could at times descend to the bagatelle, and 
 all the sportive plays of fancy, in the unrestrained 
 hour of social mirth and good humour, of which it 
 appears lord Oxford was equally fond ; we need not 
 wonder that an old courtier, hackneyed in the ways 
 of men, who perhaps had never found any of these 
 qualities, in an equal degree, in any other mortal, 
 
 should
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 187 
 
 should take him to his bosom, and at once bestow hi3 
 whole stock of friendship upon a subject so worthy of 
 it. And indeed it does not appear, that out of his 
 own family, there was any other person to whom he 
 showed much attachment, or whose friendship he 
 cultivated to any great degree. This circumstance 
 $wift has touched upon in drawing his character, and 
 considers it as a blameless part of it, where he says, 
 !' It may be likewise said of him, that he certainly 
 did not value, or did not understand, the art of ac- 
 quiring friends ; having made very few during the 
 time of his power, and contracted a great number of 
 enemies." 
 
 On the other hand, lord Oxford, in his private 
 capacity, seems to have possessed a great number of 
 qualities, which were the most likely to endear him 
 to Swift, and secure him the first place in his friend- 
 ship. By whom he is represented as a person of 
 great virtue, abounding in good nature and good hu- 
 mour ; as a great favourer of men of wit and learn- 
 ing, particularly the former, whom he caressed, with- 
 out distinction of party, and could not endure to 
 |hink that any of them should be his enemies. He 
 says farther of him, " He had the greatest variety of 
 knowledge that I have any where met ; was a per- 
 fect master of the learned languages, and well skilled 
 in divinity. He had a prodigious memory, and a 
 most exact judgment. He was utterly a stranger to 
 fear, and consequently had a presence of mind upon 
 all emergencies. His liberality, and contempt of 
 money, were such that he almost ruined his estate 
 while he was in employment ; yet his avarice for the 
 publick was so great, that it neither consisted with 
 the present corruptions of the age, nor the circum- 
 stances.
 
 188 THE LIFE 
 
 stances of the time. He was affable and courteous* 
 extremely easy and agreeable in conversation, and al- 
 together disengaged; regular in his life, with great 
 appearance of piety; nor ever guilty of any expres- 
 sions, which could possibly tend to what was inde- 
 cent or profane. Such a character, even in private 
 life, could not fail of attracting Swift's regard; but 
 when these qualities, so congenial with his own, were 
 found united in a man of the highest station in this 
 country, and one of the most considerable personages 
 of his time in the eyes of all Europe ; when such a 
 man, contrary to the usual bent of his nature, eagerly 
 embraced every opportunity of ingratiating himself 
 with Swift, and soliciting his friendship upon his own 
 terms, that of a perfect equality; it is no wonder if 
 these rare qualities were much enhanced in their value 
 by such circumstances ; or that Swift, after repeated 
 proofs of his sincerity, should make him a suitable 
 return, and give him the first place in his friendship*. 
 But though he justly stood the foremost in this rank, 
 yet were there many others who shared it with him in 
 different proportions. The large heart of Swift had 
 an inexhaustible fund of benevolence, to be appor- 
 tioned out to the several claimants, according to their 
 several degrees of merit. Among those who vied 
 with lord Oxford for the possession of his friendship, 
 
 * That this was the case, may be seen by a passage in a letter 
 of Swift's to lord Oxford, the son, many years after the treasurer'* 
 death, dated June 1737, where he says, " I loved my lord, your 
 father, better than any other man in the world ; although I had 
 no obligation to him on the score of preferment, having^ been 
 driven to this wretched kingdom, to which I was almost a stranger, 
 by his want of power to keep me, in what I ought to call my own 
 country, although I happened to be dropped here, and was a year 
 old before I left it." S. 
 
 J1Q
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 1 89 
 
 no one seems to have been more assiduous than the 
 second man in the state, though perhaps, in point of 
 abilities, the first in Europe, lord Bolingbroke. But 
 though Swift held his talents in the highest admi- 
 ration, and made suitable returns for all his personal 
 kindness and attention to him, yet he never seems to 
 have had that cordial regard for him that he showed 
 for lord Oxford. The excellence of whose moral cha- 
 racter, established that confidence in him, which is 
 so necessary to a firm friendship ; while a notorious 
 deficiency in the other, with regard" to some points, 
 created a doubt of his principles with respect to all. 
 And symptoms of this doubt have broken out from 
 Swift on more than one occasion, with regard to his 
 sincerity, though there are good reasons to believe 
 his suspicions were unjust, as his attachment to him 
 continued equally strong to the very last, and his 
 friendship for him glows with uncommon ardour 
 throughout his whole epistolary correspondence, in 
 the decline of life, when there could have been no 
 use for dissimulation. The zeal which he showed for 
 Swift's service, may be estimated by the following 
 note which he sent him, at the time that the affair 
 of his promotion was depending. " Though I have 
 not seen, I did not fail to write to lord treasurer. Non 
 tua res agitur, dear Jonathan ; it is the treasurer's 
 cause ; it is my cause ; 'tis every man's cause, who is 
 embarked on our bottom. Depend upon it, that I 
 will never neglect any opportunity of showing that 
 true esteem, that sincere affection, and honest friend- 
 ship for you, which fills the breast of your faithful 
 servant, Bolingbroke." 
 
 But the light in which he considered lord Boling- 
 broke, will best appear from his own account of him, 
 
 in
 
 J Q0 SHE LIFE 
 
 in a piece written in the year 1715, entitled, "An 
 Inquiry into the Behaviour of the Queen's last 
 Ministry, &c." " It happens to very few men, 
 in any age or country, to come into the world with 
 so many advantages of nature and fortune, as the late 
 secretary Bolingbroke : descended from the best fa- 
 milies in England, heir to a great patrimonial estate, 
 of a sound constitution, and a most graceful, amiable 
 person. But all these, had they been of equal value, 
 were infinitely inferiour in degree to the accomplish- 
 ments of his mind, which was adorned with the" 
 choicest gifts that God had yet thought fit to bestow 
 on the children of men : a strong memory, a clear 
 judgment, a vast range of wit and fancy, a thorough 
 comprehension, an invincible eloquence, with a most 
 agreeable elocution. He had well cultivated all these 
 talents by travel and study ; the latter of which he 
 seldom omitted, even in the midst o his pleasures, 
 of which he had indeed been too great and criminal 
 a pursuer. For, although he was persuaded to leave 
 off intemperance in wine, which he did for some 
 time to such a degree, that he seemed rather ab- 
 stemious : yet he was said to allow himself other 
 liberties, which can by no means be reconciled to re- 
 ligion or morals, whereof, I have reason to believe, 
 he began to be sensible. But he was fond of mixing 
 pleasure and business, and of being esteemed ex- v 
 cellent at both: upon which account he had a great 
 respect for the characters of Alcibiades and Petronius, 
 especially the latter, whom he would be gladly thought 
 to resemble*." 
 
 But 
 
 * The same character is given of him, in a more compendious 
 way, in his Journal, Nov. 3, 1711. "I think Mr. secretary St. 
 
 John
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 1Q1 
 
 But an Alcibiades, or a Petronius, was not likely 
 to be the bosom friend of a Swift, however he might 
 admire his talents, or delight in his society, as a com- 
 panion. In his political character indeed Swift was 
 very closely connected with him, as lord Bolingbroke 
 adopted all his ideas, and strenuously supported the 
 measures he proposed : and that they were not pur- 
 sued, Swift lays the whole blame, in many places, on 
 his friend Oxford, entirely acquitting lord Bolingbroke 
 of being in the wrong, in any of the differences sub- 
 sisting between them on that score. In his first 
 letter to lord Bolingbroke, after the queen's death, 
 dated August 7 5 1714, he says, " I will swear for no 
 man's sincerity, much less that of a minister of 'state: 
 but thus much I have said, wherever it was proper, 
 that your lordship's proposals were always the fairest 
 in the world, and I faithfully delivered them as I 
 was empowered: and although I am no very skilful 
 man at intrigue, yet I durst forfeit my head, that if 
 the case were mine, I could either have agreed with 
 you, or put you dans vdtre tort? 
 
 We have already seen in his pamphlet of ie Free 
 Thoughts, &c" intended to be published before the 
 death of the queen, that he throws the whole blame 
 of the desperate state to which affairs were brought 
 at that time, on the lord treasurer. 
 
 Tohn the greatest young man I ever knew: wit, capacity, beauty, 
 quickness of apprehension, good learning, and an excellent taste; 
 the best orator in the house of commons, admirable conversation, 
 good nature, and good manners; generous, and a despiser of 
 money. His only fault is, talking to his friends in a way of com- 
 plaint of too great load of business, which looks a little like af- 
 fectation; and he endeavours too much to mix the fine gentleman, 
 and the man of pleasure, with the man of business. What truth 
 and sincerity he may have, I know not" S. 
 
 After
 
 1Q2 THE LIFE 
 
 After lord Oxford, the persons among the great, 
 who seemed to have had the principal share of his af- 
 fection, were lord Peterborow, and the duke of Or- 
 mond, to which he had the amplest returns from both. 
 Of the great degree of mutual friendship which sub- 
 sisted between the former and him, among many 
 other proofs, the following short abstract from his 
 Journal affords a striking instance. 
 
 Jan. JO, 1712-13, " At seven this evening, as we 
 sat after dinner at lord treasurer's, a servant said, lord 
 Peterborow was at the door. Lord treasurer and lord 
 Bolingbroke went out to meet him, and brought him 
 in. He was just returned from abroad, where he had 
 been above a year. As soon as he saw me, he left 
 the duke of Ormond, and other lords, and ran and 
 kissed me before he spoke to them ; but chid me ter- 
 ribly for not writing to him, which I never did this 
 last time he was abroad, not knowing where he was; 
 and he changed places so often, it was impossible a 
 letter should overtake him. I do love the hangdog 
 dearly." 
 
 The circumstance of lord Peterborow's breaking 
 from the duke of Ormond, and the other lords, to 
 embrace Swift first, shows the warmth of his affection, 
 which could make him forget all rules of decorum on 
 the occasion ; and Swift's homely expression of 
 " loving the hangdog dearly" shows more clearly, , 
 than the choicest phrases could, that fondness in 
 friendship, which nothing but the most intimate fa- 
 miliarity can excite*. 
 
 As to the duke of Ormond, he always speaks of 
 
 * Swift, in a former part of his Journal, Oct. 18, 17 11, had 
 said of lord Peterborow, " He has abundant of excellent quali- 
 ties; and we love one another migbtilv." S. 
 
 6 him
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. ig3 
 
 him with that tenderness, which only the warmest 
 affection can inspire; and it appears, that he was 
 equally beloved by the duke, and had more influence 
 with him than any man living. Besides these, he 
 lived in the greatest intimacy with almost all the dis- 
 tinguished men of rank at that time; among which 
 number were, the duke of Hamilton, lord keeper 
 Harcourt, lord Pembroke, lord Rivers, lord Bathurst, 
 lord Carteret, lord Lansdown, sir Thomas Hanmer 
 (speaker), sir William Wyndham, and many others. 
 Nor were his friendships confined only to the great: 
 all men of genius he looked upon, and treated as his 
 brethren. Of this number were Addison, Congreve, 
 Arbuthnot, Prior, Pope, Gay, Parnell, Garth, Berke- 
 ley, and others of inferiour note. To promote whose 
 interests, he chiefly used the influence he had with 
 the great, to the utter neglect of his own, and to 
 raise whose character and reputation in the world, he 
 used all the means which his own high credit gave 
 him. And he had still a sufficient stock of amity 
 for several in the more private walks of life, whom 
 he selected as the companions of his disengaged hours, 
 on account of their good sense, integrity, and eom- 
 plaisance of behaviour. Among the foremost of 
 these, were, Lewis, Ford, sir Andrew Fountaine, 
 Dr. Freind, colonel Disney, captain Charlton, Dom- 
 ville, and many others: all men of excellent cha- 
 racters. Added to these, there was a considerable 
 number in an humbler sphere, whose sole patron he 
 was, and for whom he made ample provision, merely 
 on account of their merit or distress, without being 
 influenced by ties of consanguinity, or partial recom- 
 mendations. 
 
 His behaviour to these different classes, showed an. 
 
 vol. i. O uncommon
 
 1Q4 THE LIFE 
 
 Uncommon greatness of soul. He studiously culti- 
 vated the acquaintance of all men of genius, whom he 
 treated with a brotherly affection; and never let them 
 feel the superiority which his right of eldership gave 
 him over them, but, on the contrary, either endea- 
 voured to raise them to his own height, or placed 
 himself on a level with them. 
 
 With his friends- in private life, he was easy, fami- 
 liar, indulgent, and kind. 
 
 Such as were under his protection, never felt the 
 weight of dependence. There was no occasion for 
 dancing attendance, of frequent importunities, he 
 always had them in mind, and served them the in- 
 stant it was in his power : nor did he expect any re- 
 turns for his favours, though he was pleased when he 
 saw marks of a grateful mind. 
 
 But to all men of rank and station, he asserted that 
 noble independence of spirit which becomes the free- 
 born mind. He made no allowance for the casual 
 superiority, which birth, or fortune^ or human insti- 
 tutions had given them, but valued them in pro- 
 portion only to that higher nobility f soul derived 
 from* God and nature. He had long beheld with in- 
 dignation the mean condescensions and homage paid 
 by men of genius, to scoundrels in power, and titled 
 fools, and was determined to afford a striking example 
 in himself of a contrary conduct, by reclaiming the 
 rights due to the superiority of talentsover those of birth 
 or fortune. In one of his Tatlers,. he says, " If those 
 who possess great endowments of the mind, would 
 set a just value on themselves, they would think no- 
 man's acquaintance whatsoever a condescension, nor 
 accept it from the greatest, upon unworthy or ignomi- 
 nious terms." But Swift was not content with this 
 1 negative
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. Ig5 
 
 negative virtue, of not seeking their acquaintance 
 upon improper terms, but resolved to dispute their 
 right to that superiority over his brethren, which 
 they had so long possessed, and put in his claim to 
 receive that homage from them, which had always 
 been paid them by others. Accordingly he laid it 
 down as a rule, that he never would solicit the ac- 
 quaintance of any man, let his quality or station be 
 what it would ; but that all who were desirous of the 
 honour of being ranked among the number of his 
 friends, should make the first advances to him. Of 
 this we have a remarkable instance in his Journal, 
 May 1 9, 1 7 1 1 . " Mr. secretary told me, the duke 
 of Buckingham had been talking much to him about 
 me, and desired my acquaintance. I answered it 
 could not be, for he had not made sufficient advances. 
 Then the duke of Shrewsbury said he thought that 
 duke was not used to make advances. I said I could 
 not help that ; for I always expected advances in pro- 
 portion to men's quality, and more from a duke than 
 any other man. The duke replied, that he did not 
 mean any thing of his quality, which was handsomely 
 said enough, for he meant his pride." In another 
 place, July 2Q, 1 7 ] 1 , he says, " I was at court and 
 church to day, as I was this day se'nnight ; I gene- 
 rally am acquainted with about thirty in the drawing- 
 room, and I am* so proud I make all the lords come 
 up to me." 
 
 Nor was this rule confined to the men only ; he 
 demanded and received the same homage from the 
 vainer sex also, in order to render the empire of ge- 
 nius and talents universal. In his Journal, Oct. /, 
 ]7Hj he has this passage. " I saw lord Halifax at 
 court, and we joined and talked, and the duchess of 
 
 o 2 Shrewsbury
 
 196 the life 
 
 Shrewsbury came up and reproached me for not dining 
 with her: I said, that was not so soon done, for I ex- 
 pected more advances from ladies, especially duchesses: 
 she promised to comply with any demands I pleased; 
 and I agreed to dine with her to morrow, &c. Lady 
 Oglethorp brought me and the duchess of Hamilton 
 together to day in the drawing-room, and I have 
 given her some encouragement, but not much." In 
 a letter to the duchess of Queensberry, many years 
 after, he says, " I am glad you know your duty ; for 
 it has been a known and established rule above twenty 
 years in England, that the first advances have been 
 constantly made me by all ladies, who aspired to my 
 acquaintance, and the greater their quality, the greater 
 were their advances." Nor was it for himself only 
 that he demanded this privilege, but as far as lay in 
 his power, would have it extended to all his brethren. 
 When lord Oxford had desired Swift to introduce Dr. 
 Parnell to him, he refused to do it, upon this prin- 
 ciple, that a man of genius was a character superiour 
 to that of a lord in high station, and therefore obli- 
 ged my lord to introduce himself: which he did in 
 the %iost courteous manner. On which occasion 
 Swift in his Journal boastingly says, " I value myself 
 upon making the ministry desire to be acquainted 
 with Parnell, and not Parnell with the ministry." 
 His contemporary authors all received the benefit of 
 this, and by following his example, in placing a pro- 
 per value on themselves, were treated with more re- 
 spect than ever fell to the share of their predecessors, 
 or those who have since succeeded them. Pope ac- 
 knowledges his obligation to him on this score, 
 where he says, " The top pleasure of my life is one 
 I learned from you, both how to gain, and how to 
 
 use
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT* 1Q7 
 
 tise the freedom of friendship with men much my 
 superiours." 
 
 Nothing but the extraordinary talents of Swift, and 
 uncommon degree of merit in a variety of ways, 
 could possibly have made the great ones of the world 
 descend so far from their pride, as to admit this new 
 claim, and pay him that homage which they had al- 
 ways considered as due only to themselves. And in- 
 deed he seems to have been looked up to by all the 
 world, as one of a superiour race of beings, or like 
 the phenix, as one who formed a class in the indi- 
 vidual, standing alone, without a rival or competitor*. 
 And though encompassed by a cluster of the brightest 
 geniuses that this island ever produced at any given 
 era, yet he stood distinguished in a circle, and as the 
 acknowledged monarch of wit, received the voluntary 
 homage of his peers. And indeed among all that 
 class of eminent writers, generally not the most 
 humble of the human race, there was not one found 
 vain enough to dispute his title, and all on different 
 occasions have born testimony to the superiority of 
 his genius. Of which many instances may be pro- 
 
 * A letter from Thomas Harley, esq. to Swift, begins thus: 
 41 Your letter gave me a great deal of pleasure : 1 do not mean 
 only the satisfaction one must always find in hearing from so good 
 a friend, who has distinguished himself in the world, and formed 
 a new character, which nobody is vain enwgh to pretend to imitate; 
 but, 4-c " 
 
 And the earl of Stafford, one of the proudest men of the age, 
 addresses him in this manner: 
 
 " Sir, To honour, and esteem, and admire you, is general to 
 all that know or have heard of you; but to be pleased with your 
 commands, and glad and diligent to obey them, is peculiar to 
 your true friends ; of which number I am very desirous to be 
 te*koned." S. 
 
 duced,
 
 1()S THE LIFE 
 
 duced, both in their works, and in the course of 
 letters which passed between them. 
 
 Having raised himself to. this high rank among 
 men, merely by his personal merit, he took care to 
 guard it with the same jealous attention, that a mo- 
 narch shows to the preservation of his prerogative. 
 The least slight shown him, or any unbecoming 
 treatment of him, was not to be pardoned without a 
 due submission from the person so offending. We 
 have already seen that he refused to be reconciled 
 to his friend lord Oxford, upon a quarrel of that na- 
 ture, in which he considered as an insult, what was 
 intended by the other as a favour, and threatened 
 to cast him off, if he did not make a proper apo- 
 logy. 
 
 He broke off with lady Giffard, one of his oldest 
 acquaintances in life, on a similar account, and de- 
 clared he would never see her again, unless she asked 
 his pardon. In his Journal of March 17, 1711? he 
 gives the following account of his resentment to lord 
 Lansdown : * Society day, you know. We were never 
 merrier nor better company, and did not part till after 
 eleven. I did not summon lord Lansdown : he and I 
 are fallen out. There was something in an Examiner 
 a fortnight ago, that he thought reflected on the 
 abuses in his office ; (he is secretary at war) and he 
 writ to the secretary, that he heard I had inserted 
 that paragraph. This I resented highly, that he 
 should complain of me, before he spoke to me. I 
 sent him a peppering letter, and would not summon 
 him by a note, as I did the rest ; nor ever will have 
 any thing to say to him t till he begs my pardon.'''' Nay 
 even with regard to his dear friend Addison, merely 
 on account of his showing some suspicion of hirs, in 
 
 a con-
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. Igg 
 
 a conversation relative to Steele, his conduct was the 
 same; as maybe seen in the following passage of his 
 Journal : " I went to the coffee-house, where I be- 
 haved myself coldly enough to Mr. Addison, and so 
 came home to scribble. We dine together to morrow 
 and next day, by invitation; but I shall not alter my 
 behaviour to him, till he begs my pardon, or else we 
 shall grow bare acquaintance." 
 
 I find an unwillingness to part with Swift at this 
 period of his life, without showing him in all the 
 various lights in which he then appeared. It is from 
 his meridian height that we are to judge of the splen- 
 dour and powerful influence of the sun; not from 
 his feeble setting ray, obscured by mists, or inter- 
 cepted by clouds. Yet it is in this last state only, he 
 has hitherto been represented to the world, in the se- 
 veral memoirs published of him, by those who never 
 saw him but in his decline, and therefore have giveri 
 a very unfair representation of the man. To judge 
 of his real character, we must have recourse to the 
 testimony of such of his contemporaries, as knew him 
 in his most perfect state. From the accounts given \ 
 by the former, the world in general have been taught 
 to consider him in the light of a severe, morose, in- 
 tractable man, abounding in spleen and ill nature. 
 And in this opinion they were confirmed by the se- 
 verity of his satire in many of his writings. But how 
 will they be surprised to find, that by those who best 
 knew him at the era I have been speaking of, he was 
 as much celebrated for his good nature as his wit. Of 
 which, among a number of others, I shall produce a 
 few instances. 
 
 Mr. Addison, in one of his letters, has the follow- 
 ing passage: " I know you have so much zeal and 
 , . j pleasure. 
 
 i
 
 200 THE LIFE 
 
 pleasure, in doing kind offices for those you wish well 
 to, that I hope you represent the hardship of the case, 
 in the strongest colours that it can possibly bear. 
 However, as 1 alivays honoured you for your good 
 nature, which is a very odd quality to celebrate in a 
 man, who has talents so much more shining in the 
 eyes of the world, I should be glad if I could any 
 way concur with you, in putting a stop to what you 
 say is now in agitation." And in another place, r I 
 am sure a zealous friendly behaviour distinguishes you 
 as much, as your many more shining talents, and as 
 I have received particular instances of it, you must 
 have a very bad opinion of me, if you do not think 
 I heartily love and respect you," 
 
 Lady Betty Germain, daughter of lord Berkeley, 
 who knew him thoroughly from her earliest days, says 
 to him, in a very frank letter, wherein she attacks 
 him with a good deal of spirit on lady Suffolk's ac- 
 count : " It is you ought to be angry, and never for- 
 give her, because you have been so much in the 
 wrong, as to condemn her without show of justice ; 
 and I wish with all my heart, as a judgment upon you, 
 that you had seen her as I did, when the news of 
 your friend's death* came; for though you are a 
 proud person, yet give you devil your due, you are a 
 sincere, good natured honest one." But this quality 
 of his was discoverable only on a] nearer acquaint- 
 ance ; for on this, as on all other occasions, he was 
 at more pains to conceal his virtues, than others are 
 to display them ; and to effect this, often put on the 
 appearance of qualities directly contrary to those he 
 possessed. 
 
 - 
 * Mr. Gay; on whose account Swift had accused lady Suffolk. 
 
 One
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 201 
 
 One of his intimates*, writes thus to him: " You 
 have an unlucky quality, which exposes you to the 
 forwardness of those that love you, I mean good na- 
 ture. From which, though I did not always suspect 
 you gui Ity of it, I now promise myself an easy pardon." 
 
 Nor was his good nature merely of the common 
 kind ; he had a tenderness of heart which made him 
 feel with unusual sensibility the sufferings, misfortunes, 
 or loss of friends, and sympathize with them in their 
 afflictions. Nor were these feelings afterward di- 
 minished or blunted by years, till the faculties of his 
 mind were impaired, and in a great degree they out- 
 lived even those ; as may be seen in many instances 
 during his latter correspondence, upon the death of 
 any of his old friends. 
 
 In what agonies of mind does he give to Stella a 
 distracted account of the stabbing Mr. Harley by 
 Guiscard! March 1,1711. " O dear MD. my heart 
 is almost broken. You will hear the thing before 
 this comes to you ; I writ a full account of it this 
 night to the archbishop of Dublin. I was in a sorry 
 way to write, but thought it might be proper to send 
 a true account of the fact, for you will hear a thou- 
 sand lying circumstances. 'Tis of Mr. Harley's being 
 stabbed this afternoon at three o'clock at a committee 
 of the council. I am in mortal pain for him. That 
 desperate French villain, marquis de Guiscard, stabbed 
 Mr. Harley. Pray pardon my distraction. I now 
 think of all his kindness to me. The poor creature 
 now lies stabbed in his bed, by a desperate French 
 popish villain. Good night, and God preserve you 
 both, and pity me. I want it." 
 
 * Cbiverton Charlton, captain of the yeoman of the guards. S. 
 
 His
 
 202 THE LIFB 
 
 His behaviour to the duchess of Hamilton, on the 
 unfortunate death of the duke, killed in a duel by lord 
 Mohun, affords a striking instance of 3 warm feeling 
 heart. He flew to her the instant the news reached 
 him, to administer every assistance and consolation in 
 his power. Of which take the following account in 
 his Journal, Nov. 15, 17 12. " They have removed 
 the poor duchess to a lodging in the neighbourhood, 
 where I have been with her two hours, and am just 
 come away. I never saw so melancholy a scene. She 
 has moved my very soul. 16th. I thought to have 
 finished this yesterday, but was too much disturbed. 
 I sent a letter early this morning to lady Masham, to 
 beg her to write some comforting words to the poor 
 duchess. She has promised me to get the queen to 
 write to the duchess kindly on this occasion ; and to 
 morrow I will beg lord treasurer to visit and comfort 
 her. I have been with her two hours again, and 
 find her worse. Her violences not so frequent, but 
 her melancholy more formal and settled. Lady 
 Orkney, her sister in law, is come to town on the 
 occasion, and has been to see her, and behaved her- 
 self with great humanity. They have been always 
 very ill together; and the poor duchess could not 
 have patience when people told her I went often to 
 lady Orkney's. But I am resolved to make them 
 friends ; for the duchess is now no more the object 
 of envy, and must learn humility from the severest 
 master, affliction? Here we see that not content 
 with what friendly offices he could do in his own per- 
 son, he immediately applies to higher powers, even 
 to Royalty itself, to administer richer cordials to raise 
 her sinking soul, and pour a more sovereign balm on 
 her afflicted spirit. And at the same time forms a 
 
 plan
 
 OF DOCTOR -SWIFT. 203 
 
 plan for her future ease and comfort, by endeavouring 
 to make up a family breach. 
 
 The accounts he gives of the illness and death of 
 poor Harrison, for whom he had made so noble a 
 provision *, are manifestly the effusions of a tender 
 heart. Feb. 12, 1712. "I found a letter on my 
 table last night, to tell me that poor little Harrison, 
 the queen's secretary, that came lately from Utrecht 
 with the Barrier treaty, was ill, and desired to see me 
 at night; but it was late, and I could not go till to 
 day. I went in the morning, and found him mighty 
 ill, and got thirty guineas for him from lord Boling- 
 broke, and an order for one hundred pounds from the 
 treasury to be paid to him to morrow; and I have got 
 him removed to Knightsbridge for air. 
 
 " 13th. I sent to see how he did, and he is ex- 
 tremely ill; and I am very much afflicted for him, as 
 he is my own creature in a very honourable post, and 
 very worthy of it. His mother and sister attend him, 
 and he wants nothing. 
 
 " 14th. I took Parnell this morning, and we walked 
 to see poor Harrison. I had the hundred pounds in 
 my pocket. / told Parnell I was afraid to knock at 
 the door ; my mind misgave me. I did knock, and his 
 man in tears told me his master was dead an hour be- 
 fore. Think what grief this is to me ! I could not 
 dine with lord treasurer, nor any where else, but got 
 a bit of meat toward the evening. No loss ever grieved 
 me so much; poor creature! Pray God Almighty bless 
 you. Adieu. I send this away to night, and I am 
 sorry it must go while I am in so much grief ~j~." 
 
 Indeed, 
 
 * That of queen's secretary at the Hague, a post which lord 
 Bolingbroke afterward bestowed on his own brother. S. 
 
 i Lord Bolingbroke bears strong testimony to this quality in 
 
 Swift,,
 
 204 THE LIFE 
 
 Indeed, during that whole period, his breast seems 
 to have contained a perpetual spring of the purest 
 benevolence, always flowing, and always full : and 
 the chief delight of his life arose from doing acts 
 of humanity, charity, generosity, and friendship. 
 Nor content with what he could perform in that 
 way himself, his utmost endeavours were used to 
 diffuse the same spirit of benevolence into all with 
 whom he was connected. He was the life and soul 
 of that famous society of sixteen, consisting of some 
 of the first men of the age, in point of talents, rank, 
 and virtue. To tie them closer to each other, he 
 made them adopt the endearing name of brotliers ; 
 and to spread the circle still wider, the ladies of the 
 several members, called sisters, and even their chil- 
 dren were nephews and nieces. Happy were the en- 
 vied few who stood in this adopted relationship to 
 Swift, and they never failed afterward boastingly to 
 use that title ; as may be seen in several of their let- 
 ters. Great was the canvassing to be admitted into 
 that number; and the duke of Ormond looked 
 upon it as a high honour that he was elected a mem- 
 ber without any application on his part. " The end of 
 our club," says Swift, " is to advance conversation 
 and friendship, and to reward deserving persons with 
 our interest and recommendation. We take in none 
 
 Swift, in his letter of March 17, 1? IP : " I have not these se- 
 veral years tasted so sensible a pleasure, as your letters of the 
 l6th of January and l6th of February gave me ; and I know 
 enough of the tenderness of your heart, to be assured, that the 
 letter I am writing will produce much the same effect on you. 
 I feel my own pleasure, and 1 feel your*. The truest reflection, 
 and at the same time the bitterest satire, which can be made on 
 the present age, is this, that to think, as you think, will make a 
 man pass for romantick. Sincerity, constancy, tenderness, are 
 rarely to be found." S. 
 
 bu
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 
 
 but men of wit, or men of interest ; and if we go on 
 as we begin, no other club of the town will be worth 
 talking of." To keep them steady to these points, 
 and to prevent their degenerating into political meet- 
 ings, Swift early opposed the admission of lord trea- 
 surer and lord keeper, who had been proposed, and 
 they were accordingly excluded ; but their sons were 
 received in their room. There are several instances 
 mentioned of contributions raised by them to re- 
 lieve indigent merit, which were distributed by 
 Swift *. 
 
 He had so far endeavoured to diffuse this spirit of 
 benevolence among all his connexions, that lord Pe- 
 terborow rallies him upon it thus in one of his let- 
 ters. " You were returning me to ages past for some 
 expressions in my letter. I find matter in yours to 
 send you as far back as the golderr age. How came 
 
 * Of this, among many others, take the following instances, 
 Journal, Feb. 12, 1712. " I dined to-day with our society, the 
 greatest dinner I have ever seen. It was at Jack Hill's, the 
 governor of Dunkirk. I gave an account of sixty guineas I had 
 collected, and am to give them away to two authors to-morrow. 
 And lord treasurer has promised me one hundred pounds to re- 
 ward some others." 13th. "- I was to see a poor poet, one 
 Mr. Diaper, in a nasty garret, very sick. I gave him twenty- 
 guineas from lord Boiingbroke, and disposed the other sixty to 
 two other authours. In that of March 30, " I was naming some 
 time ago, to a certain person, another certain person, that was 
 very deserving, and poor, and sickly ; and the other, that first 
 certain person, gave me one hundred pounds to give the other. 
 The person who is to have it never saw the giver, nor expects one 
 farthing, nor has the least knowledge or imagination of it ; so I 
 believe it will be a very agreeable surprize ; for I think it a hand- 
 some present enough. I paid the 1001. this evening, and it was 
 a great surprize to the receiver." S. 
 
 you
 
 I 
 
 206 THE LIFE 
 
 you to frame a system, in the times we live in, to go- 
 vern the world by love r" 
 
 He did not show at that time any of that acri- 
 monv, which he contracted afterward from disap- 
 pointment, illness, and a thousand vexations multi- 
 plying on him, and increasing with his years. On 
 the contrary, he seems by his Journal and letters 
 to have had an uncommon flow of spirits, and a 
 cheerfulness of temper not easily affected. Accord- 
 ingly his company was eagerly sought after bv all who 
 could get access to him ; and his conversation was 
 the delight not only of those who had a relish for 
 wit and humour, but of those who took pleasure in 
 the unrestrained social hour of good humour and 
 mirth. So that he seems to have had every requi- 
 site that could excite at once the admiration and 
 love of his friends. And indeed no man ever pos- 
 sessed both in a more eminent degree, and that from 
 a large group of characters, distinguished for their 
 rank, talents, and worth ; such as are hardly to be 
 paralleled, as co-existent at the same period, either 
 in the history of our own country, or perhaps in 
 that of any other. It must be allowed, that Swift 
 was very fortunate to have lived at such a juncture, 
 and that he was judicious in his choice ; but surely 
 it is a proof of his extraordinary merit, that they 
 were all united in the same sentiments toward him, 
 however they differed among each other ; and that 
 their attachment to him continued invariably the 
 same ever after, not seeming to have suffered any 
 diminution either from absence, length of time, or 
 loss of power. It is from the accounts of those who 
 knew him intimately at that period, that we are to 
 
 form
 
 OP DOCTOH SWIFT. 307 
 
 form an idea of his real character, not from the re- 
 ports or surmises of others, or such as only saw him 
 in his decline, when little of his former self remained; 
 there have already been many quotations given for 
 that purpose. To close his character, I shall only 
 add two more, from two of his most intimate friends; 
 one from Dr. Arbuthnot, a man as remarkable for 
 the goodness of his heart, as his fine talents ; the 
 other from Pope. The first is part of a letter writ- 
 ten soon after the queen's death. " Dear friend, 
 the last sentence of your letter quite kills me. 
 Never repeat that melancholy tender word, that 
 you will endeavour to forget me. I am sure I never 
 can forget you till I meet with (what is impossible) 
 another, whose conversation I can delight so much 
 in, as Dr. Swift's, and yet that is the smallest thing 
 I ought to value you for. That hearty sincere friend- 
 ship, that plain and open ingenuity in all your com- 
 merce, is what I am sure I can never find in another 
 man. I shall want often a faithful monitor, one that 
 would vindicate me behind my back, and tell me my 
 faults to my face. God knows I write this with tears 
 in my eyes." 
 
 The other is in a letter from Pope to lord Orrery, 
 where, speaking of Swift, he says, " My sincere love 
 for this valuable, indeed incomparable man, will ac- 
 company him through life, and pursue his memory, 
 were I to live a hundred lives, as many as his works 
 will live ; which are absolutely original, unequalled, 
 unexampled. His humanity, his charity, his conde- 
 scension, his candour are equal to his wit, and require 
 as good and true a taste to-be equally valued." 
 
 But Pope wrote this to a man who had no such 
 
 true
 
 2.08 THE LIFE 
 
 true taste. To one, who in all his remarks on 
 Swift's life, has endeavoured to depreciate the me- 
 mory of that great man, and place all his actions in 
 the worst light. Not content with attacking his 
 private character, and often with the malice of an 
 Iago (so much worse indeed as being utterly un- 
 provoked) turning his very virtue into pity, he has 
 endeavoured to reduce his political one to the 
 lowest line ; as may be seen in the following 
 passage. " He was elated with the appearance of 
 enjoying ministerial confidence. He enjoyed the 
 shadow, the substance was kept from him. He 
 was employed, not trusted ; and at the same time 
 that he imagined himself a subtle diver, who dexte- 
 rously shot down into the profoundest regions of 
 politicks, he was suffered only to sound the shal- 
 lows nearest the' shore, and was scarce admitted to 
 descend below the froth at the top. Perhaps the 
 deeper bottoms were too muddy for his inspection *." 
 I dare say his lordship, when he had finished this 
 paragraph, looked it over with great self-complacency, 
 and admired it as a beautiful and well turned period. 
 But unfortunately there was not one syllable of truth 
 in it, of which there have been already sufficient 
 proofs given. Yet as this opinion, even upon so 
 weak an authority, has, from the general spirit of 
 envy, been adopted by numbers ; and as some of the 
 noblest points of Swift's character, depend upon the 
 consideration of the high rank which he then held 
 in the political state, I shall here adduce farther 
 proofs of his great importance, and show, that though 
 
 * Lord Orrery's Remark* on the Life and Writings of 
 Swift, S, 
 
 he
 
 OP DOCTOR SWItfT. 20^ 
 
 he was without office or rank, he was the man the 
 most trusted, and the most employed in all political, 
 and state affairs, of any of that time. 
 
 We have already seen with what rapidity and ea- 
 gerness, contrary to his usual procrastinating and re- 
 served disposition, Harley rushed into his acquaint- 
 ance, and besought his friendship. That soon after 
 their first conversing together, he told St. John he 
 could keep nothing from him, Swift had so much the 
 way of getting into him *. That after a closer inti- 
 macy, though the most reserved man alive, and the 
 least apt to despond, he confessed, that uttering his 
 mind to Swift, gave him ease -j~. And that he con- 
 tinued ever after to repose this trust in him, may be 
 seen in a letter from Lewis in the year 1713, supposed 
 by the world to be the most confidential man with 
 lord Oxford, where he says, " His mind has been 
 communicated more freely to you than to any other." 
 In two months after their first acquaintance, he was 
 admitted of the Saturday's private party, or minis- 
 ter's cabinet council, consisting of the lord keeper 
 Harcourt, the earl Rivers, the earl of Peterborow, 
 and Mr. secretary St. John ; where, after dinner, 
 they used to discourse, and settle matters of great 
 importance, and Swift was always one of the 
 number \. It has been shown that he stood in an 
 equal degree of confidence with lord Bolingbrok-e : 
 and no man living, no not of the ministry, stood 
 so high in the opinion of lady Masham, the second 
 greatest favourite of the queen, and latterly the 
 first ; of which the most unequivocal proofs have 
 
 * See Journal* Nov. 11, 17 10. S. 
 
 t Journal, March 4,1710-11. S. 
 
 \ Memoirs relating to the Change, &c. and Journal, passim. S. 
 
 vol. i. P been
 
 210 THE LIFE 
 
 been produced, in her shedding tears openly, upon 
 the talk of sending him to Ireland, and her last 
 earnest letter to him before the queen's death. All 
 the sreat officers of state connected with the minis- 
 try,, followed their example in paying him homage. 
 Lord keeper Harcourt told a placeman of inferiour 
 rank, who had treated Swift with some incivility, 
 " to take care of what he did, for the doctor was not 
 only the favourite of all the ministry, but their go- 
 vernor also." We have seen that lord Rivers told, 
 the printers, for whom Swift had demanded several 
 places in his department, of considerable value, 
 " that the doctor commanded, and he must obey." 
 We find too, that when any of the ministry them- 
 selves had a favour to ask of lord Oxford, it was 
 through him they made their application*. It was the 
 same too with regard to the foreign ministers *}-. In 
 what light he stood with the Spanish ambassador, may 
 be seen from the following extract from his Journal, 
 Dec. 21, 1712: * This day se'nnight, after I had 
 been talking at court with sir William Wyndham, 
 the Spanish ambassador came to him, and said he 
 heard that Was tloctor Swift, and desired him to 
 tell me, that his master, and the king of France, and 
 queen, were obliged to me more than to any man in 
 
 * Journal, Jan. S, 1712-13. "- I tell you a good thing ; there 
 is not one of the ministry, but what will employ me as gravely to 
 speak for. them to lord treasurer, as if I were their brother, or 
 his, and I do it as gravely, though I know they do it only because 
 they will not make themselves uneasy, or had rather I should be 
 denied than they." S. 
 
 + March 5, 1712-1S. " I was at court today, and the foreign 
 ministers have got a trick of employing me to speak for them to 
 lord treasurer, and lord Boiingbroke, which I do when the cas>e 
 is reasonable." S.' 
 
 5 Europe,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. Qll 
 
 Europe. So we bowed, and shook hands, && I took 
 it very well of him.'* 
 
 All state writings, the queen's speeches, ad- 
 dresses upon thenij &c> were either entirely drawn 
 up by him, or submitted to his correction. He had 
 a considerable share in the famous representation of 
 the speaker's, sir Thomas Hanmer, which made 
 such, a noise at that time, and was considered as 
 the finest that ever was penned. In short, there 
 was not a move made of any kind with relation 
 either to publick affairs, or party matters, in which 
 he was not consulted, and the greatest share of 
 labour in the executive part was thrown upon his 
 shoulders. In all this plenitude of power, he was 
 so far from being elated with the appearance of en- . 
 joying ministerial confidence, that he used his best 
 endeavours to conceal it from the world in general, 
 though it could not be a secret to those of his own 
 party. With this view he absented himself from 
 lord treasurer's levees, having never appeared there 
 but twice during their whole acquaintance. And at 
 court he alvvavs avoided him whenever he made 
 toward him, nor would ever be seen speaking to 
 him there*. But it was impossible long to conceal 
 that superiour degree of favour in which he stood 
 with the minister. His writings in the cause he 
 .espoused, had rendered him too conspicuous, and 
 
 * Jan. 15, 1712- 13- " I was at court to day, and as' lord 
 treasurer came toward me I avoided him, and he hunted me 
 thrice about the room. 1 affect never to take notice of him at 
 church or court. He knows, it, for 1 have told him so, and to- 
 night at lord Masham's he gave an account of it to the company ; 
 but my reasons are, that people seeing me speak to him, causes a 
 great deal of teasing." S. 
 
 p 2 the
 
 212 *HE LIFE- 
 
 the adverse party were too much galled by them not 
 to make them watchful of all his motions. He waft 
 accordingly considered by the leaders of the oppo- 
 site party, as the first mover in all the ministerial 
 measures; and many virulent speeches were made 
 against him by name, both in the house of lords 
 and commons, as one who was in the secret of all 
 affairs, and without whose advice and privity nothing 
 was done, or employment disposed of*. O lord 
 Orrery ! how little did you know of the true state 
 of affairs at that time, when you wrote that false 
 envious paragraph ! and how utterly unacquainted 
 must you have been with the real character of the 
 man, whose memoirs you undertook to write, when 
 you could suppose him so mean spirited as to be the 
 mere tool of a ministry ; and so blinded by vanity 
 (a fault of which he had not one particle in his com- 
 position, for, as he himself has often observed, he 
 was too proud to be vain) as not to discover whether 
 he was only employed, not trusted ! 
 
 Nor was his influence confined to England only, 
 he was the chief person consulted in the affairs of 
 Ireland, particularly during the duke of Ormond's 
 administration, and few preferments passed, espe- 
 cially in the church, without his approbation. Of 
 this there are many proofs to be found in his 
 correspondence with the archbishop of Dublin, pri- 1 
 mate Lindsay, lord chancellor Phipps, and his own 
 Journal -j~. 
 
 Having 
 
 * See Swift's Memoirs relating to the Change, &c. S. 
 + See his letter to the archbishop, September 31, 1713. His 
 Journal, Feb. 1, 1712-13. 
 
 Lord primate Lindsay writes thus to him, in his letter of Jan. 
 
 5,1713-14.
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 213 
 
 Having now, past all controversy, established the 
 high degree of power and influence which he then 
 enjoyed, beyond. any that perhaps ever fell to the 
 lot of a private person, must not the disinterested 
 spirit of Swift strike us with astonishment, when 
 we reflect that he made no other use of these great 
 advantages, but to promote the publick cause in 
 which he was engaged, or to make ample provision 
 for persons of merit, while he was utterly negligent 
 with regard to his own fortune ? It must be obvious 
 to every one, who considers the light in which he 
 stood, that had he been a man of intrigue, or could 
 he have made his principles bend to the reigning 
 policy of the court ; had he not incurred the queen's 
 displeasure by endeavouring to counteract her adopted 
 system of government, and treating her bosom fa-* 
 vourite with a severity never to be forgiven ; nay had 
 he only followed the lead of the minister, by ac- 
 quiescing in measures which he found it vain to 
 oppose ; it must be applied, I say, considering the 
 immensity of his talents, the close connexion he 
 stood in with all the leading men, the great impor- 
 tance he was of to their cause, and the almost sis- 
 terly affection shown him by lady Masbam, that he 
 
 5, 1713-14. " There is a gentleman, whom I believe you may 
 have heard of, Dr. Andrew Hamilton, archdeacon of Kaphoe, a 
 man of good learning and abilities, and one of great interest in 
 that country, whom I could wish you would move for to succeed 
 me in Raphoe, as one that is moat likely to do good in that part 
 of the country, of any man I know. 
 
 " And now be pleased to accept my thanks for the great ser- 
 vices you have done me, and as you have contributed much to my 
 advancement, so I must desire you, upon occasion, to give me your 
 farther assistance for the service of the church." S, 
 
 might
 
 214' THE LIFE 
 
 might have aspired to the highest dignities in the 
 church, or even, if his bent jay that way, in the state. 
 For in those days the gown was nqt considered as a 
 disqualification to ministerial offices, as we find the 
 bishop of Bristol was made lord privy seal, and am- 
 bassador plenipotentiary. But as it was a maxim with 
 Swift, that while the queen pursued her trimming 
 plan, the interests of the church and state were on a 
 sandy foundation, and that there could be no solid 
 establishment for them, till thewhigs were all turned 
 out of their employments, and a total end put to 
 their power ; he determined not only never to fall 
 in with the queen's measures, but on the contrary 
 openly to oppose them. Though at the same time 
 he must have been conscious that this was the most 
 certain way to bar his own preferment. 
 
 The only employment that Swift ever asked for 
 during all that time, was that of historiographer ; 
 and his reasons for desiring it are thus set forth, in 
 his memorial to the queen, April 1, 1714. 
 
 " The change of ministry about four years ago, 
 the fall of the duke of Marlborough, and the pro- 
 ceedings since, in relation to the peace and treaties, 
 are all capable of being very maliciously represented 
 to posterity, if they should fall under the pen of 
 some writer of the opposite party, as they probably 
 . may. 
 
 " Upon these reasons it is necessary, for the ho- 
 nour of the queen, and in justice to her servants, 
 "that some able hand should be immediately em- 
 ployed, to write the history of her majesty's reign, 
 that the truth of things may be transmitted to fu- 
 ture ages, and bear dow r n the falsehood of malicious 
 pens. 
 
 The
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 215 
 
 a The dean of St. Patrick's is ready to undertake 
 this work, humbly desiring her majesty will please 
 to appoint him her historiographer ; not from any 
 view of the profit, (which is so inconsiderable, that 
 it will hardly serve to pay the expense of searching 
 offices) but from an earnest desire to serve his 
 queen and country : for which that employment 
 will' qualify him, by an opportunity of access to 
 those places, where papers and records are kept, 
 which will be necessary to any who undertake such 
 a history." 
 
 We see upon what disinterested principles Swift 
 desired this office ; and he seems to have been highly 
 provoked at his not obtaining it, laying the blame 
 very unjustly on lord Bolingbroke, as may be seen in 
 his letter to miss Vanhomrigh, August 1, 1714. " I 
 am not of your opinion about lord Bolingbroke, per- 
 haps he may get .the staff, but I cannot rely on his 
 love to me. He knew I had a mind to be historio- 
 grapher, though I valued it not but for the publjck 
 service ; yet it is gone to a worthless rogue, that no- 
 body knows." But it appears from a letter of Dr. 
 Arbuthnot's, July 17, 1714, that lord Bolingbroke 
 was most hearty in his cause ; where he says, " I gave 
 your letter, with the enclosed memorial, caval'ihre- 
 ment to lord -Bolingbroke. He read it, and seemed 
 concerned at some part of it, expressing himself 
 thus : ".That it would be among the eternal scandals 
 of the government, to suffer a man of your charac- 
 ter, that had so well deserved of them, to have the 
 least uneasy thoughts about those matters." But the 
 truth is, that it was out of my lord's power to have 
 served him in this point, as the memorial was' not 
 
 put
 
 2l6 THE LIFE 
 
 put into his hands till a fortnight after the place had 
 been disposed of *. So that it is probable it never 
 was presented to the queen. And his friend Ford, 
 to whom he had also communicated his suspicions 
 of Bolingbroke, vindicates him from the charge in a 
 letter written five days after the queen's death, where 
 he says, " I really believe lord Bolingbroke was very 
 sincere in the professions he made of you, arid he 
 could have done any thing. No minister w r as ever 
 in that height of favour, and lady Masham was at 
 least in as much credit, as she had been at any 
 time of her life. But these are melancholy reflec- 
 tions." 
 
 There is a passage in a letter from Swift to Pope, 
 Jan. 10, 17*21, relative to this office, which at first 
 view seems to contradict what he himself had said 
 about it, as related above. " I had indeed written 
 some memorials of the four last years of the queen's 
 reign, with some other informations which I received, 
 as necessary materials to qualify me for doing some- 
 thing in an employment then designed for me ; but, 
 as it was at the disposal of a person who had not the 
 smallest share of steadiness or sincerity, I disdained 
 to accept it" But this apparent contradiction may 
 easily be thus solved. Swift scorned to accept the 
 employment as a favour, from the officer in whose 
 department it was, for the reasons he assigns, and 
 would receive it only from her majesty's own appoint- 
 
 * In a letter from Charles Ford, esq. to Dr. Swift, July 20, 
 1714, is the following passage: " I thought you had heard the 
 historiographer's place had been disposed of this fortnight. I 
 know no more of him who has it, than that hjs name it> Mad- 
 docks." S. 
 
 ment,
 
 P DOCTOR SWIFT. 217 
 
 ment, to whom he therefore personally applied by 
 memorial *. 
 
 I shall take leave of this period of Swift's life, by 
 observing that he was thrown into the world at a most 
 fortunate era to gratify the ruling passions of his heart. 
 The chief pleasures of his life seem to have arisen from 
 friendship contracted with men of worth and talents, 
 and the society of persons of wit and genius ; and 
 never was there an era in which he could be so amply 
 indulged with regard to both. * I know there are 
 numbers who laugh at those who speak with admira- 
 tion of past times, and lament the degeneracy of the 
 present, as idle declaimers, laudatores ttmporis acti ; 
 with which the world has constantly been furnished 
 in all nations,, from age to age ; but that in reality all 
 times have been much alike. In order that a fair 
 comparison may be made between the period I have 
 been speaking of, and that which followed to the 
 present time, I shall here set down a list of the ex- 
 traordinary men who then flourished together. 
 
 * The circumstance of the disposal of this post from Swift, 
 has afforded lord Orrery an opportunity of exposing his ignorance, 
 and invidious disposition to lower Swift's consequence to the ut- 
 most. He says, " He (Swift) knew how useful he was to admi- 
 nistration in general ; and in one of his letters he mentions, that 
 the place of historiographer was intended for him, but I am apt 
 to suspect that he flattered himself too highly." Surely his lord- 
 ship must have been either so ill informed, as to suppose this post 
 to be a very considerable one, or that Swift was without any de- 
 gree of credit. He flattered himself too nighty. Good Heaven ! 
 that such a man as Swift, should be accused of flattering himself 
 too highly, in expecting an employment, attended with much 
 trouble, and without any degree either of honour or profit i S. 
 
 LIST
 
 18 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 
 LIST 
 
 OP LITERARY 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 ^Temple, 
 
 Prior, 
 
 
 Wycherly, 
 
 Dryden # 
 
 Congreve, 
 
 
 Vanbrugh, 
 
 Swift, 
 
 Gay, 
 
 
 Southern, 
 
 Addison, 
 
 Garth, 
 
 
 Young, 
 
 Pope, 
 
 Steele, 
 
 
 Parnell, 
 
 Arbuthnot, 
 
 Newton, 
 
 
 Berkeley, 
 
 Otway, 
 
 Locke, 
 
 
 Atterbury, 
 
 Rowe, 
 
 . Boyle, 
 
 
 Tillotson, &c. 
 
 OF MEN IN HIGH RANK. 
 
 Duke of Marlborough, Lord Anglesea, 
 Lord Peterborow, 
 
 Earl of Dorset, 
 Lord Roscommon, 
 Lord Halifax, 
 Sir William Wyndham, 
 Sir Thomas Hanmer. 
 
 Lord Oxford, 
 Lord Rolingbroke, 
 Lord Bathurst, 
 Lord Carteret, 
 Duke of Argyll, 
 
 Beside many others that might be mentioned, of 
 no small note. When they who are advocates for 
 the above opinion, shall attempt to draw out a list 
 of names in the present times, to be put in compe- 
 tition with these, they will soon be obliged to con- 
 fess and retract their errour. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 FROM HIS RETURN TO IRELAND TO HIS DEATH. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY after the decease of the queen, 
 Swift returned to 'Ireland, where he found, things 
 in the highest ferment : the whigs all in triumph, 
 
 threatening
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 2lj> 
 
 threatening vengeance on the whole "body of the 
 desponding toties, at soon as power should come 
 into their hands. However vi-l nt the proceedings 
 of the whigs in England might* afterward be, their 
 animosity against the opposite party was moderate, 
 in comparison with the hatred which their brethren 
 of Ireland bcre to the tories. All the stories fabri- 
 cated in England by the whigs, of an intention to 
 bring in the pretender by the late ministry, and 
 which were only calculated for the more violent of 
 their party, and the vulgar, were universally and 
 implicitly believed in Ireland. The dreadful and 
 detested days of James II. of which there were 
 still so many living witnesses in that kingdom, and 
 in which the whole body of Protestants' suffered so 
 much, came fresh into their minds, and raised the 
 utmost abhorrence of all who were supposed to be 
 abettors of such a measure. They were taught to 
 consider the uords Tory and Jacobite, as synony- 
 mous terms ; and as Swift, was known to have been 
 highly in the confidence of the late ministry, he 
 was of course supposed to have been deeply con- 
 cerned with them *in the plot of bringing in the 
 pretender. Being the only one then in" Ireland, 
 against whom a charge could be made of having 
 an immediate hand in such a design, he became 
 the chief object upon which the madness of party 
 vented its rage. He was constantly insulted with 
 opprobrious language as he walked the streets^ and 
 some of the more violent, used to take up dirt from 
 the kennel to throw at him as he passed along;" in- 
 somuch that he was obliged never to go ' abroad 
 without servants armed to protect his person. Nor 
 
 was
 
 220 THE LIFE 
 
 was it from the lower class of people only, that he 
 met with such insults ; but th^se of a higher rank, 
 in proportion as they were actuated by the virulence 
 of party, or wished to make a merit to themselves 
 with the governing powers, took all opportunities of 
 treating him with the utmost indignity. Of this I 
 have a strong instance now before me, in a paper 
 drawn up by Swift himself. 
 
 The title of it is, " The Dean of St. Patrick's 
 Petition to the House of Lords against Lord Blaney:'* 
 and on the inside: To the Right Honourable the 
 Lords Spiritual and Temporal, in Parliament as- 
 sembled." 
 
 "The humble Petition of Jonathan Swift, D.D. 
 and Dean of the Cathedral of St. Patrick's, 
 Dublin, 
 
 *' Most humbly showeth, 
 
 " That your petitioner is advised by his physicians, 
 on account of his health, to go often on horseback ; 
 and there being no place, in winter, so convenient 
 for riding, as the strand toward Howth, your peti- 
 tioner takes all opportunities that his business or the 
 weather will permit, to take that road. That in the 
 last session of parliament, in the midst of winter, as 
 your petitioner was returning from Howth with his 
 two servants, one before, and the other behind him, 
 he was pursued by two gentlemen in a chaise, drawn 
 by two high mettled horses, in so violent a manner, 
 that his servant, who rode behind him, was forced to 
 give way, with the utmost peril of his life: whereupon 
 your petitioner made what speed he could, riding to 
 
 the
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 221- 
 
 the right and left above fifty yards to the full extent 
 of the said road ; but the two gentlemen driving a 
 light chaise, drawn by fleet horses, and intent upon 
 mischief, turned faster than your petitioner, endea- 
 vouring to overthrow him. That by great accident 
 your petitioner got safe to the side of a ditch, where 
 the chaise could not safely pursue ; and the two gen- 
 tlemen stopping their career, your petitioner mildly 
 expostulated with them ; whereupon one of the gen- 
 tlemen said, Damn you, is not the road as free for us 
 as for you? and calling to his servant who rode behind 
 him, said, Tom (or some such name) is the pistol 
 loaden with ball? To which the servant answered, 
 yes, my lord, and gave him the pistol. Your peti- 
 tioner often said to the gentleman, pray, sir, do not 
 shoot, for my horse is apt to start, by which my life 
 may be endangered. The chaise went forward, and 
 your petitioner took the opportunity to stay behind. 
 Your petitioner is informed, that the person who 
 Spoke the words above-mentioned, is of your lord- 
 ships house, under the style and title of lord Blaney; 
 whom your petitioner remembers to have introduced 
 to Mr. secretary Addison, in the earl of Wharton's 
 government, and to have done him other good offices 
 at that time, because he was represented as a young 
 man of some hopes, and a broken fortune. That the 
 said lord Blaney, as your petitioner is informed, is 
 now in Dublin, and sometimes attends your lordships 
 house. And your petitioner's health Still requiring 
 that he should ride, and being confined iri winter to 
 go on the same strand, he is forced to inquire from 
 everv one he meets, whether the said lord be on the 
 same strand; and to order his servants to carry arms 
 to defend him against the like, or a worse insult, 
 
 from
 
 224 THE LIFE 
 
 from the said lord, for the. consequences of which 
 your petitioner cannot answer. 
 
 " Your petitioner is informed by his learned coun- 
 cil, that there is no law now in being, which can 
 justify the said lord, under colour of his peerage, to 
 assault any of. his majesty's subjects on the king's 
 highway, and put them in fear of their lives, without 
 provocation, which he humbly conceives, that by 
 only happening to ride before the said lord, he could 
 not possibly give. 
 
 " Your petitioner, therefore, doth humbly implore 
 your lordships in your great prudence and justice, to 
 provide that he may be permitted to ride with safety 
 on the said strand, or any other of the king'o h al- 
 ways, for the recovery of his health, so long as he 
 shall demean himself in a peaceable manner, without 
 being put into continual fears of his life by the force 
 and arms of the said lord Blaney." 
 
 But nothing hurt Swift so much, as the many in- 
 stances of ingratitude he experienced in those jvho 
 were highly indebted to him, while he was in power. 
 It has been already shown, that he made it a point 
 with the ministry in England, that no man of genius 
 or merit, should be turned out of employment on 
 account of party ; the same maxim he extended to 
 Ireland, where he preserved several in their places, 
 who, but for his interposition, would infallibly have 
 lost them. Of this many instances occur in the 
 course of his letters. In one to the archbishop of 
 Dublin, written in 1713, when ids influence was at 
 the highest, he says, ie I have suffered very much for 
 my tenderness to some persons of that party, which 
 I still preserve; it would be endless to recount to 
 
 your
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. ' 223 
 
 your grace the reproaches that have been made me, 
 on account of your neighbour." And in another, 
 " Neither did, I ever foil to interpose in any case of 
 merit or compassion, by which means several persons 
 in England, and some in this kingdom, kept their 
 employments ; for I cannot remember my lord Ox- 
 ford ever refused me a request- of that kind." He 
 therefore thought it extremely hard, that after such 
 instances of favour shown to numbers of that party, 
 he should be particularly marked out as the chief 
 object of their resentment: or, as he -himself ex- 
 presses it in the same letter, " If my friendship and 
 conversation were equally shown among those who 
 liked or disapproved the proceedings then at court, 
 and that I was known to be a common friend of all 
 deserving persons of the latter sort, when they were 
 in distress; I cannot but think it hard, that I am not 
 suffered to run quietly among the herd of people, 
 whose opinions unfortunately differ from those which 
 lead to favour . and preferment." But Swjft, by his 
 great abilities exerted in the cause of the late ministry, 
 had rendered himself so obnoxious to the new men in 
 power, that even to be of his acquaintance, would, 
 in those days, have been a sure bar to promotion. Of 
 this, there is a singular instance communicated to me 
 among other anecdotes taken down at that time by 
 a friend of the dean's. Swift, in the height of party 
 ferment, having some occasion to apply to sir Thomas 
 Southwell, who was one of the commissioners of the 
 revenue, and with whom he had lived on the footing 
 of the greatest intimacy, was much shocked by an 
 answer he made him: " I'll lay you a groat" (a usual 
 cjmt expression of sir Thomas's) " Mr. dean, I don't 
 know you." Some years after, when the spirit of 
 
 party
 
 224 THE LIPB 
 
 party was a good deal abated, sir Thomas, who was 
 then lord Southwell, riding on the strand, and ob- 
 serving the dean on horseback a little before him, la- 
 mented to one of his company the ill effects of party i 
 among which he reckoned the loss of that worthy 
 man's acquaintance, meaning the dean : but I'll try, 
 said he, to recover it. When he overtook the dean, 
 he asked him how he did. " I'll lay you a groat, my 
 lord,'' says Swift, " I don't know you." 
 
 In such a situation of affairs, Swift chose the most 
 prudent part, that of retiring wholly from the world, 
 and employing himself chiefly in the care of his 
 deanery, in the discharge of his duty as a clergyman, 
 and arranging his domestick affairs, without once 
 casting his eye toward the publick. In a letter to 
 Pope, dated Jan. 10, 1721, he gives this account of 
 himself: " In a few weeks after the loss of that ex- 
 cellent princess, I came to my station here, where I 
 have continued ever since in the greatest privacy, and 
 utter ignorance of those events which are most com- 
 monly talked of in the world. I neither know 7 the 
 names nor number of the family which now reigneth, 
 farther than the prayer book informeth me. I cannot 
 tell who is. chancellor, who are secretaries, nor with 
 what nations we are in peace or war. And this manner 
 of life was not taken up out of any sort of affectation* 
 but merely to avoid giving offence, and for fear of 
 provoking party zeal*/' But though in this Swift 
 
 acted 
 
 * The following anecdote taken down at the time by the same 
 gentleman who communicated the former to me, will show how 
 cautious Swift was in his behaviour at that juncture, for fear^of 
 provoking party zeal, and at the same time afford an instance of 
 his peculiar vein of humour. Among other tyrannical acts of the 
 
 Whigs,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 223 
 
 acted the part of a philosopher, yet no one could 
 feel more for the distresses of his former friends, and 
 the uncomfortableness of his own situation. In a 
 letter to Pope, June 28* 1715, he says, " You know 
 how well I loved both lord Oxford and Bolingbroke, 
 and how dear the duke of Ormond is to me: and do 
 you imagine I can be easy while their enemies are en- 
 deavouring to take off their heads? / nunc, & versus 
 tecum meditare canoros. Do you imagine I can be 
 easy, when I think on the probable consequences of 
 these proceedings, perhaps upon the very peace of 
 the nation, but certainly of the minds of so many 
 
 Whigs, in the first parliament of George I, such members of the 
 house of commons as had voted for an address in favour of sir 
 Constantine Phipps, were ordered to beg pardon of the House. 
 This order was generally complied with. Three who refused were 
 taken into custody of the serjeant at arms : sir Pierce Butler,' Mr. 
 Matthew Ford, and Mr. Robert Cope* Swift, visiting Cope one 
 Jay, found Povey the serjeant at arms, who was a perfect stranger 
 to Swift's person, sitting with him. After some conversation, Swift 
 asked Cope " whether he did not intend to go out that morning, 
 &s it was a fine day ?" Cope said, " he could not stir out ; he was 
 confined." Swift asked, " had he taken physiek? Cope said, " No, 
 but that he was confined by the Parliament, and was then in custody 
 of the serjeant at arms." Swift, with an air of perfect ignorance, 
 and simplicity* inquired the meaning of that, as if he had never 
 heard of a serjeant at arms, or of any such power in the Parlia- 
 ment ; and soon after took his leave. When he was gone, Povey 
 said, '< it would be well for the church and the kingdom, if the 
 clergy minded state affairs as little as that honest gentleman, who 
 he durst say, was a good parish minister, residing a! his living, and 
 minding his own affairs, without troubling his head about those of 
 the publick. Pray what is his name ?" " Swift." " Is he any 
 relation of the Dean of St. Patrick'*; ?" " The very man," says 
 Cope. '* The very man !" replied Povey ; " damn him, he ha 
 iit me!" and left the room in some confusion. S. 
 
 Vol. i. Q hundred
 
 216 THE i.nz 
 
 hundred thousand good subjects r" And in one to 
 Mr. Gay, ne says, " I was three years reconciling 
 myself to the scene, and the business, to which for- 
 tune hath condemned me, and stupidity was that 
 I had recourse to." In another to the same, he 
 gives this account of himself; " I would describe to 
 you my way of living, if any method could be called 
 so in this country. I choose my companions among 
 those of least consequence, and most compliance: I 
 read the most trifling books I can find, and when I 
 write, it is upon the most trifling subjects: but riding T 
 walking, and sleeping, take up eighteen of the 
 twenty-four hours. I procrastinate more than I did 
 twenty years ago y and have several things to finish,, 
 which I put off to twenty years hence." In this 
 manner did he pass seven years of his life from his 
 arrival in Ireland, little known there as an author. 
 \Ji except on account of his political writings, which, in 
 that change of times rendered him an object of ge- 
 neral detestation. There had been then no collection 
 made of his works, and his detractors in England had 
 robbed him of the merit of his principal work, " The 
 Tale of a Tub," by denying him to be the author. 
 Many calumnies were industriously propagated against 
 him, taken from the writings of the hirelings on the 
 whig side, whereof the number was so great, that 
 Swift in one place says, that there w r ere upward of a 
 thousand papers and pamphlets published against him 
 in the space of a few years. But wrapped in the con- 
 sciousness of his integrity, he had the fortitude to> 
 treat all this with silent contempt. To counterbalance 
 ttie ill treatment he met with from the pnblick, he,* 
 1 by degrees, contracted an - intimacy with a select few 
 
 who
 
 OF DOCTOR SWlPt. 22? 
 
 Who had taste to relish the author, and virtue to ad- 
 mire the man*. He had also the supreme satisfaction 
 
 oi 
 
 * In a passage above quoted from his letter to Gay, where h 
 says, " I choose my companions among those of least consequence 
 and most compliance," we are to understand only such humble 
 friends as were always at his devotion, to be let in, or sent away 
 without ceremony, according as he was in the humour* It was 
 probably, this passage, which furnished lord Orrery with an occa- 
 sion of exercising his usual disposition to depreciate the Dean as 
 much as possible, in the following paragraphs: " After the great 
 names, which I have just now mentioned, it is matter of astonish- 
 ment to find the same person, who had enjoyed the highest and 
 the best conversation, equal!}' delighted with the lowest and the 
 worst; and yet it is certain, from Swift's settlement in Dublin as 
 Dean of St, Patrick's, his choice of companions in general, showed 
 him of a very depraved taste. ' 
 
 " From the year 17 1+, till he appeared in the year 1720, a cham- 
 pion for Ireland against Wood's halfpence, his spirit of politicks 
 and of patriotism was kept almost closely confined within his own 
 breast. Idleness and trifles engrossed too many of his hours: fools 
 and sycophants too much of his conversation.'' 
 
 His answerer, Dr. Delany, fired with indignation at this false 
 charge, replies to him in the following manner: " My lord, you 
 have been so grossly abused, in the accounts which dictated those 
 two paragraphs to you, that I am almost ashamed to set yon right. 
 The meanest man I ever heard of his conversing with during that 
 period, was Mr. Worrall, a clergyman, a master of arts, a reader 
 and vicar of his cathedral, and a master of the song. He was 
 nearly of his own standing in the college ; a good walker, a man 
 of sense, and a great deal of humour. Mr. Worrell's situation 
 in the church, naturally engaged his attendance upon the Dean. 
 every time he went thither: and their walks naturally ended either 
 in the Dean's dining wish him, or tie with the Dean. But as the 
 Dean was a single man, the former happened more frequently: 
 and this intercourse at last ended with the Dean's dining with him, 
 as often as he pleased, at a certain rate, and inviting as many 
 friends as he pleased upon the same terms.'' The Dean when he 
 first settled at Dublin was in debt to his predecessor Dp. Sterne in 
 the sum of 800/. being two-ihirds of the sum expended is buUciing 
 
 q 2 ths
 
 228 THE LIFB 
 
 of constantly enjoying the society of the amiable and 
 accomplished Stella, whose conversation, by his own 
 
 account, 
 
 the Deanery-house. This determined him to a very severe ceco-- 
 nomy, which this agreement with Worrall well suited. 
 
 Dr. Dehmy then proceeds to relate his intimacy with the G rat- 
 tans, a numerous race of brothers, all in affluent or easy circum- 
 stances, a set of men as generally acquainted, and as much 
 beloved, as any one family in the nation. After a particular 
 description of each of these, he proceeds thus s w These, my lord, 
 were men of open hearts, and free spirits r who as little deserved, 
 and as much disdained the character and office of sycophants, as 
 any nobleman of yours, or any nation. And yet these, with their 
 al&es, the Jacksons, &c. genteel, agreeable, and well bred men 
 and women, were the companions of many of Swift's easiest and 
 happiest hours : such companions, as no wise man ever wanted, 
 or at least would want, if he could help it; any more than he 
 would his night gown, his couch, or his easy chair. 
 
 ** Whether the Grattansled Swift, or he them, into the acquaint- 
 ance of their friends, George Rochfort, and Peter Ludlow, I can- 
 not say. But this I know, that he lived much with those gentle- 
 men, and cultivated their friendship with a very distinguished af- 
 fection and esteem; and it is certain, that they well deserved the 
 kighest regard and distinction he could pay them. 
 
 Quales animcc neque candidiores terra tulit, 
 
 Nee queis te magis optasses amicum. 
 
 Such souls ! more candid never earth produced, 
 
 Nor whom you could more wisely wish your friends. 
 
 ** They were men of fortune, scholars, men of parts, men of 
 humour, men- of wit, and men of virtue. Greater companions 
 Swift miohx have conversed with, but better he neither did, nor 
 could. Let me add to these another gentleman, for whom the 
 dean had a particular esteem, Matthew Ford, a man of family 
 ami fortune ; a fine gentleman, and the best lay scholar of his 
 time and nation. These, with the fellows of the college, Dr. 
 Walmsley, Dr. Ilelsham, Dr. Delany, Mr. Stopford (now bishop 
 of Cloync) and Dr. Sheridan, among the men; and lady Eustace, 
 Mrs. Moore, lady Betty Rochfort, and Mrs. Ludlow, ladies suffi- 
 cient!? dirffgttished, of the other sex, were, with Stella and her 
 
 friend s r
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 22g| 
 
 account, was the most engaging of any lie had ever 
 met with, -either in man or woman. And he found 
 in Dr. Sheridan, that best cordial of life, a bosom 
 friend, to whom he could open himself without res- 
 traint, in all humours, and who was peculiarly cal- 
 culated for the bagatelle, of which Swift at that time 
 professed himself so fond, as the only means of keep- 
 ing up his spirits in the gloom that surrounded him. 
 He had the pleasure of hearing often from his former 
 friends, whose letters breathed the same cordial af- 
 fection, and high esteem which they always professed 
 for him. Among this number were lord Bolingbroke, 
 lord Harley, Mr. Addison, Dr. Arbuthnot, Prior, 
 Pope, Lewis, &c. the duchess of Ormond, and lady 
 Bolingbroke. 
 
 In the year 17 15, when lord Oxford was com- 
 mitted to the Tower, Swift wrote pressingly to him 
 that he might be permitted to attend him there. His 
 letter begins thus': " My ford., it may look like an 
 idle or officious thing in me, to give your lordship 
 any interruption under your present circumstances; 
 yet I could never forgive myself, if, after having been 
 treated for several years with the greatest kindness and 
 distinction, by a person of your lordship's virtue, I 
 should omit making you at this time the humblest 
 offers of my poor service and attendance. It is the 
 first time I ever solicited you in my own behalf; and 
 
 friends, Swift's principal acquaintance and companions, during the 
 period you mention, and treat as the era of his infamy. 
 
 " I might mention some others of very distinguished characters, 
 >vh> made up, I will not say, that admired, but I can sav with 
 truth, that envied society, in which Swift passed his life at that 
 period. But I hope I have already said sufficient to set you 
 right.". S.
 
 230 THE LIFE 
 
 if. I am refused, it will be the first request you ever 
 refused me." But lord Oxford, however desirous he 
 wight be of the presence of such a friend, whose 
 conversation might contribute more than any thing in 
 the world to soften the rigour of confinement, was 
 too generous to put him to such an inconvenience 
 on that account. Yet immediately on his release 
 from the Tower, he expressed his desire of seeing 
 him in England, if it might be consistent with his 
 affairs; in a letter full of the warmest expressions of 
 friendship and affection*. 
 
 Lord Bolingbroke's letters during his exile, are not 
 inferiour to lord Oxford's in expressions of the highest 
 regar 1 and friendship. In that of Oct. 23, 17 16, are 
 the following passages. w It is a very. great truth, 
 that among all the losses which I have sustained, none 
 affected me more sensibly, than that of your com- 
 pany and correspondence; and yet, even now, I should 
 n )t venture to write to you, did not you provoke me 
 to it. Your letter breathes the same spirit, as your 
 conversation at all times .inspired, even when the oc- 
 casions of practising the severest rules of virtuous 
 fortitude seemed most remote. Adieu, dear friend; 
 may the kindest influence of Heaven be shed upon 
 y.m. VVh ether me may ever meet again, that Heaven 
 only knows: if we do, what millions of things shall 
 we have to talk over! In the mean while, believe that 
 nothing sits so near my heart, as my country, and 
 my friends, and that among these, you ever had, and 
 ever sh;]ll have, a principal place." 
 
 In another letter lie soys, " I know not whether 
 the love of fame increases as we advance in age; sure 
 
 * Sec this letter, under the date of Aug. 6, 1717- N. 
 
 J am,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 23 J 
 
 I am, that the force of friendship does. "I loved you 
 almost twenty years ago ; I thought of you as well 
 as I do now ; better was beyond the power of con- 
 ception; or, to avoid an equivoque, beyond the extent 
 of my ideas." 
 
 In the year 1 7 1 7 5 Swift received a letter from 
 Lewis, giving him an account of the distressed situa- 
 tion of Prior's affairs, and of a design set on foot by 
 his friends to publish his works by subscription, in 
 order to his relief This gave him an opportunity of 
 exerting that zeal, for which he- was so remarkable, 
 whenever the cause of his friend, or distressed merit, 
 called upon him. Upon this occasion he made use 
 of all his influence to so good purpose, that in a few 
 months he sent him such a large list of subscribers, 
 that Prior was astonished at it His earnestness to 
 serve him, and to give him accounts of his success 
 in his solicitations, appears from the quick succession 
 of letters sent by him on the occasion. Prior, in 
 answer to these, begins his letter of July SO, 1J17-J 
 thus : " I have the favour of four letters from you, 
 of the Qth, 13 th, 10th, and 20th instant," and he 
 concludes his letter thus: " Pray give my service to 
 all friends in general. I think, as you have owJeaed 
 the matter, you have made the greater part of Ire- 
 land list themselves under that number. I do not 
 know how you can recompense them, but by coming 
 over to help me correct the book which I promised 
 them." 
 
 What an instance is here of the vicissitudes in 
 human affairs, when a man who had been ambas- 
 sador plenipotentiary to the court of France, should, 
 in the space of a few years, be reduced to such a sorry 
 expedient (as Swift terms it) to keep him above want ! 
 
 Daring
 
 132 THE LIP 
 
 During this period, Swift's pen seems to have 
 been thrown aside, or employed only in trifles, ex- 
 cept two tracts drawn up by him soon after his settle- 
 ment in Ireland: the one, entitled, " Memoirs 
 relating to that Change which happened in the Queen's 
 Ministry in the Year 1710." Written in October 1714. 
 The other, " An Inquiry into the Behaviour of the 
 Queen's last Ministry, with relation to their Quarrels 
 among themselves, and the Design charged upon 
 them of altering the Succession of the Crown. His 
 view in these was, to lay open all the springs which 
 moved the political machine during that period ; and 
 to exonerate the ministry, from that heavy charge, so 
 loudly and generally made against them, of a design 
 to bring in the pretender. As he was a man more in 
 the confidence of that ministry, than any other in 
 the world ; of a sagacity not easily to be duped ; a 
 sincerity incapable of being biassed, and of most un- 
 doubted veracity ; there was no one living so capable 
 of #xecuting such a task. And when we examine 
 the strength of argument with which he has sup- 
 ported his positions ; when we reflect that these 
 tracts were drawn up without any view of their being 
 published till after his death, and therefore could 
 answer no private end, the impartial world will neces- 
 sarily be of his side. Confident assertions, and loud 
 clamours of a party, unsupported by any proofs, 
 though sought for with all the diligence of persevering 
 malice and revenge ; however they may spread for a 
 time through the spirit of faction, will never prevail 
 with an unprejudiced posterity, against conclusive ar- 
 guments, supported by established facts. To en- 
 lighten posterity with regard to those points, for he 
 ftad no hopes of the present age, was Swift's motive 
 
 for
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 233 
 
 for leaving those pieces behind him, and no doubt 
 his end will be answered. 
 
 During almost six years after his return to Ireland, 
 Swift kept his resolution of not meddling at all with 
 publick affairs. He saw with indignation the cruel 
 oppression under which his country laboured, and 
 with the deepest concern, the miserable state to 
 which it was reduced. But as he knew that all efforts 
 to stem the torrent, during the violence of party, 
 would be fruitless, he prudently waited till it had 
 spent its force. In the year 1720, when the ferment 
 seemed to have subsided, he published his first po- 
 litical tract relative to Ireland, entitled A Proposal 
 for the universal Use of Irish Manufactures. In which 
 he cautiously avoids touching upon party matters, 
 and points out to the people of Ireland, that a great 
 part of their poverty and distress was owing to their 
 own folly, and that the remedy was in their own 
 hands. Of this pamphlet, and the consequences 
 produced from it, he has given the following account 
 in a letter to Pope. " I have written in this king- 
 dom, a discourse to persuade the wretched people to 
 wear their own manufactures, instead of those from 
 England: this treatise soon spread very fast, being 
 agreeable to the sentiments of the whole nation, ex- 
 cept those gentlemen who had employments, or were 
 expectants. Upon which a person in great office 
 here, immediately took the alarm ; he sent in haste 
 for the chief justice, and informed him of a seditious, 
 factious and virulent pamphlet, lately published with 
 a design of setting the two kingdoms at variance ; 
 directing at the same time, that the printer should 
 be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law. 
 The chief justice has so quick an understanding, 
 
 that
 
 234 , THE LIFE 
 
 that he resolved, if possible, to outdo his order*. 
 The grand juries of the county and city were ef- 
 fectually practised with, to represent the said pam- 
 phlet with all aggravating epithets, for which they 
 had thanks sent tiiern from England, and their pre- 
 sentments published, for several weeks, in all the 
 newspapers. The printer was seized, and forced to 
 give great bail. After his trial, the jury brought 
 him in not guilty, although they had been culled with 
 the utmost industry: the chief justice sent them back 
 nine times, and kept them eleven hours; until being 
 perfectly tired out, they wej-e forced to leave the 
 matter to the mercy of the judge, by what they call 
 a special verdict. During the trial, the chief justice, 
 among other singularities, laid his hand on his breast, 
 and protested solemnly that the author's design was 
 to bring in the pretender, although there was not a 
 single syllable of party in the whole treatise; and al- 
 though it was known that the most eminent of those 
 who professed his own principles, publickly disallowed 
 his proceedings. But the cause- being so very odious 
 and unpopular, the trial of the verdict was deferred 
 from one term to another, until upon the duke of 
 Grafton's, the loi'd lieutenant's arrival, his grace, 
 after mature advice, and permission from England, 
 was pleased to grant a noli prosequi." 
 
 From this experiment Swift learned that the embers 
 of party, however concealed under ashes, might be 
 revived with the least breath, and blown into a blaze. 
 He therefore withdrew into his former retirement, 
 after having taking ample vengeance on the chief 
 justice, by exposing him in the most odious colours, 
 ;uid render!!;? him an object of general detestation. 
 But whatever efforts he used to subdue his indig- 
 nation
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. *23S 
 
 Yialion at the cruel acts of oppression and injustice 
 under which his country laboured, by confining it 
 within his own breast, yet his heart was constantly 
 corroded with the scenes of misery which surrounded 
 jhim; and his. patriotick. spirit, thus confined, proved 
 only as an evil one to torment him. Of the effect 
 which this had on his temper, we have many in- 
 stances in his letters. Dr. Delany mentions a re- 
 markable one, who calling on him one day, when 
 upon some occasion he seemed in an uncommon state 
 of irritation, being asked by Swift, " Whether the 
 corruptions and villanies of men in power, did not 
 eat his flesh, and exhaust his spirits?" answered, 
 " that in truth they did not ;" he then asked in a fury 
 why why how can you help it? how can you 
 avoid it ?" Delany calmly replied, " Because I am 
 commanded to the contrary. " Fret not thyself be- 
 cause of the uitgodlif" 
 
 As no work of his has appeared written during the 
 space of near four years after his publishing the 
 abovementioned pamphlet, it is highly probable that 
 his leisure hours where wholly employed in writing 
 " Gulliver's Travels ;" in which general satire on the 
 vices, follies, and absurdities of mankind, he gave 
 vent to that spleen, which w 7 as in a continual state of 
 irritation from the objects that surrounded him. 
 
 In the year 1724, an opportunity offered, which he 
 eagerly embraced, x of dispersing those clouds, behind 
 which he had so long been concealed, and of blazing 
 forth in higher lustre than. ever*. At that time a 
 project was set on foot by one William Wood, an 
 obscure man, which, had it succeeded, would haver 
 
 * " The great acquisition of esteem and influence," says Dr. 
 Johnson, " was made by the Drapier's Letters." N. 
 
 i ended
 
 236 THE LIFE 
 
 ended in the total, and perhaps irretrievable ruin of 
 Ireland. A patent was granted to this man, in a most 
 extraordinary manner *, for coining halfpence for 
 the use of Ireland, without consulting any mortal of 
 that kingdom, or even giving any previous notice of 
 at to the lord lieutenant. Justly alarmed at the con- 
 sequences to be apprehended from this, and fired 
 with resentment at the indignity with which they 
 Were treated, the parliament, privy council, grand 
 juries, and numerous bodies of the inhabitants 
 throughout the kingdom, sent over strong remon- 
 strances against this proceeding, but all to no pur- 
 pose. The British minister, who had his own views 
 in promoting this favourite project, determined to 
 support the patent ; and being then possessed of the 
 same plenitude of power, with all the insolence of a 
 Turkish vizier, was deaf to the remonstrances of the 
 nation, and resolved to cram the halfpence down 
 their throats. Though to be master of the subject, 
 
 * " One Wood, of Wolverhampton, in Staffordshire, a man 
 enterprising and rapacious, had, as is said, by a present to the 
 duchess of Munster, obtained a patent, empowering him to coin 
 one hundred and eighty thousand pounds of halfpence and far- 
 things for the kingdom of Ireland, in which there was a very in- 
 convenient and embarrassing scarcity of copper coin ; so thai 
 it was possible to run in debt upon the credit of a piece of 
 money ; for the cook or keeper of an alehouse could not refuse 
 a supply a man that had silver in his hand, and the buyer 
 would not leave his money without change. The project was 
 ttatefore plausible. The scarcity, which was already great, 
 Wood took care to make greater, by agents who gathered up 
 ihe old halfpence, and was about to turn his brass into gold, by 
 pouring the treasures of his new mint upon Ireland ; when 
 Sjwift, finding that the metal was debased to an enormous degree, 
 wrote Letter*, under the name of M. B. Drapier, to shew the 
 folly of receiving, and the mischief that must ensue by giving, 
 gwld and sih cr for coin worth perhaps not a third part of its nu- 
 mi* it value." Dr. Johxson.
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 237 
 
 ft will be necessary to read all that Swift has written 
 upon it, yet it may not be amiss here to give a ge- 
 neral idea of the case, in an extract from a most 
 masterly address to both houses of parliament drawn 
 up by him on the occasion. 
 
 " There is one particular, which although I have 
 mentioned more than once in some of my former 
 papers, yet I cannot forbear to repeat, and a little 
 enlarge upon it ; because I do not remember to have 
 read or heard of the like, in the history of any age or 
 country ; neither do I ever reflect upon it without 
 the utmost astonishment. 
 
 " After the unanimous addresses to his sacred 
 majesty against this patent of Wood from both 
 houses of parliament ; and likewise an address from 
 the privy council, to whom,, under the chief gover- 
 nors the whole administration is entrusted, the 
 matter is referred to a committee of council in 
 London. Wood and his adherents are heard on one 
 side, and a few volunteers, without any trust or di^- 
 rection from hence. The question, as I remember, 
 chiefly turned upon the want of halfpence in Ireland; 
 witnesses are called on behalf of Wood of what cre- 
 dit I have formerly shown ; upon the issue the patent 
 is good and legal \. all his majesty's officers here, not 
 excepting the military, commanded to be aiding and 
 assisting to make it effectual : the address of both 
 houses of parliament, of the privy council, and of 
 the city of Dublin, the declarations of most counties 
 and corporations through the kingdom, are all toge- 
 ther laid aside, as of no weight, consequence, or 
 consideration whatsoever, and the whole kingdom of 
 Ireland nonsuited in default of appearance ; as if it 
 
 were
 
 238 , THE LIFE 
 
 were a private cause between John Doe, plaintiff, and 
 Richard Roe, defendant. 
 
 " With great respect to those honourable persons, 
 the committee of council in London, I have not un- 
 derstood them to be our governors, counsellors, or 
 judges. Neither did our case turn at all upon the 
 question, whether Ireland wanted halfpence : for 
 there is no doubt but we do want both halfpence, 
 gold, and silver ; and we have numberless other 
 wants, and some that we are not so much as allowed 
 to name, although they are peculiar to this nation ; 
 to which, no other is subject, whom God hath blessed 
 with religion and laws, or any degree of soil and 
 sunshine ; but for what demerits on our side, I am 
 altogether in the dark. 
 
 " But I do not remember that our want of half- 
 pence, was either affirmed or denied, in any of our 
 addresses or declarations against those of Wood. 
 We alleged the fraudulent obtaining and executing 
 of his patent ; the baseness of his metal ; and the 
 prodigious Sum to be coined, which might be in- 
 creased by stealth, from foreign importation, and his 
 own counterfeits, as well as those at home ; whereby 
 we must infallibly lose all our little gold and silver, 
 and all our poor remainder of a very limited and 
 discouraged trade. We urged that the patent was 
 passed without the least reference hither ; and with- 
 out mention of any security given by Wood to re- 
 ceive his own halfpence upon demand, both which 
 are contrary to all former proceedings in the like 
 cases. 
 
 " But in the name of God, and of all justice and 
 piety, when the king's majesty was pleased that this- 
 
 patent
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 130 
 
 patent should pass, is it not to be understood that 
 he conceived, believed, and intended it as a gracious 
 act, for the good ami benefit of his subjects, for tlus 
 advantage of a great and fruitful kingdom ; of the 
 most loyal kingdom upon earth, where no hand or 
 voice was ever lifted up against him % a> kingdom 
 where the passage is not three hours from Britain, 
 and a kingdom where the papists have less power 
 and less hmd than in England? Can it be denied 
 or doubted, that his majesty's ministers understood, 
 and proposed the same end : the good of this nation, 
 when they advised the passing of this patent ? 
 Can the person of Wood be otherwise regarded, thaw 
 as the instrument, the mechanick, the Itead work- 
 man, to prepare his furnace, his fuel, his metal, and 
 his stamps ? If I emplov a shoeboy, is it in view to 
 his advantage, or to my own convenience ? I men- 
 tion the person of William Wood alone, because no- 
 other appears, and we are not to reason upon sur- 
 mises, neither would it avail, if they had a realfouiV 
 dation. 
 
 " Allowing, therefore, for we cannot do less, that 
 this patent far. the coining of halfpence, was whollv 
 intended by a gracious king, and a wise put lick- 
 spirited ministry*, for the advantage of Ireland ; yet, 
 when the whole kingdom to a man, for whose good 
 the patent, was designed, do, upon the maturest con- 
 sideration, universally join in openly declaring, pro- 
 testing, addressing, petitioning against these half- 
 pence, as the- most ruinous project that ever was set 
 on foot, to complete the slavery and destruction of a 
 poor innocent country ; is it, was it, can it, or will 
 it ever be a question, not whether such a kingdom, 
 
 or
 
 240 THE LIFJJS 
 
 or William Wood should be a gainer, but whether 
 such a kingdom should be wholly undone, destroyed, 
 sunk, depopulated, made a scene of misery and 
 desolation, for the sake of William Wood? God 
 of his infinite mercy avert this dreadful judgment ; 
 and it is our universal wish, that God would put it 
 into your hearts, to be his instrument for so good a 
 work. 
 
 " For my own part, who am but one man, of ob- 
 scure condition, I do solemnly declare, in the pre- 
 sence of Almighty God, that I will suffer the most 
 ignominious and torturing death, rather than sub- 
 mit to receive this accursed coin, or any other that 
 shall be liable to the same objections, until they 
 shall be forced upon me by a law of my own country ; 
 and if that shall ever happen, I will transport myself 
 into some foreign land, and eat the bread of poverty 
 among a free people. 
 
 " The great ignominy of a whole kingdom's lying 
 so long at mercy under so vile an adversary, is such 
 a deplorable aggravation that the utmost expressions 
 of shame and rage are too low to set it forth, and 
 therefore I shall leave it to receive such a resentment 
 as is worthy of a parliament." 
 
 Upon the first tidings of the patent's being passed 
 in so extraordinary a manner, Swift took up the pen,- 
 and under the feigned character of M. B. Drapier, 
 represented all the fatal consequences that would 
 necessarily attend the carrying of it into execution,, 
 in so plain and clear a light, as spread a general alarm 
 through all ranks and orders of men throughout the 
 nation. 
 
 But as the parliament, the privy council, grand. 
 
 juries^.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 241 
 
 juries, and so many bodies corporate of the kingdom 1 
 addressed, remonstrated, and petitioned against it, 
 their fears were at an end, as supposing it impossible 
 that these should not prevail. Yet what was their 
 astonishment to find that all these, and the cry of 
 the whole nation, were treated with the utmost con- 
 tempt, and a sham inquiry set on foot by a com- 
 mittee of the privy council in England, which ended 
 in sending over orders to all officers under the crown 
 in Ireland, to be aiding and assisting to the utmost 
 of their power in supporting Wood's patent, and 
 giving circulation to his accursed coin ! As all per- 
 sons in office at that time were in the most slavish 
 dependance on the British ministry, there were no 
 hopes but that they would pay implicit obedience to 
 the commands of their masters, especially as they 
 could do it under colour of loyalty, as opposing the 
 patent was called, in the language of those days, 
 flying in the kings face. And if this coin was once 
 received into the publick offices, and issued out to 
 pay the king's troops, the affair was over. To pre- 
 vent this there was but one way, which was to raise 
 such a spirit in the whole body of the people, as to 
 determine them never to receive one piece of this coin 
 in payment. This he so effectually performed in a 
 series of letters, under the same signature of M. B. 
 Drapier, which were universally read over the whole 
 kingdom, that there was scarce an individual to be 
 found, even down to the lowest peasant, except a 
 few placemen, who did not form this resolution. 
 And in order to bind them to it more effectually, in 
 his second letter he drew up the following advertise- 
 ment. " Whereas one William Wood, hardware- 
 man, now or lately sojourning in the city of London, 
 vol. r. R hath
 
 242 THE LIFE 
 
 hath by many misrepresentations, procured a patent 
 for coining a hundred and eight thousand pounds, in 
 copper halfpence, for this kingdom, which is a sum 
 five times greater than our occasions require : and 
 whereas it is notorious that the said Wood hath 
 coined his halfpence of such base metal, and false 
 weight, that they are at best six parts in seven be- 
 low the real value : and whereas we have reason to 
 apprehend, that the said Wood may at any time here- 
 after clandestinely coin as many more halfpence as 
 he pleases: and whereas the said patent neither 
 doth, nor can oblige his majesty's subjects to receive 
 the said halfpence in any payment, but leaves it to 
 their voluntary choice, because by law the subject 
 cannot be obliged to take any money, except gold 
 or silver : and whereas, contrary to the letter and 
 meaning of the said patent, the said Wood hath de- 
 clared, that every person shall be obliged to take five- 
 pence halfpenny of his coin in every payment ; and 
 whereas the house of commons, and privy council 
 have severally addressed his most sacred majesty, re- 
 presenting the ill consequences which the said coin- 
 age may have upon this kingdom : and lastly, whereas 
 it is universally agreed that the whole nation to a 
 man, except Mr. Wood and his confederates, are in 
 the utmost apprehensions of the ruinous consequences 
 that must follow from the said coinage ; therefore we, 
 whose names are underwritten, being persons of 
 considerable estates in this kingdom, and residers 
 therein, do unanimously resolve and declare, that we 
 will never receive one farthing or halfpenny of the 
 said Wood's coining ; and that we will direct all our 
 tenants to refuse the said coin from any person what- 
 soever, of which, that they may not be ignorant, we 
 
 have
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 243 
 
 have sent them a copy of this advertisement, to be 
 read to them by our stewards, receivers, &c" 
 
 Numbers of these advertisements, signed by a mul- 
 titude of names, together with the " Drapier's Let- 
 ters," were soon dispersed over the kingdom, and 
 produced such a universal outcry in all ranks of 
 people against this odious project, that the poor tools 
 of power did not dare to attempt any thing in sup- 
 port of it. But the English minister, not at all inti- 
 midated by this violent opposition, seemed resolutely 
 bent on carrying the point. With this view he sent 
 over the lord Carteret, lately appointed lord lieute- 
 nant of Ireland, long before the usual time of the 
 chief governor's going to that kingdom, with direc- 
 tions to assemble the parliament, which had been 
 prorogued to a distant day, soon after the arrival, re- 
 voking that prorogation, a thing very unusual. Here 
 he was to try the common methods of securing a 
 majority, in order to get the sanction of the Irish 
 parliament to the measure. On his arrival, a procla 
 mation was published by his excellency and council, 
 offering a reward of three hundred pounds, for disco- 
 vering the author of the " fourth Drapier's Letter.'* 
 Harding the printer of that letter, was imprisoned, 
 and a bill of indictment was ordered to be prepared 
 against him. Upon this occasion Swift wrote a short 
 paper, called " Seasonable Advice to the Grand Jury, 
 &c." copies of which were distributed to every person 
 of the grand jury the evening before the bill was to 
 be presented *, and had such an effect, that the bill 
 
 was 
 
 * " The nation was alarmed ; the new coin was universally 
 refused ; but the governors of Ireland considered resistance to 
 the king's patent as highly criminal; and one Whitshe^ then 
 
 R 2 chief
 
 '244 THE LIFE 
 
 was unanimously thrown out. Upon which the same 
 lord chief justice, who had before acted with such 
 violence in a former prosecution of the Dean's prin- 
 ter, in a most arbitrary and illegal manner, dis- 
 charged the jury in a rage. But this proceeding, far 
 from serving the cause which he espoused, only ren- 
 dered it the more desperate, by exasperating men's 
 minds, already sufficiently provoked. For the next 
 grand jury that was summoned, not content with 
 screening the friends to their country, made a vio- 
 lent attack upon the enemy, by a strong present- 
 ment, drawn up by Swift, at the request of some of 
 the jury *. 
 
 Upon this presentment, followed by several others 
 in the different counties, the affair was looked upon 
 as desperate, and being represented in that light to 
 the ministry by lord Carteret, the patent was with- 
 drawn and the halfpence suppressed. 
 
 Never was greater exultation shown upon any 
 occasion than appeared in the whole nation, upon 
 the defeat of this infamous project ; the Drapier 
 was hailed by the universal voice as the saviour of 
 his country. His name resounded from shore to 
 shore ; his effigies were set up in every street ; and 
 innumerable bumpers were daily swallowed to his 
 health. 
 
 Whoever examines the " Drapier's Letters" with 
 
 chief justice, who had tried the printer of the former pamphlet, 
 and sent out the jury nine times, till by clamour and menaces 
 they were frightened into a special verdict, now presented the 
 Drapier, but could not prevail on the Grand Jury to find the 
 bill." Dr. Johnson. 
 
 * See this presentment in the eighth volume of the present 
 edition. N. 
 
 attention
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 245 
 
 attention will find, that the great talents of Swift 
 never appeared in a more conspicuous light than on 
 this occasion. He saw that a plan was formed by 
 the British minister to bring his country into the 
 utmost distress. Notwithstanding the apparent 
 opposition given to it by the Irish parliament and 
 privy council, he knew too well the servile disposition 
 of all men in office at that time, and their abject de- 
 pendence on the minister, to suppose they would 
 continue firm in their opposition at the certain loss 
 of their places, if he was determined to carry the 
 point. He saw therefore no possible means of pre- 
 venting the evil, but/aising such a spirit in the whole 
 body of the people, as would make them resolve on 
 no account whatsoever to receive this coin. His 
 writings in the character of a Drapier were in such 
 plain language, as rendered them perfectly intel- 
 ligible to the meanest capacities. His arguments 
 were so naturally deduced, and in such an easy series, 
 from simple and evident principles, as carried the 
 fullest conviction to every mind. But as it was ne- 
 cessary to his purpose to rouse the feelings, as well as 
 convince the understandings of mankind ; without 
 ever appearing to apply at all to the passions, he 
 raises them to the highest pitch, by seemingly casual 
 strokes here and there interspersed. So that the 
 whole, on a transient view, appeared what it pro- 
 fessed to be, the work of an honest shopkeeper, 01 
 plain common sense, who started out of his sphere 
 to commence writer, upon a view of the imminent 
 danger with which his country was threatened ; and 
 who could not now and then, in the course of his 
 argument, suppress the honest indignation which 
 rose in his breast, at the unparalleled insolence ot 
 
 power,
 
 246 THE LIFE 
 
 power, in treating a great and loyal kingdom with 
 such indignity as would have been thought intoler- 
 able, even by the inhabitants of the isle of Man. 
 Yet plain and simple as these writings seem to be at 
 first view, and such as every common reader would 
 imagine he could produce himself, upon a closer in- 
 spection they would be found to be works of the most 
 consummate skill and art ; and whoever should at- 
 tempt to perform the like, would be obliged to say 
 with Horace : 
 
 Sudct mulhtm, frustraque laboret 
 Quivis spcret idem *. 
 
 I remember to have heard the late Hawkins 
 Browne say, that the " Drapier's Letters" were the 
 most perfect pieces of oratory ever composed since 
 the days of Demosthenes. And indeed, upon a com- 
 parison, there will appear a great similitude between 
 the two writers. They both made use of the plainest 
 words, and such as were in most general use, which 
 they adorned only by a proper and beautiful arrange- 
 ment of them. They both made choice of the most 
 obvious topicks, which, by the force of genius they 
 placed in a new light. They were equally skilful in 
 the arrangement and closeness of their arguments ; 
 equally happy in the choice and brevity of their al- 
 lusions : each so entirely master of his art, as en- 
 tirely to conceal the appearance of art, so that they 
 seized on the passions by surprise. Nor were the 
 effects produced by orations of Demosthenes on 
 the Athenians, though set off with all the advantage 
 
 * " Who while they strive the same success to gain, 
 Should rind their labour, and their hopes are vain." 
 
 Fit AN CIS. 
 
 7 of
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 24/ 
 
 of a most powerful elocution, greater than what fol- 
 lowed from the silent pen of Swift. For in a nation 
 made up of the most discordant materials, who never 
 before agreed in any one point, he produced such a 
 unanimity, that English and Irish, protestant, pres- 
 byterian, and papist, spoke the same language, and 
 had but one voice. There is one advantage indeed 
 which Swift had over Demosthenes, in that admi- 
 rable vein of wit and humour, peculiar to himself, at 
 which the other often made unsuccessful attempts ; 
 and of which, though sparingly, we find some 
 shining instances scattered through those letters. 
 One of which is so excellent, that I am tempted to 
 present the passage to the reader ; where speaking 
 in the assumed character of the Drapier, he says, 
 u I am very sensible that such a work as I have un- 
 dertaken, might have worthily employed a much 
 better pen : but when a house is attempted to be 
 robbed, it often happens that the weakest in the 
 family runs first to stop the door. AH my assist- 
 ance, were some informations from an eminent per- 
 son ; whereof I am afraid I have spoiled a few, by 
 endeavouring to make them of a piece with my own 
 productions ; and the rest I was not able to manage. 
 I was in the case of David, who could not move in 
 the armour of Saul, and therefore I rather chose to 
 attack this uncircumcised Philistine (Wood I mean) 
 with a sling and a stone. And I may say for Wood's 
 honour, as well as my own, that he resembles Go- 
 liah in many circumstances, very applicable to the 
 present purpose : for, Goliak had a helmet of brass 
 upon his head, and he was armed ivith a coat of mail, 
 and the iveight of the coat was Jive thousand shekels oj 
 brass, a nd he had greaves oj brass upon his legs, and a 
 
 target
 
 248 THE LIFE 
 
 target of brass between his shoulders. In short, he 
 was like Mr. Wood, all over brass, and he defied the 
 armies of the living God. Goliah's conditions of com- 
 bat, were likewise the same with those of Wood : if 
 he prevail against us, then sliall we be his servants. 
 But if it happen that I prevail over him, I renounce 
 the other part of the condition ; he shall never be a 
 servant of mine ; for I do not think him fit to be 
 trusted in any honest man's shop," 
 
 Nothing showed the generalship of Swift in a 
 higher point of view, during this contest, than his 
 choice of ground both for attack and defence. He 
 well knew of what importance it was to steer clear 
 of party ; and that if he had attacked the British 
 minister as the real author, promoter, and abettor 
 of this project, he would immediately have been 
 stigmatized with the name of Jacobite, and his writ- 
 ings of coarse disregarded. He therefore treated 
 the matter all along as if there were no parties con- 
 cerned but PVilliam Wood hardwareman, on the 
 one side, and the whole kingdom of Ireland on the 
 other. Or, as he himself expresses it, it was bellum 
 atque virwn, a kingdom on one side, and William 
 Wood on the other. Nay he went farther, and 
 finding that Wood in his several publications had 
 often made use of Mr. Walpole's name, he takes 
 upon him the defence of the latter, in several pas- 
 sages of his fourth letter, which he concludes thus : 
 I' Bat I will now demonstrate, beyond all contra- 
 diction, that Mr. Walpole is against this project 
 of Mr. Wood, and is an entire friend to Ireland, only 
 by this one invincible argument ; that he has the 
 universal opinion of being a wise man, an able mi- 
 nister,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 54Q 
 
 nister, and in all his proceedings pursuing the true 
 interest of the king his master : and that as his in- 
 tegrity is above all corruption, so is Misfortune above 
 all temptation" By the use of this irony, a double 
 edged weapon, which he knew how to manage with 
 peculiar dexterity, his argument cut both ways. 
 To the bulk of readers it might pass for a real 
 acquittal of Mr. Walpole of the charge brought 
 against him, which would answer one end ; and to 
 those of more discernment, it obliquely pointed out 
 the true object of their resentment ; but this so 
 guardedly, that it was impossible to make any serious 
 charge against the author of his having such a 
 design. 
 
 In the course of these writings, Swift took an op- 
 portunity of laying open his political principles, de- 
 claring the most zealous attachment to the protes- 
 tant succession in the house of Hanover, and utter 
 abhorrence of the pretender ; by which means he re- 
 moved the chief prejudice conceived against him, on 
 account of the ill-founded charge of his being a Jaco- 
 bite, and opened the way for that tide of popular fa- 
 vour which afterwards flowed in upon him from all 
 sides *. 
 
 During 
 
 * " Swift was known from this time by the appellation of 
 The Dean. He was honoured by the populace as the champion, 
 patron, arid instructor of Ireland ; and gained such power as, 
 considered both in its extent and duration, scarcely any man has 
 ever enjoyed without greater wealth or higher station. He 
 was from this important year the oracle of the traders, and the 
 idol of the rabble, and by consequence was feared and courted 
 by all to whom the kindness of the traders or the populace was 
 Accessary. The Drapier was a sign; the Drapier was a health ; 
 
 and
 
 250 THE LIFE 
 
 During the publication of the " Drapier's Letters, 1 * 
 Swift took great pains to conceal himself from being 
 known as the author. The only persons in the secret 
 were Robert Blakely his butler, whom he employed 
 as his amanuensis, and Dr. Sheridan. As Robert was 
 not the most accurate transcriber, the copies were al- 
 ways delivered by him to the doctor, in order to their 
 being corrected, and fitted for the press; by whom 
 they were conveyed to the printer in such a way, as to 
 prevent a possibility of discovery. It happened that 
 Robert Blakely, the very evening of the day on which 
 the proclamation was issued offering a reward of 300 
 pounds for discovering the author of the Drapier's 
 Fourth Letter, had staid out later than usual without his 
 master's leave. The Dean ordered the door to be locked 
 at the accustorried hour, and shut him out. The next 
 morning the poor fellow appeared before him with 
 marks of great contrition ; when Swift would listen 
 to none of his excuses, but abusing him outrageously, 
 bade him strip off his livery, and quit his house that 
 moment. " What you villain," said he, " is it be- 
 cause I am in your power, you dare take these liber- 
 ties ? Get out of my house, you scoundrel, and 
 receive the reward of your treachery." 
 
 and which way soever the eye or the ear was turned, some to- 
 kens were found of the nation's gratitude to the Drapier. The 
 benefit was indeed great. He had rescued Ireland from a very 
 opprcssive and predatory invasion ; and the popularity which he 
 had gained he was diligent to keep, by appearing forward and 
 zealous on every occasion where the publick interest was supposed 
 to be involved. Nor did he much scruple to boast his influence; 
 for when upon some attempt to regulate the coin, Archbishop 
 Boulter, then one of the justices, accused him of exasperating 
 the people, he exculpated himself by saying, " If I had lifted up 
 my finger, tbey would have torn you to pieces." Dr. Johnsox. 
 
 Mrs.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 251 
 
 Mrs. Johnson, who was at the deanery, and 
 greatly alarmed at this scene, immediately dispatched 
 a messenger to Dr. Sheridan, to come and try to make 
 up matters. Upon his arrival he found Robert walk- 
 ing about the hall in great agitation, and shedding 
 abundance of tears; inquiring into the cause of this, 
 he was told that his master had just discharged him. 
 The doctor bade him be of good cheer, for he would 
 undertake to pacify the dean, and that he should still 
 be continued in his place. (< That is not what vexes 
 me," replied the honest creature ; " to be sure I 
 should be very sorry to lose so good a master, but 
 what grieves me to the soul is, that my master should 
 have so bad an opinion of me, as to suppose me ca- 
 pable of betraying him for any reward whatever." 
 When this was told to the Dean, struck with the 
 generosity of such a sentiment in one of his low 
 sphere, he immediately pardoned him, and restored 
 him to favour*. He also took the first opportunity 
 in his power of rewarding this man for his fidelity. 
 The place of verger to the cathedral soon after be- 
 coming vacant, Swift called Robert to him, and asked 
 him if he had any clothes of his own that were not a 
 livery ; to which the other replying in the affirmative, 
 he desired him immediately to strip off his livery, and 
 put on those clothes. The poor fellow quite asto- 
 nished, begged to know what crime he had committed 
 that he should be discharged " Well do as I or- 
 
 * " This story is told in a different manner by Mr. Deane Swift, 
 with several improbable circumstances, which have not the least 
 foundation in truth, as I had the account exactly as I have related 
 it immediately from my father." S. The narrative of this story 
 by Dr. Johnson is also somewhat different from Mr. Sheridan's; 
 but the statement here given is the most likely to be correct. N. 
 
 dered
 
 252 THE LIFE 
 
 dered you/' said Swift. When he returned in his 
 new dress, the Dean called the other servants into the 
 room, and told them they were no longer to con- 
 sider him as their fellow-servant Robert, but as Mr. 
 Blakely, verger of St. Patrick's cathedral, which 
 place he had bestowed on him, as a reward for his 
 faithful services. The grateful creature poured forth 
 a thousand blessings on him, and only begged as the 
 greatest favour he could confer on him, that he might 
 still be continued in the same station without fee or 
 reward, as he was sure no one could give such satis- 
 faction to his master in the discharge of it, as himself. 
 As he was an excellent servant, and was accustomed 
 to all Swift's peculiarities, the proposal could not but 
 be very acceptable to the Dean ; and Mr. Blakely ac- 
 cordingly continued to officiate in that capacity for 
 some time, as a volunteer, without any of the badges 
 of servitude. But the master was too liberal to ac- 
 cept of the generous proposal made by the servant ; 
 for, though he paid him no wages, he took care by 
 handsome presents, to make him a full equivalent. 
 
 Another anecdote, relative to these halfpence, was 
 communicated to me by Mr. Hoffsleger, a native of 
 Germany, then a resident merchant of some eminence 
 in Dublin ; who was a spectator of the following 
 scene which he described to me. The day after the 
 proclamation was issued out against the Drapier, there 
 was a full levee at the castle. The lord lieutenant was 
 going round the circle, when Swift abruptly entered 
 the chamber, and pushing his way through the crowd, 
 never stopped till he got within the circle ; where 
 with marks of the highest indignation in his counte- 
 nance, he addressed the lord lieutenant with the 
 Yoice of a Stentor, that re-echoed through the room, 
 
 "So,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 253 
 
 w So, my lord lieutenant, this is a glorious exploit 
 that you performed yesterday, in issuing a procla- 
 mation against a poor shopkeeper, whose only crime 
 is an honest endeavour to save his counjtry from ruin. 
 You have given a noble specimen of what this devo- 
 ted nation is to hope for, from your government. I 
 suppose you expect a statue of copper will be erected 
 to you for this service done to Wood." He then 
 went on for a long time inveighing in the bitterest 
 terms against the patent, and displaying in the 
 strongest colours all the fatal consequences of intro- 
 ducing that execrable coin. The whole assembly 
 were struck mute with wonder at this unprecedented 
 scene. The titled slaves, and vassals of power, felt, 
 and shrunk into their own littleness, in the presence 
 of this man of virtue. He stood supereminent among 
 them, like his own Gulliver amid a circle of Lillipu- 
 tians. 
 
 For some time a profound silence ensued. When 
 lord Carteret, who had listened with great compo- 
 sure to the whole speech, made this fine reply, in a 
 line of Virgil's: 
 
 Res durte, j? regni novitas me talia. cogunt 
 Moliri *. 
 
 The whole assembly was struck with the beauty of 
 this quotation, and the levee broke up in good hu- 
 mour. Some extolling the magnanimity of Swift to 
 the skies, and all delighted with the ingenuity of the 
 lord lieutenant's answer. 
 
 When the patent was withdrawn, and of course 
 
 " My cruel fate, 
 
 And doubts attending an unsettled state, 
 
 Force me," &c. Dryden". 
 
 all
 
 \ 
 
 254 THE LIFB 
 
 all apprehensions about the coin were over, Swift re- 
 tired to Quilca, a house of Dr. Sheridan's, in a 
 desolate part of the country, where he passed some 
 months in finishing and preparing his " Gulliver's 
 Travels" for the press. Early in the next year 17 2(), 
 he set out for England after an absence from that 
 country of near twelve years. He was received with 
 all demonstrations of joy by his old friends, whose 
 attachment to this incomparable man, seemed rather 
 increased than diminished by absence. They all ex- 
 pressed the warmest wishes that he would quit Ireland 
 and settle among them, and several plans were pro- 
 posed to accomplish the point. Nor was Swift less 
 desirous of returning to his own country, for he aU 
 ways considered it as such, being the country of his 
 fore-fathers, though he happened, as he himself ex- 
 presses it, to be dropped in Ireland ; nor is it suprising 
 that his heart yearned to pass the .remainder of his 
 days among a set of his old friends, who gave such 
 proofs of their unalterable attachment to him, and 
 were, at the same time, in point of talents and genius, 
 the foremost men of the age. But, however ardent 
 their wishes might be, there were little hopes of their 
 being fulfilled, as both he and his friends were ob- 
 noxious to those in power. Some expectations were 
 however formed from the favourable reception he met 
 with at Leicester House. The princess of Wales, 
 afterward queen Caroline, set up for a patroness of 
 men of genius, and affected to converse much with 
 all men distinguished for literature and talents. Upon 
 hearing of Swift's arrival in London, she immediately 
 sent to desire to see him. Of this he gives the follow- 
 ing account in a letter to lady Betty Germain, 1732-3. 
 " It is six years last spring since I first went to visit 
 
 my
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 255 
 
 my friends in England, after the queen's death. Her 
 present majesty heard of my arrival, and sent at least 
 nine times to command my attendance, before I would 
 obey her, for several reasons not hard to guess ; and 
 among others, because I had heard her character from 
 those who knew her well. At last I went, and she 
 received me very graciously." As Swift was no re- 
 specter of persons, and would speak his mind with 
 the same freedom in the face of royalty, as in the 
 most private company, the princess, struck with the 
 novelty of such a character, and highly entertained 
 with his peculiar vein of humour, was never weary 
 of sending for him both in London and Richmond; 
 and Swift, to keep up his consequence, never once 
 attended her but by command. Mrs. Howard, first 
 lady of the bedchamber to the princess, and her chief 
 favourite, was the person who usually sent for him. 
 As she was a lady of fine taste, and uncommon un- 
 derstanding, she soon contracted a high esteem for 
 Swift, which was matured into a friendship, by the 
 frequent opportunities she had of conversing with 
 him in company with Pope and Gay, who were her 
 great favourites. The peculiar marks of distinction 
 shown him both by the princess and her favourite, to- 
 gether with the general discourse of the family at 
 Leicester House, made his friends imagine that the 
 first opportunity would be taken of making a suitable 
 provision for him in England, from that quarter; and 
 he himself, both then, and for some time after, seems 
 to have formed some expectations of that kind, 
 though naturally, and from his frequent disappoint- 
 ments in life, he was far from being of a sanguine 
 disposition. 
 
 During his stay in England, his time was passed 
 
 chiefly
 
 "Vv 
 
 256 THE LIFE 
 
 chiefly between Twickenham and Dawley, with hi 3 
 friends, Pope and Bolingbroke, where he was visited 
 by all the old fraternity. It was then Pope published 
 his volumes of miscellanies, consisting of some of 
 his own works, and Arbuthnot's, but chiefly of select 
 pieces of Swift's. As this was the first time that any 
 of his works were printed collectively, the sale was 
 immense, and produced a considerable sum to Pope, 
 who had the whole profit, as Swift was at all times 
 above making any pecuniary advantage of his writings. 
 During these transactions, he received several suc- 
 cessive accounts of the desperate state of health, to 
 which his dear friend Mrs. Johnson was reduced, and 
 the little hopes there were of her recovery*. The 
 distress of mind which he suffered on this occasion, 
 together with a long fit of his old complaint, giddiness 
 and deafness, had so totally disqualified him for so- 
 ciety, that he stole away from his host at Twicken- 
 ham, and retired into private lodgings, with an old 
 relation for his nurse. As soon as he was sufficiently 
 recovered to bear the fatigue of a journey, he set out 
 for Ireland, with the gloomy prospect of receiving 
 the last breath of the person dearest to him in the 
 world. However, before his departure, he took leave 
 of the princess, who was very gracious to him, made 
 
 * " The pleasure of popularity was soon interrupted by do- 
 mestick misery. Mrs. Johnson, whose conversation was to him 
 the great softener of the ills of life, began in the year of the 
 Drapier's triumph to decline; and, two years afterwards, was so 
 wasted with sickness, that her recovery was considered as hope- 
 less. Swift was then in England, and had been invited by lord 
 Bolingbroke to pass the winter with him in France; but this call 
 of calamity hastened him to Ireland, where perhaps his presence 
 contributed to restore her to imperfect and totteriug health." 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 apologies
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIPT. 15f 
 
 apologies for not having some medals ready which 
 she had promised him, and said she would send them 
 to him before Christmas. On his arrival in Dublin, 
 he had the satisfaction to find Mrs. Johnson on the 
 mending hand, and her recovery, though slow, af- 
 forded the pleasing prospect of a long continuance to 
 a life so dear to him. 
 
 Daring this visit to London, it was not only at 
 Leicester House, but at St. James's also, that he met 
 with a favourable reception ; of which he makes 
 mention in a letter to lady Betty Germain, Jan. 8, 
 1732-3. " Walpole was at that time very civil to 
 me, and so were all the people in power. He invited 
 me, and some of my friends, to dine with him at 
 Chelsea. After dinner I took an occasion to say, 
 what I had observed of princes and great ministers, 
 that if they heard any ill thing of a private person 
 who expected some favour, although they were after- 
 ward convinced that the person was innocent, yet 
 they woufd never be reconciled. Mr. Walpole knew 
 well enough that I meant Mr. Gay *. But he gave 
 it another turn; for he said to some of his friends, 
 and particularly to a lord, a near relation of your's, 
 " that I had dined with him, and had been making 
 apologies for myself." 
 
 He afterward had an interview with sir Robert Wal- 
 
 * To make this intelligible, it will be necessary to quote a for- 
 mer passage in that letter; where, speaking of Gay, he says, " He 
 had written a very ingenious book of Fables for the use of her (the 
 princess's) younger son, and she often promised to provide for 
 him. Bu-t some time before, there came out a libel against Mr. 
 Walpole, who was informed it was written by Mr, Gay; and al- 
 though Mr. Walpole owned he was convinced that it was not writ- 
 ten by Gay, yet he never would pardon him, but did him a hundred 
 idl offices to the princess." S. 
 
 vol, i, S pole,
 
 '258 THE LIFE 
 
 pole, through the intervention of lord Peterborow ; 
 of which he gives the following account, in a letter 
 to the said earl. 
 
 * " My Lord, April 28, 1726. 
 
 " Your lordship having at my request, obtained 
 for me an hour from sir Robert Walpole ; I accord- 
 ingly attended him yesterday at eight o'clock in the 
 morning, and had somewhat more than an hour's 
 conversation with him. Your lordship was this day 
 pleased to inquire what passed between that great 
 minister and me, to which I gave you some general 
 answers, from whence you said you could compre- 
 hend little or nothing. 
 
 u I had no other design in desiring to see sir Robert 
 Walpole, than to represent the affairs of Ireland to 
 him in a true light, not only without any view to my- 
 self, but to any party whatsoever : and because I un- 
 derstood the affairs of that kingdom tolerably well, 
 and observed the representations he had received, were 
 such as I could not agree to ; my principal design 
 was to set him right, not only for the service of Ire- 
 land, but likewise of England, and of his own ad- 
 ministration. 
 
 " I failed very much in my design; for I saw he 
 conceived opinions, from the examples and practices 
 of the present, and some former governors, which I 
 could not reconcile to the notions I had of liberty ; 
 a possession always understood by the British nation 
 to be the inheritance of a human creature. 
 
 * Lord Peterborough, in a note to Swift, a little previous to 
 the date of this letter, says, " Sir Robert Walpole, any morning, 
 except Tuesday arid Thursday which are his publick days, about 
 nine in the morning, will be glad to see you at his London house. 
 On Monday, if I see you, I will give you a farther account." S. 
 
 Sir
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIPT. 250 
 
 <x Sir Robert Walpole was pleased to enlarge very 
 much upon the subject of Ireland, in a manner so 
 alien from what I conceived to be the rights and pri- 
 vileges of a subject of England, that I did not think 
 proper to debate the matter with him so much, as 
 I otherwise might, because I found it would be in 
 vain." 
 
 In the remainder of the letter he enumerates the 
 many intolerable burdens and grievances, under which 
 that country laboured, and concludes it thus: 
 
 " I most humbly intreat your lordship to give this 
 paper to sir Robert Walpole, and desire him to 
 read it, which he may do in a few minutes. I 
 am, &c" 
 
 I thought it necessary to lay this matter at large 
 before the publick, because, in consequence of this 
 interview, all the Walpolians, and the whole party of 
 the whigs, gave out, that Swift at that time made a 
 tender of his pen to sir Robert, by whom the offer 
 was rejected; and even to this day I am well informed 
 that some of that family, and their connexions, assert 
 it as a fact*. But I would have those gentlemen con- 
 sider, in the first place, what little credit they do to 
 sir Robert's understanding, in declining the assistance 
 of the first writer of the age, at a time when he was 
 throwing away immense sums upon authors of mean 
 talents. In the next place, it is to be hoped that 
 candour will oblige them to retract what they have 
 said, as so convincing a proof is here produced of 
 the falsehood of the charge. For, it is impossible to 
 
 * On this subject, Mr. Coxe, who on other occasions, in his 
 ** Memoirs of sir Robert Walpole," is sufficiently severe against 
 the Dean, is wholly silent. N. 
 
 s 2 suppose
 
 2S0 THE LIFE 
 
 suppose that Swift would have made such a represen- 
 tation of the interview, utterly disclaiming all views 
 to himself, and desiring that it might be shown to 
 Walpole, if the other had had it in his power to con- 
 tradict it, and by so doing render him contemptible 
 in the eyes of his noble friend, as well .is of all his 
 adherents. I have a letter before me written at that 
 time to the Rev. Mr. Stopford, then abroad at Paris, 
 (afterward through his means bishop of Cioyne) in 
 which he gives the same account. " I was lately 
 twice with the chief minister; the first time by invi- 
 tation, and the second, at my desire, for an hour, 
 wherein we differed in every point : but all this made 
 a great noise, and soon got to Ireland. From whence, 
 upon the late death of the bishop of Cioyne, it was 
 said I was offered to succeed, and I received many 
 letters upon it, but there was nothing of truth in it ; 
 for I was neither offered, nor would have received, 
 except upon conditions which would never be granted. 
 For I absolutely broke with the chief minister, and 
 have never seen him since. And I lately complained 
 of him to the princess, because I knew she would 
 tell him." I think it is hardly probable that Swift 
 would have complained of him to the princess, if he 
 had such a story to tell of him. His complaint cer- 
 tainly related to Walpole's unjust and impolitick 
 maxims with regard to Ireland, which "was the sole 
 subject of their discourse. And it appears that he 
 had often in his conversations with the princess, re- 
 presented the cruel hardships under which that 
 country groaned, insomuch that in a letter to lady 
 Suffolk, July 24, 1731, he says, " Her majesty gave 
 me leave, and even commanded me, above five years 
 ago, if I lived until she was queen, to write to her 
 
 on
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. S6l 
 
 on behalf of Ireland: for the miseries of this king* 
 dom she appeared then to be concerned." 
 
 Sir Robert himself never dropped any hint of this 
 to Swift's friends* but in appearance seemed to wish 
 him well. In a letter from Pope to him soon after 
 his departure for Ireland, he tells him " I had a 
 conference with sir Robert Walpole, who expressed 
 his desire of having seen you again before you left 
 us : he said) he" observed a willingness in you to live 
 among us, which I did not deny ; but at the same 
 time, told him, you had no such design in your 
 coming, which was merelv to see a few of those that 
 you loved ; but that indeed all those who wished it, 
 and particularly lord Peterborow and myself, who 
 wished you loved Ireland less, had you any reason to 
 love England more." 
 
 Whoever examines all Swift's letters at that time, 
 will find, that he was far from having any ambitious 
 views. His wish was to have a settlement among his 
 friends ; and he aimed no higher than to change his 
 preferments in Ireland for any church livirg n?ar 
 them, that should not be much inferiour in pomt of 
 income, whether accompanied with any dignity or not. 
 And this method of commuting benefices he chose, 
 to avoid laying himself under any obligations to a 
 party, of whose measures he so utterly disapproved. 
 Of this we have a striking instance in the above- 
 mentioned letter, to an intimate friend then abroad, 
 to whom a false representation of his sentiments could 
 have answered no end; where he declares that he 
 would not accept even of a bishoprick, though of- 
 fered him, except upon conditions, which he was sure 
 would never be granted. In a letter about that time 
 to Mr. Worrell, he expresses himself to the same 
 
 effect. 
 
 !
 
 202 THE LIFE 
 
 effect. " As to what you say about promotion,, you 
 will find it was given immediately to Maule, as I am 
 told, and I assure you I had no offers, nor would 
 accept them. My behaviour to those in power r hath 
 been directly contrary since I came here." 
 
 Is it possible to conceive that in this disposition of 
 mind, a man of Swift's character, should wantonly 
 put it in the power of a person whom he knew to be 
 his enemy, to destroy his reputation, and ruin him 
 for ever with his friends? In short, the matter is 
 brought to this issue. It is evident from what has 
 been shown above, that Swift had but two interviews 
 with Walpole, the one in publick, the other in pri- 
 vate. To what passed in the former, there were 
 several witnesses; to the latter, no one but them- 
 selves. Of what then passed between them, Swift 
 has given a distinct account in a letter to lord Peter- 
 borow, which he desires might be shown to Walpole. 
 If Walpole afterward represented any thing in a 
 different light, whose testimony is to be credited? 
 That of a man of long-tried integrity, and undoubted 
 veracity, giving an account of a transaction, wherein 
 he sustained a part exactly suitable to his whole cha- 
 racter and conduct in life: or that of a wily states- 
 man, who stuck at nothing to answer his ends, 
 charging Swift with a fact, utterly incompatible with 
 his well known wisdom and grandeur of mind, and 
 which must have shown him in the light of a perfect 
 changeling. But it does not appear that Walpole 
 himself ever made any such charge. Nor was it ne- 
 cessary ; his end might be better, and more securely 
 answered without it. Hints and inuendoes were 
 sufficient materials for his tools to work upon, and 
 fabricate what stories they pleased, which were in- 
 dustriously
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. l()Z 
 
 ctustriously propagated with the strongest asseverations 
 of their truth, by all their partisans, and this was 
 one favourite*, method then in use, of undermining 
 those characters, which they could not Openly as- 
 sault*. I have been the longer on this article, 
 because it is the heaviest charge brought against 
 Swift, and such as would at once destroy the integrity 
 of his character : and because there never was any 
 calumny more industriously propagated by the whole 
 body of the whigs, or more generally believed. And 
 this too not among the middling class of mankind, 
 but by persons of high rank and character. Of 
 which I have a remarkable instance now before me, 
 in an anecdote communicated to me by Dr. Clarke, 
 formerly my tutor in the college, among several 
 others collected by him relative to Swift, which is as 
 follows : " When lord Chesterfield was lord lieutenant 
 of Ireland, I was present at his giving an account of 
 Swift, which from a less creditable author, would be 
 utterly disbelieved. He said, that to his knowledge 
 Swift made an offer of his pen to sir Robert Walpole : 
 
 * Of this there was a strong instance given in regard to William 
 Shippen; the honestest man and truest patriot that then sate in 
 the house. When Walpole found, after repeated trials, that his 
 virtue was proof against all the oflfers he could make, it was given 
 out by his emissaries, that he privately received a pension from 
 him; and that he was permitted to act the part of a patriot, in. 
 order to keep his influence with his paity, on certain occasions, 
 that he might be of more effectual service in matters of greater 
 concern. And this report was so industriously spread, and with 
 such confidence, that many gave credit to it during his life. Nor 
 were they undeceived till it was found that, after his death, this 
 worthy man, who had lived with the utmost frugality, left no moro 
 behind him than his paternal estate, which was barely sufficient 
 to entitle him to a seat in parliament, and fifty pounds in cash, 
 peculiarly appropriated to the charges of his funeral. S, 
 
 that 
 
 A
 
 
 264 THE LIFE 
 
 that the terms were, his getting a preferment in 
 England equal to what he had in Ireland ; and that 
 sir Robert rejected the offer; which lord Chesterfield 
 said he would not have done, had he been in sir 
 Robert's place. The whole of this transaction seems 
 extremely improbable, particularly what he added, 
 that the person who introduced him was the famous 
 Char ires" Good Heaven's ! Swift brought by the 
 notorious Chartres to prostitute himself to Walpole, 
 and this asserted as a fact by lord Chesterfield ! But 
 his lordship kept very bad company in those days: I 
 have not the least doubt but this story was told him 
 by Chartres, and he considered his brother gambler 
 as a man of honour. 
 
 Swift had stt out for Ireland in the month of 
 August, and early in the November following ap- 
 peared u Gulliver's Travels. 1 " As he had kept a pro- 
 found silence with regard to this work, nor ever once 
 * mentioned it to any of his nearest friends during his 
 stay in England, they were at first in some doubt 
 whether it was his or not : and yet they concluded, as 
 was done on a similar occasion, that it must be aut 
 Erasmi aut Diaboli. They all wrote to him about 
 it, considering it as his, and yet at the same time 
 kept a reserve, as having some reasons to be dubious 
 about it. 
 
 Gay, in a letter, Nov. 17, J 7 26, writes to him 
 thus : " about ten days ago a book was published here 
 of the Travels of one Gulliver, which has been the 
 conversation of the whole town ever since : the whole 
 impression sold in a week ; and nothing is more di- 
 verting than to hear the different opinions people give 
 of it, though all agree in liking it extremely. Tis 
 generally said that you are the author, but I am told 
 
 the
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 265 
 
 the bookseller declares he knows not from what hand 
 it came. From the highest to the lowest it is univer- 
 sally read, from the cabinet council to the nursery. 
 You may see by this you are not much injured by 
 being supposed the author of this piece. If you are, 
 you have disobliged us, and two or three of your 
 best friends, in not giving us the least hint of it. 
 Perhaps I may all this time be talking to you of a 
 book you have never seen, and which has not yet 
 reached Ireland; if it have not, I believe what we 
 have said will be sufficient to recommend it to your 
 reading, and that you will order me to send it to 
 you." 
 
 In like manner Pope says, " Motte received the 
 copy, he tells me, he knew not from whence, nor 
 from whom, dropped at his house in the dark, from 
 a hackney coach : by computing the time, I found 
 it was after you left England, so for my part I sus- 
 pend my judgment." 
 
 This proceeding of Swift's might at first view be 
 considered as one of his whims, but that it was his 
 constant practice in all his former works of conse- 
 quence, which he sent secretly into the world to 
 make their own way as well as they could, according 
 to their intrinsick merit, without any advantage which 
 they might derive from the author's reputation. Nor 
 was he ever known to put his name to any of his 
 publications, except his letter to lord Oxford about 
 the English language. It is probable he took great 
 pleasure in hearing the various opinions of the world 
 upon his writings, freely delivered before him while 
 he remained unknown ; and the doubts of Pope and 
 Gay, occasioned by his profound secrecy on that head, 
 must have given him no small entertainment. How- 
 ever
 
 26(5 THE LIFE 
 
 ever this extraordinary work, bearing the stamp of 
 such an original and uncommon genius, revived his 
 fame in England, after so long an absence, and added 
 new lustre to his reputation. 
 
 In his return to Dublin, upon notice that the ship 
 in which he sailed was in the bay, several heads of 
 the different corporations, and principal citizens of 
 Dublin, went out to meet him in a great number of 
 wherries engaged for that purpose, in order to wel- 
 come him back. He had the pleasure to find his 
 friend Dr. Sheridan, in company with a number of 
 his intimates, at the side of his ship, ready to receive 
 him into their boat, with the agreeable tidings, that 
 Mrs. Johnson was past all danger. The boats adorned 
 with streamers, and colours, in which were many 
 emblematical devices, made a fine appearance ; and 
 thus was the Drapier brought to his landing-place in 
 a kind of triumph, where he was received and wel- 
 comed on shore by a multitude of his grateful country- 
 men, by whom he was conducted to his house amid 
 repeated acclamations, of Long live the Drapier. The 
 bells were all set a ringing, and bonfires kindled in 
 every street. As there never was an instance of such 
 honours being paid to any mortal in that country, of 
 whatever rank or station, Swift must have been a 
 stoick indeed, not to have been highly gratified with 
 these unexpected, unsolicited marks. of favour, from 
 his grateful fellow-citizens. 
 
 But whatever satisfaction he might have in his 
 newly acquired popularity, and the consequential 
 power it gave him of being of some use to his country; 
 yet the long disgust he had entertained at the ma- 
 nagement of all publick affairs ; the deplorable state 
 of slavery to which the kingdom was reduced ; the 
 
 wretched
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 267 
 
 wretched poverty, and numberless miseries, painted 
 by him so often in strong colours, entailed by this 
 means on the bulk of the natives, and their posterity; 
 had long made him resolve, when opportunity should 
 offer, to change the scene, and breathe a freer air in 
 a land of liberty. His last short visit to his friends 
 served to whet his resolution, and revived the desire 
 which he had of returning to a country, where, as 
 he expresses himself in a letter to Gay, he had passed 
 the best and greatest part of his life, where he had 
 made his friendships, and where he had left his de- 
 sires. He was at a time of life too, being then in 
 his sixtieth year, which called for retirement, and 
 afflicted with disorders which impaired the vigour of 
 his mind, and gave him frightful apprehensions that 
 the loss of his mental faculties would precede the dis- 
 solution of his frame. He had no ambition left, of 
 which we find, even in his prime, he had very little, . 
 except that of the noblest kind, arising from a desire 
 of serving the publick, and his friends, without any 
 mixture of self. As his view was to make any ex- 
 change of his preferments in Ireland, for something 
 like an equivalent in England, though not fully equal 
 to them in point either of dignity or income, he 
 thought the matter might be easily accomplished with 
 but little interest ; and this he had reason to hope 
 would not be wanting, from the many hints he had . 
 received, that the princess was very desirous of bring- 
 ing it to bear. With this view he kept up a corres- 
 pondence with Mrs. Howard, in which several civilities, 
 in his singular way, passed to the princess. He sent 
 to the former a piece of Irish silk, of a fabrick pecu- 
 liar to that country, which the princess, as soon as 
 she saw it, seized on for her own use, and desired 
 
 that
 
 2dS THE LIFE 
 
 that more of the same kind might be sent over for 
 the princesses: this commission went to him from 
 Mrs. Howard, telling him at the same time, that she 
 would remit the cost, in what way he should judge 
 safest : but Swift, as he expresses himself in a letter 
 to lady Betty Germain, was too gallant to hear of any 
 offers of payment. He had received several accounts 
 from his friends, that the princess often spoke of him 
 with great regard. Among others, Dr. Arbuthnot 
 says, " I had a great deal of discourse with your friend, 
 her royal highness. She insisted upon your wit, and 
 good conversation. I told her royal highness, that 
 was not what I valued you for, but for being a sin- 
 cere, honest man, and speaking the truth, when 
 others were afraid of speaking it." 
 
 As he had nothing to detain him in Dublin, Mrs. 
 Johnson being to all appearance in a tolerable state of 
 health, he set out for London early in March. But 
 first gave notice to Mrs. Howard of his intended 
 journey. From the following paragraph in this letter, 
 we may judge on what free terms he lived with the 
 princess, and may form some idea of the familiar 
 manner of his conversing with her. " I desire you will 
 order her royal highness to go to Richmond as soon 
 as she can this summer, because she will have the 
 pleasure of my neighbourhood; for I hope to be in 
 London by the middle of March, and I do not love 
 you much when you are there." Accordingly, on his 
 arrival in London, he never saw the princess till she 
 removed to Richmond ; of which he gives this ac- 
 count in a letter to Dr. Sheridan, May 13 : "I have 
 at last seen the princess twice this week by her own 
 command: she retains her old civility, and I, my old 
 freedom." But Walpole and his party kept no farther 
 
 measures
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 2{3<J 
 
 measures with him, of which he makes the following 
 mention in the same letter. H I am in high displea- 
 sure with Walpole, and his partisans. A great man, 
 who was very kind to me last year, doth not take the 
 least notice of me at the prince's court, and there has 
 not been one of them to see me." Perhaps the con- 
 sciousness of the base means they used to wound his 
 character, might have occasioned this change in their 
 behaviour. For had the charge laid against him been 
 founded, it would have been a most unaccountable 
 cause of quarrel to Swift on the side of Walpole's 
 partisans, that he had offered his service to that party, 
 though its being rejected, might be a just foundation 
 of resentment on his side. 
 
 Swift had for some time formed a design of passing 
 some months in France for the recovery of his health, \I 
 and was just upon the point of carrying it into exe- 
 cution, when the unexpected news of the king's 
 death made him postpone it. As a total change of 
 measures was expected to follow from this event, more 
 flattering prospects were opened to him, than any he 
 could have in view during the late reign. As the to- 
 nes, upon the breach between the late king and 
 prince, were well received at Leicester House, it was 
 supposed they would no longer be proscribed as for- 
 merly. 
 
 Swift, in a letter to Dr. Sheridan, June 24, 1727, 
 gives the following view of the state of affairs at that 
 time. " The talk is now for a moderating scheme, 
 wherein nobody shall be used worse or better, for 
 being called whig and tory; and the king hath received 
 both with great equality, showing civilities to several, 
 who are openly known to be the latter. I prevailed with 
 a dozen, that we should go in a line to kiss the king's 
 
 and
 
 270 THE LIFE 
 
 and queen's hands*. We have now done with re- 
 pining, if we shall be used well, and not baited as 
 formerly; we all agree in it, and if things do not 
 mend, it is not our faults; we have made our offers; 
 if otherwise, we are as we were. It is agreed the 
 ministry will be changed, but the others will have a 
 soft fall ; although the king must be excessive gene- 
 rous if he forgives the treatment of some people-f-.** 
 
 In 
 
 * Swift says, in a letter to lady Betty Germain, that on this- 
 occasion he was paiticularly distinguished by the queen. S. 
 
 + It was generally supposed, on the accession of the late kin?;, 
 that sir Robert Walpole would have been turned out of his em- 
 ployment with disgrace, as it was well known that both the prince 
 and princess had retained strong resentments against him, on ac- 
 count of some parts of his behaviour toward them, during the 
 rupture between the two courts. Accordingly on the death of the 
 old king, some immediate proofs were given that such was the in- 
 tention. Sir Robert was himself the bearer of the tidings, and 
 arriving in the night when the prince was a-bed, sent to desire an 
 audience, upon business of the utmost consequence, which would 
 admit of no delay. The prince refused to see him, and ordered 
 him to send in his business. Upon which he gave an account of 
 the death of the late king, and said he waited there to receive his 
 majesty's commands. The king still persisted in refusing to see 
 him, and bade him send sir Spencer Compton to him immediately. 
 Sir Robert now plainly saw his downfall had been predetermined, 
 and hastened to sir Spencer with humblest tenders of his service, 
 begging his protection, and earnestly intreating that he would 
 skreen him from farther persecution. ' When this story had got 
 abroad, the habitation of the last minister became desolate, and 
 the whole tribe of courtiers, as usual, crowded to the levee of the 
 new favourite. Yet, in no long space of time afterward, to the 
 astonishment of the whole world, sir Robert was reinstated in his 
 posts, and appeared in as high favour as ever. Various were the 
 conjectures of the people upon the means employed by him to 
 supplant his competitor, and reinstate himself in full possession 
 of his power ; while the true cause of this surprising change re- 
 mained a secret, and wa known only to a very few : nor has it 
 yet been pablickly divulged to the world. Sooo
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT, 271 
 
 In the midst of this bustle, after viewing the state 
 of things, Swift seems to have had by no means 
 
 Soon after the accession of George the First, it is well known, 
 the whigs divided among themselves, and split into two parties 
 In violent opposition to each other. Sunderland, Stanhope, 
 aud Cadogan, were the leaders of one side ; Townshend, Wal- 
 pole, Devonshire, and the chancellor, of the other. It hap- 
 pened at that time that the former were victorious ; and the 
 discarded party, in resentment, paid their court at Leicester 
 House. Walpole had thought f a particular measure to distress 
 their opponents, which he communicated to the heads of his 
 party ; it was approved of, and some of them thought that the 
 prince should be let into it ; but Walpole would by no means 
 agree to this, and in his usual coarse way, said, " That the 
 prince would communicate it to his wife, and that fat a d 
 bitch would divulge the secret." By some means or other the 
 princess was informed of this ; and it is to be supposed that the 
 impression which so gross an affront had made on the mind of 
 a woman, and a woman of her rank too, was not easily to be 
 erased Manet altd mente rcpostum, &c. After the necessary 
 business upon the new accession had been finished, the affair 
 of the queen's settlement, in case she should outlive the king, 
 came on the carpet. Her majesty expected that it should be at 
 the rate of 100,0001. a year ; but sir Spencer Compton would 
 not agree to this, and thought 60,00Ql. an ample provision, 
 and as much as could be proposed with any prospect of suc- 
 cess. While this dispute subsisted, sir Robert Walpole found 
 means to acquaint the queen privately by one of his confidents, 
 that if he were minister, he would undertake to secure to her 
 the settlement she demanded. Upn which the queen sent 
 him back this remarkable answer : " Go tell sir Robert that 
 the fat a d bitch has forgiven him." He was accordingly, 
 soon after, by the well known ascendancy which the queen 
 had over the king, declared first minister; and sir Spencer 
 Compton removed to the upper house, with the title of earl of 
 Wilmington. This anecdote was communicated to me by the 
 late Dr. Campbell, who was well known to have pried more 
 into the secret springs of action, and to have had better oppor- 
 tunities of being informed of them, than most men of his 
 time. S. 
 
 7 the
 
 372 > THE LIFE 
 
 the same sanguine expectations that others of his 
 party entertained ; for he sap in in a letter to Dr. 
 Sheridan, July 1, 1727 . " Here are a thousand 
 schemes wherein they would have me engaged, 
 which I embraced but coldly, because I like none 
 of them." And having some return of his disor- 
 der, he once more resolved for France. But, as he 
 says himself, he was with great vehemence dis- 
 suaded from it by certain persons, whom he could 
 not disobey. These were lord Bolingbroke, and 
 Mrs. Howard. The former writes thus to him, in 
 a letter June 24, 1727 ' " There would not be 
 common sense in your going into France at this 
 juncture, even if you intended to stay there long 
 enough to draw the sole pleasure and profit which I 
 propose you should have in the acquaintance I am 
 ready to give you there. Much less ought you to 
 think of such an unmeaning journey, when the op- 
 portunity of quitting Ireland for England is, I be- 
 lieve, fairly before you." Of what passed between 
 him and Mrs. Howard, he gives the following ac- 
 count in a letter to lady Betty Germain : " In a few 
 weeks after the king's death, I found myself not 
 well, and was resolved to take a trip to Paris for 
 my health, having an opportunity of doing it with 
 some advantages and recommendations. But my 
 friends advised me first to consult Mrs. Howard, 
 because as they knew less of courts than I, they 
 were strongly possessed that the promise made me 
 might succeed, since a change was all I desired. 
 I writ to her for her opinion ; and particularly con- 
 jured her, since I had long done with courts, not 
 to use me like a courtier, but give me her sincere 
 advice, which she did, both in a letter, and to some 
 
 friends.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 273 
 
 friends. It was, ' By all means not to go ; it would 
 look singular, and perhaps disaffected ; and my friends 
 enlarged upon the good intentions of the court to- 
 ward me*." 
 
 Upon this Swift gave up his intended journey, 
 and resolved to wait the issue of the present con- 
 juncture ; though from his long acquaintance with 
 courts, and frequent disappointments, he put no 
 great confidence in the assurances given him. But 
 he was soon obliged to alter his measures ; for being 
 attacked with a long and violent fit of his old com- 
 plaint, and at the same time receiving alarming ac- 
 counts from Ireland, that Mrs. Johnson had relapsed, 
 with little hopes of her recovery, he set out for that 
 kingdom, on the first abatement of his illness. Be- 
 fore his departure he took leave of the queen in a po- 
 lite letter to Mrs. Howard, apologizing for not doing 
 it in person in the following passage: " I am infinitely 
 obliged to you for all your civilities, and shall retain 
 the remembrance of them during my life. I hope 
 you will favour me so far as to present my most 
 humble duty to the queen, and to describe to her ma- 
 jesty my sorrow, that my disorder was of such a na- 
 ture, as to make me incapable of attending her, as 
 she was pleased to permit me. I shall pass the re- 
 mainder of my life with the utmost gratitude for her 
 majesty's favours," &c. 
 
 On his arrival in Dublin he found Mrs. Johnson 
 in the last stage of a decay, without the smallest 
 hope of her recovery. He had the misery of at- 
 tending her in this state, and of daily seeing the 
 gradual advances of death during four or five 
 months ; and in the month of January he was de- 
 prived, as he himself expresses it, of the truest, 
 
 vol. i. T most
 
 274 THE LIFE 
 
 most virtuous, and valuable friend, that he, or 
 perhaps any other person was ever blessed with. 
 Such a loss at his time of life was irreparable. She 
 had been trained by him from her childhood, and 
 had been his constant companion for five and thirty 
 years, with every merit toward him that it was 
 possible for one human creature to have toward 
 another. His whole plan of life was now changed, 
 and with it all his domestick comforts vanished. 
 The only chance he could have had of enjoying the 
 remainder of his days with any satisfaction, would 
 have been the carrying into execution his proposed 
 removal to England, to live among his old friends ; 
 but he soon found that all expectations from that 
 quarter were at an end. In this forlorn state he 
 found himself doomed to pass the remnant of his 
 life in exile, in a country which was one of the 
 last he would have chosen for his abode. But his 
 spirit was too great to give way to despondence; 
 and deprived as he was of the chief comforts which 
 might alleviate the evils attendant on increasing 
 years ; disappointed in the only view which could 
 make him look forward with hopes of any satisfac- 
 tion or enjoyment to himself; he turned his thoughts 
 wholly to the good and happiness of others. With 
 this view he entered more earnestly into a twofold 
 \scene of action ; one with regard to the publick at 
 large ; the other, with respect to private individuals. 
 In the former, out of compassion to the blindness 
 and infatuation of the people, he laid open, in a va- 
 riety of publications, the chief sources of the dis- 
 tresses and miseries under which that unhappy coun- 
 try laboured ; at the same time pointing out the 
 means by which they might be alleviated, or removed. 
 
 In
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 275 
 
 In the latter, he increased his attention to some of 
 the best planned, and best conducted charities, that 
 ever were supported from a private purse. In this 
 respect, there probably was no man in the British 
 dominions, who either gave so much in proportion 
 to his fortune, or disposed of it to such advantage. 
 From the time he was out of debt, after his settle- 
 ment at the deanery, he divided his income into three 
 equal shares. One of these he appropriated to his 
 own immediate support, and his domestick ex- 
 penses ; which, in those cheap times, with the aid 
 of strict economy, enabled him to live in a manner 
 perfectly agreeable to his own ideas, and not un- 
 suitable to his rank. The second he laid up as a 
 provision against the accidents of life, and ulti- 
 mately with a view to a charitable foundation at his 
 death. And the third, he constantly disposed of 
 in charities to the poor, and liberalities to the dis- 
 tressed. As he sought out proper objects for this, 
 with great caution and attention, trusting little to 
 the representation of others, but seeing every thing 
 with his own eyes, perhaps no equal sum disposed 
 of in that way was ever productive of so much 
 good. There was one species of charity first struck 
 out by him, which was attended with the greatest 
 benefit to numbers of the lowest class of tradesmen. 
 Soon after he was out of debt, the first five hundred 
 pounds which he could call his own, he lent out to 
 poor industrious tradesmen in small sums of five, 
 and ten pounds, to be repaid weekly, at two or four 
 shillings, without interest. As the sums thus weekly 
 paid in, were lent out again to others at a particular 
 day in each month, this quick circulation doubled the 
 benefit arising from the original sum. In order to 
 
 t 2 ensure
 
 270 THE LIFE 
 
 ensure this fund from diminution, he laid it down as 
 a rule that none should be partakers of it, who could 
 not give good security for the regular repayment of 
 it in the manner proposed : for it was a maxim with 
 him, that anyone known by his neighbours to be 
 an honest, sober, and industrious man, would rea- 
 dily find such security ; while the idle and dissolute 
 would by this means be excluded. Nor did they who 
 entered into such securities run any great risk ; for if 
 the borrower was not punctual in his weekly pay- 
 ments, immediate notice of it was sent to them, 
 who obliged him to be more punctual for the fu- 
 ture. Thus did this fund continue undiminished 
 to the last ; and small as the spring was, yet, by con- 
 tinual flowing, it watered and enriched the humble 
 vale through which it ran, still extending and 
 \ widening its course. I have been well assured 
 from different quarters, that many families in 
 Dublin, now living in great credit, owed the foun- 
 dation of their fortunes to the sums first borrowed 
 from this fund. 
 
 His reputation for wisdom and integrity was so 
 great, that he was consulted by the several corpo- 
 rations in all matters relative to trade, and chosen 
 umpire of any differences among them, nor was 
 there ever any appeal from his sentence. In a city 
 where the police was perhaps on a worse footing 
 than that of any in Europe, he in a great measure 
 supplied the deficiency, by his own personal au- 
 thority, taking notice of all publick nuisances, and 
 seeing them removed. He assumed the office of 
 censor-general, which he rendered as formidable as 
 that of ancient Koine. In short, what by the ac- 
 knowledged superiority of his talents, his inflexible 
 
 integrity,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 177 
 
 integrity, and his unwearied endeavours in serving 
 the publick, he obtained such an ascendancy over 
 his countrymen, as perhaps no private citizen ever 
 attained in any age or country. Pie was known 
 over the whole kingdom by the title of The Dean, 
 given to him by way of pre-eminence, as it were 
 by common consent; and when The Dean was 
 mentioned, it always carried with it the idea of the 
 first and greatest man in the kingdom. The Dean 
 said this ; The Dean did that ; whatever he said 
 or did was received as infallibly right ; with the 
 same degree of implicit credit given to it, as was 
 paid to the Stagyrite of old, or to the modern popes. 
 We may judge of the greatness of his influence, 
 from a passage in a letter of lord Carteret to him, 
 March 24, 1732, who was at that time chief 
 governor of Ireland, " I know by experience how 
 much the city of Dublin thinks itself under your 
 protection ; and how strictly they used to obey all 
 orders fulminated from the sovereignty of St. 
 Patrick's." And in the postscript to another of 
 March 24, 1736, he says, " When people ask me 
 how I governed Ireland > I say, that I pleased Dr. 
 Swift." 
 
 But great as his popularity was, it was chiefly 
 confined to the middling, and lower class of man- 
 kind. To the former of these his chief applications 
 were made, upon a maxim of his own, " That the 
 little virtue left in the world, is chiefly to be found 
 among the middle rank I of mankind, who are nei* 
 ther allured out of her paths by ambition, nor driven 
 by poverty." 
 
 All of this class he had secured almost to a man. 
 And by the lower ranks and rabble in general, he 
 
 was 
 
 Y
 
 27^ THE LIFE 
 
 was reverenced almost to adoration. ' They were 
 possessed with an enthusiatetick love to his person, 
 to protect which they would readily hazard their 
 lives ; yet on his appearance among them, they felt 
 something like a religious awe, as if in the presence 
 of one of a superiour order of beings. At the very 
 sight of him, when engaged in any riotous pro- 
 ceedings, they would instantly fly different ways, like 
 school-boys at the approach of their master ; and he 
 has been often known, with a word, and lifting up 
 his arm, to disperse mobs, that would have stood the 
 brunt of the civil and military power united. 
 
 As to the upper class of mankind, he looked upon 
 them as incorrigible, and therefore had scarce any 
 intercourse with them. He says himself, that he 
 had little personal acquaintance with any lord spi- 
 ritual or temporal in the kingdom ; and he consi- 
 dered the members of the house of commons in ge- 
 neral, as a set of venal prostitutes, who sacrificed 
 their principles, and betrayed the interests of their 
 country, to gratify their ambition or avarice. With 
 these he lived in a continued state of warfare, making 
 them feel severely the sharp stings of his satire ; 
 while they, on the other hand, dreading, and therefore 
 hating him more than any man in the world, endea- 
 voured to retaliate on him by every species of obloquy. 
 
 During this period, his faculties do not seem to 
 have been at all impaired by the near approaches of 
 old age, and his . poetical , fountain, though not so 
 exuberant as formerly, still flowed in as clear and 
 pure a stream. One of his last pieces, " Verses on 
 his own Death/' is perhaps one of the most excel- 
 lent of his compositions in that way. Nor are 
 two of his other productions, written about the same 
 4 time*
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 279 
 
 time, intitlecl, " An Epistle to a Lady ;" and A 
 Rhapsody on Poetry," inferiour to any of his former 
 pieces. The two last were written chiefly with a 
 view to gratify his resentment to the court, on ac- 
 count of some unworthy treatment he met with 
 from that quarter. W.e have already seen, by what 
 extraordinary advances on her part, he was allured 
 to pay his attendance on the princess, during his 
 two last visits to England ; and the seemingly well 
 founded expectations of his friends, that some 
 marks of royal favour would be .shown him, both 
 from the uncommonly good reception he had al- 
 ways met with, and the many assurances given to 
 that effect. But from the time that the princess 
 mounted the throne, all this was forgot. Nor was 
 this productive of any disappointment to Swift, who 
 had been too conversant with courts, not to look 
 upon the most favourable appearances there, with 
 distrust. Accordingly on his last return to Ireland^ 
 finding himself so utterly neglected by the queen, 
 as not even to receive some medals which she had 
 promised him, he gave up all hopes of that kind, 
 and remained in a state of perfect indifference with 
 regard to it. But, when he found that his enemies 
 had been busy, instilling into the royal ear many 
 prejudices against him, he entered upon his defence 
 with his usual spirit. Among other artifices em- 
 ployed to lessen him in her majesty's esteem, there 
 were three forged letters delivered, to the queen 
 signed with his name, written upon a very absurd 
 subject, and in a very unbecoming style, which she 
 either did, or affected to believe to.be genuine. 
 Swift had notice of this from his friend Pope, who 
 procured one of the original letters from the countess 
 
 of
 
 280 the Life 
 
 of Suffolk, formerly Mrs. Howard, and sent it to 
 him. In his indignant answer to Pope on this occa- 
 sion, he has the following passages, " As for those 
 three letters you mention, supposed all to be written 
 by me to the queen, on Mrs. Barber's account, espo> 
 cially the letter which bears my name ; I can only 
 say, that the apprehensions one may be apt to have of 
 a friend's doing a foolish thing, is an effect of kind- 
 ness : and God knows who is free from playing the 
 fool some time or other. But in such a degree as to 
 write to the queen, who has used me ill without any 
 cause, and to write in such a manner as the letter vou 
 sent me, and in such a style, and to have so much 
 zeal for one almost a stranger, and to make such a de- 
 scription of a woman, as to prefer her before all man- 
 kind; and to instance it as one of the greatest 
 grievances of Ireland, that her majesty has not en-r 
 couraged Mrs. Barber, a woollen draper's wife de- 
 clining in the world, because she has a knack of ver- 
 sifying ; was to suppose, or fear, a folly so transcen- 
 dent, that no man could be guilty of, who was not 
 fit for Bedlam. You know the letter you sent en^ 
 closed is not my hand, and why I should disguise my 
 hand, and yet sign my name, is unaccountable. If 
 the queen had not an inclination to think ill of me, 
 she knows me too well to believe in her own heart 
 that I should be such a coxcomb," &c. 
 
 In his letter to Mrs. Howard, then countess of 
 Suffolk, he says, <l I find from several instances 
 that I am under the queen's displeasure ; and as it is 
 usual among princes, without any manner of reason. 
 I am told, there were three letters sent to her ma^ 
 jesty in relation to one Mrs. Barber, who is now in 
 London, and soliciting for a subscription to her 
 
 poems.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 281 
 
 poems. Tt seems, the queen thinks that these letters 
 were written by me ; and I scorn to defend m\ self 
 even to her majesty, grounding my scorn upon the 
 opinion I had of her justice, her taste, and good 
 sense: especially when the last of those letters, 
 whereof I have just received the original from Mr, 
 Pope, was signed with my name : and why I should 
 disguise my hand, which you know very well, and 
 yet write mv name, is both ridiculous and unaccount- 
 able. I am sensible I owe a great deal of this usage 
 to sir Robert Walpole," &c. 
 
 In this, as well as many other passages of his 
 letters at that time, we see he attributes the ill of- 
 fices done him with the queen, chiefly to Walpole; 
 and accordingly he was determined to keep no farther 
 measures with him, but gave full scope to his re- 
 sentment, in those poems, as well as several other 
 pieces published afterward. Upon the first appear- 
 ance of the two poems, entitled " An Epistle to a 
 Lady," and " A Rhapsody on Poetry," Walpole 
 was exasperated to the highest degree. The editor, 
 printer, and publishers, were all taken up, and 
 prosecutions commenced against them. As he had 
 full proof that Swift was the author, in his first 
 transport of passion, he determined to get him into 
 his clutches, and wreak his chief vengeance on 
 him*. With this view he had ordered a warrant 
 
 to 
 
 * Theso poems were sent to Mrs. Darber, then in London, 
 by one Pilkington, in order that she might make what advan- 
 tage she could by the sale of tlicm, being a woman of merit, 
 rather in distressed circumstances. This Pilkington, at the 
 same time carried letters of recommendation from Swift to 
 alderman Barber, lord mayor elect, by whom, in consequence 
 
 of
 
 2S2 THE LIFE 
 
 to be made out by the secretary of state, for apprc 
 bending Swift, and bringing him over to be tried in 
 London. The messenger was in waiting ready to 
 be dispatched on this errand, when luckily a friend 
 of Walpole's, who was better acquainted with the 
 state of Ireland, and the high veneration in which 
 the Dean was held there, accidentally entered, and 
 upon inquiry, being informed of his purpose, coolly 
 asked him what army was to accompany the mes- 
 senger, and whether he had at that time ten thou- 
 sand men to spare, for he could assure him no less a 
 number would be able to bring the Drapier out of 
 the kingdom by force. Upon this Walpole recovered 
 his senses, and luckily for the messenger, as well as 
 himself, dropped the design. For had the poor fel- 
 low arrived in Dublin, and attempted to execute his 
 commission, he would most assuredly have been im- 
 mediately hanged by the mob : and this might have 
 involved the two countries in a contest, which it 
 was by no means the interest of a minister to en- 
 gage in. 
 
 But, -whatever gratification it might have been to 
 his ambitious spirit, to see himself raised by the vo- 
 luntary suffrages of his countrymen, to a rank be- 
 yond the | ower of monarchs to bestow ; to find him- 
 self considered by all as the first man in the realm ; 
 
 p( such recommendation, he was appointed city chaplain. Yet 
 this man had the baseness to turn informer against his patron 
 and benefactor, as the author, and Mrs. Barber, as the editor : 
 who thereupon was confined for some time in the house of a 
 Icing's messenger. But, as, upon examination, the gentlemen of 
 the long robe could discover nothing in the poems that could come 
 under the denomination of a libel, or incur any legal punish- 
 trientt she and the publisher were released, and the prosecution 
 dropped. S. 
 
 the
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 283 
 
 the general object of veneration to all who wished 
 well to their country, and of dread to those who be* 
 trayed its interests 5 yet he was far from being at all 
 satisfied with his situation. The load of oppression 
 under which Ireland groaned, from the tyrannic^ 
 system of government oVer that country, established 
 by the false politicks of JEngland; the base corrup- 
 tion of some of the principal natives, who sacrificed 
 the publick interests to their private views ; the su- 
 pineness of Others arising from despondency ; the ge- 
 neral infatuation of the richer sort, in adopting cer- 
 tain modes and customs to the last degree ruinous to 
 their country; together with the miseries of the poor, 
 and the Universal face of penury and distress that 
 overspread a kingdom, on which nature had scattered 
 her bounties with a lavish hand, and which properly 
 used, might have rendered it one of the happiest re- 
 gions in the world : all these acted as perpetual cor- 
 rosives to the free and generous spirit of Swift, and 
 kept him from possessing his soul in peace. We 
 have many instances in his letters, written at that 
 time, of the violent irritation of his mjud on these 
 accounts. In one of them he says, " I find myself 
 disposed every year, or rather every month, to be 
 more angry and revengeful ; and my rage is sq 
 ignoble, that it descends even to resent the folly 
 and baseness of the enslaved people among whom \ 
 live." And in the same letter to lord Bolingbroke, 
 he says, ff But you think, as I ought to think, that 
 it is time for me to have done with the world; and 
 so I would, if I could get into a better, before I was 
 called into the best, and not die here in a rage, like 
 a poisoned rat in a hole." In one to Pope, speaking 
 of his letters, he says, f None of them have any 
 
 tliiiig
 
 284 THE LIFE 
 
 thing to do with party, of which you are the clearest 
 of all men, by your religion, and the whole tenour 
 of your life ; while I am raging every moment against 
 the corruptions in both kingdoms, especially of this ; 
 such is my weakness." And in one to Dr. Sheridan, 
 when he seemed under the dominion of a more than 
 ordinary fit of his spleen, he tells him that he had 
 just finished his will, in which he had requested that 
 the doctor would attend his body to Holyhead, to see 
 it interred there, for, says he, " I will not lie in a 
 country of slaves." 
 
 This habit of mind grew upon him immediately 
 after the loss of the amiable Stella, whose lenient 
 hand used to pour the balm of friendship on his 
 wounded spirit. With her vanished all his do- 
 mestick enjoyment, and of course he turned hi* 
 thoughts more to publick affairs ; in the contempla- 
 tion of which, he could see nothing but what served 
 to increase the malady. The advances of old age, 
 with all its attendant infirmities; the death of 
 almost all his old friends ; the frequent returns of 
 his most dispiriting maladies, deafness and giddiness ; 
 and above all, the dreadful apprehensions that he 
 should outlive his understanding *, made life such a 
 burden to him, that he had no hope left but in a 
 speedy dissolution, which was the object of his daily 
 prayer to the Almighty. 
 
 * Dr. Young has recorded an instance of this, where he re- 
 lates that, walking out with Swift and some others about a mile 
 from Dublin, he suddenly missed the Dean, who had staid behind 
 the rest of the company. He turned back, in order to knew the 
 occasion of it ; and found Swift at some distance, gazing intently 
 at the top of a lofty elm, whose head had been blasted. Upon 
 Young's approach he pointed to it, saying, " I shall be like that 
 tree ; I shall die first at the top." S. 
 
 About
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. Q85 
 
 About the year 1736, his memory was greatly 
 impaired, and his other faculties of imagination and 
 intellect decayed, in proportion as the stores from 
 which they were supplied diminished. When the 
 understanding was shaken from its seat, and reason 
 had given up the reins, the irascible passions which 
 at all times he had found difficult to be kept within 
 due bounds, now raged without controul, and made 
 him a torment to himself, and to all who were about 
 him. An unusually long fit of deafness, attended 
 with giddiness, which lasted almost a year, had 
 disqualified him wholly for conversation, and made 
 him lose all relish for society. Conscious of his 
 situation, he was little desirous of seeing any of his 
 old friends and companions, and they were as little 
 solicitous to visit him in that deplorable state. He 
 could now no longer amuse himself with writing; 
 and a resolution he had formed of never wearing 
 spectacles, to which he obstinately adhered, pre- 
 vented him from reading. Without employment, 
 without amusements of any kind, thus did his time 
 pass heavily along ; not one white day in the calen- 
 dar, not one hour of comfort, nor did even a rajr 
 of hope pierce through the gloom. The state of his 
 mind is strongly pictured in a letter to Mrs. White- 
 way. 
 
 u I have been very miserable all night, and to 
 day extremely deaf and full of pain. \ am so stupid 
 and confounded, that I cannot express the mortifica- 
 tion I am under both in body and mind. All I can 
 say is, that I am not in torture ; but I daily and 
 hourly expect it. Pray let me know how your health 
 is, and your family. I hardly understand one word I 
 
 Write.
 
 286 THE LIFE 
 
 write. I am sure my days will be very few ; few and 
 miserable they must be. 
 
 I am, for those few days, 
 
 Yours entirely, 
 
 J. Swift. 
 If I do not blunder, it is Saturday, 
 
 July 26, 1 740." 
 
 
 Not long after the date of this letter, his under- 
 standing failed to such a degree, that it was found 
 necessary to have guardians legally appointed to 
 take care of his person and estate. This was 
 followed by a fit of lunacy, which continued 
 some months, and then he sunk into a state of 
 idiocy, which lasted to his death. He died October 
 19, 1745. 
 
 The behaviour of the citizens on this occasion, 
 gave the strongest proof of the deep impression he 
 had made on their minds. Though he had been, for 
 so many years, to all intents and purposes dead to 
 the world, and his departure from that state seemed 
 a thing rather to be wished than deplored, yet no 
 sooner was his death announced, than the citizens 
 gathered from all quarters, and forced their way 
 in crowds into the house, to pay the last tribute of 
 grief to their departed benefactor. Nothing but 
 lamentations were heard all around the quarter 
 where he lived, as if he had been cut off in the 
 vigour of his years. Happy were they who first got 
 into the chamber where he lay, to procure, by 
 bribes to the servants, locks of his hair to be handed 
 down as sacred relicks to their posterity*. And so 
 eager were numbers to obtain at any price this pre- 
 cious
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 287 
 
 cious memorial, that in less than an hour, his ve- 
 nerable head was entirely stripped of all its silver or- 
 naments, so that not a hair remained. 
 
 He was buried in the most private manner, accord- 
 ing to directions in his will, in the great aile of St. 
 Patrick's Cathedral ; and by way of monument, ^a-slab 
 of black marble was placed against the wall, on which; 
 was engraved the following Latin epitaph, written . 
 by himself; 
 
 ''.' '' 
 
 " HIC DEPOSITIJM EST CORPUS 
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT, S.T.P. 
 HUJV.S RCCLESIjE CATHEDRALIS 
 . t . DECANI : , 
 
 UBI SJEVA INDIGNATIO 
 
 ULTEJUUS COR LACERARE NEQUIT. | 
 
 ABI, VIATOR, 
 
 ET IMITARE, SI j POTERIS, 
 
 STRENUUM PRO VIRILI LIBERT ATIS VINDICEM. 
 
 OBIIT ANNO (1745); 
 
 .MEN SIS (OCTOBRIS) DIE (IQ) ; 
 
 .ETATIS ANNO (78)." 
 
 * Yea beg a hair of him for memory, 
 And dying mention it within their wills. 
 Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SECTION 
 
 ... .< .
 
 288 THE LIFE 
 
 SECTION VL 
 
 PRIVATE MEMOIRS OF SWIFT* 
 
 JlIAVING now conducted Swift from his cradle to 
 his grave, and presented to view, in a regular series, 
 the most remarkable scenes of his publick life; I have 
 purposely reserved to this place the greater part of 
 such private memoirs, as were not meant to meet the 
 publick eye, in order that I might arrange them also 
 in an uninterrupted train. Nothing has more ex- 
 cited the curiosity of mankind at all times, than that 
 desire which prevails of prying into the secret actions 
 of great and illustrious characters ; arising in some, 
 from a too general spirit of envy, which hopes to 
 find something in their private conduct that may sully 
 the lustre of their publick fame, and so bring them 
 down more to a level with themselves: and in others, 
 of a more candid disposition, that they might form 
 right judgments of their real characters; as too many, 
 like actors in a theatre, only assume one when they 
 appear on the stage of the world, which they put off, 
 together with their robes and plumes, when retired 
 to the dressing room. But as the readers of the for- 
 mer sort, are infinitely more numerous, in order to 
 gratify their taste, as well, perhaps, as their own con- 
 genial disposition, the writers of such memoirs are 
 too apt to lean to the malevolent side, and deal rather 
 in the more saleable commodity of obloquy and 
 scandal, high-seasoned to the taste of vitiated palates, 
 than in the milder and more insipid food of truth 
 and panegyrick. Many have been the misrepresen- 
 tations made of Swift, from this uncharitable spirit ; 
 
 and
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 28Q 
 
 and though most of them have been proved to be 
 such by his defenders, -yet there are several still left 
 in a state of doubt and uncertainty, through the 
 want of proper information. Among these there is 
 no article about which the world is still left so much 
 in the dark; as his amours. A subject; which, in 
 one of his singular character, is more like to excite 
 curiosity than any other; We know there were two 
 ladies, represented by him as the most accomplished 
 of their sex, adorned with all the charms and graces, 
 both of person and mind, that might penetrate the 
 most obdurate breast, whose hearts were wholly de- 
 voted to him. We know too that he had a just sense, 
 of their value, that he lived on terms of : the closest 
 friendship with both, but it does not appear that he 
 ever made a suitable return of love to either. 
 
 As his conduct toward these two celebrated ladies, 
 Stella and Vanessa, seems to be wrapped up in the 
 darkest shades of any part of his history, and has 
 given rise to various conjectures, which yet have pro- 
 duced no satisfactory solution of the doubts which it 
 has occasioned; I shall endeavour, by collecting some 
 scattered rays from different parts of his Works, and 
 adding other lights which have come to my know- 
 ledge, to disperse the mysterious gloom with which 
 this subject seems to have been enveloped, and put 
 the whole in a clear point of view. In order to this, 
 it will be necessary, in the first place, to form a judg- 
 ment how Swift stood affected toward the female sex^ 
 either from constitution, or reflection. With regard 
 to the former, he seems to have been of a very cold 
 habit, and little spurred on by any impulse of desire; 
 and as to the latter, he appears in the early part of 
 his life to have had little inclination to enter into the 
 
 v<jl. i, U married
 
 2Q0 THE LIFE 
 
 married state, and afterward to have had a fixed dis- 
 like to it. 
 
 His sentiments on this head are fully displayed in a 
 letter to a kinsman of his, the Rev. John Kendall, 
 vicar of Thornton in Leicestershire, dated Feb. 11, 
 1691 -2*, written in the 24th year of his age. 
 
 This letter was an answer to one from Mr. Ken- 
 dall, in which he informs him of the reports spread 
 at Leicester that he had paid serious addresses there 
 to an unworthy object, and which Swift therefore 
 thought required this explicit answer^. Here we 
 see that he had no other idea of gallantry with the 
 sex, than what served for mere amusement; that he 
 had rather a dread of matrimony, and that he had 
 never engaged in illicit amours, from which he claims 
 no merit, but imputes it to his being naturally of 3 
 temperate constitution. This ingenuous letter, written 
 at the most vigorous time of life, will serve as a clue 
 to his conduct toward women ever after. 
 
 The only instance that appears of his having any- 
 serious thoughts of matrimony, was with regard to 
 a miss Waryng, a lady of the North of Ireland, 
 possessed of a moderate fortune. The circumstances 
 
 * Dr. Swift was at this time with sir William Temple, at 
 Sheen. S. 
 
 f Swift makes the following mention of this affair in a letter to 
 Mr. Worrall, written on a particular occasion in l728- ; 9- When 
 I went a lad to my mother, after the Revolution, she brought me 
 acquainted with a family, where there was a daughter, with whom 
 I was acquainted. My prudent mother was afraid I should be in 
 love with her; but when I went to London, she married an inn- 
 keeper in Loughborough, in that county. This woman (my 
 mistress with a pox) left several children, who are all dead but 
 one daughter, Anne by name," &c. What follows is immaterial 
 to the present subject. S. 
 
 Of
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 2<)1 
 
 f that affair are laid open in a letter to that lady, 
 written by Swift May 4, 1700, when he was in hi* 
 33d year. 
 
 From the contents of this letter, it is apparent, 
 that whatever inclination he might formerly have had 
 to a union with this lady, it was now much changed; 
 and his view in writing it, seems evidently to have 
 been to put an end to the connexion, but in such a 
 way, as that the refusal might come from the lady. 
 For it was impossible to suppose that a woman of any 
 spirit (and from some hints in the letter she seemed 
 to have rather more than came to her share) should 
 not highly resent such an unlover-like epistle, written 
 in so dictatorial a style. And it is highly probable 
 that the little stomach which he at all times had to 
 matrimony, was a stronger motive to breaking off 
 the match, than any of the newly discovered faults 
 laid to her charge. His attachment to this lady was 
 in consequence of a juvenile passion commenced 
 when he was in the college. She was sister to his 
 chamber-fellow Mr. Waryng, and a familiar inter- 
 course naturally followed. It *is certain a corres- 
 pondence had been carried on between them for some 
 time in the style of courtship ; but a few years ab- 
 sence cooled the ardour of his flame, which together 
 with some circumstances alluded to in the above 
 letter, made him wish to put an end to the con- 
 nexion. 
 
 I have in my possession a letter of his, which was 
 never yet printed, addressed to the Rev. Mr. Winder, 
 dated from Moor-park, Jan. 13, 1 698-9. Wherein 
 some slight mention is made of this affair, and which 
 manifestly shows his indifference at that time, in the 
 following passage: " I remember these letters to 
 
 u 2 Eliza;
 
 2^2 THE LIFE 
 
 Eliza; they were writ in my youth. Pray burn them. 
 You mention a dangerous rival for an absent lover; 
 but I must take my fortn:*e. If the report proceeds, 
 pray inform me*." 
 
 After these we have no memorial remaining of his 
 being attached to any of the fair sex, except Mrs. 
 Johnson and miss Vanhomrigh, known to the world 
 by the celebrated names of Stella, and Vanessa. We 
 have already seen how his acquaintance with Stella 
 commenced at an early period of her life, and the 
 share that he had in training her up to that degree of 
 perfection which she afterward reached. It is no 
 wonder that his admiration of his lovely pupil should 
 increase with her growing perfections, and that it 
 should produce the strongest attachment to one of 
 the finest pieces of nature's workmanship, finished 
 and polished to the height by his own hand. But 
 though his affection for her daily increased, during a 
 long habitude of intercourse with one of the most 
 charming companions in the world, perfectly suited 
 in all points to his taste and humour, yet had it no 
 mixture in it of the passion of love, but was rather 
 the tenderness of a parent to a favourite child: 
 
 " His conduct might have made him styi'd, 
 A father, and the nymph his child. 
 That innocent delight he took 
 To see the virgin mind her book, 
 Was but the master's secret joy 
 In school to hear the finest boy." 
 
 For the truth of this he appeals to Stella herself in 
 one of his poems addressed to her : 
 
 " Tiiou, Stella, wert no longer young, 
 When first for thee my harp I strung; 
 
 * See the Letter alluded to by Mr. Sheridan, in the tenth 
 
 volume of this collection, p. 22. N. 
 
 Without
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 2Q3 
 
 Without one word of Cupid's darts, 
 Of killing eyes, or bleeding hearts: 
 With friendship and esteem possest, 
 I ne'er admitted love a guest." 
 
 Nor was there any thing uncommon in this. We 
 find that even among young people bred up together 
 from childhood, the passion of love seldom appears ; 
 and much less likely is it to take place where there 
 is such a disparity of years. It has been already 
 shown what punctilious caution he took to prevent 
 any appearance of that sort, by never conversing 
 with her but in the presence of a third person, which 
 was usually her companion Mrs. Dingley. But not 
 long after her settlement in Ireland, he gave the most 
 unequivocal proof of what his sentiments were with 
 regard to her on that point. It was impossible that 
 so charming an object should long remain without 
 inspiring some of her beholders with love. Ac- 
 cordingly an intimate friend of Swift's, of the name 
 of Tisdall, not undistinguished for learning and wit, 
 was so captivated with the beauties both of her per- 
 son and mind, that he paid his addresses to her, and 
 made proposals of marriage. The account of this 
 transaction, and the part that Swift bore in it, is set 
 forth at large in the following letter written by him 
 to Tisdall on that subject ; 
 
 " London, April 20, 1704. 
 
 " Yesterday coming from the country I found 
 yqur letter, which had been four or five days ar- 
 rived, and by neglect was not forwarded as it ought. 
 You have got three epithets for my former letter, 
 which I believe are all unjust: you say it was un- 
 friendly, unkind, and unaccountable. The two first, 
 
 I suppose,
 
 2Q4 THA LIFE 
 
 I suppose, may pass but for one, saying (as capt. 
 Fluellin says the phrase is) a little variation. I 
 shall therefore answer those two as I can ; and for 
 the last, I return it to you again by these presents, 
 assuring you, that there is more unaccountability in 
 your letter's little finger, than in mine's whole body. 
 And one strain I observe in it, which is frequent 
 enough; you talk in a mystical sort of a way, as if 
 you would have me believe I had some great design, 
 and that you had found it out: your phrases are, that 
 my letter had the effect you judge I designed; that 
 you are amazed to reflect on what you judge the 
 cause of it; and wish it may be in your power to love 
 and value me while you live, &c. In answer to all 
 this, I might with good pretence enough talk starchly, 
 and affect ignorance of what you would be at; but 
 my conjecture is, that you think I obstructed your in- 
 clinations to please my own, and that my intentions 
 were the same with yours. In answer to all which, I 
 will upon my conscience and honour tell you the 
 naked truth. First, I think I have said to you be- 
 fore, that if my fortunes and humour served me to 
 think of that state, I should certainly, among all 
 persons on earth, make your choice; because I never 
 saw that person whose conversation I entirely valued 
 but her's ; this was the utmost I ever gave way to. 
 And, secondly, I must assure you sincerely, that this 
 regard of mine never once entered into my head to 
 be an impediment to you; but I judged it would, 
 perhaps, be a clog to your rising in the world; and I 
 did not conceive you were then rich enough to make 
 yourself and her happy and easy. But that objection 
 is now quite removed by what you have at present; 
 and by the assurances of Eaton's livings. I told you 
 
 indeed,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. Q,Q5 
 
 indeed, that your authority was not sufficient to 
 make overtures to the mother, without the daughter's 
 giving me leave under her own or her friend's hand, 
 which, I think, was a right and a prudent step. How- 
 ever, I told the mother immediately, and spoke with 
 all the advantages you deserve. But the objection of 
 your fortune being removed, I declare I have no 
 other; nor shall any consideration of my own mis- 
 fortune, in losing so good a friend and companion as 
 her, prevail on me against her interest and settlement 
 in the world, since it is held so necessary and con- 
 venient a thing for ladies to marry; and that time 
 takes off from the lustre of virgins in all other eyes 
 but mine. I appeal to my letters to herself, whether 
 I was your friend or not in the whole concern; though 
 the part I designed to act in it was purely passive, 
 which is the utmost I will ever do in things of this 
 nature, to avoid all reproach of any ill consequence 
 that might ensue in the variety of worldly accidents. 
 Nay I went so fir both to her mother, herself, and, I 
 think, to you, as to say it could not be decently 
 broken; since I supposed the town had got it in their 
 tongues, and therefore I thought it could not mis- 
 carry without some disadvantage to the lady's credit. 
 I have always described her to you in a manner 
 different from those who would be discouraging; and 
 must add, that though it hath come in my way to 
 converse with persons of the first rank, and of that 
 sex, more than is usual to men of my level, and of 
 our function ; yet I have no where met with a humour, 
 a wit, or conversation so agreeable, a better portion 
 of good sense, or a truer judgment of men and things, 
 I mean here in England; for as to the ladies of Ire- 
 land, I am a perfect stranger. As to her fortune, I 
 
 think
 
 1q6 the life 
 
 think you know it already; and, if you resume your 
 designs, and would have farther intelligence, I shall 
 send you a particular account. 
 
 " I give you joy of your good fortunes, and envy 
 very much your prudence and temper, and love of 
 peace and settlement, the reverse of which hath been 
 the great uneasiness of my life, and is likely to con- 
 tinue so. And what is the result? En queis consevw 
 onus agrosf I find nothing but the good words and 
 wishes of a decayed ministry, whose lives and mine 
 will probably wear out before they can serve either 
 my little hopes, or their own ambition. Therefore I 
 am resolved suddenly to retire, like a discontented 
 courtier, and vent myself in study and speculation, 
 till my own humour, or the scene here, shall 
 change." 
 
 I have here inserted the whole of this letter, both 
 as it contains a candid display of Swift's sentiments 
 on this occasion, and is a strong confutation of the 
 account given of it by his relation Deane Swift, in 
 his Essay, &c. part of which I shall here transcribe, 
 where speaking of Mr. Tisdall he says <c This gen- 
 tleman declared his passion, and made her proposals 
 of marriage. Now whether it was artifice in Mrs. 
 Johnson to rouse affections in the adamantine heart 
 of her admired object; or whether it was a reach of 
 policy in Dr. Swift, to acquaint Mrs. Johnson by such 
 indirect means that he had no intention of engaging 
 himself in a married life; or whether in truth there 
 was any kind of artifice used on either side, I protest 
 I am wholly a stranger, &c. Mrs. Johnson dis^ 
 covered no repugnancy to the match, but still she 
 would be advised by Doctor Swift. The doctor, per- 
 haps, loth to be separated from so delightful a com- 
 panion,
 
 P DOCTOR SWIFT. 297 
 
 panion, threw an obstacle in the way that was not to 
 be surmounted. .The gentleman had a benefice in 
 the church of a considerable value, about a hundred 
 miles from Dublin, which required his attendance. 
 Dr. Swift, in order to bring matters to a final issue, 
 made him an overture that he should settle upon his 
 wife a hundred pounds a year for pinmoney. The 
 lover indeed, although extremely captivated with the 
 charms of his mistress, was by no means delighted 
 with this proposal ; he desired however that he might 
 have a night's time to consider of it; and the next 
 morning, contrary to expectation, he agreed to the 
 terms. Swift, never at a loss for some uncommon 
 flight of imagination, insisted farther that he should 
 live in Dublin, and keep a coach for his wife. The 
 gentleman had more honour than to promise what he 
 could not perform ; the match was accordingly broken 
 ofF: in a short time after, the doctor's friend married 
 a woman of family, and there was an end of the 
 affair." 
 
 In what a mean selfish light does this fabricated 
 account place Swift! how different from the genuine 
 one delivered by himself! and that too drawn up 
 by a kinsman, who writ professedly to vindicate his 
 character. But the match was not broken off by any 
 artifice of Swift's, to which he was at all times su- 
 periour. The refusal came from Mrs. Johnson 
 herself, who, though she might at first have shown 
 no repugnance to it, probably with a view to sound 
 Swift's sentiments, and bring him to some explanation 
 with regard to her; yet when it came to the point, 
 she could not give up the hope long nourished in her 
 bosom, of being one day united to the object of her 
 virgin heart, and whom she considered as the first of 
 
 mankind,
 
 298 THE LIFE 
 
 mankind*. From that time we do not find that she 
 ever encouraged any other addresses, and her life 
 seemed wholly devoted to him. She passed her days 
 from the year 1 703 to 1710, in the most perfect re- 
 tirement-^, without any other enjoyment in life but 
 what she found in the pleasure of his society, or in 
 reading. Their mode of living was this: when the 
 doctor was absent on his visits to England, she and 
 her companion took up their residence at his par- 
 sonage house at Laracor, in the neighbourhood of 
 Trim, a small town about 20 miles distant from 
 Dublin. When he returned, they either retired to a 
 lodging at Trim, or were hospitably received in the 
 house of Dr. Raymond, vicar of that parish. Swift 
 grew so enamoured of this course of life, that he 
 seemed to wish for nothing more than a continuance 
 of it. The charming society and delightful conver- 
 sation of the amiable and accomplished Stella, had, 
 by long habitude, become essential to his happiness, 
 and made him lose all relish for every other enjoyment 
 of life, when absent from her. All the more vi- 
 gorous springs of his mind were relaxed, and lost 
 their tone; and even the powerful passions of am- 
 bition, and desire of wealth, where wholly absorbed 
 
 * Mr. Thomas Swift, the Dean's " Parson Cousin," in a letter 
 from Puttenham, Feb. 5, 170o\ asks whether Jonathan be married! 
 or whether he has been able to resist the. charms of both these 
 gentlewomen that marched quite from Moor Park to Dublin (as 
 they would have marched to the North or any where else) with 
 full resolution to engage him?" D. S. 
 
 + In 1705 she returned to England, where she spent five or six 
 months, and then went back to Ireland, as to the place of her 
 residence; but never crossed the channel after to the end of her 
 davs. D. S. 
 
 in
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. Igg 
 
 in this truly voluptuous state, wherein was con- 
 stantly mixed 
 
 " The feast of reason, and the flow of soul." 
 
 A state of true epicurean happiness, and a source of 
 pleasures beyond the conception of the sensualist, 
 which, far from cloying, still increased by enjoyment, 
 and which can only be the portion of the more exalted 
 minds, and refined spirits of this world. It is certain 
 that Swift's soul was so entangled by these charms, 
 of a different kind indeed, but not less powerful than 
 those of Circe, that it was with the utmost reluctance 
 he disengaged himself from them, though but for a 
 short time; nor could any thing but a sense of duty, ' 
 and a desire of serving the church, make him accept ' 
 of a commission for that purpose, which occasioned 
 his journey to London in September, 17 10. In his 
 first letter to Mrs. Johnson, on his arrival at Chester, 
 he says, " I am perfectly resolved to return as soon 
 as I have done my commission, whether it succeeds 
 or not. I never went to England with so little desire 
 in my life." In the January following he says, " Fare- 
 well, dearest beloved MD, and love poor poor Presto *, 
 who has not had one happy day since he left you, as 
 hope saved. It is the last sally I shall ever make, 
 but I hope it will turn to some account. I would 
 make MD and me easy, and I never desired more.'* 
 And in some months after, he expresses his impatience 
 of this long absence in the strongest terms; where 
 addressing himself to Stella, he says " You say you 
 are not splenetick ; but if you be, faith you will break 
 
 poor Presto's , I wont say the rest; but I vow 
 
 to God, if I could decently come over now, I would, 
 
 * MD stands for Stella, and Presto for Swift. S. 
 
 and
 
 30O THE LIFE 
 
 and leave all schemes of politicks and ambition for 
 ever." 
 
 In the whole course of his letters it appears that 
 not all the homage paid him by the great, the society 
 of the choicest spirits of the age, and the friendship 
 of some of the worthiest characters of both sexes; 
 not the daily increase and spreading of his fame, and 
 the most flattering prospects before him of fortune 
 and preferment, could compensate for the want of 
 that companion, who was the supreme delight of his 
 heart. In the midst of all these he tells her, that 
 his best days here are trash to those which he passed 
 with her. In order to soften in soflie measure the 
 rigour of absence, he had settled a plan at parting, 
 that they should keep a regular journal, in which 
 they should set down the transactions of the day, and 
 once a fortnight transmit it to each other. The writing 
 and receiving of these constituted the chief pleasure 
 of his life during his residence in England. It was 
 his first employment, when he awoke in the morning; 
 the last, before he closed his eyes at night. He 
 makes frequent mention of the great satisfaction he 
 finds in this kind of intercourse. In his Journal, 
 Jan. 16, 1711, he says, "Presto's at home, God 
 help him, every night from six till bedtime, and has 
 as little enjoyment or pleasure in life at present, as 
 any body in the world, although in full favour with 
 all the ministry. As hope saved, nothing gives Presto 
 any sort of dream of happiness, but a letter now and 
 then from his own dearest MD. I love the expect- 
 ation of it, and when it does not come, I comfort 
 myself that I have it yet to be happy with. "Yes faith, 
 and when I write to MD, I am happy too: it is just, 
 methinks, as if you were here, and I prating to you, 
 
 and
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 301 
 
 and telling you where I have been," &c. And in 
 another place, tc When I find you are happy or merry 
 there, it makes me so here, and I can hardly imagine 
 you absent when I am reading your letter, or writing 
 to you. No, faith, you are just here upon this little 
 paper, and therefore I see and talk with you every 
 evening constantly, and sometimes in the morning,". 
 
 This mode of intercourse, during their separation, 
 was adopted by him upon the same cautious principle, 
 by which he regulated his conduct toward her, when 
 he lived in the same place with her. As he had never 
 trusted himself alone with her then, but always con- 
 versed with her, as was before observed, in the pre- 
 sence of some third person, so his Journals were 
 constantly addressed to both ladies, and were answered 
 by both in the same letter. Had he entered into a 
 separate correspondence with Mrs. Johnson, it would 
 be hardly possible to avoid coming to some explanation, 
 that must either have ended in an absolute engage- 
 ment, or put a period to all expectation of that sort: 
 both which, from some maxims laid down by him, it 
 was his business to avoid. In this way of writing 
 too, he might give a loose to all expressions of en- 
 dearment and tenderness, with which his heart over- 
 flowed for one of the objects, without at the same 
 time giving her a right to apply them solely to her- 
 self, as they were addressed to both. Accordingly 
 we find, interspersed through the Journal, several 
 passages containing the warmest effusions of affec- 
 tation, which the utmost sensibility of heart could 
 pour forth. 
 
 Among many others, I shall quote a few of these, 
 as they occur in the early part of his Journal. " And 
 
 so
 
 302 THE LIFE 
 
 so you kept Presto's little birthday, I warrant: would 
 to God I had been present at the health, rather than 
 here, where I have no manner of pleasure, nothing 
 but eternal business on my hands. I shall grow wise 
 in time, but no more of that: only I say, Amen, with 
 my heart and vitals, that we may never be asunder 
 again, ten days together, while poor Presto lives." 
 " Do as you please, and love poor Presto, that loves 
 MD better than his life, a thousand million of 
 times.'* " You are welcome as my blood to every 
 farthing I have in the world ; and all that grieves me 
 is, I am not richer, for MD's sake, as hope saved." 
 " Farewell, my dearest lives, and delights; I love you 
 better than ever, if possible, as hope saved I do, and 
 ever will. God Almighty bless you ever, and make 
 us happy together; I pray for this twice every day, 
 and I hope God will hear of my poor hearty prayers." 
 " I will say no more, but beg you to be easy till for- 
 tune takes her course, and to believe that MD's 
 felicity is the great end I aim at in all my pursuits." 
 
 Though expressions of this sort are in general ad- 
 dressed to both these ladies, yet it is certain that Mrs. 
 Johnson must have considered them as meant only to 
 herself; for the other lady, Mrs. Dingley, was far 
 from meriting any share in Swift's esteem or affection. 
 She was merely one of the common run of women, 
 of a middling understanding, without knowledge or 
 taste; and so entirely selfish, as to be incapable of 
 any sincere friendship, or warm attachment. In short, 
 she was perfectly calculated to answer Swift's purposes 
 in the post she occupied, that of an inseparable com- 
 panion to Mrs. Johnson: and the narrowness of her 
 circumstances, which consisted only of an annuity of 
 twenty-seven pounds a year, too little to support her 
 
 without
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 803 
 
 without the assistance of a yearly allowance from 
 Swift, kept her in a fixed state of dependence, and 
 conformity to his will. No wonder therefore that 
 Mrs. Johnson always entertained expectations that 
 Swift would offer her his hand, as soon as a sufficient 
 increase of fortune would enable him to do it with 
 prudence. While, on the other hand, Swift cauti- 
 ously avoided any declaration of that sort, which 
 might be construed into a promise, and left himself 
 at liberty to interpret his strongest expressions of at- 
 tachment, as proceeding wholly from friendship, and 
 a warmth of pure affection, which had been increasing 
 from his early age, and settled into what might be 
 considered as a parental fondness. To enter thorough- 
 ly into the motives of this conduct, we are to recol- 
 lect that Swift always had in remembrance the 
 imprudent match made by his father, which left his 
 widow and children in so desolate a condition. The 
 miseries he had suffered during a long state of de- 
 pendence, even to an advanced period of his life, 
 made so deep an impression on his mind, that he de- 
 termined never to marry, unless his fortune were 
 such, as might enable him to make a suitable provi- 
 sion for his wife, or any offspring he might have by 
 her. As he had no great propensity to the marriage 
 state, on several accounts before-mentioned, he found 
 no difficulty in keeping this resolution; yet it is 
 highly probable, at the time of his writing this part 
 of his Journal, he had a distant view of being united 
 sometime or other in the bands of wedlock to Mrs. 
 Johnson, whenever his expected preferment in the 
 church, and sufficient increase of fortune should 
 render it eligible. For, though he might himself 
 have been perfectly content to have passed the rest of 
 Q h
 
 304 THE LIFE J 
 
 his life with her, in the same manner as before, oil 
 the pure Platonick system; yet it could not escape 
 his penetration, that she had other views, and felt a 
 passion for him not quite so refined. And the charms 
 of her society had become so essential to his happiness, 
 that rather than run a risk of losing it, he would 
 purchase it even at the price of matrimony, provided 
 it could be done consistently with the unalterable re- 
 solution he had laid down. 
 
 But while Swift's thoughts were thus employed^ 
 and all his views in life tended to this point, as to 
 their centre, an event happened which unhinged his 
 mind, and filled his bosom with a disturbance, which 
 all his philosophy could never calm, and which was 
 the source of much disquiet to him ever after in life. 
 This arose from that all powerful passion, which the 
 greatest heroes, and most renowned sages, have not 
 been able to withstand, I mean, Love. Hitherto he 
 had been so much upon his guard against that dan- 
 gerous passion, that he was invulnerable to all its open 
 attacks, even in the prime of youth; but now in his 
 advanced age, betrayed by the confidence which that 
 inspired, he was taken by surprise. Among the great 
 number of his friends in London, whose doors were 
 always open to him, there was none whose house he 
 so constantly frequented as that of Mrs. Vanhomrigh, 
 which he made use of as if it were his home. This 
 lady had two daughters; the eldest soon became a 
 great favourite of his, as/ by his own account, she 
 was possessed of every good quality, and adorned 
 with every accomplishment that could render her one 
 of the most perfect of her sex. As one of the doc- 
 tor's greatest delights was, to cultivate the minds of 
 youth, particularly females, he took upon himself 
 
 the
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT, 305 
 
 the office of her preceptor, to direct her in her stu- 
 dies, and instil into her mind the principles of virtue, 
 and seeds of knowledge. Her capacity for learning 
 was such, that she imbibed his instructions faster than 
 he could give them ; and her application was so great, 
 that in less than two years> she made such a progress 
 as astonished him. But about that time he discovered 
 a strange alteration in her. She no longer delighted 
 in books, no longer was attentive to his lectures. The 
 frequent instances he perceived of her absence of 
 mind, showed that her thoughts were roving about 
 something else, which she had more at heart. Upon 
 inquiring into the cause of this, she ingenuously 
 owned her passion for him, and that her whole soul 
 was occupied, not about his precepts, but her pre- 
 ceptor himself. Nothing could have astonished 
 the doctor more, or thrown his mind into such 
 a state of agitation, as an unexpected declaration 
 of that sort. He has given us a lively picture of what 
 passed there on the occasion, in the following lines : 
 
 " Caden us felt within him rise 
 Shame, disappointment, guilt, surprise. 
 He knew not how to reconcile 
 Such language with her usual style: 
 And yet her words were so exprest, 
 He could not hope she spoke in jest. 
 His thoughts had wholly been confined 
 To form and cultivate her mind. 
 He hardly knew, till he was told, 
 Whether the nymph were young or old: 
 Had met her in a publick place, 
 Without distinguishing her face. 
 Much less could his declining age 
 Vanessa's earliest thoughts engage : 
 And if her youth indifference met, 
 His person must contempt beget. 
 
 xOU 2. X Or
 
 306 THE LIFE 
 
 Or grant her passion be sincere, 
 How shall his innocence be clear r 
 Appearances were all so strong, 
 The world must think him in the wrong; 
 "Who'd say, he made a treacherous use 
 Of wit to flatter and seduce: 
 The town would swear he had betray'd 
 By magick spells, the harmless maid ; 
 And every beau would have his jokes, 
 That scholars were like other folks ; 
 And when Platonick flights are over, 
 The tutor turns a mortal lover : 
 So tender of the young and fair ; 
 It show'd a true paternal care : 
 Five thousand guineas in her purse ! 
 The doctor might have fancy'd worse." 
 
 In his first surprise at her extraordinary declaration, 
 he tried to turn it offby raillery, treating it as a thing 
 spoken only in jest; but when a woman has once 
 broken through the restraint of decorum, the esta- 
 blished barrier between the sexes, so for as to begin 
 the attack, she is not easily to be repulsed. She in 
 stronger terms both avowed and justified her passion 
 for him, by such arguments as must be highly flatter- 
 ing to his self-love. Of the impression which these 
 made on him, he gives the following account in the 
 same poem : 
 
 " Cadenus, to his grief and shame, 
 
 Could scarce oppose Vanessa's flame; 
 
 And though her arguments were strong. 
 
 At least could hardly wish them wrong. 
 
 Howe'er it came, he could not tell, 
 
 But sure she never talk'd so well. 
 
 His pride began to interpose, 
 
 Preferr'd before a crowd of beaux : 
 
 So bright a nymph to come unsought. 
 
 Such wonders by his merit wrought ; 
 
 'Tis merit must with her prevail, 
 
 He never knew her judgment fail; She
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 307 
 
 She noted all she ever read, 
 And had a most discerning head. 
 
 "lis an old maxim in the schools. 
 That flattery 's the food of fools ; 
 Yet, now and then, your men of wit. 
 Will condescend to pick a bit. 
 So when Cadenus could not hide. 
 He chose to justify his pride; 
 Construing the passion she had shown, 
 Much to her praise, more to his own. 
 Nature, in him, had merit plac'd, 
 In her, a most judicious taste." 
 
 Having thus artfully brought over his pride and 
 self-love to her party, and corrupted his judgment 
 by the most flattering arguments, the lady found 
 no difficulty to make a conquest of his now unguarded 
 heart, which, however reluctantly, he was obliged to 
 surrender at discretion. He now for the first time 
 felt what the passion of love was, with all its at- 
 tendant symptoms, which he had before known only 
 from description, and which he was now enabled to 
 describe himself in the strongest colours: 
 
 " Love ! why do we one passion call, 
 
 When 'tis a compound of them all r 
 
 Where hot and cold, where sharp and sweet. 
 
 In all their equipages meet : 
 
 Where pleasures niix'd with pains appear, 
 
 Sorrow with joy, and hope with fear." 
 
 To his lot indeed there fell a much greater pro- 
 portion of the bitter ingredients, than of the sweets 
 of Love. He might say with Othello, 
 
 " Oh now for ever 
 Farewel the tranquil mind, farewel content!" 
 
 All the pleasing scenes of sober sedate happiness, 
 which he had formed to himself for the rest of his 
 
 x 2 days,
 
 SOB THE LIFE 
 
 days, in the society of Stella, were now overshadowed 
 and eclipsed by the intervention of a brighter object, 
 which promised pleasures of a more rapturous kind. 
 And yet they were pleasures, which in his hours of 
 cooler reflection, he could never hope to taste. Any 
 idea of marriage must have appeared, from the great 
 disparity of years, as well as many other reasons, to 
 the last degree preposterous. Besides, though he 
 never had entered into any direct engagement of that 
 sort with Mrs. Johnson, vet by many expressions in 
 his letters before quoted, almost tantamount to an 
 engagement, and his whole conduct toward her, he 
 gave her just grounds to expect, that if ever he did 
 marry, she should be his choice. He could not 
 therefore have given preference to another, without 
 being charged with cruelty and injustice. And as to 
 any illicit commerce between them, he never could 
 have entertained a thought of that, without first sa- 
 crificing all the principles of honour, morality, and 
 religion, by which his whole conduct in life had 
 hitherto been governed. In this critical situation, he 
 had but one wise course to take, in order to ensure 
 his future peace, which was to escape the danger by 
 flight, and breaking oft' all correspondence with the 
 lady. But whether through too great confidence in 
 his strength, or giving way to the irrisistible force of 
 her attraction, he remained in the perilous situation 
 of a constant intercourse with her, which daily con- 
 tributed to fan their mutual flames. 
 
 The date ofthe commencement of this adven- 
 ture, may be traced almost to a certainty, by exa- 
 mining the latter part of Swift's Journal, in which, 
 from March 17 12 to the end, there is a remarkable 
 change in his manner of writing to the two ladies. 
 
 We
 
 OF bOCTOR SWIFT. 30() 
 
 We no longer find there any of what he called, the 
 little language, the playful sallies of an undisguised 
 heart, to a bosom friend; no more expressions of ten- 
 derness, and cordial affection; no repinings at his 
 long continued absence; nor ardent wishes for their 
 speedy meeting again; but on the contrary, we see 
 nothing but a dry Journal continued out of form, 
 made up of trifling incidents, news, or politicks, with- 
 out any thing in the matter or expression, at all in- 
 teresting to the parties addressed. And now instead 
 of that eager solicitude to return, which he had for- 
 merly so frequently and so earnestly declared, he 
 contents himself with cold excuses for his long con- 
 tinuance in London.' And just before his setting out 
 for Ireland, in order to take possession of his deanery, 
 he writ a formal letter of business to Mrs. Dingley, 
 May 16, 1713, in which he makes no mention of 
 Stella, nor expresses the least satisfaction at his near 
 expectation of seeing them again. On his arrival 
 there, instead of the joy and transport, to which he 
 had once looked forward, on being reunited to the ob- 
 ject of all his wishes, after so long a separation, the 
 whole scene was changed to cold indifference, or 
 gloomy melancholy. In a letter to miss Vanhomrigh, 
 dated from Laracor, July 8, 1713, he says, ** At my 
 first coming, I thought I should have died with dis- 
 content; and was horribly melancholy while they were 
 installing me, but it begins to wear off, and change 
 to dulness." Who that read the former part of his 
 Journal to Stella, replete with such ardent wishes for 
 their meeting again never to part more, as the con- 
 summation of all his views of happiness in life, could 
 have expected such a change? And who does not now 
 
 see the true cause of that change? 
 
 r
 
 3}0 THE LIFE 
 
 In this uneasy situation, we may suppose it was not 
 with much reluctance he obeyed the call of his friends, 
 to return immediately to England, in order to make 
 up a new breach between the ministers, which 
 threatened ruin to the party. Though this was the 
 ostensible cause of his sudden departure, yet perhaps 
 there was metal more attractive which drew him over 
 at that time. 
 
 Soon after his arrival, he wrote that beautiful 
 poem called " Cadenus and Vanessa." His first de- 
 sign in this seems to have been to break off the con- 
 nexion in the politest manner possible, and put an 
 end to any expectations the lady might have formed 
 of a future union between them. To soften the 
 harshness of a refusal of her proffered hand, the 
 greatest of mortifications to a woman, young, beau- 
 tiful, and possessed of a good fortune, he painted 
 all her perfections, both of body and mind, in such 
 glowing colours, as must at least have highly gra- 
 tified her vanity, and shown that he was far from 
 being insensible to her charms, though prudence 
 forbad his yielding to his inclinations. However 
 determined he might be at the commencement of 
 the Poem, he kept his resolution but ill in the pro- 
 secution of it. Happy had it been both for him 
 and her, had he concluded it with a denial in such 
 express and peremptory terms, as would have left 
 her no ray of hope : but instead of that, he leaves 
 the whole in a dubious state. She was too sharp- 
 sighted not to perceive, that in spite of all the ef- 
 forts of philosophy, love had taken possession of his 
 heart, and made it rebel against his head. As her 
 passion for him was first inspired by his wit and 
 genius, a poem written in such exquisite taste, of 
 
 which
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 311 
 
 which she was the subject, and where she saw her- 
 self drest out in the most flattering colours, was not 
 likely to administer to her cure. On the contrary, 
 it only served to add fresh fuel to the flame. And 
 as his love originally arose from sympathy, it must, 
 from the same., cause, increase with the growth of 
 hers. 
 
 Meantime the unfortunate Stella languished in 
 absence and neglect. The Journal was not renewed, 
 nor are there any traces remaining of jtiie least cor- 
 respondence between them, during Swift's whole 
 stay in England ; while a continual intercourse was 
 kept up between Vanessa and him. She was the 
 first person he wrote to on his retirement to Let- 
 comb, some time before the queen's death ; and 
 the last, on his departure from that place to Ire- 
 land. He arrived there in a much more gloomy state 
 of mind than before, as the death of the queen had 
 broke all his measures, and put an end to all future 
 prospects, either for the publick or himself. He 
 has given vent to his melancholy reflections on his 
 situation, in a short poem, written during a fit of 
 illness which had seized him soon after his arrival ; 
 of which the following lines make a part : 
 
 i 
 
 " My state of health none care to learn, 
 My life is here no soul's concern. 
 And those with whom I now converse, 
 Without a tear will tend my hearse, 
 Some formal visits, looks, and words, 
 What mere humanity affords, 
 I meet perhaps from three or four, 
 From whom I once expected more ; 
 Which, those who tend the sick for pay, 
 Can act as decently as they. 
 
 But
 
 312 THE LIFE 
 
 Bat no bilging tender friend - ' , 
 
 To help at my approaching end : 
 My life is now a burden grown 
 To others, ere it bu my own." 
 
 Is it possible to conceive that this could be the case, 
 while he was in the same country with his once 
 adored Stella ? But it is probable that resentment at 
 his long neglect, and total change of behaviour to- 
 ward her, as she was a woman of high spirit, might 
 have fixed her, at that juncture, in a resolution of 
 living separately from him in her country retirement, 
 where the account of his illness might not have 
 reached her. The arrival of Vanessa in Dublin, 
 whose impatient love would not suffer her to stay long 
 behind him, was the source of much inquietude to 
 Swift. There was nothing he seemed to dread more 
 than that his intimacy with her should take wind in 
 Dublin. He had warned her of this in his farewell 
 letter to her from Letcomb, before his departure. 
 " If you are in Ireland when I am there, I shall see 
 you very seldom. It is not a place for any freedom ; 
 but it is where every thing is known in a week, and 
 magnified a hundred degrees. These are rigorous 
 laws that must be passed through : but it is probable 
 we may meet in London in winter ; or, if not, leave 
 all to fate, that seldom comes to humour our inclina- 
 tions. I say all this out of the perfect esteem and 
 friendship I have for you," 
 
 And after her arrival he writes to the same effect. 
 (l I received your letter when some company was 
 with me on Saturday night, and it put me in such 
 confusion that I could not tell what to clo. This 
 morning a woman who does business for me, told 
 
 me
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. ] 33 
 
 Hie she heard I was in love with one naming 
 
 you, and twenty particulars ; that little master 
 
 and I visited you ; and that the archbishop did so; 
 and that you had abundance of wit, &c. I ever 
 feared the tattle of this nasty town, and told you so ; 
 and that was the reason I said to you long ago, that 
 I would see you seldom when you were in Ireland ; 
 and I must beg you to be easy, if, for some time, I 
 visit you seldomer, and not in so particular a manner. 
 I will see you at the latter end of the week, if pos- 
 sible. These are accidents in life that are necessary, 
 and must be submitted to ; and tattle, by the help of 
 discretion, will wear off." 
 
 But discretion was ill suited to a mind, now under 
 the dominion of an ungovernable passion, and 
 which had no other enjoyment in life, but in the 
 society of the beloved object. She importuned him 
 jso with letters, messages, and complaints, that he 
 was obliged to assume a sternness of behaviour to 
 her, and treat her with a rigour quite foreign to his 
 heart *. The effect this had on her, is most feel- 
 ingly set forth in one of her letters, 1714. " You 
 bid me be easy, and you would see me as often as 
 you could. You had better have said, as often as 
 you could get the better of your inclinations so 
 much ; or as often as you remember there was such 
 a one in the world. If you continue to treat me as 
 you do, you will not be made uneasy by me long. 
 
 * Iu answer to a letter which she hud sent after him by her 
 servant when he was on the road to Philipstown, he concludes 
 thus : " I have rode a tedious journey to-day, and can say no 
 more. Nor shall you know where I am till 1 come, and then I 
 will see you. A fig for your letters and messages." S, 
 
 It
 
 314 THE LIFE 
 
 It is impossible to describe what I have suffered 
 since I saw you last. I am sure I could have borne 
 the rack much better, than those killing, killing 
 words of your's. Sometimes I have resolved to die 
 without seeing you more ; but those resolves, to 
 your misfortune, did not last long. For there is 
 something in human nature, that prompts one so to 
 find relief in this world, I must give way to it *. 
 and beg you would see me, and speak kindly to 
 me ; for I am sure you'd not condemn any one to 
 suffer what I have done, could you but know it. 
 The reason I write to you, is, because I cannot tell 
 it to you should I see you. For when I begin to 
 complain, then you are angry ; and there is some- 
 thing in your looks so awful, that it strikes me 
 dumb. O ! that you may have but so much regard 
 for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul 
 with pity. I say as little as ever as I can ; did you 
 but know what I thought, I am sure it would move 
 you to forgive me, and believe, I cannot help telling 
 you this and live." 
 
 But whatever uneasiness Vanessa might suffer 
 from this conduct of her lover toward her, poor 
 Stella was still more unhappy. All the fond hopes 
 which she had indulged so many years, the com- 
 pletion of which she had expected upon his prefer- 
 ment, and increase of fortune, were now turned to 
 despair, from the total silence which he observed on 
 that head, and the remarkable change in his be- 
 haviour toward her. To the pangs of disappoint- 
 ment, were added the stings of jealousy ; for love 
 had made her too inquisitive, not to find out the 
 cause of this alteration in him. There are some- 
 passages
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 315 
 
 passages in the Journal relative to the Vanhomrighs, 
 which show that the seeds of jealousy were early 
 sown in her mind, upon Swift's being so domestick 
 there when in London ; and upon Vanessa's arrival in 
 Dublin, it is more than probable she kept a watchful 
 eye upon their motions. The following beautiful 
 verses of hers on that subject, show clearly she was 
 under the dominion of that passion. 
 
 ON JEALOUSY. 
 
 " O shield from his rage, celestial Powers ! 
 This tyrant, that embitters all my hours, 
 Ah love ! you've poorly play'd the hero's part ; 
 You conquer'd, but you can't defend my heart. 
 When first I bent beneath your gentle reign, 
 I thought this monster banish'd from your train : 
 But you would raise him to support your throne, 
 And now he claims your empire as his own. 
 Or tell me, tyrants, have you both agreed 
 That where one reigns, the other shall succeed." 
 
 Thus oppressed at once by love, jealousy, and 
 disappointment, her spirits sunk, a settled melan- 
 choly preyed upon her heart, which, with a natural 
 tendency to a decay, impaired her health to such a 
 degree, as to give the most alarming symptoms^of 
 an approaching dissolution. Shocked with the ap- 
 prehension of so fatal an event, whereof he must 
 be conscious to himself he was the cause ; and moved 
 with compassion at the state to which he saw her re- 
 duced, all Swift's former tenderness and affection for 
 her revived in his breast ; and banished every other 
 idea from his mind, but what tended to the preserva- 
 tion of a life so precious. He employed a common 
 4 friend
 
 31(5 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 friend to both to learn from her the secret cause of 
 that dejection of spirits, which had so visibly preyed 
 upon her health ; and to know whether it was by any 
 means in his power to remove it; assuring her that 
 nothing should be wanting on his part, to restore her 
 to that tranquillity of mind upon which so much of 
 his own happiness depended." 
 
 Upon this application Mrs. Johnson opened her 
 mind fully to this friend. She told him, " that from 
 the peculiarity of her circumstances, and the singu- 
 lar connexion she had with Swift for so many years, 
 there had been great room given for the tongue of 
 slander to exert itself. That she had learned to bear 
 with this patiently, as she had reason to expect that 
 all reports of that sort would be effaced by mar- 
 riage, as soon as Swift should be in circumstances to 
 make her a proposal of that nature. That she now 
 saw with the deepest concern, ever since his pro- 
 motion, his behaviour toward her had been wholly 
 changed, and a cold indifference had succeeded to 
 the warmest professions of eternal affection. That 
 the necessary consequence would be, an indelible 
 stain fixed upon her character, and the loss of her 
 good name, which was much dearer to her than 
 life.*' 
 
 Swift, in answer to this, said, " that he had 
 early in life laid down two maxims with regard to 
 matrimony, from which he was determined never 
 to depart. One was, never to marry, unless he was 
 before hand possessed of a decent provision for a 
 family ; another was, unless this should be the case 
 at a time of life when he might reasonably expect 
 to breed up his children, and see them properly 
 
 entered
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. Si? 
 
 entered into the world. With regard to the first 
 article, he was so far from having any thing hefore 
 hand ;. that he was still in debt ; and the small pre- 
 ferment he had obtained, to which he had now no 
 hopes of ever receiving any addition, gave him but 
 little prospect of ever accumulating a fortune. And 
 as to the second, he had already passed that period 
 of life, after which it was his fixed resolution never 
 to marry. That of all women upon earth, could 
 he have entered into that state consistently with these 
 principles, she should have been his choice. And as 
 her apprehensions about her character's suffering 
 seemed to weigh the heaviest on her mind, in order 
 to put an end to those, he was ready to go through the 
 ceremony of marriage with her, upon two conditions. 
 The first was, that they should continue to live se- 
 parately, exactly in the same manner as before : the 
 second, that it should be kept a profound secret from 
 all the world, unless some urgent necessity should 
 call for the discovery." 
 
 However short of Stella's expectations these con- 
 ditions might be, yet as she knew the inflexibility 
 of Swift's resolutions, she readily embraced them. 
 And as it is probable that her chief uneasiness arose 
 from jealousy, and the apprehensions she was under 
 that he might be induced to marry miss Vanhom- 
 righ, she would at least have the satisfaction, by 
 this measure, of rendering such a union with her 
 rival impracticable. Accordingly the ceremony was 
 performed without witnesses, and the connubial knot 
 tied in the year 17 16, by Dr. Ashe, bishop of Glog- 
 her, to whom Swift had been a pupil in the col- 
 lege j and who as I have been informed, was the 
 
 common
 
 318 THE LIFE 
 
 common friend to both, employed in the above 
 negotiation*. But the conditions upon which) this 
 union was formed, were punctually fulfilled. She 
 still continued at her lodgings in a distant part of 
 the town, where she received his visits as usual, 
 and returned them at the deanery, in company with 
 her friend Mrs. Dingley. As soon as Swift's finances 
 were in order, he departed from that strict economy 
 which he had observed while he was in debt, and 
 kept two publick days, on which he invited parties of 
 his friends to dinner ; where Mrs. Johnson always 
 made one of the circle, though without any distinct 
 character or place from the other guests. The ele- 
 gance of her manners, the sweetness of her disposi- 
 tion, and brilliancy of her wit, rendered her the ge- 
 neral object of admiration to all who were so happy 
 as to have a place in that enviable society. A certain 
 dignity of deportment, which conscious virtue alone 
 can give, and a native modesty which shone forth in 
 all her words and actions, secured her from the busy- 
 tongue of slander, nor was the breath of calumny 
 heard to whisper against her. And whatever singu- 
 larity might appear in this their mode of living, was 
 only considered as one of Swift's peculiarities ; who, 
 in many other instances, did not think himself bound 
 to conform to the usual customs of the world. There 
 
 * The whole account of this transaction was given me by Mrs. 
 Sican, a lady of uncommon understanding, fine taste, and great 
 goodness of heart ; on which account she was a great favourite 
 both with the Dean and Mrs. Johnson. S. 
 
 If this remarkable fact needed farther confirmation, we have 
 it from Dr. Johnson ; who was told by Dr. Madden, that " Swift 
 was privately married to Mrs. Johnson, by Dr. Ashe, bishop of 
 Clogher, in the garden." N. 
 
 were
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 3rl() 
 
 were indeed many idle reasons assigned by busy cu- 
 rious people, for their not cohabiting, but none that 
 ever glanced at her character. 
 
 Having satisfied the scruples of Mrs. Johnson by 
 passing through the ceremony of marriage, whose 
 recovered health and spirits added new charms to 
 that conversation, once his supreme delight, Swift s 
 next care was, to put an end to any hopes Vanessa 
 might still entertain, against which there was now 
 an insuperable bar. With this view he paid her a 
 visit in company with Mr. dean Winter, a gentle- 
 man of good fortune, who was her professed ad- 
 mirer, and had made overtures of marriage to her. 
 Nothing could have been a greater mortification to 
 her love-sick mind, than such a visit, as it implied 
 a recommendation of his rival, and an entire re- 
 nunciation of his own pretensions. She rejected his 
 proposals with disdain, as well as those of every 
 suitor who offered, having centred all her views of 
 happiness in life in the possession of Cadenus. To 
 avoid all importunities of that sort, she retired to a 
 small house on her estate near Celbridge, where, in 
 silence and solitude, she indulged her fatal passion, 
 till it rose almost to a pitch of frenzy. All other 
 ideas but what related to Cadenus, were banished 
 from her mind, and all the faculties of her soul were 
 absorbed in love. She wrote constantly to him in 
 the most passionate style, nor could the coldness o( 
 his answers in the least abate her flame. The follow- 
 ing letter sent to him from Celbridge in 1720, will 
 best paint the state of her mind. 
 
 " Tell me sincerely if you have once wished with 
 earnestness to see me, since I wrote to you ; no, so far 
 
 from
 
 320 TitS LtP* 
 
 from that, yoti have not once pitied me, though I 
 told you I was distressed. Solitude is insupportable 
 to a mind which is not easy. I have worn out my 
 days in sighing, and my nights with watching and 
 thinking of Cadenus, who thinks not of me. How 
 many letters shall I send you before I receive an an- 
 swer I Can you deny me, in my misery, the only 
 comfort which I can expect at present ? O that I 
 could hope to see you here, or that I could go to 
 you ! I was born with violent passions, which termi- 
 nated all in one, that inexpressible passion I have for 
 you. Consider the killing emotions which I feel from 
 your neglect of me ; and show some tenderness for 
 me, or I shall lose my senses. Sure you cannot 
 possibly be so much taken up, but you might com- 
 mand a moment to write to me, and force your in- 
 clinations to so great a charity. I firmly believe, if I 
 could know your thoughts, (which no creature is ca- 
 pable of guessing at, because never any one living 
 thought like you) I should find you had often, in a 
 rage, wished me religious, hoping then I should have 
 paid my devotions to Heaven : but that would not 
 spare you ; for were I an enthusiast, still you'd be the 
 deity I should worship. What marks are there of a 
 deity, but what you are to be known by ? You are 
 present every where ; your dear image is always be- 
 fore my eyes. Sometimes you strike me with that 
 prodigious awe, I tremble with fear : at other times a 
 charming compassion shines through your counte- 
 nance, which revives my soul. Is it not more rea- 
 sonable to adore a radiant form one has seen, than 
 one only described ?" 
 
 We may see from this epistle to what a romantick 
 
 height
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 321 
 
 height her passion had arisen. Not the most enthu- 
 siastick strains-from Eloisa to Abelard, could exceed 
 those of Vanessa to Cadenus. Length of time, in- 
 stead of diminishing, served only to increase the vio- 
 lence of her passion ; and the general coldness of her 
 lover, far from extinguishing the flame, made it blaze 
 forth the more. It must be confessed indeed, that 
 Swift's conduct toward her was far from being con- 
 sistent. Whatever resolutions he had formed, to 
 try by neglect and ill usage to put an end to that ar- 
 dour of love, which caused him infinite uneasiness^ 
 yet he was seldom able to keep them when in her 
 presence. Whether compassion for the sufferings of 
 an unhappy young woman, whose life was wasting 
 away in misery on his account, operated on his hu- 
 manity ; or whether his own passion for her was too 
 strong for all his philosophy, it is certain he could ne- 
 ver muster up resolution enough entirely to break oh? 
 the connexion, the only possible way by which a cure 
 could be effected. If his coldness, or even rude- 
 ness, at times, drove her almost to despair ; at 
 others, the kindness of his behaviour, and marks of 
 tenderness, revived her hopes. Or as she more 
 strongly expresses it in her letter, " Sometimes you 
 strike me with that prodigious awe, I tremble with 
 fear ; at other times, a charming compassion shines 
 through your countenance, which revives my soul." 
 In this alternate succession of hopes and fears, in 
 this miserable state of suspense, did the wretched 
 Vanessa pass her days till the year 1720, when Swift 
 seemed determined to put an end to an intercourse, 
 the source of so much unhappiness to both. Upon 
 this occasion she wrote him the following letter : 
 yoh. u Y Celbridge,
 
 322 fHfi X.1FJB 
 
 Celbridge, 1720. 
 <c Believe me it is with the utmost regret that I 
 now complain to you, because I know your good 
 nature such, that you cannot see any human crea- 
 ture miserable, without being sensibly touched. 
 Yet what can I do ? I must either unload my heart, 
 and tell you all its griefs, or sink under the inex- 
 pressible distress I now suffer, by your prodigious 
 neglect of me. It is now ten long weeks since I 
 saw you ; and in all that time, I have never received 
 but one letter from you, and a little note with art 
 excuse. Oh ! have you forgot me ? You endea- 
 vour by severities to force me from you. Nor can I 
 blame you ; for with the utmost distress and con- 
 fusion, I beheld myself the cause of uneasy reflect 
 tions to you : yet I cannot comfort you ; but here 
 declare, that it is not in the power of art, time, or 
 accident, to lessen the inexpressible passion which 
 I have for Cadenus. Put my passion under the 
 utmost restraint ; send me as distant from you as the 
 earth will allow, yet you cannot banish those charm- 
 ing ideas, which will ever stick by me, while I have 
 the use of memory. Nor is the love I bear you 
 only seated in my soul, for there is not a single atom 
 of my frame, that is not blended with it. Therefore 
 do not flatter yourself that separation will ever 
 change my sentiments ; for I find myself unquiet in 
 the midst of silence, and my heart is at once pierced 
 with sorrow and love. For Heaven's sake tell me, 
 what has caused this prodigious change in you, 
 which I found Of late. If yOu have the least re- 
 mains of pity for me left, tell it me tenderly. No 
 do not tell it so, that it may cause my present death. 
 
 . And
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 323 
 
 And do not suffer me to live a life like a languishing 
 death, which is the only life I can lead, if you have 
 lost any of your tenderness for me." 
 
 When Swift found that all his endeavours in this 
 way had proved fruitless, and that the love of Va- 
 nessa for Cadenus, like that of the faithful Emma 
 to Henry, was proof against all obstacles thrown in- 
 ks way, he gave way to the feelings of humanity, 
 and dictates of his heart, against which, with no 
 small violence to his inclination, he had so long 
 struggled, and changed his behaviour to that of the 
 kind indulgent friend. His letters breathed senti- 
 ments of the greatest tenderness ; and in one of 
 July 5, 3 721, he makes a declaration of his passion 
 for her in the most explicit terms, as may be seen 
 in the following sentence written in French. Mais 
 soyez assuree, que jamais personne au monde ria He 
 aimee, honoree, estimce, adore e, par voire ami, que 
 vous. This declaration seems to have been drawn 
 from him by some desperate state of mind in which 
 he had left her, probably occasioned by her jealousy 
 of Stella. For in the beginning of the same letter, 
 dated from Gallstown, he says, " It was not con- 
 venient, hardly possible, to write to you before now, 
 though I had more than ordinary desire to do it, con- 
 sidering the disposition I found you in last, though I 
 hope I left you in a better. Cadenus assures me, he 
 continues to esteem, and love, and value you above 
 all things, and so will do to the end of his life ; but 
 at the same time entreats that you would not make 
 yotfrself or him unhappy by imaginations." 
 
 But as this declaration of Swift's was not followed 
 by any overture of marriage, the confession of his 
 passion for her, however pleasing it might be at first, 
 
 y 2 could
 
 324 THE LIFE 
 
 could not long administer much consolation to her, 
 when she saw no prospect of reaping any farther fruit 
 from it. To find herself beloved, and at the same 
 time without hopes of possessing the object of all her 
 wishes, was rather an aggravation than a relief to her 
 misery. After such a confession, she could see no 
 reason for his not making farther advances. Her 
 fortune was at that time sufficient to gratify his ut- 
 most wishes, as by the death of her two brothers and 
 sister, the whole property left by her father, which 
 was very considerable, was vested in her. The dis- 
 proportion in point of age was now not so great, as 
 she was in her 37 th year, and the doctor could no 
 longer be charged with having seduced the affections 
 of a young girl. She therefore concluded, that some 
 reports which had just then reached her, of his being 
 married to Mrs. Johnson, were but too well founded, 
 and that this was the real obstacle to their union. 
 Impatient of the torments which this idea gave her, 
 she determined to put an end to all farther suspense, 
 by writing to Mrs. Johnson herself upon this head. 
 Accordingly she sent a short note to her, only rer- 
 questing to know from her whether she was married 
 to the Dean or not. Mrs. Johnson answered her in 
 the affirmative, and then enclosed the note she had 
 received from miss Vanhomrigh to Swift. After 
 which, she immediately went out of town without 
 seeing him, or coming to any explanation, and re- 
 tired in great resentment to Mr. Ford's country seat 
 at Wood Park. . 
 
 Nothing could possibly have excited Swift's indig- 
 nation more than this imprudent step taken by miss 
 Vanhomrigh. He knew it must occasion great disr 
 turbance to Mrs. Johnson, and give rise to conjectures 
 
 fatal
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 325 
 
 fatal to her peace. Her abrupt departure, without 
 so much as seeing him, already showed what passed 
 in her mind. Exasperated to the highest degree, he 
 gave way to the first transports of his passion, and 
 immediately rid to Celbridge. He entered the apart- 
 ment where the unhappy lady was, mute, but with a 
 countenance that spoke the highest resentment. She 
 trembling asked him, would he not sit down? " No 1" 
 He then flung a paper on the table, and immediately 
 returned to his horse. 
 
 When, on the abatement of her consternation, she 
 had strength to open the paper, she found it contained 
 nothing but her own note to Mrs. Johnson. Despair 
 at once seized her, as if she had seen her death war- 
 rant: and such indeed it proved to be. The violent 
 agitation of her mind threw her into a fever, which 
 in a short time put a period to her existence. Swift, 
 on receiving the tidings of her death, immediately 
 took horse and quitted the town, without letting any 
 mortal know to what part of the world he was gone. 
 As he foresaw that this event would give rise to much 
 town talk, he thought it most prudent to keep out of 
 the way, till the first heat of it was over. And having 
 never visited the southern part of the kingdom, he 
 took this opportunity of making a tour there, because 
 having no acquaintance in those parts, he might be 
 a perfect master of his own motions, and in his so- 
 litary rambles, give free vent to his grief for the loss 
 of so beloved an object, heightened by the bitter ag- 
 gravation of knowing himself to be the cause of her 
 death. Two months had elapsed without any news 
 of him, which occasioned no small alarm among his 
 friends; when Dr. Sheridan received a letter from 
 him, to meet him at a certain distance from Dublin. 
 
 Before
 
 326 THE LIFE 
 
 Before her death, miss Vanhomrlgh had cancelled 
 a will made in favour of Swift, and bequeathed her 
 whole fortune to serjeant Marshall, and the famous 
 Dr. Berkeley, whom she appointed her executors. 
 The former was a relation, and the other only an ac- 
 quaintance, for whose person and character she had 
 the highest esteem. In her last illness she had laid a 
 strong injunction on her executors, that immediately 
 after her decease* they should publish all the letters 
 that passed between Swift and her, together with the * 
 poem of Cadenus and Vanessa. Accordingly they 
 were put to the press, and some progress made in the 
 letters, when Dr. Sheridan, getting intelligence of 
 it, and being greatly alarmed lest they might contain 
 something injurious to his friend's character in his 
 absence, applied so effectually to the executors,- that 
 the printed copy was cancelled, but the originals still 
 remained in their hands. The poem of u Cadenus 
 and Vanessa" was however sent abroad into the world, 
 as being supposed to contain nothing prejudicial to 
 either of their characters : though the prying eye of 
 malice, afterward found some hints in it, which, by 
 the help of misconstruction, might furnish food to 
 the appetite for scandal. 
 
 In the mean time, Mrs. Johnson continued at 
 Wood Park, where her worthy host exerted all the 
 powers of friendship to calm the disturbance of her 
 mind, now 7 much increased by the publication of that 
 poem. To find there such an amiable portrait drawn 
 of Vanessa, as one possessed of more and greater ac- 
 complishments than any of her sex, could not fail to 
 excite her envy; of which a remarkable proof was 
 given in an anecdote recorded by Dr. Delany. At this 
 juncture some gentlemen happened to call at Wood 
 
 Park,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 327 
 
 Park, who were not acquainted with Mrs. Johnson's 
 situation. As the newly published poem was then the 
 general subject of conversation, they soon fell upon 
 that topick. One of the gentlemen said, surely that 
 Vanessa must be an extraordinary woman, that could 
 inspire the Dean to write so finely upon her. Mrs. 
 Johnson smiled, and answered, " that she thought 
 that point not quite so clear; for it was well known 
 the Dean could write finely on a broomstick." We 
 must suppose her to have been exceedingly galled, 
 when one of her humane disposition could utter such 
 a sarcasm, and thus exult over the recent ashes of 
 her departed rival. 
 
 As there were numbers, through party hatred, and 
 others through envy, who watched every opportunity 
 to calumniate the Dean's character, and spread stories 
 to his disadvantage, the publication of this poem 
 afforded room for malice to exert itself, which was 
 greedily embraced. There were some lines in it, 
 which having the worst construction put on them, by 
 a very forced interpretation, might give rise to sus- 
 picions injurious to his oharactcr, anal totally de- 
 structive of the lady's. Yet, such is the propensity 
 of mankind to lean to the worse skle, especially when 
 any exalted character is thereby to be brought down, 
 more to a level with themselves, that this interpre- 
 tation has been generally received, and the calumny 
 accordingly spread, though perhaps there never was 
 any built upon a more slender foundation, as I shall 
 presently show. The lines alluded to are the follow- 
 ing: 
 
 "But what success Vanessa met, 
 
 Is to the world a secret yet: 
 
 Whether the nysaph, to please her swain, 
 
 Talks in a high romantick strain;
 
 328 THE LIFE 
 
 Or whether he at last descends, 
 To act with less seraphick ends ; 
 Or, to compound the business, whether 
 They temper love and books together ; 
 Must never to mankind be told, 
 Nor shall the conscious muse unfold." 
 
 These lines, considered as detached from the rest, 
 might perhaps admit of such an interpretation; but 
 when the whole scope of the poem is taken in, it is 
 impossible to put a bad one upon them, without 
 giving up all pretensions to common sense, as well as 
 candour. Cadenus is represented as a clergyman of 
 the strictest morals, advanced in life, and who had 
 at all times been proof against any weakness with 
 regard to the fair sex. Vanessa is drawn as the most 
 perfect model of every female perfection, particu- 
 larly modesty : 
 
 " From whence that decency of mind, 
 So lovely in the female kind, 
 Where not one careless thought intrudes, 
 Less modest than the speech of prudes." 
 
 She is represented as a pattern for all the sex to 
 copy after : 
 
 " As she advanced, that womankind, 
 Would, by her model form their mind; 
 And all their conduct would be try'd 
 By her, as an unerring guide." 
 
 Is it possible to conceive, that when a lady of this 
 character confesses a passion for her reverend tutor, 
 that any thing could be meant by it but virtuous love, 
 to terminate in matrimony? If gallantry had been 
 her object, in the whole race of mankind she could 
 not have made a more preposterous choice ; though 
 by one of her refined way of thinking, who con- 
 sidered
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 329 
 
 sidered the beauties of the mind as superiour to all 
 external accomplishments, he might have been pre- 
 ferred to all the world as a husband. 
 
 It is impossible there could be any mistake about 
 the kind of love mentioned in this passage, were it 
 not for an expression in the subsequent lines which 
 might admit of a bad interpretation, by those who 
 do not understand the true force of words, which 
 has been on many occasions the source of infinite 
 errours among us, from not studying our own lan- 
 guage. The expression I mean, is to be found in 
 the last of the following lines: 
 
 " Or, to compound the business, whether 
 They temper love and books together, 
 Must never to mankind be told, 
 Nor shall the conscious muse unfold." 
 
 Here the word conscious, being much oftener used 
 in a bad than a good sense, is apt to mislead the un- 
 wary reader, and make him conceive that there was 
 something in the secret dishonourable to the parties 
 if revealed. But upon examining into the proper 
 meaning of this word, we shall find that it has a very 
 different sense when applied to one's self, and when 
 it refers to others. Consciousness, applied to self, is 
 the perception of what passes in a man's own mind; 
 from which proceeds an internal sense of guilt or 
 innocence, by which we either stand acquitted or 
 condemned to ourselves, and is therefore equally ca- 
 pable of a good or bad sense. But when it refers to 
 another person, it has nothing to do with any judg- 
 ment formed of the rectitude or depravity of the 
 action, it only means that that other person is in the 
 secret, or privy to the transaction, be it good, or be 
 
 it
 
 3*30 THE LIFE 
 
 it bad. And consciousness of this sort can never 
 affect the nature of the tiling itself: 
 
 Thus when the lover writes, 
 
 * The silent moon shone conscious to our loves." 
 
 The word conscious does not at all determine the na- 
 ture of those loves, whether they were of the chaste 
 or criminal kind, which must be gathered from other 
 circumstances. In like manner, when Cadenus says, 
 " the conscious muse shall not unfold," &c. it can 
 admit of no other meaning, but that the muse, who 
 alone was in the secret, should never disclose it, or 
 tell whether he returned Vanessa's passion or not: and 
 that this passion, if returned, must have been of the 
 purest and most virtuous kind, has, from other cir- 
 cumstances, been already sufficiently proved. 
 
 It is evident Cadenus looked upon the declaration 
 made by the lady, in no other light than an overture 
 to marriage; as may be seen in the following couplet, 
 quoted before: 
 
 " Five thousand guineas in her purse, 
 The Doctor might have fancy d worse." 
 
 But to put an end to a possibility of conceiving that 
 any insinuation of a contrary nature could have drop- 
 ped from Swift's pen, it will be sufficient to make it 
 known that the poem was not intended for the pub- 
 lick eye; that it was written solely for the use of 
 Vanessa, upon motives already explained; that the 
 only copy of it in being was in her hands, and in all 
 probability it would never have seen the light, but for 
 the injunction to her executors. It may be asked, if 
 this was the case, and that the poem was intended only 
 
 5 for
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 331 
 
 for Vanessa's inspection, what occasion was there for 
 these lines to her, who, as well as the muse, must 
 already be conscious how matters stood between 
 them? In answer to this, it is evident that the poem 
 would be incomplete, if there were not some conclu- 
 sion to the story of Cadenus and Vanessa. The story 
 could possibly terminate, only in one of the following 
 ways : either Vanessa, from the arguments and cold- 
 ness of her philosophick lover, had got the better of 
 her passion, and adopted his platonick system; or 
 Cadenus, after all his resistance, was obliged to yield 
 to the all-conquering power of love; or finding her 
 passion incurable, had broken off all intercourse with 
 her; or that the issue of the affair was still in sus- 
 pense. As the latter was really the case at the time 
 of writing the poem, it could then have no other 
 conclusion. And those lines which leave matters in 
 a dubious state, seem only calculated to paint the 
 uncertainty of his own mind, and not to leave 
 Vanessa without hope, from that very uncertainty, 
 that she might in time expect a suitable return of 
 love. 
 
 But though it should be allowed, from the above 
 state of the case, that at the time of writing this 
 poem, neither of the parties had entertained even an 
 idea of entering into a criminal amour, yet when it 
 is known that he afterward carried on a secret inter- 
 course with the lady during the space of eight or 
 nine years; that he passed many hours alone with a 
 young and charming woman, who loved him to ado- 
 ration, and for whom he himself was first inspired 
 with the passion of love; it will be hardly credible, 
 that thus circumstanced, they should not, in some 
 unguarded moment, have given way to the frailty of 
 
 human
 
 332 THE LIFE 
 
 human nature. And yet extraordinary as it may 
 appear, there are many strong reasons to believe that 
 this never was the case. We have already seen on 
 her first going to Ireland, what uncommon pains 
 Swift took to avoid meeting her. Upon which Va- 
 nessa writes to him in the following manner: " You 
 once had a maxim, which was to act what was right, 
 and not mind what the world would say. I wish you 
 would keep to it now. Pray what can be wrong in 
 seeing and advising an unhappy young woman! I 
 cannot imagine." Is this the language of guilt, or 
 conscious innocence? In all the letters which passed 
 between them, whose publication was suppressed, as 
 before related, I have been assured by one of her 
 executors, the late judge Marshall, and the same was 
 constantly asserted by the other, bishop Berkeley, 
 that there was no hint of any criminal amour ; which 
 could not easily have happened in so long a corres- 
 pondence, had that been the case. On the contrary, 
 in the few that have seen the light, we find Swift al- 
 ways praising her for her virtues, and recommending 
 to her the improvement of her mind. In his French 
 letter, May 12, 17 1 9, in answer to one of hers 
 written in that language, he says, " t que je suis 
 sot moi de vous repondre en meme langage, vous qui 
 etes incapable d' aucune sottise, si ce n' est 1* estime 
 qu'il vous plait d' avoir pour moi : car il n'y a point de 
 merite, ni aucun preuve de mon bon gout, de trou- 
 ver en vous tout ce que la nature a donnee a un 
 mortel; je veux dire, l'honneur, la vertu, le bon sens, 
 Tesprit, le douceur, Y agrement, et la fermete d' ame/ 
 And in another of Oct. 15, 1720, he says, " When 
 I am not so good a correspondent as I could wish, 
 you are not to quarrel, and be governour, but to im- 
 pute
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 333 
 
 pute it to my situation, and to conclude infallibly, 
 that I have the same respect and kindness for you I 
 ever professed to have, and shall ever preserve ; be- 
 cause you will always merit the utmost that can be 
 given you ; especially if you go on to read, and still 
 farther improve your mind, and the talents that 
 nature has given you." 
 
 Indeed the most probable solution of this intricate 
 affair is, that Swift, having lived to such an advanced 
 time of life in a state of continence, and a constant 
 habit of suppressing his desires, at last lost the power 
 of gratifying them : a case by no means singular, as 
 more than one instance of the kind has fallen within 
 my knowledge. This will appear the more probable, 
 when we reflect, that in the letter to his kinsman 
 before cited, he acknowledges himself to be naturally 
 of a temperate constitution with regard to women, 
 and that he had never indulged himself in illicit 
 amours. Nor did it ever appear, even from report, 
 that he had any commerce of that kind with any of 
 the sex, which, after the conspicuous figure he made 
 in life, could not fail of being related by some of his 
 companions in his early pleasures, had there been any 
 foundation for it. This alone can account for his 
 singular conduct with regard to the two ladies: for 
 his coldness to Vanessa, and constant endeavours to 
 bring down the ardours of her passion, and lower them 
 to friendship, or a love more of the platonick kind, and 
 for his abstaining from the lawful pleasures of connu- 
 bial love with Stella. And I think there is one strong 
 argument of his never having entered into any com- 
 merce of that sort with Vanessa, that it is hardly 
 credible he should have refrained, in that case, from 
 a similar gratification with Stella, who was possessed 
 
 of
 
 334 THE LIFE 
 
 of greater personal charms, and was more an object 
 of desire, than the other : especially as the former 
 could not be enjoyed without compunction, and the 
 latter was a pleasure of the purest kind without 
 alloy. 
 
 In confirmation of the opinion I have here started, 
 I remember a saying of Swift's, H that he never yet 
 saw the woman, for whose sake he would part with 
 the middle of his bed." A saying, which, I believe, 
 all mankind will judge could come from no person, 
 but one incapable of enjoying the highest and most 
 innocent of all gratifications here below, when sancti- 
 fied by marriage. 
 
 I have dwelt the longer on this point, because much 
 of the moral part of Swift's character depends on it. 
 'For if it should be credited that he could take advan- 
 tage of her weakness to debauch the daughter of a 
 lady, who received him into her family with the af- 
 fection of a sister, and reposed the same confidence 
 in him as if he were her brother; if it should appear 
 that for several years he carried on a criminal intrigue 
 with her, at the same time that he denied the lawful 
 rites of marriage, due to one of the most amiable of 
 her sex; I am afraid, instead of a pattern of the 
 most perfect morality, he must be given up an in- 
 stance of uncommon profligacy, and be justly charged 
 with a vice, which, of all others, he most detested, 
 and from which no man ever was more free, I mean 
 hypocrisy. 
 
 Though lord Orrery has acquitted him of this 
 charge, upon the same principle that has been here 
 laid down, yet, pro solltd humnnitate sua, he has 
 done it only with a view to place him in a more 
 odious light. As the account he has given of this 
 
 affair,
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 335 
 
 affair, affords one of the strongest instances of the 
 blindness of malice, and how far, in search of its 
 gratification, it may overshoot itself, I shall here 
 present part of it to the reader, that he may judge, 
 from that specimen, what credit is due to the rest 
 of the author's malevolent remarks on Swift. I shall 
 begin with his extraordinary comments on the fol- 
 lowing lines in the poem of Cadenus and Vanessa ; 
 where in a conversation between them, the author 
 gives the following account of her sentiments, as de- 
 livered by her: 
 
 " She well remember'd, to her cost, 
 That all his lessons were not lost. 
 Two maxims she could still produce, 
 And sad experience taught their use : 
 ' That virtue pleas'd by being shown, 
 Knows nothing which it dares not own : 
 Can make us, without fear, disclose 
 Our inmost secrets to our foes : 
 That common forms were not design'd 
 Directors to a noble mind.' 
 How, said the nymph, to let you see. 
 My actions with your rules agree; 
 That I can vulgar forms despise, 
 And have no secrets to disguise, 
 I knew, by what you said and writ, 
 What dangerous things were men of wit ; 
 You caution'd me against their charms, 
 But never gave me equal arms : 
 Your lessons found the weakest part, 
 Aim'd at the head, and reach'd the heart." 
 
 Now in these lines, according to the plain and 
 obvious meaning of the words, there are no senti- 
 ments which might net have proceeded from the 
 most exalted virtue, and purity of mind. A young 
 
 lady,
 
 330 THE LIFE 
 
 lady, described as a perfect pattern of modesty, pos- 
 sessed of 
 
 that decency of mind, 
 
 So lovely in the female kind, 
 
 Where not one careless thought intrudes, 
 
 Less modest than the speech of prudes, 
 
 is here represented as about to disclose her passion 
 for her tutor, which was kindled in her breast by 
 his extraordinary talents, and uncommon virtue. As 
 it was contrary to the received maxims of the world, 
 that a woman should be the first to break her mind 
 on such an occasion, she prepares the way by quoting 
 two maxims of his own which he had taught her; 
 one was, that a mind conscious of innocence, need 
 never be ashamed of disclosing its inmost thoughts: 
 the other, that common forms, invented to keep the 
 vulgar within bounds, might be dispensed with, 
 where a superiour grandeur of soul is shown by 
 breaking through such barriers. Knowing therefore 
 the purity of her love for an object so worthy of it, 
 she is not ashamed to declare it; and looks upon it 
 as a mark of greatness of mind, to be above the com- 
 mon forms of her sex, in being the first to disclose 
 it. 
 
 Besides, there were other reasons, which would 
 justify her, even in the opinion of the world, for being 
 the first mover in this case, arising both from dis- 
 parity of years and fortune; which might discourage 
 Cadenus from paying his addresses, however he might 
 secretly wish to be united to Vanessa. 
 
 Now let us see in what manner this passage has 
 been explained by the noble Remarker on Swift's life. 
 
 Immediately
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 337 
 
 Immediately after his quotation of the foregoing lines, 
 he thus expatiates upon them: 
 
 " Supposing this account to be true, and I own to 
 you, my Ham, I can scarce think it otherwise; it is 
 evident that the fair Vanessa had made a surprising 
 progress in the philosophick doctrines, which she had 
 received from her preceptor. His rules were certainly 
 of a most extraordinary kind. He taught her that 
 vice, as soon as it defied shame, was immediately 
 changed into virtue. That vulgar forms were not 
 binding upon certain choice spirits, to whom either 
 the writings, or the persons of men of wit were ac- 
 ceptable. She heard the lesson with attention, and 
 imbibed the philosophy with eagerness. The maxims 
 suited her exalted turn of mind. She imagined, if 
 the theory appeared so charming, the practice must 
 be much more delightful. The close connexion of 
 soul and body seemed to require, in the eye of a fe- 
 male philosopher, that each should succeed the other 
 in all pleasurable enjoyments. The former had been 
 sufficiently regaled, why must the latter remain un- 
 satisfied! e Nature,' said Vanessa, e abhors a vacuum, 
 and nature ought always to be obeyed.' She commu- 
 nicated these sentiments to her tutor; but he seemed 
 not to comprehend her meaning, not to conceive the 
 distinctio rationis that had taken rise in his own 
 school. He answered her in the nonessential modes. 
 Talked of friendship, of the delights of reason, of 
 gratitude, respect, and esteem. He almost preached 
 upon virtue, and he muttered some indistinct phrases 
 concerning chastity. So unaccountable a conduct in 
 Cadenus, may be thought rather to proceed from de- 
 fects in nature, than from the scrupulous difficulties 
 of a tender conscience. Such a supposition will still 
 
 vol. i. Z appear'
 
 338 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 That virtue pleas'd by being shown 
 Knows nothing which it dares not own : 
 Can maTce us, without fear, disclose 
 Our inmost secrets to our foes. 
 
 That common forms were not design'd 
 Directors to a noble mind. 
 
 appear more strong, if we recollect the distant man- 
 ner in which Swift cohabited with Stella; colder, if 
 possible, after, than before she was his wife." 
 
 I appeal to the reader whether he ever met in the 
 most stupid, or malicious commentator, such a total 
 perversion of the meaning of words. To show this 
 in its strongest light, let us place the text, and ex- 
 planation in opposition to each other. 
 
 Text. Explanation. 
 
 That vice, as soon as 
 it defied shame, was 
 immediately chang- 
 ed into virtue. 
 
 That vulgar forms were 
 not bindiag upon 
 certain choice spi- 
 rits, to whom either 
 the writings, or the 
 persons of men of 
 wit were acceptable. 
 
 According to this account, the man who had been 
 all his life a votary to virtue; whose chief delight it 
 was to instil the best principles into the minds of 
 youth; who had trained the amiable Stella, from her 
 early days, in such a way, as, by the Remarker's own 
 description of her, made her a model of perfection ; 
 this man, I say, all of a sudden became a proselyte to 
 vice; betrayed the confidence reposed in him by the 
 mother, his particular friend, to corrupt the mind of 
 her innocent daughter, so as to make her lose all 
 sense of shame, and even glory in wickedness. And 
 all this, for what? You will suppose at least that he 
 had fallen desperately in love with her, and having 
 no hopes of marriage, is determined to gratify his 
 passion at any rate, and with this view, tries to erase 
 from her mind all principles of virtue and modesty, 
 
 which
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 33$ 
 
 which might stand in his way. Quite the contrary. 
 It appears from the Remarker's own account, that 
 when he had accomplished his point, and brought her 
 to as high a degree of depravity as he could wish, in 
 order to gratify his desires, he changed his whole 
 system, rejected her proffered love, talked of friend- 
 ship, reason, gratitude, respect, esteem, and preached 
 upon virtue and chastity. And to account for this in- 
 consistence in his behaviour, he has recourse to 
 defects of nature, and impotence in the Dean. Now 
 to suppose that a reverend divine, advanced in life, 
 should lay such a plan to corrupt the mind of his 
 young pupil, without a possibility of any view to self- 
 gratification, and merely to prepare her for prosti- 
 tution to others, is to charge him with a crime so 
 truly diabolical, as would stamp a blacker stain of 
 infamy even on the character of a Chartres. And 
 yet this is a charge brought by lord Orrery against 
 his friend Swift. 
 
 To expatiate farther on the inconsistencies j absur- 
 dities, and impurities, rising almost to obscenity, in 
 the passage above quoted, and all that refers to the 
 same subject, would be utterly unnecessary, as they 
 must be obvious to every reader of the least discern- 
 ment. But I cannot quit this article without endea- 
 vouring to wipe away some of the most cruel and 
 groundless aspersions that have been thrown on the 
 memory of the accomplished, though unfortunate 
 Vanessa. In all the account given by lord Orrery of 
 this lady, he has drawn her character as opposite to 
 that given by Swift, as darkness is to light; and this 
 in such positive and peremptory terms, that every 
 reader must suppose he was well acquainted with her. 
 And yet it is certain he never saw her in his life, nor 
 
 x 2 had
 
 340 THE LIFE 
 
 had any opportunity to get any information about her 
 till many years after her death, as his first visit to 
 Ireland was in the year 1733. Without any other out- 
 line before him but what was traced in his own brain, 
 for he does not even pretend to quote any authority 
 for all that he has advanced upon this subject, see 
 what a portrait he has drawn of the celebrated Va- 
 nessa : 
 
 " Vanity makes terrible devastation in a female 
 breast. It batters down all restraints of modesty, and 
 carries away every seed of virtue. Vanessa was ex- 
 cessively vain. The character given of her by Cade- 
 nus is fine painting, but, in general, fictitious. She 
 was fond of dress; impatient to be admired; very 
 romantick in her turn of mind; superiour, in her 
 own opinion, to all her sex ; full of pertness, gayety, 
 and pride; not without some agreeable accomplish- 
 ments, but far from being either beautiful or genteel; 
 ambitious, at any rate to be esteemed a wit, and 
 with that view always affecting to keep company with 
 wits ; a great reader, and a violent admirer of poetry ; 
 happy in the thoughts of being reputed Swift's concu- 
 bine, but still aiming and intending to be his wife; by 
 nature haughty and disdainful, looking with the pity of 
 contempt upon her inferiours, and with the smiles of 
 self-approbation upon her equals; but upon Dr. Swift 
 with the eyes of love." 
 
 Whoever compares this picture, with that drawn 
 for Vanessa in the poem, will hardly conceive it pos- 
 sible that they should both be copies of the same 
 original. In the one, she is represented as a model 
 of perfection, adorned with ever)' grace and virtue 
 that could raise her above her sex: in the other as 
 not possessed of one good quality, either of mind or 
 
 person,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIPT. 341 
 
 person, and replete with such foibles, and bad dis- 
 positions, as must degrade her to the lowest rank. 
 If it be supposed that the former was a very flattering 
 likeness, and the chief beauties and embellishments 
 there, were only the creatures of a poetick fancy, let 
 us see how far the same painter has kept up a re- 
 semblance, in the more correct drawing, and chaste 
 colouring of prose. For this purpose let us have 
 recourse to a letter of his written to her in French, 
 six years after the poem, May 12, 171& P art where- 
 of has been already quoted, and of which the follow- 
 ing is a literal translation: 
 
 " I make you my compliments on your perfection 
 in the French language. It is necessary to be long 
 acquainted with you, in order to know all your ac- 
 complishments: every time, in seeing and hearing 
 you, new ones appear, which before were concealed. 
 I am ashamed to think I know only the Gascon and 
 Patois in comparison of you. There is no objection 
 to be made either to the orthography, propriety, ele- 
 gance, ease, or spirit of the whole. And what a 
 blockhead am I to answer you in the same language ! 
 You, who are incapable of any folly, unless it be the 
 esteem you are pleased to entertain for me : for, it is 
 no merit, nor any proof of my good taste to find out 
 in you all that nature has bestowed on a mortal; 
 that is to say, honour, virtue, good sense, wit, sweet- 
 ness, agreeableness, and firmness of soul: but by 
 concealing yourself as you do, the world knows you 
 not, and you lose the eulogy of millions. Ever since 
 I have had the honour of knowing you, I have al- 
 ways remarked, that neither in private, nor in general 
 conversation, has one word ever escaped you, which 
 could be better expressed. And I protest, that after 
 
 making
 
 342 THE LIFE 
 
 making frequently the most severe criticisms, I never 
 have been able to find the least fault, either in your 
 actions, or your words. Coquetry, affectation, pru- 
 dery, are imperfections which you never knew. And 
 with all this, do you think it possible not to esteem 
 you above the rest of human-kind? What beasts in 
 petticoats are the most excellent of those, whom I 
 see dispersed throughout the world in comparison of 
 you ! On seeing, or hearing them, I say a hundred 
 times a day, speak not, look not, think not, do 
 nothing like those wretches. What a calamity is it 
 to be the cause of bringing down contempt on so 
 many women, who but for the thoughts of you, 
 would be tolerable enough. But it is time to release 
 you from this trouble, and to bid you adieu. I am, 
 and ever shall remain, with all possible respect, sin- 
 cerity, and esteem, yours." 
 
 Of these two opposite characters, the one, was 
 drawn by a man of the nicest discernment, from 
 whose piercing eye, not the smallest blemish, par- 
 ticularly of female minds, could lie concealed, and 
 whose turn lay much more to satire, than panegyrick ; 
 by one, who was intimately acquainted with the lady 
 for whom it was drawn, from her early days, to the 
 time of her death. The other, by a man, who far 
 from having any knowledge of the original, had 
 never so much as seen her person. Can there be the 
 least doubt then which of them is most likely to be 
 the true one ? But not to rest upon authority alone, 
 I will now show that there could not have been the 
 least foundation for some of the blackest eahimnies 
 cast on the character of this unfortunate lady, in the 
 above quoted passage. The author there says, * That 
 she was happy in the thoughts of being reputed 
 
 Swift's
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 343 
 
 Swift's concubine, but still aiming and intending to 
 be his wife." Now we have already seen what un- 
 common precautions Swift took, on her arrival in 
 Dublin, to conceal from the world all the knowledge 
 of his visiting her ; so that it became necessary to 
 her to be secret as possible on that head, as she knew 
 with certainty, that if it once became a town talk, 
 she should never see him more, and that he would 
 at once drop all correspondence with her, which was 
 the only consolation left her, in that distressed state 
 of mind so feelingly set forth in her letters. So that 
 if she had been so thoroughly depraved, as to place 
 any part of her happiness in a publick loss of cha- 
 racter, she could not have been gratified in so singular 
 a taste, without parting with the substance for the 
 shadow: for, in the same sentence, it is said, " that 
 she still aimed and intended to be his wife." I believe 
 so preposterous a plan of bringing about a marriage 
 with a man of the smallest degree of honour and 
 character in the world, that of the lady's boasting of 
 being his concubine, never entered into the head of 
 any mortal, but that of the noble Remarker on Swift's 
 Life. And indeed the assertion is so utterly void of 
 foundation, that all the intercourse bet ,een them, 
 either by visits or letters, was carried on in so secret 
 a manner, that not a tittle of it ever transpired during 
 the lady's life time; nor was there the least suspicion 
 of it, till it was at once blazoned to the world, by the 
 publication of the poem. As to the other parts of 
 her character, " her being fond of dress, impatient 
 to be admired, setting up for a wit, and affecting al- 
 ways to keep company with wits," &c. we find the 
 direct reverse of this to be true, as she led a most 
 recluse life, avoiding as much as possible all society, 
 6 and
 
 344 THE LIFE 
 
 and indulging her unhappy passion in solitude, which 
 gave rise to that passage in Swift's letter before quoted, 
 where he says, " but by concealing yourself as you 
 do, the world knows you not, and you lose the eulogy 
 of millions." 
 
 But his lordship, not satisfied with drawing this 
 odious picture of poor Vanessa, thought there were 
 some finishing strokes still wanting, to render it more 
 deformed; he therefore adds, upon the circumstance 
 of Swift's last interview, in which he broke with her, 
 the following traits: " She had long thrown away the 
 gentle lenitives of virtue, which, upon this occasion, 
 might have proved healing ingredients to so deep, and 
 so dangerous a wound. She had preferred wit to re- 
 ligion ; she had utterly destroyed her character, and 
 her conscience; and she was now fallen a prey to 
 the horrour of her own thoughts." Now, if he were 
 giving an account of the most abandoned profligate 
 wretch, that ever disgraced her sex, just ready to 
 expiate her crimes at Tyburn, could he possibly 
 have expressed himself in stronger terms? Let the 
 reader only look over the passage once more, and 
 judge. And what where the crimes committed by the 
 unfortunate Vanessa, to draw down on her so severe a 
 censure. He himself has acquitted her of any cri- 
 minal commerce with Cadenus, from a supposed im- 
 possibility in the nature of things. It never was 
 surmised by any mortal, nor does he himself pretend 
 to insinuate, that ever she engaged in an affair of 
 gallantry with any other. Nay, so little does she 
 seem to have been under the influence of any desire 
 of that sort, that she rejected with disdain all offers 
 of marriage, placing her whole happiness in the 
 single point of her union with Cadenus; to which, it 
 
 . would
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 34S 
 
 would be absurd to suppose, frorn his advanced time 
 of life, that sensual gratification could have been a 
 chief motive. It is evident she was possessed with an 
 extraordinary passion for one of the most extraor- 
 dinary men of the age, in which she persevered many 
 years with unparalleled constancy, and at length could 
 not outlive her disappointment. Is there any thing 
 criminal in this ? Is there any thing in the story, 
 which must not raise pity in ever} 7 breast of the least 
 humanity? And yet see what effect the melancholy 
 catastrophe had upon the obdurate heart of the noble 
 Remarker! who winds up her story thus: "Thus 
 perished at Celbridge, under all the agonies of des- 
 pair, Mrs. Esther Vanhomrigh ; a miserable example 
 of an ill spent life, fantastick wit, visionary schemes, 
 and female weakness." 
 
 I appeal to the reader, whether he thinks it possi- 
 ble that any venal writer, hired by an enemy for the 
 purpose of defamation, could have drawn any cha- 
 racter in terms of more rancorous malignity. Nor 
 do I believe there exists, even in that prostitute tribe, 
 an individual, who, in cold blood, without provo- 
 cation, or prospect of reward, would set about so 
 odious a task. What motive then could induce this 
 writer to lay aside the nobleman, the gentleman, and 
 the man, to commit an act, which the most hardened 
 assassin of reputations would be ashamed of? Let 
 us suppose, for an instant, that all he has said of 
 this lady is true, was he called upon to the hangman's 
 office, of mangling and embowelling the remains of 
 a deceased criminal? But, on the other hand, when 
 we are sure that he could not himself know the truth 
 of any one assertion he has made 5 that he does not 
 
 even
 
 346 tkjb, tan 
 
 even hint at any authority of others, on which he 
 could rely; and that he has drawn this character in 
 direct opposition to one given to the same person, by 
 the best and most competent judge in the world; we 
 should be apt to conclude, that the whole must have 
 proceeded from a mind fraught with an uncommon 
 portion of malignity. 
 
 But his conduct may be accounted for upon a prin- 
 ciple not quite of so black a die. His lordship con- 
 sidered only how he should appear in the light of an 
 author. He had before drawn a fancied picture of 
 Stella, whom also he had never seen, in which he 
 had collected such an assemblage of perfections, from 
 the whole catalogue of female beauties, graces, virtues, 
 and accomplishments, as perhaps never met in any 
 human creature. In his great liberality, among his 
 other qualities bestowed on her, he gave her skill in 
 musick, of which she did not know a note ; for she 
 neither sung, nor played on any instrument. As the 
 drawing of this character cost him no small pains, 
 he took the usual method of novelists to set it off, by 
 making that of her rival a direct contrast to it : whose 
 deformity, in its turn, became more conspicuous, 
 when opposed to the beautiful colouring in the other. 
 And in doing this he answered another end, which 
 he never loses sight of throughout his work, that of 
 degrading Swift as much as possible : for, if the cha- 
 racters of those two ladies were justly drawn, nothing 
 could have shown a more depraved taste in Swift, 
 than any preference given to the latter, over the 
 former. 
 
 I shall close the history of this unfortunate lady, 
 with two little poems written by her, strongly de- 
 scriptive
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 347 
 
 scriptlve of her state of mind, and affording, in 
 some measure, a confirmation of the account I have 
 given of her. 
 
 AN ODE TO SPRING. 
 
 Hail, blushing goddess, beauteous Spring, 
 Who in thy jocund train, dost bring 
 Loves and Giaces, smiling hours, 
 Balmy breezes, fragrant flowers, 
 Corn*, with lints of roseate hue, 
 Nature's faded charms renew. 
 
 Yet why should I thy presence hail ? 
 To me no more the breathing gale 
 
 Comes fraught with sweets, no more the rose 
 
 With such transcendent beauty blows, 
 
 As when Cad en us blest the scene, 
 
 And shar'd with me those joys serene. 
 
 When, unperceiv'd, the lambent fire 
 
 Of Friendship kindled new desire ; 
 
 Still listening to his tuneful tongue, 
 
 The truths which angels might have sung, 
 
 Divine imprest their gentle swa} r , 
 
 And sweetly stole my soul away. 
 
 My guide, instructor, lover, friend, 
 
 (Dear names !) in one idea blend ; 
 
 O I still conjoin'd, your incense rise, 
 
 And waft sweet odours to the skies. 
 
 AN ODE TO WISDOM. 
 
 O Pallas ! I invoke thy aid ! 
 Vouchsafe to hear a wretched maid, 
 
 By tender love deprest; 
 'Tis just that thou should'st heal the smart, 
 Inflicted by thy subtle art, 
 
 And calm my troubled breast. 
 
 No random shot from Cupid's bow, 
 But by thy guidance, soft and slow, 
 
 It sunk within my heart; 
 Thus, Love being armed with Wisdom's force, 
 In vain I try to stop its course, 
 
 In vain repel the dart, O Goddess,
 
 348 TH LIPE 
 
 O Goddess, break the fatal league, ; .- i 
 
 Let Love, with Folly and Intrigue, 
 
 More fit associates find ! 
 And thou alone, within my breast, 
 O ! deign to sooth ray griefs to rest, 
 
 And heal my tortur'd mind. 
 
 Immediately after the death of miss Vanhomrigh, 
 as I have already mentioned, Swift made a tour of 
 two months in the southern parts of Ireland: during 
 which, Mrs. Johnson remained at Wood Park ; nor 
 did she quit it for some months after his return, pro- 
 bably occasioned by her resentment at the preference 
 given by him to her rival. However, upon her re- 
 turn to Dublin, a reconciliation soon took place. He 
 welcomed her to town in that beautiful poem, called 
 " Stella at Wood Park," in which he indulged his 
 usual vein of raillery, but concludes with a high com- 
 pliment to Stella: 
 
 " For though my raillery were true, 
 A'cottage is Wood Park with you." 
 
 He had an opportunity not long after of showing 
 that he was sincere in this declaration, as he passed 
 a whole summer with her at Quilca, in as inconvenient 
 a cabin, and as dreary a country, as could any where 
 be met with : and yet he often declared that they were 
 some of the happiest hours of his life which he thus 
 passed. They were indeed some of the last in which 
 he had any enjoyment in her society, as she soon after 
 fell into a decline, attended with such symptoms as 
 afforded little prospect of any long continuance of 
 life. The first account of her state being desperate 
 reached Swift in London, as was before related. The 
 following extracts from his letter to Dr. Sheridan on 
 
 the
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT, 24Q 
 
 the occasion will best show with what agonies of 
 mind he received it. 
 
 " I have yours just now of the 1 9th, and the ac- 
 count you give me, is nothing but what I have some 
 time expected with the utmost agonies. It was at this 
 time the best office your friendship could do, not to 
 deceive me. I look upon this to be the greatest 
 event that can ever happen to me, but all my prepa- 
 rations will not suffice to make me bear it like a 
 philosopher, nor altogether like a Christian. There 
 has been the most intimate friendship between us 
 from her childhood, and the greatest merit on her 
 side that ever was in one human creature toward an- 
 other. Nay, if I were now near her, I would not see 
 her ; I could not behave myself tolerably, and should 
 redouble her sorrow. Judge in what a temper of 
 mind I write this. The very time I am writing, I 
 conclude the fairest soul in the world has left its 
 body. Confusion! that I am this moment called 
 down to a visitor, when I am in the country, and not 
 in my power to deny myself. I have passed a very 
 constrained hour, and now return to say I know not 
 what. I have been long weary of the* world, and 
 shall for my small remainder of years be weary of life, 
 having for ever lost that conversation, which alone 
 could make it tolerable." 
 
 Soon after this, we have seen that he returned to 
 Ireland, where he found the danger over, and was 
 made happy by her recovery. But on his next jour- 
 ney to London in the following year, he was again 
 alarmed with an account of a most dangerous relapse. 
 The effect this had on him will be best described by 
 his own expressions in his letter to Pr. Sheridan. 
 " I have had your letter of the 19th, and expect, 
 
 before
 
 350 *HE LIFE 
 
 before you read this, to receive another from you, 
 with the most fatal news that can ever come to me, 
 unless I should be put to death for some ignominious 
 crime. I continue very ill with my giddiness and deaf- 
 ness, and I shall be perfectly content if God shall 
 please to call me at this time. I beg, if you have not 
 writ to me before you get this, to tell me no particu- 
 lars, but the event in general : my weakness, my age, 
 my friendship will bear no more. I do not intend to 
 return to Ireland so soon as I purposed ; I would not 
 be there in the midst of grief. Neither my health nor 
 grief will permit me to say more. This stroke was unex- 
 pected, and my fears last year were ten times greater." 
 In a subsequent letter he says, " If I had any 
 tolerable health, I would go this moment to Ireland; 
 yet I think I would not, considering the news I daily 
 expect to hear from you. I have just received yours 
 of August the 24th. I kept it an hour in my pocket, 
 with all the suspense of a man who expected to hear 
 the worse news that fortune could give him, and at 
 the same time was not able to hold up my head. 
 These are perquisites of living long: the last act of 
 life is always a tragedy at best; but it is a bitter ag- 
 gravation to have one's best friend go before one. I 
 do profess, upon my salvation, that the distressed and 
 desperate condition of our friend, makes life so in- 
 different to me, who by course of nature have so 
 little left, that I do not think it worth the time to 
 struggle ; yet I should think, according to what had 
 been formerly, that I may happen to overcome this 
 disorder; and to what advantage ? Why, to see the 
 loss of that person, for whose sake only life was worth 
 preserving. What have I -to do in this world? I never 
 was in such agonies as when I received your letter, 
 
 and
 
 P DOCTOR SWIFT. 351 
 
 and had it in my pocket* I am able to hold up my 
 sorry head no longer ." 
 
 Let any one who understands the language of na- 
 ture, judge whether the writer of the above passages, 
 had not a heart susceptible of the utmost tenderness, 
 and warmth of friendship. 
 
 Nor was it to his friend Sheridan alone that he thus 
 opened his heart: I have a letter before me, to Mr, 
 Stopford, then at Paris, dated from Twickenham, July 
 20, 1726, in which is the following passage; " I fear 
 I shall have more than ordinary reasons to wish you a 
 near neighbour to me in Ireland, and that your com- 
 pany will be more necessary than ever, when I tell 
 you that I never was in so great dejection of spirits. 
 For I lately received a letter from Mr. Worrall, that 
 one of the two oldest and dearest friends I have in the 
 world, is in so desperate a condition of health, as 
 makes me expect every post to hear of her death. It 
 is the younger of the two, with whom I have lived 
 in the greatest friendship for thirty-three years. I 
 know you will share in my trouble, because there 
 were few persons whom I believe you more esteemed. 
 For my part, as I value life very little, so the poor ca- 
 sual remains of it, after such a loss, would be a burden 
 that I must heartily beg God Almighty to enable me 
 to bear: and I think there is not a greater folly than 
 that of entering into too strict and particular a friend- 
 ship, with the loss of which a man must be abso- 
 lutely miserable, but especially at an age when it is 
 too late to engage in a new friendship. Besides, that 
 was a person of my own rearing and instructing from 
 childhood, who excelled in every good quality that 
 can possibly accomplish a human creature. They 
 have hitherto written me deceiving letters, but Mr. 
 
 Worrall
 
 352 THE hltE 
 
 Worrall has been so just and prudent as to tell me 
 the truth ; which, however racking, is better than to 
 be struck on the sudden. Dear James, pardon me. 
 I know not what I am saying, but believe me that 
 violent friendship is much more lasting, and as much 
 engaging, as violent love. Adieu. 
 
 " If this accident should happen before I set out, 
 I believe I shall stay this winter in England, where it 
 will be at least easier to find some repose than upon 
 the spot." 
 
 However, as she still continued to linger on, dying 
 by slow degrees, he returned to Dublin, as we have 
 before seen, in order to discharge the last melancholy 
 offices of friendship, by smoothing her passage to the 
 grave, and softening the terrours of death with all 
 the comfortable hopes which religion can hold forth. 
 The prayers composed by him on this occasion, are 
 written in as pure a strain of Christian piety, as ever 
 came from an uninspired pen *. 
 
 A short time before her death a scene passed be- 
 tween the Dean and her, an account of which I had 
 from my father, and which I shall relate with re- 
 luctance, as it seems to bear more hard on Swift's 
 humanity than any other part of his conduct in life. 
 As she found her final dissolution approach, a few 
 days before it happened, in the presence of Dr. She- 
 ridan, she addressed Swift in the most earnest and 
 pathetick terms to grant her dying request : " That, 
 as the ceremony of marriage had passed between them, 
 though for sundry considerations they had not coha- 
 bited in that state, in order to put it out of the power 
 of slander to be busy with her fame after death, she 
 
 See them in Vol. IX. N. 
 
 adjured
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 353 
 
 adjured him by their friendship to let her have the 
 satisfaction of dying at least, though she had not 
 lived, his acknowledged wife." 
 
 Swift made no reply, but turning on his heel, walk- 
 ed silently out of the room, nor ever saw her after- 
 ward during the few days she lived. This behaviour 
 threw Mrs. Johnson into unspeakable agonies, and 
 for a time she sunk under the weight of so cruel a 
 disappointment. But soon after, roused by indignation, 
 she inveighed against his cruelty in the bitterest 
 terms; and sending for a lawyer, made her will, be- 
 queathing her fortune by her own name to charitable 
 uses. This was done in the presence of Dr. Sheridan, 
 whom she appointed one of her executors. Upon this 
 occasion the doctor gave an instance of his disinterest- 
 ed spirit; for when Mrs. Johnson mentioned his name 
 to the lawyer, annexing a very handsome legacy to it, 
 the doctor immediately interposed, and would not 
 suffer it to be put down, saying, " tl at as she dis- 
 posed of her fortune to such pious uses, he should 
 think he defrauded the charity if he accepted of any 
 part of it." 
 
 During the few days she lived after this, Dr. She* 
 ridan gave her constant attendance, and was in the 
 chamber when she breathed her last*. His grief 
 for her loss was not perhaps inferiour to the Dean's. 
 He admired her above all human beings, and loved 
 her with a devotion as pure as that which we would 
 pay to angels. She, on her part, had early singled 
 him out from all the Dean's acquaintance, as her 
 
 * She was interred in the great aile at St. Patrick's cathedral ; 
 and left money for a monument, which through negligt-nce was 
 never erected. Her executors indeed waited for an instnption, 
 which Dr. Swift promised to write. N. 
 
 vol. i. A a confidential
 
 354 THE LIFE 
 
 confidential friend. There grew up the closest amity 
 between them, which subsisted, without interruption, 
 to the time of her death. During her long illness, 
 he never passed an hour from her which could be 
 spared from business; and his conversation, in the 
 Dean's absence, was the chief cordial to support her 
 drooping spirits. Of her great regard for him Swift 
 bears testimony, in the close of one of his letters to 
 him from London, where he says, " I fear while you 
 are reading this, you will be shedding tears at her 
 funeral : she loved you well, and a great share of the 
 little merit I have with you, is owing to her solici- 
 tation." No wonder therefore if the doctor's hu- 
 manity was shocked at the last scene which he saw 
 pass between her and the Dean, and which affected 
 him so much, that it was a long time before he could 
 be thoroughly reconciled to him. 
 
 X et on the Dean's part it may be said, that he was 
 taken by surprise, and had no reason to expect such 
 an attack at that time. We have already seen the 
 motives which induced him to go through the cere- 
 mony, and the conditions upon which it was per- 
 formed. After several years passed without any 
 consequence from it, or any reason offered for pub- 
 lishing this to the world, it seems to have been agreed 
 between them that the whole should be buried in ob- 
 livion, as if no such thing had ever happened. Inso- 
 much, that he had recommended it to her to make 
 her will, and bequeath her fortune to a charitable use 
 which he had pointed out to her. The marriage was 
 evidently a mere matter of form, intended only to 
 satisfy some vain scruples of the lady, without any 
 view to the usual ends of matrimony, and therefore 
 was in fact no marriage at all. To acknowledge her 
 j A as
 
 OP DOCTOR SW*FT, 355 
 
 as his wife, when in reality she never had been such, 
 would be to give sanction to a falsehood, and at the 
 same time afford an opportunity to busy tongues 
 to draw a thousand inferences prejudicial to his cha- 
 racter. Or, if the real state of the case were known, 
 and it were believed that no consummation ever fol- 
 lowed on this marriage, yet he thought it would ill 
 become the character of a dignitary of the church, to 
 have it known to the world that he had made a 
 mockery of so sacred a ceremony, though he might 
 reconcile it to himself upon principles of humanity. 
 Besides, the tongue of scandal had been very busy 
 with his fame in regard to miss Vanhomrigh; and 
 they who could charge him with an illicit amour 
 there, would not fail to aggravate the matter, by 
 showing that he had a wife at the same time. On 
 these considerations he had long resolved that the 
 secret of the ceremony's having passed between them, 
 should never be divulged ; and he had all the reason 
 in the world to believe that Mrs. Johnson was in the 
 same sentiments. How anxious he was to guard 
 against any appearance of that sort, we may learn 
 from his letters to Mr. Worrall, written from Eng- 
 land at the time her life was despaired of, in which 
 there are the following passages, July 15, 17 2t). 
 " What you tell me of Mrs. Johnson, I have long 
 expected, with great oppression and heaviness of heart. 
 I have these two months seen through Mrs. Ding- 
 ley's disguises; and indeed ever since I left you, my 
 heart has been so sunk, that I have not been the same 
 man, nor ever shall be again, but drag on a wretched 
 life, till it shall please God to call me away. I wish 
 it could be brought about that she might make her 
 will. Her intentions are, to leave the interest of 
 a a 2 all
 
 356 THE LIFE 
 
 all her fortune to her mother and sister, during their 
 lives, and afterward to Dr. Stephens's hospital, to 
 purchase lands for such uses there as she designs. 
 Think how I am disposed while I write this, and 
 forgive the inconsistencies. I would not for the uni- 
 verse be present at such a trial as that of seeing 
 her depart. She will be among friends, that upon 
 her own account and great worth, will tend her 
 with all possible care, where I should be a trouble 
 to her, and the greatest torment to myself. In 
 case the matter should be desperate, I would have 
 you advise, if they come to town, that they should 
 be lodged in some healthy airy part, and not in the 
 deanery ; which besides, you know, cannot but be 
 a very improper thing for that house to breathe her 
 last in" 
 
 In another of September 12, 1727, he says, " By 
 Dr. Sheridan's frequent letters, I am, every post, ex- 
 pecting the death of a friend, with whose loss I shall 
 have very little regard for the few years that nature 
 may leave me. I desire to know where my two 
 friends lodge. I gave a caution to Mrs. Brent, that 
 it might not be in domo decani, quoniam hoc minime 
 decety uti manifestum est : habeo enim malignos qui 
 sinistre hoc interpretabuntur t si eveniat (quod Deus 
 avertat) ut illic moriatur" 
 
 Thus predetermined as he was in this point, and 
 satisfied that Mrs. Johnson perfectly acquiesced in 
 it, nothing could have astonished him more than 
 such a proposal. He thought it both unkind and 
 unreasonable in his bosom friend to make such a 
 request ; which, if granted, could be of no use to 
 her when dead, and might be the cause of much 
 uneasiness to him the survivor. The pretence she 
 
 made
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 357 
 
 made with regard to her character, he knew could 
 be only a pretence, as no woman living had a more 
 unblemished reputation, being considered by all who 
 knew her as a perfect pattern of modesty to her 
 sex, and so reported in the world. It might there- 
 fore be imputed, with probability, to no other cause 
 but vanity ; to have her name preserved to future 
 ages as the wife of so extraordinary a man ; and he 
 might think himself not bound to gratify a weakness 
 in her, at the expense of procuring much disquiet to 
 himself. And though there was an apparent cruelty 
 in his behaviour on this occasion, yet whoever could 
 have looked into his breast at the time, would pro- 
 bably have found it agitated with as deep a concern at 
 his not being able to comply with her request, as she 
 was at his refusal of it. 
 
 A relation of this transaction fully confirms the 
 account I have given of the nature of their union. 
 For, the only unequivocal proof remaining of the ce- 
 remony's having passed between them, arises from 
 Mrs. Johnson's declaration of it, in the presence of 
 Dr. Sheridan, at the time above-mentioned. And as 
 the fact has of late been denied, upon the authority 
 of persons so closely connected with the parties, as 
 to give it great weight, I thought it necessary to ad- 
 duce this indubitable proof of the truth of the account 
 which I have given of that affair. 
 
 Upon this occasion, there is one observation to be 
 made much to Swift's honour ; which is, that in 
 refusing to acknowledge Mrs. Johnson as his wife, 
 he gave up all pretensions to her fortune, which 
 otherwise must of course have come to him. But 
 he had no view toward any inheritance from her, ei- 
 ther as a wife, or a friend. For we find by his letter 
 
 to
 
 358 THE LIFE 
 
 to Worrall above quoted, that he had long before sug- 
 gested the idea to her of leaving her fortune to charit- 
 able uses, and seems pressing that she should be pre- 
 vailed on to make her will accordingly. The same 
 disinterested spirit did he show with regard to miss 
 Vanh nmi h, breaking off all connection with her at a 
 time when he knew she had in her will bequeathed her 
 whole fortune to him, which was very considerable. 
 So that, at this period of his life at least, avarice had 
 laid no hold of him. 
 
 Thus have I given a true relation of the nature of 
 Swift's connection with Mrs. Johnson, and laid open 
 the cause of their never having cohabited after the 
 ceremony of marriage had passed between them. To 
 account for which, so many conjectures have been 
 formed without any foundation. Among these there 
 was one so very absurd, and so utterly impossible to 
 be true, that it is wonderful how it could ever gain 
 any credit ; and yet this report was for a long time 
 generally spread and believed. It was asserted, with- 
 out any shadow of proof, that Mrs. Johnson was a 
 natural daughter of sir William Temple's ; and in the 
 same way, that Swift was his son, and that the dis- 
 covery of this consanguinity, when or how made was 
 never told, was the cause of their not cohabiting. 
 Now to overthrow this, it is only necessary to exa- 
 mine the time of Swift's birth, which was in Novem- 
 ber 1667, and to show that sir William Temple had 
 been employed as ambassador in the treaty of Nime- 
 guen, two years before, and three years after that 
 date, during which time he resided constantly abroad. 
 And indeed there is good reason to believe that he 
 never so much as saw Swift's mother in his life. This 
 was 50 clearly shown by Dr. Delany, that any men- 
 tion
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. * 35^ 
 
 tion of it here might be thought unnecessary, had 
 there not been published since that time a most cir- 
 cumstantial account of that afiair, in the Gentle- 
 man's Magazine * for November 17 $7, in which the 
 writer pretends to give the whole account of Mrs. 
 Johnson's Life, as well as that of her mother, with 
 such a confident air, and so many minute particu- 
 lars, as deceived one of the Editors of Swift's works 
 into a belief that the account was authentick ; inso- 
 much that he has inserted the whole in the notes 
 upon one of the volumes -j~. But it would be easy to 
 prove, that the whole of this fictitious tale was the 
 invention of some novelist, who had a mind to amuse 
 himself with showing how easily the credulity of man- 
 kind is imposed on, by any extraordinary or marvel- 
 lous story. However, in order to destroy the fabrick, 
 it will be only necessary to say, that the whole was 
 founded upon a fact already proved impossible to be 
 true, which is, that Swift was sir William Temple's 
 son. And with respect to Mrs. Johnson, there can 
 be no reason to doubt the authority of Swift's account, 
 who, in the little tract written on her death, has .this 
 passage. " She was born at Richmond in Surrey, on 
 the 13 th day of March in the year 1681. Herfa- 
 
 * From the connection of the present Kditor of Swift's Works 
 with the Gentleman's Magazine, it may be necessary to state, that 
 the article here alluded to was printed more than twenty years be- 
 fore he had any share in the management of that long-established 
 miscellaneous publication. N. 
 
 t The insertion of that essay in one of the volumes of the 
 Supplement to Swift, in 1779* was on the principle of wishing to 
 elucidate a fact then involved in the darkest obscurity. The proof 
 positive of the marriage of the Dean to Mrs. Johnson, since given 
 by Mr. Sheridan, and confirmed by Dr. Johnson, was then a pro- 
 found secret to the world. M. 
 
 ther
 
 360 THE LIFE 
 
 ther was a younger brother of a good family in Not- 
 tinghamshire, her mother of a lower degree ; and in- 
 deed she had little to boast of her birth." 
 
 Having thus developed his conduct, which has hi- 
 therto appeared in so mysterious a light to the world, 
 with regard to the two unfortunate ladies, who had 
 placed their affections on an object probably not ca- 
 pable of making a suitable return, or who, at least, 
 had shewn himself a perfect platonist in love ; I shall 
 now examine his character with regard to the still 
 nobler affection of the human mind, I mean friend- 
 ship. There have been already many instances given 
 in the course of this work, to show that he had a 
 heart susceptible of the warmest impressions of that 
 sort, but still his friendship was portioned out among 
 numbers ; and it seems to have been almost equally 
 shared by Addison, Prior, Arbuthnot, Gay, Pope, 
 lord Oxford, duke of Ormond, lord Peterborow, and 
 many others ; but to the perfection of true friendship 
 it is necessary that there should be one particular in- 
 dividual, selected from the rest of mankind, who may 
 be considered as another self, to whom we can un- 
 bosom our most secret thoughts, before whom we 
 are not ashamed to lay open our weaknesses and 
 foibles, or, in the expressive phrase, to think aloud. 
 This post was never hitherto occupied by any man ; 
 but Swift found no deficiency on that account, as it 
 was amply and more pleasingly supplied by one of 
 the other sex, the incomparable Stella. And to this, 
 in process of time, did Sheridan succeed. His ac- 
 quaintance with the Dean commenced soon after his 
 settlement in Ireland in the following manner. The 
 D< an, who had heard much of Sheridan as a man 
 of wij and humour, desired a common friend to 
 
 bring
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 36i 
 
 bring them together. They passed the day much 
 to their mutual satisfaction ; and when the company 
 broke up at night, Swift in his usual ironical way, 
 said, " I invite all here present to dine with me 
 next Thursday, except Mr. Sheridan" but with a 
 look which expressed that the invitation was made 
 wholly on his account. There are certain spirits, 
 concordes animcv, that on the first interview feel an 
 irresistible attraction to each other, and rush into 
 friendship, as some do into love, at first sight ; and 
 such was the case between these two men of genius, 
 who had a great similarity both of disposition and 
 talents ; and who in a short time became insepara- 
 ble. This union was forwarded, and afterward ce- 
 mented by Stella, who gave the doctor the pre- 
 ference to all the Dean's other friends. As Swift 
 had passed very little time in Dublin previous to his 
 settling there, he had very few acquaintance except 
 among those of high station ; to the promotion of 
 some of whom he had contributed, and did good 
 offices to others, when he was in power ; such as the 
 primate, archbishop of Dublin, the lord chancellor 
 Phipps, bishop Sterne, &c. ; but as he wished for a 
 society where he could be more at his ease, and in- 
 dulge his sportive fancy, Sheridan introduced him 
 into a numerous acquaintance of the most distin- 
 guished men of those times for talents, erudition, 
 and companionable qualities. As he was allowed to 
 be the first schoolmaster in the kingdom, an inti- 
 macy with those fellows of the college, whose ac- 
 quaintance he chose to cultivate, followed of course ; 
 and there happened at that time to be a greater num- 
 ber of learned and ingenious men in that body, than 
 ever had been known before at any given period. An 
 
 acquaintance
 
 S62 THE LIFE 
 
 acquaintance naturally commenced with such fami- 
 lies of distinction as entrusted their children to his 
 care. Besides, as he was looked upon to be one of 
 the most agreeable companions in the world, his so- 
 ciety was much courted by all persons of taste. With 
 a select set of these did Swift pass most of his festive 
 hours for many years ; but in the round of enter- 
 tainments care was always taken to engage Sheridan 
 before a party was faed,as the Dean was never known 
 to be in perfect good humour, but when he was one 
 of the company. 
 
 As many of the evening parties were made up of 
 this chosen set in the college, where subjects of li- 
 terature were often the topicks of conversation, 
 Swift, who could not bear to be considered in an infe- 
 riour light by any society into which he had entered, 
 found it necessary to revive his knowledge of Greek 
 and Latin, which in the hurry of politicks and bustle 
 of the world, he had so long neglected. With this 
 view he invited Dr. Sheridan to pass his vacations 
 with him at the deanery, where an apartment was 
 fitted up for him, which ever after went by his 
 name ; and assisted by him he went through a com- 
 plete course of the Greek and Roman classicks. 
 This gave him a full opportunity of seeing the pro- 
 found knowledge which the doctor had of those lan- 
 guages ; and he ever after pronounced him to be the 
 best scholar in Europe. Thus living together fre- 
 quently in the same house, in a communion of the 
 same studies and the same amusements, a closer con- 
 nexion and more intimate union followed, than Swift 
 had ever known with any mortal except Stella. 
 As Sheridan was the most open and undisguised man 
 in the world, it did not require much time or pene- 
 tration
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 3^3 
 
 tration to see into his whole character ; in which 
 Swift found many things to admire, many things to 
 love, and little to offend. He had the strictest regard 
 to truth, and the highest sense of honour ; incapable 
 of dissimulation in the smallest degree ; generous to 
 a fault, and charitable in the extreme. Of a proud 
 independent spirit, which would not suffer him to 
 crouch to the great ones of the world for any fa 
 vour, nor to put on even the appearance of flattery. 
 He had a heart formed for friendship, in which 
 Swift had the first place. It was impossible not to 
 esteem a man possessed of qualities so congenial 
 with his own ; but his affection was engaged by 
 those of a less exalted kind, and more pleasing in the 
 general intercourse of life. Sheridan had a lively 
 fancy, and a surprising quickness of invention. He 
 had such a perpetual flow of spirits, such a ready 
 wit, and variety of humour, that I have often heard 
 his acquaintance say, it was impossible for the most 
 splenetick man not to be cheerful in his company. 
 Imagine what a treasure this must be to Swift, in 
 that gloomy state of mind, into which the disap- 
 pointment of all his views upon the queen's death, 
 had thrown him ; and in which we find from his 
 letters, he continued so many years. Despair of 
 doing any good had turned his thoughts wholly 
 from publick affairs, which before had engrossed so 
 much of his time : and he was not in a disposition 
 to set about any work that would require much 
 thought, or labour of the brain ; he therefore gave 
 himself wholly up to the bagatelle, and to writing 
 nothing but jeux d esprit ; in which no one was beU 
 ter qualified to keep up the ball than Sheridan. For 
 one whole year it was agreed that they should write 
 
 to
 
 304 THE LIFE 
 
 to each other in verse every day, and were to be upon 
 honour that they would take up no more than five 
 minutes in composing each letter. Numbers of 
 riddles, Anglo-latin letters, and other whims of 
 fancy were produced in the same way. But as these 
 were only intended for private amusement, most of 
 them, when they had served their turn, were com- 
 mitted to the flames. Some few, however, have 
 escaped, and are printed in his works ; which may 
 serve to gratify the curiosity of such readers, as may 
 be desirous to have a private peep, as it were, at the 
 fancy of this great genius, when frolicksome and 
 unrestrained she was playing her sportive gambols 
 en deshabille. 
 
 With all these good qualities and pleasing talents, 
 Swift saw some weaknesses and infirmities in his 
 friend, which he in vain endeavoured to cure. 
 However skilled he might be in books, he was a 
 perfect child as to the knowledge of the world. 
 Being wholly void of artifice and design himself, he 
 never suspected any in others ; and thus became the 
 dupe of all artful men with whom he had any con- 
 nection. As he knew not how to set a true value on 
 money, he had no regard to economy ; and his 
 purse was always open to the indigent, without con- 
 sidering whether he could afford it or not. In con- 
 versation, his fancy was not always under the direc- 
 tion of discretion, and he frequently gave offence by 
 sudden sallies, without intending it. Swift acted 
 the part of a true friend on these occasions, and was 
 not sparing of his admonitions and advice as oppor- 
 tunities offered ; but he found the doctor too opi- 
 nionated to be guided by the judgment of others, 
 
 though
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 363 
 
 though his own was too weak to restrain his natural 
 propensities. In this case the best service to be 
 done, was, to increase his income in proportion to 
 the largeness of his spirit, as his spirit was not to be 
 confined within the bounds of his income. With 
 this view Swift was indefatigable in his endeavours to 
 promote the flourishing state of his school. He re- 
 commended him to all as the ablest master of the 
 age ; and published a copy of Latin verses in his 
 praise as such ; he descended even at times to act as 
 his usher ; and frequently attended at school to hear 
 a class ; when the doctor was ill, or absent in the 
 country, he supplied his place ; and was always one 
 of the examiners at the publick quarterly examina- 
 tions. 
 
 Such attention paid by one of Swift's high cha- 
 racter, could not fail of raising the reputation of 
 the school ; and accordingly it increased so rapidly, 
 that in a few years the number of scholars far ex- 
 ceeded that of any other seminary ever known in. 
 that kingdom. But Swift saw with concern that 
 his expenses kept pace with his income, and in- 
 creased in the same proportion. Indulging his na- 
 tural disposition, he made frequent costly entertain- 
 ments, and on certain days when he was freed from 
 the afternoon attendance on school, his table was 
 open to all bons viva?is } jovial companions, &c. And 
 where mirth and good wine circulated so briskly, it 
 is to be supposed there was no lack of guests. Swift 
 saw there was no likelihood of any change in his 
 conduct, while he continued in the same place, and 
 associated with the same sets. In compassion there- 
 fore to his young and yearly increasing family, he 
 formed the design of having him removed, upon 
 
 very
 
 Z66 THE LIF'E 
 
 Very advantageous terms, to a distant part of the 
 kingdom, where he would hive no such temptation 
 to indulge the extravagance of his disposition. It 
 happened at that time that the schoolmaster of Ar- 
 magh was in a declining state of health. That 
 school was richly endowed with lands, whose clear 
 rent amounted to four hundred pounds a year, a 
 considerable income hi those days, and fully equal to 
 double that sum at present. Swift wrote to a friend 
 in Armagh to send off an express to him instantly 
 on the death of the incumbent. Immediately on 
 the receipt of this he waited on primate Lindsay 
 (to whose advancement Lindsay himself acknow- 
 ledges, in one of his letters, Swift had chiefly con- 
 tributed) saying " he had a favour to beg of him. 
 That he was going to turn schoolmaster, and de- 
 sired he would give him the school of Armagh." 
 " It is not vacant," said the primate. u Yes, but it 
 is," said Swift, showing him the letter he had received 
 by express. After some raillery from the primate on 
 the Dean's turning schoolmaster, Swift at last said, 
 " Well, my lord, let me have the disposal of the 
 school, and I'll engage to fill it up to your mind ; I 
 mean to place Sheridan in it." The primate consented 
 without hesitation. 
 
 Swift immediately went to the doctor with the 
 news, who had not the least previous intimation 
 of the affair from the Dean. After due acknow- 
 ledgments of his kindness on this occasion, Sheridan 
 said " that he must take some time to consider of 
 it, and that he could not take a step, upon which 
 the whole colour of his future life depended, with- 
 out consulting his friends."" Your friends," said 
 Swift, " You will ever be a blockhead as to the world: 
 
 because
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 3<5fr 
 
 because they are pleased with your company, and gra- 
 tify themselves in passing many happy hours with 
 you in social mirth, you suppose them to be your 
 friends. Believe me there is little true friendship in 
 the world ; and it is not impossible but the very men 
 who now hug you to their bosoms, may hereafter 
 turn out to be your inveterate enemies. Take my 
 advice ; consult none of them ; but accept without 
 hesitation of an offer which will secure you a hand- 
 some income for life, independent of casualties. Be- 
 sides your school will probably flourish as much there 
 as here, as the high reputation you have gained in 
 Dublin will follow you to the north, and secure to 
 you all the boys of that most populous and opulent 
 part of the kingdom. 
 
 The doctor still persisted in his resolution of con- 
 sulting his friends ; and at a meeting of them for that 
 purpose, chiefly composed of the fellows of the col- 
 lege, they were unanimously of opinion that he should 
 by no means accept of the proposed offer. They re- 
 presented to him, " that his school was in a most 
 flourishing state, and likely to increase daily. That 
 he could not hope to have any thing like the num- 
 ber of pupils in a country town, as in the capital ; and 
 his income, even with the addition of the endowment, 
 would probably not be greater. That by residing in 
 Dublin he might make such powerful connections, 
 as would raise him to considerable church prefer- 
 ments, all expectation of which he must give up 
 it he buried himself in an obscure corner of the king- 
 dom." By these, and other arguments of the like 
 nature, the doctor was easily persuaded to follow the 
 bent of his inclination. For it must have been with 
 
 great
 
 36*8 THE LIFE 
 
 great reluctance that he would have quitted the so- 
 ciety of such a number of learned, ingenious, and 
 agreeable men, as then formed the circle of his ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 The doctor had too much reason afterward to re- 
 pent of his not having followed Swift's advice, as 
 what he had foretold, in a few years came to pass. 
 Those very men, whom he considered as his best 
 friends, set up another school in opposition to his, 
 which they supported with all their interest, of which 
 the doctor speaks in the following manner in a letter 
 to Swift : " As for my quondam friends, as you style 
 them, quon-dam them all. It is the most decent 
 way I can curse them ; for they lulled me asleep, 
 till they stole my school into the hands of a block- 
 head, and have driven me toward the latter part of 
 my life to a disagreeable solitude ; where I have the 
 misery to reflect upon my folly in making such a per- 
 fidious choice, at a time when it was not in my na- 
 ture to suspect any soul upon earth." In answer to 
 which Swift says, " I own you have too much reason 
 to complain of some friends, who, next to yourself, 
 have done you most hurt ; whom I still esteem and 
 frequent, although I confess I cannot heartily forgive. 
 Yet certainly the case was not merely personal ma- 
 lice to you (although it had the same effects) but a 
 kind of I know not what job, which one of them has 
 heartily repented." 
 
 Nothing could place Swift's friendship in a more 
 conspicuous or disinterested light, than this whole 
 transaction. To have parted with Sheridan at that 
 period of life, when all was gloom about him, when 
 he most wanted such a friend to raise his drooping 
 
 spirits,
 
 OP POCTOR SWIPT. 369 
 
 Spirits, and such an associate in the only amusements 
 which he was then capable of relishing, would have 
 been to him like the loss of a limb. Yet when he 
 thought that it was necessary for the interests of the 
 doctor and his family, that he should remove from 
 his settlement in town, to a more advantageous and 
 secure one in the country, he himself planned the 
 scheme of his removal, which was likely to endj 
 with but few intervals, in a separation for life. How 
 different is this from the false representation made 
 of him by lord Orrery. He had said^ " The affec- 
 tion between Theseus and Pirithous, was not greater 
 than between Swift and Sheridan ; but the friend- 
 ship that cemented the two ancient heroes, proba- 
 bly commenced upon motives very different from 
 those which united the two modern divines." His 
 lordship did not think proper to state what those 
 motives were 5 and after having drawn Sheridan's . 
 character, with as little regard to truth, and in 
 many points, as little resemblance to the original as 
 any of his other portraits; he assigns Swift's close 
 attachment to him to the meanest and most selfish 
 motives ; where he says, 'f In this situation, and 
 with this disposiiion, Swift fastened upon him as 
 upon a prey, with which he intended to regale him- 
 self whenever his appetite should prompt him. 
 Sheridan therefore was kept constantly within his 
 reach ; and the only time he was permitted to go 
 beyond the limits of his chain> was, to take pos- 
 session of a living in the county of Cork, which had 
 been bestowed upon him by the then lord lieutenant 
 of Ireland*" ' 
 
 For many years after this fruitless attempt to serve 
 vol. 1. B a his
 
 370 THE LIFE , 
 
 his friend, Swift had it not in his power to promote 
 his interests in any other way, being the most ob- 
 noxious of any man living to those who were then in 
 power. But on the appointment of lord Carteret to 
 the government of Ireland, who had been one of his 
 old friends, doctor Sheridan was the first he recom- 
 mended to his protection. He got him appointed one 
 of his domestick chaplains, with a promise of making 
 a provision for him in the church. Lord Carteret, 
 who was himself an excellent scholar, soon distin- 
 guished the doctor's merit in that line, nor was 
 he less pleased with him as a companion, often in- 
 viting him to his private parties, and sometimes laying 
 his state aside, he would steal out from the castle in a 
 hackney chair, to pass the evening at Sheridan's with 
 Swift, and the select set which used to meet there. 
 By the desire of the lord lieutenant, the doctor had 
 one of the tragedies of Sophocles performed by his 
 scholars for his entertainment. Before the day of 
 exhibition lord Carteret appointed a morning to pass 
 with him in reading the play together, in order to 
 refresh his memory after so long an absence from his 
 Greek studies. The doctor was astonished ; at the 
 facility and accuracy with which he translated this 
 dhlicult author, having scarce any opportunity of 
 giving him assistance through the whole play. While 
 he was expressing his surprise at this, and admiration 
 at the wonderful knowledge which his lordship showed 
 of the Greek language, lord Carteret, with great 
 candour, told him " he would let him into the secret 
 how he came to be so far master of this particular 
 author." He said " that when he was envoy in 
 Denmark, he had been for a long time confined to 
 
 hi*
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 371 
 
 his chamber, partly by illness, and partly by the se- 
 verity of the weather ; and having but few books 
 with him j he had read Sophocles over and over so- 
 often, as to be able almost to repeat the whole ver 
 batim, which impressed it ever after indelibly on his 
 memory." 
 
 This candid confession was certainly the act of an 
 ingenuous mind, above the vanity of gaining a cha- 
 racter superiour to its merits; and I believe there are' 
 very few who would not have suffered the doctor to 
 go away in the full persuasion, that he was one of 
 the most complete scholars of the age in the whole 
 of the Greek language, and accordingly spread this 
 account of him, seemingly so well founded, to the 
 world. 
 
 Not long after this, the lord lieutenant bestowed 
 on the doctor the first living that fell in the gift of 
 government, only as an earnest of future favours; 
 and from the countenance shown him at the castle, 
 it was generally supposed that he might expect in 
 time to rise to some high dignities in the church. But 
 all this fair prospect soon vanished, by a concurrence 
 of some very extraordinary accidents. When he 
 went down to be inducted into his living, he was re-' 
 quested by archdeacon Russel of Cork, to supply his 
 place in the pulpit on the following Sunday. The" 
 doctor, who was a very absent man, had forgot his 
 engagement, and was sitting quietly at his lodging 
 en deshabille', when a message from the parish clerk, 
 who saw no preacher arrive after the service had 
 begun, roused him from his reverie. He dressed 
 himself with all speed, and of two sermons that he 
 hack brought with him, took the first that came to his 
 hand, without looking into it. It happened that the 
 
 B B 2 first
 
 372 THE LIFE 
 
 first erf August in that year fell on that very Sunday; 
 and the first of August being the day on which queen 
 Anne died, was, in that time of party, a day of great 
 celebrity, and much adverted to by the whigs. But 
 this circumstance had not at all occurred to the doc- 
 tor, who looked on it only as a common Sunday, 
 without considering the day of the month. The text 
 of this led sermon happened to be, " Sufficient to 
 the day is the evil thereof." Such a text on such a 
 day, excited a general murmur through the whole 
 congregation, to the great surprise of the preacher, 
 who was the only person ignorant of the cause; of 
 which he was not informed till after he had descended 
 from the pulpit, when the affair was past remedy. 
 There happened to be present in the church a furious 
 whig, and one of the most violent party-men of the 
 times. He immediately took post for Dublin, where, 
 by his representation of this matter, as Swift has ob- 
 served in giving an account of this transaction, " Such 
 a clamour was raised by the zeal of one man, of no 
 large dimensions either of body or mind, that we 
 in Dublin could apprehend no less than an inva- 
 sion by the pretender, who must be landed in the 
 
 South:* 
 
 Such indeed was the violent clamour raised by the 
 whigs in general, that the lord lieutenant, in order 
 to pacify them, was obliged to order the doctor's name 
 to be struck out of the list of chaplains, and to for- 
 bid his appearance at the castle; though he was per- 
 fectly satisfied of his innocence, as it appeared that 
 in the whole sermon there was not a syllable relating 
 to government or party, or to the subject of the day; 
 and that he had often preached it before under the 
 same text. And as Swift observes in one of his 
 
 letters
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 373 
 
 letters on this subject, U It is indeed against common 
 sense to think that you should choose such a time, 
 when you had received a favour from the lord lieuten- 
 ant, and had reason to expect more, to discover your 
 disloyalty in the pulpit. But what will that avail ? It 
 is safer for a man's interest to blaspheme God, than to 
 be of a party out of power, or even to be thought so; 
 and since the last was the case, how could you ima- 
 gine that all mouths would not be open when you 
 were received, and in some manner preferred by go?- 
 vernment, although in a poor way. I tell you there 
 is hardly a whig in Ireland who would allow a potatoe 
 and buttermilk to a reputed tory." 
 
 Swift's letters on this occasion bear the strongest 
 marks of true friendship, by giving him the best ad* 
 vice how to conduct himself, and letting in some rays 
 of hope, that he should be able to settle matters with 
 the lord lieutenant in London, on his shortly intended 
 visit to that city, and so clear the way for some future 
 favour. 
 
 But though, as Swift expresses it, the doctor had 
 thus, by mere chance-medley, shot his own fotune 
 dead with a single text, yet it was the means of his 
 receiving a considerable addition to his fortune, of 
 more intrinsick value than the largest benefice he 
 might have reason to expect. As this proceeded from 
 an act of uncommon generosity, it deserves well to 
 be recorded. Archdeacon Russel, in whose pulpit 
 the sermon was preached, considered himself as in- 
 strumental, however accidentally, to the ruin of the 
 doctor's expectations. He was for some time uneasy 
 in his mind on this account, and at last determined 
 to make him a noble compensation. He had a great 
 friendship for the doctor, whom he saw loaded with a 
 
 numerous
 
 37 i THE LIFE 
 
 numerous offspring, upon a precarious income, while 
 he himself was possessed of a considerable property, 
 and without any family. Urged on by those nice 
 scruples in his mind before-mentioned, he thought he 
 could not make a better use of his fortune, than to 
 apply the superfluity of it toward making the doctor 
 easy in his circumstances, and thus enabling him to 
 make a provision for his children. With this view he 
 took a journey to Dublin, in order to make over to 
 him, by an irrevocable deed of gift, the valuable 
 manor of Drumlane in the county of Cavan, a 
 bishop's lease, which at that time produced a clear 
 profit rent of two hundred and fifty pounds per 
 annum*. An act of such liberality, and seldom to 
 be paralleled in this degenerate and selfish age, de- 
 serves well to be rescued from oblivion ; nor could the 
 author of these memoirs, vyithout ingratitude, pass it 
 over in silence. 
 
 But unfortunately this noble benefaction did not 
 answer the end proposed by the bountiful donor. The 
 doctor now thought his fortune was made, and set no 
 founds to his prodigality: with what he possessed be- 
 fore in the county of Cavan, his landed property pro- 
 duced him full four hundred pounds a year ; and his 
 school and living eight hundred more. A large in- 
 come indeed in those days, but not equal to the pro- 
 fuseness of his spirit. He was, as was before observed, 
 the greatest dupe in the world, and a constant prey to 
 all the indigent of his acquaintance, as well as those 
 who were recommended to him by others. Not con- 
 sent with receiving several into his school whom he 
 
 f I have been well assured, that the lease produces at this day 
 no less a sum than eight hundred pet annum neat profit to the pre- 
 k ( e;.t possessor. S. 
 
 taught
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 3/5 
 
 taught without pay, he had always two or three whom 
 he lodged and boarded in his house gratis; nay some 
 he maintained in clothes and every other neccssarv, 
 and afterward entered and supported them in the col- 
 lege at his own charge, as if they had been his sons. 
 To his daughters he gave the genteelest education, 
 and dressed them in the most fashionable style. As 
 he was an adept in musick, both in the scientifick 
 and practical part, he had frequent private concerts 
 at his house at no small cost, and the expenees of his 
 table were certainly not diminished bv his increase of 
 fortune. While he was going on in this career, his 
 school gradually decreased, from the cause already 
 mentioned, together with some other co-operating 
 circumstances; but as the diminution of his income 
 made no change in his mode of living, it was not 
 long before he had contracted such debts as obliged 
 him to mortgage his lands. He had exchanged his 
 living in the county of Cork, for that of Dunboyne, 
 within a few miles of Dublin ; in which he was egre- 
 giously outwitted, as the latter fell very short of the 
 income of the former. In this declining state of his 
 affairs, his residence in Dublin grew extremely irk- 
 some to him, and being determined to change the 
 scene, he again exchanged his living for the freeschool 
 of Cavan, though to another diminution of his in- 
 come. All this was done without once consulting 
 the Dean, who had long been weary of offering fruit- 
 less advice. 
 
 When the doctor was preparing to remove to Ca- 
 van, a little incident happened which at once showed 
 Swift's great affection for him, and the uncommon 
 tenderness of his heart. He happened to call in just 
 at the time that the workmen were taking down the 
 
 pictures
 
 370 THE LIFE 
 
 pictures and other furniture in the parlour: that par* 
 lour where for such a number of years he had passed 
 so many happy hours; struck with the sight, he burst 
 into tears, and rushed into a dark closet, where he 
 continued a quarter of an hour before he could com- 
 pose himself. When it is considered that he was at 
 that time verging on seventy, an age in which the 
 heart generally is callous, and almost dead to the fine 
 affections, there cannot be a stronger confutation of 
 the charge made against him of his want of feeiing; 
 as I believe the instances are very rare of persons at 
 that time of life, capable of being so much moved by 
 such an incident. 
 
 The doctor had not been long settled at Cavan, 
 when Swift, who at that time knew little comfort in 
 life out of his society, followed, in order to pass the 
 winter with him. I was there at his arrival, and 
 daring the whole time of his continuance there. It 
 grieved me much to see such a change in him. His 
 person was quite emaciated, and bore the marks of 
 many more years than had passed over his head. His 
 memory greatly impaired, and his other faculties much 
 on the decline. His temper peevish, fretful, morose, 
 and prone to sudden fits of passion ; and yet to me 
 his behaviour was gentle, as it always had been from 
 my early childhood, treating me with partial kindness 
 and attention, as being his godson ; often giving me 
 instruction, attended with frequent presents and re- 
 wards when I did well. I loved him from my boyish 
 days, and never stood in the lea^t awe before him, as 
 J do not remember ever to have had a cross look, or 
 harsh expression from him. I read to him two or 
 three hours every day during this visit, and often re- 
 ceived both pleasure and improvement from the ob- 
 servations
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 377 
 
 servations he made. His intention was to have 
 passed the whole winter there; but as the doctor was 
 called up to town upon business during the Christmas 
 vacation, Swift found the place desolate without him, 
 and followed him in a few days. During this visit, 
 it appeared by many instances that avarice had th^n 
 taken possession of him to a great degree. Doctor 
 Sheridan had prevailed on the burgesses of Cavan to 
 meet the Dean, in a body, at a place four miles dis- 
 tant from the town to compliment him on his arrival. 
 The doctor told him, in return, he ought to invite 
 them to an entertainmet; with which the Dean, after 
 some time, though not without manifest reluctance, 
 complied. He gave them a very shabby dinner at the 
 inn, and called for the bill, before the guests had got 
 half enough of wine. He disputed several articles, 
 said there were two bottles of wine more charged 
 than were used, flew into a violent passion, and abused 
 his servants grossly for not keeping better count. 
 The servants ran away, and doctor Sheridan, without 
 speaking a word, went off and left him to himself. 
 This was the manner in which they always treated 
 him, at that time, when he was in one of those fits, 
 for the least opposition, or even the presence of those 
 with whom he was angry, served but to increase his 
 passion almost to frenzy. But when he had time to 
 cool, he always expressed deep concern at his in- 
 firmity. 
 
 Of the peevishness of his temper at that time, 
 among many other instances, he gave a remarkable 
 one, at the inn of Virginy, his last stage before his 
 arrival at Cavan. In passing to his chamber, he saw 
 the maid employed in scraping a piece of beef, and 
 stopped to ask her, how many maggots she had got 
 
 out
 
 278 THE LIFE 
 
 out of it. The wench smartly answered, " Not so 
 many as there are in your head." This repartee, 
 which, at another period of his life would have pleased 
 him much, and probably produced half a crown to 
 the maid for her wit, now threw him into a passion, 
 in which he was so weak as to complain of her to her 
 mistress, and insist on her being discharged for her 
 sauciness. 
 
 When the burgesses of Cavan went out to meet 
 him, one of them addressed him in a complimentary 
 speech on the occasion, which was but ill delivered, 
 as he had a remarkable thickness of utterance. When 
 he had done, Swift asked him, " Pray, sir, are you 
 the town serjeant?" (a low office, and scarcely above 
 the rank of a common constable). " No, Mr. Dean,** 
 answered Dr. Sheridan, " that is Mr. Brooks the 
 apothecarv, our eldest burgess." " I thought so," 
 said Swift, " for he spoke as if his mouth was full of 
 drugs." How must his disposition have been changed, 
 when the highest civilities that could be shown him, 
 and which formerly were received with the greatest 
 pleasure, and returned with the utmost politeness, 
 now produced nothing but marks of disgust ! 
 
 From this time all his infirmities increased fast upon 
 him, particularly his avarice, to a high degree. Doctor 
 Sheridan, who still continued to pass great part of 
 his vacations at the deanery, saw many flagrant in- 
 stances of this, whereof he thought himself bound 
 both by friendship, and a solemn engagement he had 
 entered into, to give information. This alludes to 
 a conversation that had passed between Swift and 
 doctor Sheridan, as they were riding together on the 
 strand, some years before the doctor left Dublin. The 
 topick happened to be that of old age, which Swift 
 4 saifl
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 37Q 
 
 said he found coming fast upon him, and he supposed 
 he should not be exempt from its attendant infirmi- 
 ties. " But there is one vice its usual concomitant, 
 the most detestable of all others, and which there- 
 fore I would most endeavour to guard against, I mean, 
 avarice ; I do not know any way so effectual for this 
 purpose, as to engage some true friend to give me 
 warning when he sees any approaches of that sort, 
 and thus put me upon my guard. This office I ex- 
 pect from you, and hope you will give me a solemn 
 assurance that you will most punctually fulfil it.** 
 The doctor very readily entered into the engagement; 
 and now thought himself bound to discharge it. 
 With this view, in one of his vacations passed at the 
 deanery, he set down daily in a journal kept for that 
 purpose, all the instances he could perceive of the 
 Dean's parsimony; which in a fortnight arose to 4 
 considerable amount. Armed with these proofs, he 
 one day took an opportunity of asking the Dean, 
 whether he recollected a discourse which had pa-sed 
 between them on the strand, relative to old age and 
 avarice, and the solemn engagement he had made him 
 enter into upon that occasion. Swift, as one suddenly 
 alarmed, answered with precipitation, " Yes, I re- 
 member it very well Why do y u perceive any 
 ( thing of that sort in me?'' You shall be judge your- 
 self said the Doctor read over that paper, and see 
 whether it is not high time I should now perform my 
 promise. The Dean read over the articles with a 
 countenance in which shame and despondency were 
 blended. When he had done, he leaned his head 
 upon his hand, with his eyes cast on the ground, and 
 remained for some time buried in profound thought; 
 at last he just lifted up his eyes, without changing 
 
 his
 
 380 THE LIFE 
 
 his posture, and casting a side glance at the Doctor, 
 with a most significant look, asked him " Doctor 
 did you never read Gilblas?" alluding to the famous 
 story of a similar conduct of his toward the arch- 
 bishop,, when he was his secretary, which lost him 
 his post. After such a scene, the reader will easily 
 conclude, that the disease was past remedy; and that 
 the doctor, like poor Gilblas, would probably not 
 continue long in favour. Thus was lord Bolingbroke's 
 observation upon a passage in one of Swift's letters fully 
 verified; where he says, he had made a maxim which 
 ought to be written in letters of diamond, " That a 
 wise man should have money in his head, but not in 
 his heart." To which his lordship replies, " That a 
 wise man should take care how he lets money get too 
 much into his head, for it would most assuredly 
 descend to the heart, the seat of the passions.** 
 
 And yet this vice, which daily increased, and made 
 him act grudgingly and sordidly in all other articles 
 of expense, had no effect upon his charities, which 
 were continued as usual. I had a remarkable in- 
 stance given me of this by Mrs. Sican, two years 
 after this period, when his avarice was at the height. 
 She had called on him one morning, and upon the 
 usual question being asked of " What news ?" said, 
 a very melancholy affair had happened the night be*- 
 fore to an acquaintance of her's, one Mr. Ellis, a 
 cabinet-maker, whose house and goods were destroyed 
 by fire ; and as he was a young man just beginning 
 the world, newly married, she was afraid it would 
 prove his ruin, unless he was relieved by charitable 
 contributions. Swift asked what character he bore? 
 She said an exceeding good one, for sobriety, in- 
 dustry, and integrity. The Dean then went to his 
 
 desk,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 381 
 
 desk, and brought out five broad Portugal pieces, 
 which passed at that time in Dublin for four pounds 
 each, and gave them to her as his subscription. 
 
 Dr. Sheridan, finding himself disappointed in all 
 his expectations on his removal, continued at Cavan 
 but little more than two years; when he sold his 
 school, and returned to Dublin. While a house was 
 preparing for him, he took up his abode as usual at 
 the deanery, where he was seized with a fit of illness, 
 which confined him for some weeks to his chamber. 
 The Dean was not in a condition at that time to 
 afford any consolation, nor in a disposition of mind 
 to be troubled with a sick guest. A longer fit than 
 usual of his old complaint, had deprived him of all 
 society, and left him a prey to the horrour of his own 
 thoughts. He had long been weary of the world, 
 and all that was in it. He had no prospect of relief 
 but from death, for which he most ardently wished, 
 even when his state was not so bad. For some years 
 before, he never took leave of a friend in an evening, 
 but he constantly added, " Well, God bless you, and 
 I hope I shall never see you again*." In this hope- 
 less state, deprived of all the comforts of life, no 
 wonder if he was dead also to the feelings of 'riend- 
 
 * That he was weary of life, appears in many passages of his 
 letters; and the following anecdote will show how much he wished 
 for death. In the year 1739, three years after his memory had 
 first declined, he had been standing with a clergyman under a very 
 large heavy pierglass, which, just as they had moved to another 
 part of the room, fell down suddenly, and broke to pieces. The 
 clergyman, struck with a sense of the danger they had escaped, 
 turned to Swift, and cried out, " What a mercy it is that we 
 moved the moment we did, for if we had not, we should certainly 
 have been both killed !" Swift replied, " Had you been out of 
 the case, I should have been happy to have remained there." S. 
 
 ship'
 
 332 Mi LIFE 
 
 ship. When the Doctor had sufficiently recovered 
 to be able to go abroad, he was apologising to the 
 Dean for the trouble he had given him; saying, " I 
 fear, Mr. Dean; I have been an expensive lodger to 
 you this bout." Upon which Mrs. Whiteway, a re- 
 lation of the Dean's, who then chiefly managed his 
 affairs, and wlu happened to be present, briskly said, 
 " It is in your power, Doctor, easily to remedy this, 
 by removing to another lodging." Swift was silent. 
 The poor Doctor was quite thunderstruck. As this 
 lady h .d ai.vays professed great friendship for him, 
 and lay under considerable obligations to him, he 
 quickly saw that this must have been done by Swift's 
 direction; in which he was confirmed by his silence 
 on the occasion. He immediately left the house, in 
 all that anguish of mind, which a heart possessed of 
 the warmest friendship must feel, upon the abrupt 
 breach of one of so long a standing, and so sincere 
 on his part ; nor did he ever enter it again*. He lived 
 but a short time after this. His friend and physician, 
 Dr. Helsham, foretold the manner, and almost the 
 very time of his death. He said his disorder was a 
 polypus in the heart, which was so far advanced, that 
 it would probably put an end to his existence in a 
 short time, and so suddenly, as to give him no warn- 
 ing of it ; snd therefore recommended it to him to 
 
 * The story told by a lying biographer, in a work published 
 under the name of Theophilus Cilbcr, is utterly false. Il is there 
 related, that the Doctor being in fear of his creditors, had retired 
 for refuge to the Deanery, and one evening requesting a bottle of 
 wine, the Dean grudgingly answered, * though he had given him 
 a lodging, he had nut promised to furnish hrm with wine:"' for 
 the Doctor, at that time, did not owe a shilling in the - world; 
 having sold a great part of his landed ' property to pay 'hi* 
 debts. S. ... 
 
 settle
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 083 
 
 settle his affairs. The Doctor upon this, retired to a 
 house of one of his scholars, Mr. OCallaghan, at 
 Rathfarnham, three miles from Dublin. In a few 
 days he sent for his friend and namesake, counsellor 
 Sheridan, to draw his will; and when that was done, 
 he seemed cheerful and in good spirits. The coun- 
 sellor, and a brother of Mr. O'Callaghan's, who had 
 lent him his. house, upon being called away: to an- 
 other part of the kingdom, dined with him that day. 
 Soon after dinner, the conversation happened to turn 
 on the weather, and one of them observed, that the 
 wind was easterly. The Doctor upon this, said, 
 " Let it blow east, west, north, or south, the im- 
 mortal soul will take its flight to the destined point."-. 
 These were the last. words he ever spoke, for he im- 
 mediately sunk back in his chair, and expired without 
 a groan, or the smallest struggle. His friends thought 
 lie had fallen asleep, and in that belief retired to the 
 garden, that they might not disturb his repose; but 
 on their return, after an hour's walk, to their great 
 astonishment, they found he was dead. Upon open- 
 ing the body, doctor Helsham's sagacious prognostick 
 proved to be true, as the polypus in the heart was 
 discovered to be the immediate cause of his death. I 
 know not whether it is worth mentioning, that the 
 surgeon said, he never saw so large a heart in any 
 human body. 
 
 . It is with reluctance I have dwelt so long on this 
 part of Swift's life; but as many representations of 
 his conduct at that juncture, founded on truth too, 
 had got abroad, much to the disadvantage of his cha- 
 racter, I thought it necessary to draw at full length a 
 picture of his state of mind at that time, to show 
 how unreasonable it is to impute faults to the sound 
 
 and
 
 364 THE LIFE 
 
 and perfect man, which were the natural consequence 
 of the decay of his faculties, the infirmities of age^ 
 and cruel disease; by which so total a change was 
 made in him, that scarce any thing of his former self 
 remained. Among the charges against him, none 
 bore more hard than his latter behaviour to Dr. She- 
 ridan, for which I have already accounted. In their 
 whole intercourse, previous to that period, I have 
 shown how sincere a friend he had always proved 
 himself to be; and afterward, when his understand- 
 ing was gone, and his memory failed, when some 
 former feelings of the heart only remained, I had a 
 strong instance given me by his servant William, how 
 deep an impression the Doctor had made there; who 
 told me that when he was in that state, the Dean, 
 every day, for a long time, constantly asked him the 
 same question " William, did you know doctor 
 Sheridan?" " Yes, sir, very well;" and then, with 
 a heavy sigh, "Oil lost my right hand when I lost 
 him!" 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 XlAVING thus finished the Life of Swift, and re-* 
 lated in a regular series all that I thought most wor- 
 thy to be recorded, I have purposely reserved to a 
 separate part of the work, such anecdotes, memoirs, 
 and detached pieces, as could not have been inter- 
 woven in the history, without much interruption* 
 This was the method pursued by that great biogra- 
 pher Plutarch, and that is the part of his work, 
 which, in general, is read with most pleasure. There 
 is a wonderful curiosity in mankind to pry into the 
 
 secret
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 385 
 
 secret actions of men, who have made a distinguished 
 figure in publick, as it is from private anecdotes alone 
 that a true estimate can be formed of their real cha- 
 racters, since the other may be assumed only to 
 answer the purposes of ambition. Even circumstan- 
 ces, in themselves trifling, often lead to this, and on 
 that account are registered with care, and read with 
 avidity. I shall, therefore, without farther preface, 
 relate such anecdotes of Swift, as have come to my 
 knowledge, and have not hitherto been made known 
 to the world, as they rise in the memory ; but shall 
 set down none which I have not good reason to be* 
 lieve authentick; as I received most of them from 
 my father; others from his and the Dean's intimate 
 friends; and some came within my own knowledge. 
 
 We have already seen that soon after the Dean's 
 acquaintance with doctor Sheridan commenced, being 
 both equally fond of the bagatelle, they were laying 
 themselves out for various contrivances to create in-, 
 nocent sport. There happened to arrive in town at 
 this time, one Gibbons, who had been a contempo- 
 rary of the Doctor's in the college, but had been 
 absent in the country for some years. On his arrival 
 he renewed his acquaintance with doctor Sheridan. 
 He had a great simplicity of character, which made 
 it easy to impose on him, and certain oddities and 
 peculiarities, which rendered him a proper subject 
 for a practical joke. A plan was immediately con- 
 certed between them, that Swift should personate the 
 character of a distressed clergyman, under the name 
 of Jodrel, applying to doctor Sheridan to be made 
 one of his ushers. A time was appointed for their 
 meeting at the Doctor's an hour before dinner, and 
 several of their set were invited to be present at the 
 
 vol- r. C c sport.
 
 35(5 THE LIFE 
 
 yport. When they were assembled, Swift, as Jodrel, 
 entered the room in an old rusty gown, and lank 
 shabby periwig, which were provided at the doctor's 
 for the purpose. As he was an excellent mimick, 
 he personated the character of an awkward country 
 parson to the life. Gibbons was requested by the 
 Doctor to examine him, in order to see whether he 
 was fit for the post; and Jodrel gave such answers to 
 the questions asked by Gibbons, as afforded high en- 
 tertainment to all present. One of his questions, 
 was, " What is Christ's church?" To which Jodrel 
 replied, " A great pile of building near the four 
 courts;" for so that church is called. On which Gib- 
 bons exclaimed, " was there ever such a blockhead? 
 Who the devil put you in orders!" The sport occa- 
 sioned by this was too rich to be suddenly given up. 
 Gibbons, Jodrel, and the other guests met several 
 times at dinner, where Jodrel's behaviour was always 
 awkward and absurd. One time he held out his plate 
 with both his hands, stretching it in the most ridicu- 
 lous posture quite across the table, which provoked 
 Gibbons to call him fool! dance! and even to give 
 him a slap on the wrist with the flat of his knife; at 
 the same time, showing him how he ought to hold 
 his plate, or that he should send it by one of the 
 servants. When this sort of amusement was adjudged 
 lo have continued long enough, doctor Sheridan de- 
 livered a message to Gibbons from the Dean, inviting 
 him to dine with him. Gibbons, who had expressed 
 a great ambition to be known to Swift, received the 
 message with transport, but said, " Sure he won't 
 ask that fool Jodrel !" Sheridan told him " he might 
 set his heart at rest, for that the Dean never had, 
 nor never would ask him as long as he lived." When 
 
 the
 
 OF DOCTOK SWIFT. 387 
 
 the appointed day came, Gibbons went with the 
 Doctor to the deanery, who placed him at a window 
 from which he could see the Dean returning from 
 prayers. He was dressed that day in as high a style 
 as the clerical function will allow; in a paduasoy 
 gown, square velvet cap, &c. Gibbons looked at 
 him with great attention, and turning to Sheridan 
 with much perturbation of countenance, cried out, 
 " Why doctor, that is Jodrel !" " Peace, fool," said 
 the Doctor, " I was very near losing the Dean's ac- 
 quaintance, by happening to say that Jodrel had some 
 resemblance to him." When the Dean entered the 
 chamber where they were, Gibbons changed colour, 
 and in great confusion said to Sheridan, u By my 
 soul it is Jodrel! What shall I do?" Sheridan then 
 smiled; so did the Dean, and opened the matter to 
 Gibbons in such a way as to set him at ease, and 
 make him pass the remainder of the day very plea* 
 santly. But Swift had not yet done with him. He 
 had perceived that though Gibbons had no preten- 
 sions to scholarship, he had a good deal of vanity on 
 that score, and was resolved to mortify him. He 
 had beforehand prepared Mrs. Johnson in a passage 
 of Lucretius, wherein are these lines: 
 
 Medioque fonte lep6rum 
 Surgit amari aliquid* . IV. 1127. 
 
 Among their evening amusements, Mrs. Johnson 
 called for Lucretius, as an author she was well ac- 
 quainted with, and requested of Gibbons to explain 
 that passage to her. Why, says he, there can be 
 nothing more easy, and began immediately to cou- 
 
 * Some bitter thought destroys 
 His fancied mirth, and poisons all his joys. 
 
 Creech. 
 c c 2 strue-
 
 388 THfe LIFE 
 
 strue it in the schoolboys' fashion, " Que and, medio 
 infonte in the middle of a fountain, leporum of hares" 
 " No, Mr. Gibbons," interrupted Mrs. Johnson, 
 " if that word signified hares, it would be a false quan- 
 tity in the verse, the o being necessarily long in the 
 last foot of the line, whereas the o in leporum, when 
 it signifies hares, is short." Poor Gibbons was quite 
 confounded, acknowledged his errour, and did not 
 choose to give any farther proofs of his erudition, 
 before a lady so profoundly skilled in Latin. 
 
 When Swift (who did every thing in his own way) 
 introduced bishop Berkeley to lord Berkeley of Strat- 
 ton, he made use of these words : " My Lord, here 
 is a relation of your lordship's who is good for some- 
 thing-, and that, as times go, is saying a great deal." 
 
 As Swift was fond of scenes in low life, he missed 
 no opportunity of being present at them, when they 
 fell in his way. Once when he was in the country, he 
 received intelligence that there was to be a beggar's 
 wedding in the neighbourhood. He was resolved not 
 to miss the opportunity of seeing so curious a cere- 
 mony; and that he might enjoy the whole completely, 
 proposed to Dr. Sheridan that he should go thither 
 disguised as a blind fidler, with a bandage over his 
 eyes, and he would attend him as his man to lead 
 him. Thus accoutred they reached the scene of 
 action, where the blind fidler was received with joyful 
 shouts. They had plenty of meat and drink,, and 
 plied the fidler and his man with more than was agree- 
 able to them. Never was a more joyous wedding seen. 
 They sung, they danced, told their stories, cracked 
 jokes, &c. in a vein of humour more entertaining to 
 the two guests, than they probably could have found 
 in any other meeting on a like occasion* When they 
 
 were
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 389 
 
 were about to depart, they pulled out their leather 
 pouches, and rewarded the fidler very handsomely. 
 The next day the Dean and Doctor walked out in 
 their usual dress, and found their companions of the 
 preceding evening, scattered about in different parts 
 of the road, and the neighbouring village, all begging 
 their charity in doleful strains, and telling dismal 
 stories of their distress. Among these, they found 
 some upon crutches, who had danced very nimbly at 
 the wedding; others stone blind, who were perfectly 
 clearsighted at the feast. The Doctor distributed 
 among them the money which he had received as his 
 pay ; but the Dean, who mortally hated those sturdy 
 vagrants, rated them soundly ; told them in what 
 manner he had been present at the wedding, and was 
 let into their roguery, and assured them, " if they 
 did not immediately apply to honest labour, he would 
 have them taken up, and sent to gaol." Whereupon 
 the lame once more recovered their legs, and the blind 
 their eyes, so as to make a very precipitate retreat. 
 
 When the Dean was at Quilca, a country seat of 
 doctor Sheridan's, on a small estate which he pos- 
 sessed in the county of Cavan, during the Doctor's 
 absence, who could only pass his school vacations 
 there, he acted as bailiff, in superintending the 
 works then carrying on. He had a mind to sur- 
 prise the Doctor, on his next visit, with some im- 
 provements made at his own expense. Accordingly 
 he had a canal cut of some extent, and at the end 
 of it, by transplanting some young trees, formed an 
 arbour, which he called Stellas boiver, and sur- 
 rounded some acres of land about it with a dry 
 stone wall (for the country afforded no lime) the 
 
 materials
 
 390 THE LIFE 
 
 materials of which were taken from the surface of 
 the ground, which was very stony. The Dean had 
 given strict charge to all about him to keep this 
 secret, in order to surprise the Doctor on his arrival; 
 but he had in the mean time received intelligence 
 of all that was going forward. On his coming to 
 Quilca, the Dean took an early opportunity of 
 walking with him carelessly toward this new scene. 
 The Doctor seemed not to take the least notice of 
 any alteration, and with a most inflexible counte- 
 nance continued to talk of indifferent matters. 
 (i Confound your stupidity," said Swift in a rage, 
 " why, you blockhead, don't you see the great im- 
 provements I have been making here?" u Im- 
 provements, Mr. Dean ; why I see a long bog hole 
 out of which I suppose you have cut the turf; you 
 have removed some of the young trees, I think, to 
 a worse situation ; as to taking the stones from the 
 surface of the ground, I allow that is a useful work, 
 as the grass will grow the better for it; and placing 
 them about the field in that form, will make it more 
 easy to carry them off." " Plague on your Irish taste," 
 says Swift; " this is just what I ought to have ex- 
 pected from you; but neither you nor your fore- 
 fathers ever made such an improvement ; nor will 
 you be able while you live to do any thing like 
 it." 
 
 The Doctor was resolved to retaliate on the Dean 
 the first opportunity. It happened when he was 
 down there in one of his vacations, that the Dean 
 was absent for a few days on a visit elsewhere. He 
 took this opportunity of employing a great number 
 of hands to make an island in the middle of the lake, 
 
 where
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 391 
 
 where the water was twenty feet deep ; an arduous 
 work in appearance, but not hard to be executed in 
 a place abounding with large stones upon the surface 
 of the ground, and where long heath grew every 
 where in great plenty ; for by placing quantities of 
 those stones in large bundles of heath, the space 
 was soon filled up, and a large island formed. To 
 cover this, a sufficient quantity of earth and green 
 sods were brought, and several well grown osiers, 
 and other aquatics, were removed to it. The doc- 
 tor's secret was better kept than Swift's ; who, on 
 his return, walked toward the lake, and seeing the 
 new island, cried out in astonishment, " Heigh ! 
 how the water of the lake is sunk in this short time 
 to discover that island of which there was no trace 
 before !" Greatly sunk indeed, observed the dec- 
 tor with a sheer, if it covered the tops of those 
 osiers. Swift then saw he had been fairly taken in, 
 and acknowledged the doctor had got the better 
 of him, both in his stratagem, and the beauty of his 
 improvement. 
 
 Many were their contrivances to play tricks on 
 each other as occasions offered, and it seldom hap- 
 pened but that where one succeeded, a speedy re- 
 taliation ensued. The dean, the doctor, another 
 gentleman, and the bishop of Meath, once set out 
 together from Dublin, to pass some days at a friend's 
 house in the country. The bishop had said " that 
 he should not be able to visit his diocese for some 
 time, as his house was rebuilding;" upon which 
 Swift made him a tender of his house at Laracor, 
 till his own should be ready for him. The discourse 
 naturally fell upon country seats ; and Sheridan en- 
 larged a good deal upon the beauties of Quilca ; 
 2 which
 
 3Q1 THE LIFE 
 
 which though at that time in a very rude state, to 
 use a modern phrase, had certainly great capabilities. 
 Swift exclaimed, " My lord, do you hear that va- 
 pouring scab ? I will show you an exact picture of 
 that place which he has painted in such fine colours." 
 Upon which he put his hand in his pocket, and, for 
 the first time, produced that ludicrous copy of 
 verses on Quilca, since printed in his works. This 
 occasioned a good deal of laughter at the doctor's 
 expense, who bore it patiently for some time, but 
 meditated speedy revenge. He then pretended to 
 be weary of the coach, and said he would mount his 
 horse, which was led, and go before to prepare 
 breakfast for them at the inn. He made what speed 
 he could, and upon his arrival there, instantly called 
 for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the poem, de- 
 scribing the dean's goods at Laracor. Upon seeing 
 a beggar at the door, the thought struck him to 
 have this presented to the bibhop by way of petition. 
 He accordingly folded it up in that form, and gave 
 the beggar his lesson when and how he was to pre- 
 sent it. When breakfast was over, and they had 
 all got into the coach, the beggar with much impor- 
 tunity stretched his hand out with the petition to 
 the bishop. Swift, always at enmity with these 
 vagrants, begged of his lordship not to receive it, 
 and was calling out to the coachman to drive on, 
 when the bishop, who had been let into the secret 
 by Sheridan, stopped him, and opening the pe- 
 tition, kept it close to his eyes, so that no one. else 
 might see its contents, and for some time seemed to 
 read it with attention. He then gave the poor man 
 a shilling, and said he would examine into the truth 
 pf what was there set down, when he returned. 
 
 Swift
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 3g3 
 
 Swift for a long time after indulged himself on his 
 usual topick, inveighing strongly against giving enr- 
 couragement to such sturdy vagabonds, who were 
 the pests of society, &c. &c. The bishop at last inter- 
 rupting him said, f( Indeed, Mr. Dean, if what is here 
 set forth be true, the man is a real object of compas- 
 sion, as you shall see." Upon which he read aloud 
 the following contents of the paper, 
 
 . A true and faithful inventory of the goods belong- 
 ing to doctor Swift, vicar of Laracor ; upon his 
 offering to lend his house to the bishop of Meath, 
 until his own was built. 
 
 An oaken, broken, elbow chair ; 
 
 A caudle cup, without an ear; 
 
 A batter'd, shatter'd, ash bedstead ; 
 
 A box of deal without a lid ; 
 
 A pair of tongs, but out of joint; 
 
 A backsword poker, without point ; 
 
 A pot that's crack'd across, around 
 
 With an old knotted garter bound j 
 
 Au iron lock without a key ; 
 
 A wig, wjth hanging quite grown gray ; 
 
 A curtain worn to half a stripe ; 
 
 A pair of bellows, without pipe; 
 
 A dish which might good meat afford once ; 
 
 An Ovid, and an old Concordance ; 
 
 A bottle bottom, wooden platter ; 
 
 One is for meal, and one for water ; 
 
 There likewise is a copper skillet ; 
 
 Which runs as fast out, as you fill it ; 
 
 A candlestick, snufl'dish, and savcall, 
 
 And thus his household goods you have all. 
 
 These to your lordship, as a friend. 
 
 Till you have built, I freely lend ; 
 
 They'll serve your lordship for a shift ; 
 
 Why not, as well as doctor Swift? 
 
 Thus
 
 3Q4 THE LIFE 
 
 Thus were the tables turned upon the Dean, and a 
 good deal of mirth indulged at his expense. 
 
 When he was at Quilca he went One Sunday to a 
 church at the distance of more than two hours ride. 
 The parson of the parish invited him to dinner, but 
 Swift excused himself by saying " that it was too 
 far to ride home afterward ; no, I shall dine with 
 my neighbour Reilly at Virginy, which is half way 
 home." 
 
 Reilly, who was what is called there a gentleman 
 farmer, was proud of the honour, and immediately 
 dispatched a messenger to his wife to prepare for 
 the reception of so extraordinary a guest. She 
 dressed herself out in her best apparel ; the son put 
 on his new suit, and his silver laced hat adorned his 
 head. When the lady was introduced to the Dean, 
 he saluted her with the same respect as if she had 
 been a duchess, making several conges down to the 
 ground, and then handed her with great formality 
 to her seat. After some high-flown compliments, 
 he addressed his host " Mr. Reilly, I suppose you 
 have a considerable estate here ; let us go and look 
 over your demesne." " Estate, says Reilly, devil 
 a foot of land belongs to me or any of my genera- 
 tion. I have a pretty good lease here indeed from 
 lord Fingal, but he threatens that he will not re- 
 new it, and I have but a few years of it to come." 
 " Well but when am I to see Mrs. Reilly ?" 
 " Why don't you see her there before you !**. 
 " That Mrs. Reilly ! impossible ! I have heard she 
 is a prudent woman, and as such would never dress 
 herself out in silks and other ornaments, fit only 
 for ladies of fashion. No Mrs. Reilly the farmer's 
 
 wife*
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 3Q5 
 
 wife, would never wear any thing better than plain 
 stuff, with other things suitable to it." Mrs. Reilly 
 happened to be a woman of good sense, and taking 
 the hint, immediately withdrew, changed her dress 
 as speedily as possible, and in a short time returned 
 to the parlour in her common apparel. Swift saluted 
 her in the most friendly manner, taking her by the 
 hand and saying, " I am heartily glad to see you, 
 Mrs. Reilly. This husband of yours would fain have 
 palmed a fine lady upon me, all dressed out in silks, 
 and in the pink of the mode, for his wife, but I was 
 not to be taken in so." He then laid hold of young 
 master's fine laced hat; with his penknife ripped off 
 the lace, and folding it up in several papers, thrust 
 it into the fire. When it was sufficiently burnt, he 
 wrapped it up in fresh paper, and put it in his pocket. 
 It may be supposed that the family was put into no 
 small confusion at this strange proceeding ; but they 
 did not dare to show that they took any umbrage at 
 it, as the presence of Swift struck every one with 
 uncommon awe, who were not well acquainted with 
 him. 
 
 However as he soon resumed his good humour, 
 entertaining them with many pleasantries to their 
 taste (for no man knew better how to adapt his con- 
 versation to all classes of people) they soon recovered 
 their spirits, and the day was passed very cheerfully. 
 When he was taking his leave, he said, " I do not 
 intend to rob you Mrs. Reilly : I shall take nothing 
 belonging to you away with me ; there's your son's 
 hat-lace, I have only changed the form of it to a 
 much better one. So God bless you, and thank* 
 for your good entertainment." 
 
 When
 
 3g6 THE LIFE 
 
 When he was gone, Mrs. Reilly, upon opening 
 the paper, found there were four guineas enclosed 
 in it, together with the burnt lace. While he 
 staid in the country, he kept an eye upon them, 
 and found his lessons had not been thrown avvav, as 
 they were cured of their vanities, and lived in a 
 manner more consonant -to their situation in life. 
 In consequence of which, one of the first things he 
 did on his return to Dublin, was to pay a visit to 
 lord Fingal, and engage him to renew Reillys lease ; 
 without which the poor man would, in a few years, 
 have had nothing for his own or his family's sup- 
 port. 
 
 During his residence at Quilca he wrote a great 
 part of his " Gulliver's Travels," and prepared the 
 whole for the press. While he was upon the sub- 
 ject of the Brobdingnags, he used frequently to 
 invite a Mr. Doughty, who lived in that neighbour- 
 hood, to dine with him. He was of a gigantick 
 stature ; and supposed to be the strongest man in 
 Ireland,- as well as the most active. Swift used to 
 take great delight in seeing him perform several of 
 his feats, some of which were of so extraordinary 
 a nature, that I should be afraid to relate them, lest 
 it should impeach my credibility. Among these, 
 Swift asked him whether he could carry on his back 
 a Manks horse which happened to be in the court- 
 yard at that time. Doughty, after having tied his 
 legs, immediately took him up and threw him on 
 his shoulders, with the same ease that another man 
 would lift a sheep, and walked about with him for 
 a long time without shrinking at all under his bur- 
 den. It happened one day that a gentleman of 
 
 that 
 1
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 
 
 that neighbourhood, well known in the country by 
 the name of Killbuck Tuite, dined with the Dean 
 at Quilca when Doughty was there. He was a 
 blunt freespoken man, no respecter of persons, and 
 stood in awe of no one, let his rank or character be 
 what it would. After dinner, Swift asked him 
 " whether he could direct him the road to Market- 
 hill ?" Tuite said " he did not know it."" That 
 is the way," said Swift, " with all you Irish block- 
 heads ; you never know the way to any place be- 
 yond the next dunghill." " Why," answered Tuite, 
 " I never was at Market-hill : Have not you been 
 there Mr. Dean ?" He acknowledged he had. 
 " Then what a damned English blockhead are you," 
 replied Killbuck, " to find fault with me for not 
 directing you the way to a place where I never had 
 been, when you don't know it yourself, who have 
 been there ?" Swift, with a countenance of great 
 counterfeited terrour, immediately rose and changed 
 seats with Doughty, who happened to be next to 
 him, placing the giant between him and Tuite to 
 protect him against that wild man, and skulking be- 
 hind him like a child, with well acted fear, to the no 
 small entertainment of the company ; who, however, 
 were not sorry that the Dean had met with his match. 
 And the fame of Killbuck for this bold retort on the 
 Dean, of whom all the world stood in awe, was 
 spread through the country. 
 
 Swift had got the character of a morose, ill-na- 
 tured man, chiefly from a practice of his to which 
 he constantly adhered. Whenever he fell into the 
 company of any person for the first time, it was his 
 custom to try their tempers and disposition, by some 
 
 abrupt
 
 $Q8 THE LIFE 
 
 abrupt question that bore the appearance of rudeness. 
 If this were well taken, and answered with good 
 humour, he afterward made amends by his civili- 
 ties. But if he saw any marks of resentment from 
 alarmed pride, vanity, or conceit, he dropped all 
 farther intercourse with the party. This will be il- 
 lustrated by an anecdote of that sort related by Mrs. 
 Pilkington. After supper, the Dean having decanted 
 a bottle of wine, poured what remained into a 
 glass, and seeing it was muddy, presented it to Mr. 
 Pilkington to drink it ; " for," said he, " I always 
 keep some poor parson to drink the foul wine for me." 
 Mr. Pilkington, entering into his humour, thanked 
 him, and told him, " he did not know the differ- 
 ence, but was glad to get a glass at any rate." 
 " Why then," said the Dean, " you shan't, for I'll 
 drink it myself. Why, p x take you, you are 
 wiser than a paltry curate, whom I asked to dine 
 with me a few days ago ; for, upon my making the 
 same speech to him, he said he did not understand 
 such usage, and so walked off without his dinner. 
 By the same token, I told the gentleman who re- 
 commended him to me, that the fellow was a block- 
 head, and I had done with him." 
 
 Captain Hamilton, of Castle Hamilton, in the 
 county of Cavan, gave me the following account of 
 his first acquaintance with Swift. The Captain was 
 possessed of one of the largest estates and best 
 houses in the county, where he constantly resided, 
 and lived in a most hospitable way. He had a good na- 
 tural understanding, but utterly unimproved through 
 a neglect in his education. He was cheerful, good 
 natured, and generous in the highest degree. A long 
 
 friendship
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 3gQ 
 
 friendship had subsisted between sir Arthur Acheson 
 and him, and they usually passed two months in the 
 year at each other's house alternately. It happened 
 that Captain Hamilton paid one of these visits when 
 Swift was there. Sir Arthur upon hearing of his 
 friend's arrival, ran out to receive him at the door, 
 followed by Swift. The captain, who did not see 
 the Dean, as it was in the dusk of the evening, in 
 his blunt way, upon entering the house exclaimed, 
 " that he was very sorry he was so unfortunate to 
 choose that time for his visit." " Why so ?" " Be- 
 cause I hear dean Swift is with you. He is a great 
 scholar, a wit ; a plain country 'squire will have but 
 a bad time of it in his company, and I don't like to 
 be laughed at." Swift then stepped up to the cap-, 
 tain, from behind sir Arthur, where he had stood, 
 and said to him, " Pray, captain Hamilton, do you 
 know how to say yes or no properly ?" " Yes, I 
 think I have understanding enough for that." 
 u Then give me, your hand depend upon it you 
 and I will agree very well." The captain told me 
 he never passed two months so pleasantly in his life, 
 nor had ever met with so agreeable a companion as 
 Swift proved to be during the whole time. Inso- 
 much, that at parting he pressed him most cordially 
 to pass the next summer with him at Castle Hamil- 
 ton. 
 
 There lived at that time in Ireland a gentleman 
 of the name of Mathew, whose history is well worth 
 recording, although in a great part it may appear 
 digressive. He was possessed of a large estate ia 
 the finest county in that kingdom, Tipperary : which 
 produced a clear rent of eight thousand a year. As 
 
 he
 
 400 th lifb 
 
 he delighted in a country life, he resolved to build 
 a large commodious house for the reception of guests, 
 surrounded by fifteen hundred acres of his choicest 
 land, all laid out upon a regular plan of improve- 
 ment, according to the new adopted mode of Eng- 
 lish gardening (which had supplanted the bad Dutch 
 taste brought in by king William) and of which he 
 was the first who set the example in Ireland ; nor 
 was there any improvement of that sort then in Eng- 
 land, which was comparable to his, either in point 
 of beauty or extent. As this design was formed 
 early in life, in order to accomplish his point, with- 
 out incurring any debt on his estate, he retired to the 
 Continent for seven years, and lived upon six hun- 
 dred pounds a year, while the remaining income of 
 his estate was employed in carrying on the great 
 works he had planned there. When all was com- 
 pleted, he returned to his native country ; and after 
 some time passed in the metropolis, to revive the old, 
 and cultivate new acquaintance, he retired to his seat at 
 Thomastown to pass the remainder of his days there. 
 As he was one of the finest gentlemen of the age, 
 and possessed of so large a property, he found no dif- 
 ficulty, during his residence in Dublin, to get access 
 to all, whose character for talents, or probity, made 
 him desirous to cultivate their acquaintance. Out 
 of these, he selected such as were most conformable 
 to his taste, inviting them to pass such leisure time 
 as they might have upon their hands, at Thomas- 
 town. As there was something uncommonly singu- 
 lar in his mode of living, such as I believe was 
 never carried into practice by any mortal before, 
 in an equal degree, I fancy the reader will not be 
 
 displeased
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 401 
 
 displeased with an account of the particulars of 
 it, though it may appear foreign to the subject in 
 hand. 
 
 His house had been chiefly contrived to answer 
 the noble purpose of that constant hospitality, which 
 he intended to maintain there. It contained forty 
 commodious apartments for guests, with suitable 
 accommodations to their servants. Each apartment 
 was completely furnished with every convenience 
 that could be wanted, even to the minutest article. 
 When a guest arrived, he showed him his apart- 
 ment, saying, " this is your castle, here you are 
 to command as absolutely as in your own house ; you 
 may breakfast, dine and sup here whenever you please, 
 and invite such of the guests to accompany you as 
 may be most agreeable to you." He then showed 
 him the common parlour, " where," he said, " a daily 
 ordinary was kept, at which he might dine when it 
 was more agreeable to him to mix in society ; but 
 from this moment you are never to know me as mas- 
 ter of the house, and only to consider me as one of 
 the guests." 
 
 In order to put an end to all ceremony at meal 
 time, he took his place at random at the table j and 
 thus all ideas of precedence being laid aside, the 
 guests seated themselves promiscuously, without any 
 regard to difference of rank or quality. There was a 
 large room fitted up exactly like a coffee-house, where 
 a bar-maid and waiters attended to furnish refresh- 
 ments at all times of the day. Here, such as chose 
 it, breakfasted at their own hour. It was furnished 
 with chess-boards, backgammon tables, newspapers, 
 pamphlets, &c. in all the forms of a city cOffee- 
 
 vol. i. Dd house.
 
 402 - THE LIFE 
 
 house. But the most extraordinary circumstance in 
 his whole domestick arrangement, was that of a de- 
 tached room in one of the extremities of the house, 
 called the tavern. As he was himself a very tempe- 
 rate man, and many of his guests were of the same 
 disposition, the quantity of wine for the use of the 
 common room was but moderate; but as drinking was 
 much in fashion in those days, in order to gratify such 
 of his guests as had indulged themselves in that cus- 
 tom, he had recourse to the above-mentioned contriv- 
 ance ; and it was the custom of all who loved a cheerful 
 glass to adjourn to the tavern soon after dinner, and 
 leave the more sober folks to themselves. Here a 
 waiter in a blue apron attended (as was the fashion 
 then) and all things in the room were contrived so as 
 to humour the illusion. Here, every one called for 
 what liquor they liked, with as little restraint as if 
 they were really in a publick-house, and to pay their 
 share of the reckoning. Here too, the midnight 
 orgies of Bacchus were often celebrated, with the same 
 noisy mirth as is customary in his city temples, with- 
 out in the least disturbing the repose of the more so- 
 ber part of the family. Games of all sorts were al- 
 lowed, but under such restrictions as to prevent gamb- 
 ling ;" and so as to answer their true end, that of 
 amusement, without injury to the purse of the players. 
 There were two billiard tables, and a large bowling- 
 green ; ample provision was made for all such as de- 
 lighted in country sports ; fishing tackle of all sorts ; 
 variety of guns with proper ammunition ; a pack of 
 buck hounds, another of fox hounds, and another of 
 harriers. He constantly kept twenty choice hunters 
 in his stables, for the use of those who were not pro- 
 perly mounted for the chace. 
 
 It
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 403 
 
 It may be thought that his income was not suf- 
 ficient to support so expensive an establishment; 
 but when it is considered that eight thousand a year 
 at that time was fully equal to double that sum at 
 present ; that his large demesne, in some of the 
 richest soil of Ireland, furnished the house with 
 every necessary except groceries and wine ; it may 
 be supposed to be easily practicable if under the 
 regulation of a strict economy ; of which no man 
 was a greater master. I am told his plan was so well 
 formed, and he had such checks upon all his domes- 
 ticks, that it was impossible there could be any waste, 
 or that any article from the larder, or a single bottle 
 of wine from the cellar could have been purloined, 
 without immediate detection. This was done partly 
 by the choice of faithful stewards, and clerks of im- 
 proved integrity ; but chiefly by his own superinten- 
 dance of the whole, as not a day passed without hav- 
 ing all the accounts of the preceding one laid before 
 him. This he was enabled to do by his early rising : 
 and the business being finished before others were out 
 of their beds, he always appeared the most disen- 
 gaged man in the house, and seemed to have as little 
 concern in the conduct of it as any of the guests. 
 And indeed to a stranger he might easily pass for such, 
 as he made it a point that no one should consider him 
 in the light of a master of the house, nor pay him 
 the least civilities on that score ; which he carried so 
 far, that he sometimes went abroad without giving 
 any notice, and staid away several days, while things 
 went on as usual at home ; on his return, he would 
 not allow any gratulations to be . made him, nor any 
 ther notice to be taken of him, than if he had not 
 
 dd2 been
 
 404 THE LIFE 
 
 been absent during tbat time. The arrangements of 
 every sort were so prudently made, that no multi- 
 plicity of guests or their domesticks, ever occasioned 
 any disorder, and all things were conducted with the 
 same ease and regularity, as in a private family. There 
 was one point which seemed of great difficulty, that 
 of establishing certain signals, by which each servant 
 might know when he was summoned to his master's 
 apartment. For this purpose there was a great hall 
 appropriated to their use, where they always assem- 
 bled when they were not upon duty. Along the wall 
 bells were ranged in order, one to each apartment, 
 with the number of the chamber marked over it ; so 
 that when any one of them was rung, they had only 
 to turn their eyes to the bell, and see what servant 
 was called. He was the first who put an end to that 
 inhospitable custom of giving vales to servants, by 
 making a suitable addition to their wages ; at the 
 same time assuring them, that if they ever took any 
 afterward, they should be discharged with disgrace ; 
 and to prevent temptation, the guests were informed 
 that Mr. Mathew would consider it as the highest af- 
 front, if any offer of that sort were made. 
 
 As Swift had heard much of this place from Dr. 
 Sheridan, who had been often a welcome guest 
 there, both on account of his companionable qua- 
 lities, and as being preceptor to the nephew of Mr. 
 Mathew, he was desirous of seeing with his own 
 eyes whether the report of it were trne, which he 
 could not help thinking to have been much exagge- 
 rated. Upon receiving an intimation of this from 
 Dr. Sheridan, Mr. Mathew wrote a polite letter to 
 the Dean, requesting the honour of a visit, in com- 
 pany
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 405 
 
 pany with the Doctor, on his next school vacation. 
 They set out accordingly on horseback, attended by 
 a gentleman who was a near relation of Mr. Ma- 
 thew, and from whom I received the whole of the 
 following account. They had scarce reached the 
 inn where they were to pass the first night, and 
 which like most of the Irish inns at that time, af- 
 forded but miserable entertainment, when a coach 
 and six horses arrived, sent to convey them the re- 
 mainder of their journey to Thomastown ; and at 
 the same time bringing store of the choicest viands, 
 wine, and other liquors for their refreshment. 
 Swift was highly pleased with this uncommon mark 
 of attention paid him, and the circumstance of the 
 coach proved particularly agreeable, as he had been 
 a good deal fatigued with his day's journey. When 
 they came within sight of the house, the Dean, asto- 
 nished at its magnitude, cried out, " What in the 
 name of God can be the use of such a vast building ?" 
 " Why, Mr. Dean," replied their fellow traveller 
 before mentioned, " there are no less than forty 
 apartments for guests in that house, and all of them 
 probably occupied at this time, except what are re- 
 served for us." 
 
 Swift, in his usual manner, called out to the coach- 
 man to stop, and bade him turn about, and drive him 
 back to Dublin, for he could not think of mixing with 
 such a crowd. " Well," said he, afterward suddenly, 
 " there is no remedy, I must submit ; but I have 
 lost a fortnight of my life." 
 
 Mr. Mathew received him at the door with un- 
 common marks of respect ; and then conducting 
 him to his apartment, after some compliments, 
 made him his usual speech ; acquainting him with 
 4 the
 
 A06 THE LIFE 
 
 the customs of the house, and retired, leaving him 
 in possession of his castle. Soon after the cook ap- 
 peared with his bill of fare, to receive his directions 
 about supper, and the butler at the same time with 
 a list of wines and other liquors. " And is all this 
 really so," said Swift ? " and may I command here 
 as in my own house :" The gentleman before men- 
 tioned assured him he might, and that nothing could 
 be more agreeable to the owner of that mansion, than 
 that all under his roof should live conformably to 
 their own inclinations, without the least restraint. 
 <c Well, then," said Swift, " I invite you and 
 Dr. Sheridan to be my guests while I stay, for I 
 think I shall hardly be tempted to mix with the mob 
 below." 
 
 Three days were passed in riding over the demesne, 
 and viewing the several improvements, without ever 
 seeing Mr. Mathew, or any of the guests ; nor were 
 the company below much concerned at his absence, 
 as his very name usually inspired those who did not 
 know him with awe, and they were afraid his pre- 
 sence would put an end to that ease and cheerfulness 
 which reigned among them. 
 
 On the fourth day, Swift entered the room 
 where the company were assembled before dinner, 
 and addressed Mr. Mathew in one of the finest com- 
 plimental speeches that ever was made ; in which 
 he expatiated on all the beauties of his improve- 
 ments, with the skill of an artist, and taste of a 
 connoisseur. He showed that he had a full com- 
 prehension of the whole of the plan, and of the 
 judicious adaption of the parts to the whole, and 
 pointed out several articles which had escaped gene- 
 ral observation. Such an address, from a man of 
 
 Swift's
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 407 
 
 Swift's character, could not fail of being pleasing to 
 the owner, who was at the same time the planner 
 of these improvements ; and so fine an eulogium 
 from one who was supposed to deal more in satire 
 than panegyrick, was likely to remove the preju- 
 dice entertained against his character, and prepos- 
 sess the rest of the company in his favour. He con- 
 cluded his speech by saying, " And now, ladies 
 and gentlemen, I am come to live among you, and 
 it shall be no fault of mine if we do not pass our 
 time agreeably." After dinner, being in high spirits, 
 he entertained the company with various pleasant- 
 ries : Doctor Sheridan and he played into one an- 
 other's hands ; they joked, they punned, they laughed, 
 and a general gayety was diffused through the whole 
 company. In a short time all constraint on his ac- 
 count disappeared. He entered readily into all their 
 little schemes of promoting mirth, and every day, 
 with the assistance of his coadjutor, produced some 
 new one, which afforded a good deal of sport and 
 merriment. Never were such joyous scenes known 
 there before ; for, when to ease and cheerfulness, 
 there is superadded, at times, the highest zest of 
 gay wit, lively fancy, and droll humour, nothing 
 can be wanting to the perfection of the social plea- 
 sures of life. When the time came which obliged 
 Dr. Sheridan to return to his school, the company 
 were so delighted with the Dean, that they earnestly 
 intreated him to remain there some time longer ; 
 and Mr. Mathew himself for once broke through 
 his rule of never soliciting the stay of any guest, 
 (it being the established custom of the house that 
 all might depart whenever they thought proper, with- 
 out any ceremony of leave taking) by joining in the 
 
 request.
 
 408 THE LIFE 
 
 request. Swift found himself so happy in his situa- 
 tion there, that he readily yielded to their solicita- 
 tions, and instead of the fortnight which he had ori- 
 ginally intended, passed four months there much to 
 his own satisfaction, and that of all those who had 
 visited the place during that time. 
 
 Having gone somewhat out of my way to give an 
 account of the owner of this happy mansion, I am 
 tempted to digress a little farther by relating an ad- 
 venture he was engaged in, of so singular a kind, 
 as deserves well to be recorded. It was toward the 
 latter end of queen Anne's reign, when Mr. Ma- 
 thew returned to Dublin after his long residence 
 abroad. At that time party ran very high, but 
 raged no where with such violence as in that city, 
 insomuch that duels were every day fought there on 
 that score. There happened to be, at that time, 
 two gentlemen in London, who valued themselves 
 highly on their skill in fencing ; the name of one 
 of them was Pack, the other Creed ; the former a 
 major, the latter a captain in the army. Hearing of 
 these daily exploits in Dublin, they resolved, like 
 two knight-errants, to go over in quest of adven- 
 tures. Upon inquiry, they learned that Mr. Ma- 
 thew, lately arrived from France, had the character 
 of being one of the first swordsmen in Europe. 
 Pack, rejoiced to find an antagonist worthy of him, 
 resolved the first opportunity to pick a quarrel with 
 him ; and meeting him as he was carried along the 
 street in his chair, jostled the fore chairman. Of 
 this Mathew took no notice, as supposing it to be 
 accidental. But Pack afterward boasted of it in 
 the public coffee-house, saying, " that he had pur- 
 posely offered this insult to that gentleman, who 
 
 bad
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 409 
 
 bad not the spirit to resent it." There happened to 
 be present a particular friend of Mr. Mathew's, of 
 the name of Macnamara, a man of tried courage, 
 and reputed the best fencer in Ireland. He imme- 
 diately took up the quarrel, and said, " he was sure 
 Mr. Mathew did not suppose the affront intended, 
 otherwise he would have chastised him on the spot ; 
 but if the major would let him know where he was 
 to be found, he should be waited on immediately 
 on his friend's return, who was to dine that day a 
 little way out of town." The major said " that he 
 should be at the tavern over the way, where he and 
 his companion would wait their commands." Im- 
 mediately on his arrival, Mathew being made ac- 
 quainted with what had passed, went from the 
 coffee-house to the tavern, accompanied by Macna- 
 mara. Being shown into the room where the two 
 gentlemen were, after having secured the door, 
 without any expostulation, Mathew and Pack drew 
 their swords ; but Macnamara stopped them, say- 
 ing, " he had something to propose before they pro- 
 ceeded to action." He said, " in cases of this na- 
 ture, he never could bear to be a cool spectator; 
 so, sir, (addressing himself to Creed) if you please, 
 I shall have the honour of entertaining you in the 
 same manner." Creed, who desired no better sport, 
 made no other reply than that of instantly drawing his 
 sword ; and to work the four champions fell, with 
 the same composure as if it were only a fencing 
 match with foils. The conflict was of some dura- 
 tion, and maintained with great obstinacy by the two 
 officers, notwithstanding the great effusion of blood 
 from the many wounds which they had received. 
 At length, quite exhausted, they both fell, and yielded 
 
 the
 
 410 THE LIFE 
 
 the victory to the superior skill of their antagonists. 
 Upon this occasion, Mathew gave a remarkable proof 
 of the perfect composure of his mind during the ac<- 
 tion. Creed had fallen the first ; upon which Pack 
 exclaimed, " Ah, poor Creed are you gone ?" " Yes," 
 said Mathew, very composedly, " and you shall 
 instantly Pack after him ;" at the same time mak- 
 ing a home thrust quite through his body, which 
 threw him to the ground. This was trie more re- 
 markable, as he was never in his life, either before 
 or after, known to have aimed at a pun. The num- 
 ber of wounds received by the vanquished parties 
 was very great ; and what seems almost miraculous, 
 their opponents were untouched. The surgeons, 
 seeing the desperate state of their patients, would 
 not suffer them to be removed out of the room 
 where they fought, but had beds immediately con- 
 veyed into it, on which they lay many hours in a 
 state of insensibility. When they came to them- 
 selves, and saw where they were, Pack, in a feeble 
 voice, said to his companion, " Creed, I think we 
 are the conquerors, for we have kept the field of 
 battle." For a long time their lives were despaired 
 of, but to the astonishment of every one, they both 
 recovered. When they were able to see company, 
 Mathew and his friend attended them daily, and a 
 close intimacy afterward ensued, as they found them 
 men of probity, and of the best dispositions, except 
 in this Quixotish idea of duelling, whereof they were 
 now perfectly cured. 
 
 The Dean was often applied to, to redress private 
 grievances, by persons of whom he had no know- 
 ledge, and never failed to interpose his good offices, 
 when the case was such as merited his attention, 
 
 Among
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 411 
 
 Among these he was particularly struck with that 
 of a young gentleman in the college of the name of 
 Fitzherbert; whose father, though a man of con- 
 siderable estate, had treated him with great inhu- 
 manity, banishing him his house, and not affording 
 him the common necessaries of life. The young 
 man, driven almost to desperation, though he had 
 no other acquaintance with Swift than that of seeing 
 him sometimes at Dr. Sheridan's school, where he 
 was bred, drew up so affecting a narrative of his case, 
 and in such a masterly style, in a letter to the Dean, 
 as gave him a high opinion of his talents and genius, 
 and rendered him an object well worthy of his pro- 
 tection. Accordingly he wrote to the father, who 
 was a stranger to him, in very strong terms; highly 
 extolling his son's abilities, and recommending him 
 to his favour*. He waited for an answer to this letter 
 from the father, before he could make a satisfactory 
 reply to that of the son ; but after some days had 
 elapsed, the young man growing impatient of the 
 Dean's silence, resolved to second his first address in 
 prose, by another in poetry, and sent him the fol- 
 lowing copy of verses: 
 
 To the Dmn of St. Patrick's. 
 
 " Obscure in garret vile I lay, 
 And slumber'd out the tedious day ; 
 Or par'd my nails, or watch' d the cries 
 Of savoury sausages or pies ; 
 Or strove, with dexterous art, to hide 
 Chinks in my stockings gaping wide; 
 Or read old authors o'er and o'er, 
 In number hardly half a score j 
 
 # This letter, dated March 1.9, 1734-5, is printed in the thir- 
 teenth volume of the present collection. N. 
 
 3 Those,
 
 412 THE LIFE 
 
 Those, dusly, tatter'd, full of holes ; 
 The rest were gone to purchase coals. 
 In prose + I told how Epictetws, 
 Upon a pinch, the best of meat is ; 
 On which I was corapell'd to dine, 
 While gay Petroxius paid for wine. 
 How Horace cater'd, Plutarch, pot- 
 Companion boon, discharg'd my shot. 
 How Tully too the kennel thumps, 
 Converted to a pair of pumps. 
 I told how Gulliver, with sense 
 Enrich'd me first, and then with pence, 
 And ah ! I might with tears relate 
 Poor metamorphos'd Virgil's fate; 
 Who, having erst adorn'd my leg, 
 Now hangs and rots upon a peg. 
 Unable to dismiss a crowd 
 Of duns importunate and loud: 
 Though pinch'd with hunger, thirst, and cold, 
 1 yet disdain'd to have it told. 
 Too proud for pity, I suppress'd 
 The sighs that struggl'd in my breast; 
 And while a vulture gnaw'd my heart, 
 Smiles in my face, conceal'd the smart. 
 
 Ye younger brothers, who inherit, 
 In lieu of fortune, the bon spirit ; 
 For which, unless your fathers bail, 
 You must for ever rot in jail ; 
 Ye gamesters, who have'lost codille, 
 Unpaid as yet your tailor's bill ; 
 Ye thieves detected on the top 
 Of houses, or within a shop ; 
 Ye tender damsels, who bestow 
 Your virgin treasures on a beau, 
 Forsaken of your fop, the scorn 
 Of bitter prudes, and quite forlorn ; 
 Say, did ye oftner wish to die, 
 Or feel sincerer grief than I ? 
 
 Now ripe with injuries and age, 
 My spirits kindle into rage; 
 
 + Alluding to his former prose letter to the Dean. S. 
 
 Now
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 413 
 
 Now visionary projects roll, 
 And crowd tumultuous on my soul. 
 So fire conceal'd from human eyes, 
 In mount Vesuve or iEtna lies, 
 * Till burst at last, and finding vent, 
 Is to the clouds with fury sent. 
 
 My story to the Dean I wrote 
 With great expense of oil and thought ; 
 
 Did he receive it with a nod, 
 
 Profess it was extremely odd ? 
 
 Did he his shoulders shrug, or think 
 
 My cause unworthy of his ink ? 
 
 Did he a ragged youth despise ? 
 
 Ah ! no, the Dean is just and wise: 
 
 And truth an easy passage finds, 
 
 Like a full tide, to generous minds. 
 Hail Bard and Patriot ! could I hope 
 
 The Muses would from thee elope, 
 
 To make me, by their mighty pow'r, 
 
 A poet only for an hour ; 
 
 Tay matchless virtues should be known 
 
 In verse as lasting as your own. 
 
 But I ne'er tasted of the spring 
 
 Which taught immortal Swift to sing; 
 
 Nor e'er invok'd the tuneful nine 
 
 To help me with a single line ; 
 
 Then let your own Apollo praise 
 Your virtue, humour, wit, and ease." 
 
 Swift, on receipt of this, returned a short answer, 
 and enclosed a bill for twenty pounds, telling him he 
 should soon hear from him again. ^He then went to 
 his father, and having rated him sufficiently for want 
 of manners in not answering his letter, proceeded to 
 the affair of his son. The gentleman, who had 
 nothing to offer in his excuse, exceedingly alarmed 
 at the resentment shown by Swift for his neglect, to 
 make amends for this, immediately acquiesced in any 
 measures that Swift might propose, with regard to 
 
 the
 
 414 THE LIFE 
 
 the object of his visit; and it was agreed upon the 
 spot, that the young gentleman should be sent im- 
 mediately to Leyden to study physick, with a suitable 
 allowance for his support. 
 
 In one of his rambles through the country of Ire- 
 land, he happened to stop at a small village in some 
 part of the Bog of Allen. The landlord of the house 
 to which he was directed for entertainment, was quite 
 unfurnished of every kind of provision that might 
 refresh either himself or his horses. The Dean 
 seeing a church not far off, inquired who was the 
 parson, and where he lived. Being informed in these 
 points, he desired the landlord to go in his name, 
 and beg a little hay and oats for his horses ; who 
 brought him back for answer, " that the vicar, Mr. 
 Hervey, would send him none ; but if the Dean 
 would do him the honour to take share of his dinner, 
 which was near ready, he should have as much as he 
 pleased." The Dean readily accepted the invitation ; 
 and going immediately to Mr. Hervey's, asked " what 
 he had for dinner?" u A shoulder of lamb and sal- 
 lad." " And what have you got to drink?" " Some 
 pretty good ale; and had I known of your coming, I 
 would have had a bottle of wine." u Wine! said the 
 Dean, what is your vicarage worth?" " About fourscore 
 pounds a year." " And dares such a little fellow as 
 you pretend to drink wine?" " Only on extraor- 
 dinary occasions." The Dean was much pleased with 
 his host and his entertainment; and when he was 
 going away, he called to his servant to take good 
 notice of that clergyman, " And be sure remember, 
 if ever he should come to inquire for me at the dea- 
 nery, to say I am not at homer Mr. Hervey under- 
 Stood his meaning well; and on his next visit to 
 
 Dublin,
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 41 5 
 
 Dublin, did not fail to pay his respects to the Dean; 
 who received him very cordially, and entertained him 
 with great kindness. 
 
 Once stopping at an inn at Dundalk, he sent for 
 a barber to shave him; who performed his office very 
 dexterously, and being a prating fellow, amused the 
 Dean, during the operation, with a variety of chat. 
 The Dean inquired of him who was the minister of 
 his parish, and whether he had one farthing to rub 
 upon another? The barber answered, " that though 
 the benefice was but small, the incumbent was very 
 rich." " How the plague can that be?" " Why, 
 please your reverence, he buys up frizes, flannels, 
 stockings, shoes, brogues, and other things when 
 cheap, and sells them at an advanced price to the 
 parishioners, and so picks up a penny." The Dean 
 was curious to see this vicar, and dismissing the bar- 
 ber with a shilling, desired the landlord to go in his 
 name, and ask that gentleman to eat a mutton chop 
 with him, for he had bespoke a yard of mutton (the 
 name he usually gave to the neck) for dinner. Word 
 was brought back " that he had rid abroad to visit 
 some sick parishioners." " Why then," said the 
 Dean, " invite that prating barber, that I may not 
 dine alone." The barber was rejoiced at this unex- 
 pected honour, and being dressed out in his best ap- 
 parel, came to the inn, first inquiring of the groom 
 what the clergyman's name was who had so kindly 
 invited him, " What the vengeance," said the ser- 
 vant, u don't you know Dean Swift ?" At which the 
 barber turned pale, said his babbling tongue had 
 ruined him ; then ran into the house, fell upon his 
 knees, and intreated the Dean u not to put him into 
 print; for that he was a poor barber, had a large fa- 
 
 . n^'ly
 
 4l6 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 mily to maintain, and if his reverence put him into 
 black and white, he should lose all his customers." 
 Swift laughed heartily at the poor fellow's simplicity ; 
 bade him sit down and eat his dinner in peace, for he 
 assured him " he would neither put him, or his wife, 
 or the vicar in print." After dinner, having got out 
 of him the history of the whole parish, he dismissed 
 him with half a crown, highly delighted with the ad- 
 ventures of the day. 
 
 One day Swift observed a great rabble assembled 
 in a large space before the deanery door in Kevin 
 street, and upon inquiring the cause of this, was told 
 it was to see the eclipse. He immediately sent for 
 the beadle, and gave him his lesson what he should 
 do. Away ran Davy for his bell, and after ringing it 
 some time among the crowd, bawled out, " O yes, 
 O yes, all manner of persons concerned, are desired 
 to take notice, that it is the Dean of St. Patrick's will 
 and pleasure, that the eclipse be put off till this hour 
 to morrow. So God save the king, and his reverence 
 the dean." The mob upon this notice immediately 
 dispersed; onlv some, more cunning than the rest, 
 swore they would not lose another afternoon, for that 
 the Dean, who was a very comical man, might take 
 it into his head to put off the eclipse again, and so 
 make fools of them a second time. 
 
 Swift, once in a private conference between some 
 of the ministry and monsieur Menage, acted as in- 
 terpreter. Observing both parties using their utmost 
 endeavours to deceive each other, and that the whole 
 time was spent in disguising their true designs, and 
 finding artful evasions, his impatience arose to that 
 height, that forgetting his situation as interpreter, he 
 took, upon him to offer his advice to the ministers on 
 
 both
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 417 
 
 both sides; which was, in short, to speak plain truth 
 and nothing else; adding, " that if they followed that 
 method, they would do as much business in an hour, 
 as they then did in a week.' 
 
 In one of his jaunts to Windsor with lord Oxford, 
 being employed full as idly as Horace says he was 
 when taking the air with Maecenas, they were playing 
 a sort of game called Cocks and liens; which con- 
 sisted in each of them counting the poultry on his 
 side of the road, and whichever reckoned thirty-one 
 first, or saw a cat, or an old woman in a certain 
 posture, won the game. It happened while they 
 were thus engaged, lord Bolingbroke's coach overtook 
 them, who got into that of lord Oxford, and imme- 
 diately entered upon some political business. He had 
 not talked long before lord Oxford cried out, " Swift, 
 I am up, there is a cat." Lord Bolingbroke, much 
 offended at this, called to the coachman to stop, got 
 out of the carriage, saying, " when his lordship was 
 disposed to be serious, he would talk to him about 
 business." This seems to have happened when things 
 were tending toward that breach between them, which 
 all the Dean's address and influence were not able to 
 close. 
 
 Swift, like many who jest freely on others, could 
 not bear a retort. Dining one day at a publick dinner 
 of the mayor and corporation at Cork, he observed 
 that alderman Brown, father to the bishop of that 
 diocese, fed very heartily without speaking a word, 
 and was so intent upon that business, as to become a 
 proper object of ridicule. Accordingly he threw out 
 many successful jests upon the alderman, who fed on 
 with the silence of the still sow, neither seeming to 
 regard what the Dean said, nor at all moved by the 
 vol. j. E e repeated
 
 418 THE LIFE 
 
 repeated bursts of laughter at his expense. Toward 
 the latter end of the meal, Swift happened to be 
 helped to some roasted duck, and desired to have some 
 applesauce on the snme plate ; upon which the alder- 
 man bawled out. " Mr. Denn, you eat your duck like 
 a goose." This unexpected sally threw the company 
 into a long continued fit of laughter, and Swift was 
 silent the rest of the day. 
 
 One time going out of town, he said to Mr. Cope, 
 " will you write to me?" And without waiting for an 
 answer, continued, " No, I forgot, you are an idle 
 man, and will never find time." He spent a good 
 deal of time in the north at Mr. Robert Cope's, and 
 was member of a club consisting of the neighbours 
 who met periodically: one of the members was an 
 old man remarkably stiff and surly; who valued him- 
 self much upon great plantations of fir-trees which 
 he had raised about his house. Swift desired to look 
 at them ; and having put a rule in his pocket for the 
 purpose, said he would try whether they were planted 
 at exact distances, and laying down his rule, went 
 obliquely on purpose from tree to tree, saying, " he 
 that planted them knew nothing of the matter." 
 The old gentleman snatched up the rule in a great 
 passion, swearing " he never saw such a fool of a 
 measurer in all his life." 
 
 There was a trap laid for the same old gentleman by 
 one of the merry members of the club, Dr. Tisdall ; 
 who riding in company with Dr. Swift and others, 
 near his house, laid a wager, " that he would make 
 old Workman call himself Bruin the Bear." He had 
 beforehand known that it was his day for brewing. 
 They all rid up to the door, when Tisdall accosted 
 the old gentleman with, "' Pray, Mr. Workman, are 
 
 not
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 4\Q 
 
 not you brewing to-day?" " Yes." " Are you brew- 
 ing the bailey, or brewing the beer?" " Brewing the 
 barley," said Workman, to Tisdall's great disappoint- 
 ment; who, beside losing his wager, had the laugh 
 of the company against him. 
 
 A young gentleman, much addicted to laughing, 
 happened to get into Swift's company; and having 
 heard much of the Dean's pleasantries, was upon the 
 titter at every thing he said: " Where is the jest?" 
 said some one. " There," said Swift, pointing at the 
 laughing young gentleman. 
 
 One day travelling in England, he asked a farmer 
 which was the road to such a place; the .armer said 
 it lay straight before him, he could not miss it. Swift 
 riding a little way, observed a by-road to the left, and 
 turned into it. The farmer called out to him that he 
 was going wrong. " Why," said Swift, " did you 
 not tell me I could not miss it ?" " No more you 
 could," said the farmer, " if you had not been a 
 fool." 
 
 Another time seeing a man fall from his horse in a 
 slough, he rode up to him, inquiring whether he was 
 hurt? " No," replied the farmer, " but I am woun- 
 dily bemired." " You make good the old proverb," 
 said Swift, " the more dirt, the less hurt." The man 
 seemed much comforted with the old saying, but said 
 he had never heard of that proverb before; and no 
 wonder, for Swift had made it on the occasion. He 
 used often to coin proverbs of that sort, and pass 
 them for old. 
 
 One day walking in the garden of a stingy old gen- 
 tleman, with many others in company, he saw a 
 quantity of fine fruit, of which the owner never 
 offered them a taste ; Swift stopped at a peach tree 
 
 e e 2 , loaded
 
 A '20 THE LIFE 
 
 loaded with tempting fruit, and addressed the com- 
 pany with, " It was an old saying of my grand- 
 mother's, always pull a peach, when it lies in your 
 reach:" he accordingly plucked one; and his example 
 was immediately followed by all the rest, under the 
 sanction of that good old saying. 
 
 He had many useful rules which he threw into 
 rhime for the more easy recollection of them. One 
 of them I remember was a direction to those who 
 ride together through the water : 
 
 " When through the water you do ride, 
 Keep very close, or very wide." 
 
 Another related to the decanting of wine: 
 
 " First rack slow, and then rack quick, 
 Then rack slow till you come to the thick." 
 
 In a conversation with Dr. Ellwood, the doctor 
 happened to speak of some one, as a fine old gentle- 
 man; " What!" said Swift, " have you kept company 
 with me these twenty years, and have not the com- 
 mon sense to know that there is no such thing as a 
 fine old gentleman ; because, if the persons to whom 
 that title is given, had been possessed either of a mind 
 or body worth a farthing, they would have worn them 
 out before they arrived at that age." 
 
 Dining one day at Mr. B 's, his son, the pre- 
 sent Mr. B , then very young, was sent into the 
 
 parlour after dinner to pay his compliments to the 
 
 Dean. His mother, lady B , had always kept 
 
 him drest in the nicest manner. After drinking a 
 glass of wine, and staying a little while with the com- 
 pany, he returned to his father, who was confined to 
 bis chamber with the gout, " Well, Will, what did 
 
 4 the
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 4'21 
 
 the Dean say to you ?" " I heard him say, as I was 
 leaving the room, ' Enfan gate." His father laughed, 
 and told it lady Betty. This came round to the Dean 
 before he left the house; who said upon it " What 
 a confounded blockhead was I, to think there could 
 be such a thing as a spoiled child who had not learned 
 French." 
 
 In the pursuit of the bagatelle, he often descended 
 to puerilities. Passing some time in the country, 
 where Dan Jackson was one of the company (he 
 whose long nose furnished a subject for several hu- 
 morous copies of verses*), Swift used to try many 
 practical jokes on him. One day he pretended to lay 
 hold of a creeper on Dan's neck, and put himself in 
 the posture of cracking it on the table with his thumb 
 nail, at the same time making a noise similar to it 
 with the joint of his finger; a common schoolboy's trick. 
 He had served him in this manner more than once, 
 when Dan resolved to be* prepared for him if he ever 
 attempted it again. With this view he procured a 
 louse of the largest size he could get, and stopping 
 it up in a quill, kept it in his pocket. It was not 
 long before Swift repeated the trick ; when Dan Jack- 
 son took an opportunity, while the Dean was looking 
 another way, of unstopping the quill, and dropping 
 the louse just before him, calling out l( Mr. Dean-^- 
 Mr. Dean you have missed killing it this time, 
 there it is crawling just before you." This turned 
 the laugh against Swift, and put an end to that and 
 some other of his pranks, as he found Dan was not 
 so patient a butt as he had taken him for, and knew 
 how to retaliate with advantage. 
 
 * See them in vol. XVI. 
 
 Am oner
 
 422 THE LIFE 
 
 Among other jeiix (T esprit, he was fond of pun- 
 ning, and used to say that none disliked it but those 
 who could not make one. The old lord Pembroke 
 was a remarkable punster, and when lord lieutenant 
 of Ireland, delighted much in Swift's company on 
 that account. One day being at the castle when a 
 learned physician was reading a long lecture to his 
 excellency on the nature and qualities of bees, calling 
 them on every occasion, a nation, and a common- 
 wealth; " Yes, my lord," said Swift, " they are a 
 very ancient nation ; you know, my lord, Moses takes 
 notice of them ; he numbers the Hiviies among those 
 nations which Joshua was appointed to conquer." 
 
 Lord Pembroke had brought over with him, as his 
 first chaplain, one Dr. Milles, a man remarkable for 
 a large Roman nose, against whom Swift had taken a 
 particular dislike. After dining one day with a private 
 party at the castle, of which Milles was one, Swift 
 began to rail at the lord lieutenants of Ireland for 
 bringing over such blockheads for chaplains as they 
 usually did. Lord Pembroke said, " that censure 
 could not be applied to him, as his first chaplain pre- 
 sent had been a professor at Oxford, and was accounted 
 an excellent scholar." " He a scholar!" said Swift; 
 <c I dare say he does not know how to construe a line 
 of Virgil." Lord Pembroke, who expected some sport 
 from this, took part with his chaplain, saying, " he 
 was sure there was no passage in Virgil which he could 
 not perfectly explain." " Let the book be brought," 
 said Swift. Accordingly a Virgil was sent for, and 
 Swift opening the book, pitched upon the following 
 line, komanos rerum dominos gtntemque togatam. 
 Milles immediately translated it very properly in the 
 usual way. " There," says Swift, " I knew he could 
 2 not
 
 OF DOCTOR SWIFT. 423 
 
 not do it he has not construed one word of it right." 
 " Why, pray how would you construe it?" " Thus 
 Romanos you've a Roman nose rerum you're a 
 rare rum dominos damn your nose gentemque io- 
 galam, and the whole race of chaplains." Swift then 
 took up his hat and walked oft] leaving lord Pem- 
 broke and the rest of the party laughing heartily at 
 the droll scene which had just passed. 
 
 Now I am upon the subject of his punning, I can- 
 not refrain from mentioning an excellent one which 
 he made at my father's, in a happy application of one 
 of Virgil's lines. It happened that a lady whisking 
 about her long train, which was then the fashion, 
 threw down and broke a fine Cremona fiddle belong- 
 ing to him; upon which Swift cried out 
 
 Mantua vce )niscrce nimium vidua Cremona? ! 
 
 Once in the country he was making inquiries about 
 a gentleman in the neighbourhood, with whom the 
 others did not seem to associate, and asked the reason 
 of it. They said, " he was a very stupid fellow." 
 Swift some time after, in one of his rides, overtook 
 him, and entered into conversation With him by 
 praising his horse, saying, among other things, that 
 he carried a very fine tail ; to which the gentleman 
 replied, " and yours carries the best head in Ireland." 
 The Dean, on his return, related this as a very clever 
 saying, and wondered how they could account the 
 author of it stupid. One of the company, when he 
 next saw the gentleman, told him how much the 
 Dean was pleased with what he had said to him. 
 " Why, what was it," said the other ? You told 
 him that his horse carried the best head in Ireland." 
 *' And so he does," replied the gentleman (utterly 
 
 unconscious
 
 424 THE LIFE 
 
 unconscious of his having said a good thing) " I 
 think I never saw a horse with a finer forehead." 
 
 When George Faulkner the printer returned from 
 London, where he had been soliciting subscriptions 
 for his edition of the Dean's works, he went to pay 
 his respects to him, dressed in a laced waistcoat, a 
 bag wig, and other fopperies. Swift received him 
 with all the ceremony that he would show to a perfect 
 stranger. " Pray, Sir, what are your commands with 
 me?" (( I thought it my duty to wait on you imme- 
 diately on my arrival from London." " Pray, Sir, 
 who are you?" " George Faulkner the printer." 
 " You George Faulkner the printer! why, thou art 
 the most impudent barefaced impostor I ever heard 
 of. George Faulkner is a sober sedate citizen, and 
 would never trick himself out in lace^ and other 
 fopperies. Get about your business, and thank your 
 stars that I do not send you to the house of cor- 
 rection." Poor George hobbled away as fast as he 
 could, and having changed his apparel, returned im- 
 mediately to the deanery. Swift, on seeing him, 
 went up to him with great cordiality, shook him fa- 
 miliarly by the hand, saying, " My good friend 
 George, I am heartily glad to see you safe returned. 
 Here was an impudent fellow in a laced waistcoat, 
 who would fain have passed for you; but I soon sent 
 him packing with a flea in his ear." 
 
 He could not bear to have any lies told him, which 
 he never failed to detect ; and when the party en- 
 deavoured to palliate them, his usual expression was 
 " Come, come, don't attempt to darn your cobwebs." 
 It was a saying of his, that an excuse was worse than 
 a lie, because an excuse was a lie guarded. 
 
 There was a violent quarrel between the Dean and 
 
 sergeant
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 425 
 
 sergeant Bettesworth, which for some time made a 
 great noise in Dublin. It was occasioned by the fol- 
 lowing verses in one of Swift's Poems*: 
 
 So at the bar the booby Bettesworth, 
 Though half a crown outpays his sweat's worth, 
 Who knows in law, nor text, nor margent, 
 Calls Singleton his brother sergeant. 
 
 The animosity of the Dean against the sergeant, 
 did not arise from any personal pique, but on account 
 of his being an avowed enemy of the clergy, and 
 taking the lead in the house of commons in procuring 
 one of the most unjust and arbitrary votes ever made 
 by that body, by which the clergy were deprived of a 
 considerable part of their tithes, which they had en- 
 joyed time immemorial. 
 
 The poem was sent to Bettesworth when he was in 
 company with some of his friends, from one of whom 
 then present, I had the following account: He read 
 it aloud till he had finished the lines relative to him- 
 self. He then flung it down with great violence, he 
 trembled and turned pale; and after some pause, his 
 rage for a while depriving him of utterance, he took 
 out his penknife, and opening it, vehemently swore, 
 w T ith this very penknife, by G d, will I cut off his 
 ears. Soon after he w r ent to seek the Dean at his 
 house, and not finding him at his home, followed 
 him to Mr. Worrall's, where he had an interview 
 with him, which has been described by Swift in a 
 letter to the duke of Dorset, then lord lieutenant 
 
 * " In a short poem on the Presbyterians, whom he always re- 
 garded with detestation, he bestowed one stricture upon Bettes- 
 worth, a lawyer eminent for his insolence to the clergy, which, 
 from very considerable reputation, brought him into immediate 
 and universal contempt." Dr. Johnson. 
 
 of
 
 4%Q THE LIFE 
 
 of Ireland*. But as there are some passages omitted 
 in that narrative, which he related to Dr. Sheridan, 
 immediately after the scene had passed, I shall here 
 insert such part of them as I recollect. Upon in- 
 quiring for Swift, the sergeant was shown into the 
 street parlour, and the Dean called out to him from 
 the back room, where he was sitting after dinner with 
 Worrall and his wife. Upon entering the room, 
 Swift desired to know his commands. " Sir," says 
 he, " I am sergeant Bet-tes-worth" (which was al- 
 ways his pompous way of pronouncing his own name 
 in three distinct syllables). " Of what regiment, 
 pray?" says Swift. " O, Mr. Dean, we know your 
 powers of raillery, you know me well enough, that I 
 am one of his majesty's sergeants at law." " "W hat 
 then, Sir?" " Why then, Sir, I am come to demand 
 of you, whether you are the author of this poem 
 (producing it) and these villanous lines on me?" At 
 the same time reading them aloud with great ve- 
 hemence of emphasis, and much gesticulation.- 
 " Sir,". said Swift, " it was a piece of advice given 
 me in my early days by lord Somers, never to own or 
 disown any writing laid to my charge; because if I did 
 this, in some cases, whatever I did not disown after- 
 ward, would infallibly be imputed to me as mine. 
 Now, Sir, I take this to have been a very wise 
 maxim, and as such have followed it ever since; and 
 I believe it will hardly be in the power of all your 
 rhetorick, as great a master as you are of it, to make 
 me swerve from that rule-j~." Many other things 
 
 passed 
 
 * See the Epistolary Correspondence in January, 1733-4. N, 
 
 + '* Bettesworth was so little satisfied with this account, that 
 
 he publickly professed his resolution of a violent and corporal 
 
 revenge ;
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 427 
 
 passed as related in the above-mentioned letter. But 
 when Bettesworth was going away, he said, " Well, 
 since you will give me no satisfaction in this affair, let 
 me tell you, your gown is your protection ; under the 
 sanction of which, like one of your own Yahoos who 
 had climbed up to the top of a high tree, you sit 
 secure, and squirt your filth round on all mankind." 
 Swift had candour enough not to conceal this last cir- 
 cumstance, at the same time saying, " that the fellow 
 showed more wit in this than he thought him pos- 
 sessed of." After this, as Bettesworth still continued 
 to utter furious threats against the Dean, there was 
 an association formed and signed by all the principal 
 inhabitants of that quarter, to stand by one another 
 with their lives and fortunes, in support of their ge- 
 neral benefactor, against any one who should attempt 
 to offer the least injury to his person or fortune. Be- 
 side which, the publick indignation was kindled against 
 him for this treatment of their great favourite, and 
 the resentment of all the wits was poured out upon 
 him in a vast effusion of libels, pointed with. ridicule, 
 or edged with satire, which placed his character in a 
 contemptible, or an odious light; so that the unfor- 
 tunate sergeant, who had before made a considerable 
 figure at the bar, in a short time lost his business, 
 and was seldom employed in any suit afterward ; so 
 dangerous was it to attack this idol of the people. 
 
 He was always attended by two servants when he 
 rode out, but he walked through the streets, and did 
 pot put on his spatterdashes (which he always wore 
 
 revenge; but the inhabitants of St. Patrick's district embodied 
 themselves in the Dean's defence. Bettesworth declared in Par- 
 liament, that Swift had deprived him of twelve hundred pounds a 
 year." Dr. Johnson. 
 
 instead
 
 428 THE LIFE 
 
 instead of boots) and spurs till he came to the place 
 of mounting. One day, being detained longer than 
 usual, and inquiring into the cause, he found it was 
 owing to a dispute between the two servants, to which 
 of their offices it belonged to carry the spatterdashes 
 and spurs. Swift soon settled the matter, by making 
 each of them carry one of each, and in that manner 
 walk behind him through the streets. The black- 
 guards of Dublin, who are remarkable for low hu- 
 mour, sooned smoked the design, and ridiculed the 
 fellows as they passecl along in such a way as made 
 them quite ashamed of themselves, and willing to 
 come to a compromise. But Swift, to punish them, 
 made them continue their progress in the same way, 
 enjoying the low jokes of the mob as they passed; 
 till at their earnest entreaty afterward they were al- 
 lowed to take it turn about. 
 
 He had always some whimsical contrivance to pu- 
 nish his servants for any neglect of his orders, so as 
 to make them more attentive for the future. The 
 hiring of the maidservants he left to his housekeeper; 
 and when that ceremony was over, he used to send 
 for them, saying, " he had but two commands to 
 give them; one was, to shut the door after them 
 whenever they came into a room; the other, to shut 
 the door after them when they went out of a room ;" 
 and bade them be very punctual in executing these 
 orders. One of these maids went to him on a par- 
 ticular occasion, to request that she might be allowed 
 to go to her sister's wedding, which was to be on that 
 day, at a place distant about ten miles from Dublin. 
 Swift not only consented, but said " he would lend 
 her one of his horses, with a servant to ride before 
 her ;" and gave his directions accordingly. The maid 
 
 in
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 42Q 
 
 in the midst of her joy for this favour, forgot to shut 
 the door after her when she left the room. In about 
 a quarter of an hour after she was gone, the Dean 
 ordered a servant to saddle another horse, and make 
 what speed he could after them, and wherever he 
 overtook them, to oblige them to return immediately. 
 They had not got much above half way, when he came 
 up with them, and told them " it was the Dean's 
 positive commands, that they should return instantly;" 
 with which, however reluctantly, the poor girl was 
 obliged to comply. When she came into Swift's pre- 
 sence, with a most mortified countenance, she begged 
 to know his reverence's commands: " Nothing child," 
 said he, " only you forgot to shut the door after you." 
 But not to carry the punishment too far, he then 
 permitted her to pursue her journey. 
 
 One day when Swift was travelling, a dispute arose 
 between his two servants which of them should clean 
 his boots. He ordered his butler to do it; upon 
 which the man observed, that if they were clean they 
 would be dirtied again:' To the truth of his remark 
 Swift assented ; observing, at the same time, that if 
 the man eat his breakfast he would be hungry again; 
 and calling for the landlady, expressly forbad her to 
 give his servants any breakfast. Accordingly these 
 two useful domesticks began their journey fasting. On 
 the road a gentleman joined them, and asked the but- 
 ler whither they were going? on which the man re- 
 plied, " To Heaven, Sir, for my master is praying 
 and we are fasting." Swift, who overheard the con- 
 versation, presented the fellow with a guinea. 
 
 There was nothing Swift disliked more than ap- 
 plications from witlings and poetasters to look over 
 their pieces, and he generally had some whimsical 
 
 contrivance
 
 430 THE LIFB 
 
 contrivance to make them repent of this, which, 
 being told, might also deter others from the like. 
 Among these, there was a poor author of mv ac- 
 quaintance, who had written a very indifferent tra- 
 gedy, and got himself introduced to the Dean, in 
 order to have his opinion of it. In about a fort- 
 night after the delivery, he called at the deanery 
 to know how he approved of it. Swift returned 
 the play carefully folded up, telling him, " he had 
 read it, and taken some pains with it ; and he be- 
 lieved the author would not find above half the 
 number of faults in it, that it had when it came into 
 his hands." Poor Davy, after a thousand acknow- 
 ledgments to the Dean for the trouble he had taken, 
 retired in company with the gentleman who had first 
 introduced him, and was so impatient to see what 
 corrections Swift had made, that he would not wait 
 till he got home, but got under a gateway in the 
 next street, and, to his utter astonishment and con- 
 fusion, saw that the Dean had taken the pains to 
 blot out every second line throughout the whole 
 play, so carefully, as to render them utterly illegi- 
 ble. Nor was it in the power of the unfortunate 
 author to conceal his disgrace, as his friend, from 
 whom I had the story, thought it too good a joke to 
 be lost. 
 
 Swift, whatever mastery he had gained over the 
 greater passions, had no command of his temper. 
 He was of a very irritable make, prone to sudden 
 starts of passion, in which his expressions of course 
 were not very guarded. His friends made all due 
 allowance for this, knowing it to be an infirmity 
 often attendant on the best natures, and never took 
 any thing amiss that he suid or did on such occa- 
 sions.
 
 OP DOCTOR SWIFT. 431 
 
 sions. But Dr. Sheridan, when he saw one of these 
 fits coming on him, used to divert its course, by 
 some whimsical stroke of fancy that would set him 
 a laughing, and give his humour another bent. And 
 in this he was so successful, that one of their com- 
 mon friends used to say, that he was the David, who 
 alone could play the evil spirit out of Saul. Among 
 the many off-hand poems, which they daily writ 
 to each other, there was one come to my hands, 
 which, though negligently written, is so descriptive 
 of the mode of their living together, and so charac- 
 teristic*?: of Swift's manner, that I am tempted to lay 
 it before the publick. When he was disengaged, 
 the Dean used to call in at the doctor's about the 
 hour of dining, and their custom was to sit in a 
 small back parlour ttte h the, and have slices sent 
 hem upon plates from the common room of what- 
 ever was for the family dinner. The furniture of 
 this room was not in the best repair, being often 
 frequented by the boarders, of which the house was 
 seldom without twenty ; but was preferred by the 
 Dean as being more snug than the state parlour, 
 which was used only when there was company. The 
 subject of the poem, is an account of one of these 
 casual visits. 
 
 " When to my bouse you come, dear Dean, 
 Your humble friend to entertain, 
 Through dirt and mire along the street, 
 You find no scraper for your feet ; 
 At which you stamp and storm and swell, 
 Which serves to clean your feet as well. 
 By steps ascending to the hall, 
 Ail torn to rags by boys and ball, 
 With scatter'd fragments on the floor; 
 A sad uneasy parlour door, 
 
 Besmear'dl
 
 432 THE LIFE 
 
 Besmear'd with chalk, and carVd with knives, 
 (A plague upon all careless wives) 
 Are the next sights you must expect, 
 But do not think they are my neglect. 
 Ah that these evils were the worst ! 
 The parlour still is farther curst. 
 To enter there if you advance, 
 If in you get, it is by chance. 
 How oft by turns have you and I 
 Said thus " Let me no let me try - 
 " This turn will open it I'll engage" 
 You push me from it in a rage. 
 Turning, twisting, forcing, fumbling, 
 Stamping, staring, fuming, grumbling, 
 At length it opens in we go- 
 How glad are we to find it so ! 
 Conquests through pains and dangers please, 
 Much more than those attain'd with ease. 
 Are you dispos'd to take a scat ; 
 The instant that it feels your weight, 
 Out go its legs, and down you come 
 Upon your reverend deanship's bum. 
 .Betwixt two stools 'tis often said, 
 The sitter on the ground is laid ; 
 What praise then to my chairs is due, 
 Where one performs the feat of two ! 
 Now to the fire, if such there be, 
 At present nought but smoke we see. 
 " Come, stir it up"" Ho ! Mr. Joker, 
 How can I stir it without poker ?" 
 " The bellows take, their batter'd nose 
 Will serve for poker, I suppose." 
 Now you begin to rake alack 
 The grate has tumbled from its back 
 The coals all on the hearth are laid 
 41 Stay, sir I'll run and call the maid ; 
 She'll make the fire again complete 
 She knows the humour of the grate." 
 " Pox take your maid and you together 
 This is cold comfort in cold weather." 
 Now all is right again the blaze 
 Suddenly rais'd as soon decays. 
 
 Once
 
 <*F DOCTOR SWIFT. 433 
 
 Once more apply the bellows" So 
 These bellows were not made to blow 
 Their leathern lungs are in decay, 
 They can't even puff the smoke away." 
 " And is your reverence vext at that ? 
 Get up in God's name, take your hat ; 
 Hang them, say I, that have no shift j 
 Come blow the fire, good doctor Swift. 
 If trifles such as these can tease you, 
 Plague take those fools that strive to please jo\U 
 Therefore no longer be a quarrcl'r 
 Either with me, sir, or my parlour. 
 If you can relish ought of mine, 
 A bit of meat, a glass of wine, 
 You're welcome to it, and you shall fate 
 As well as dining with the mayor." 
 " You saucy scab you tell me so 
 Why, booby-face, I'd have you know 
 I'd rather see your things in order, 
 Than dine in state with the recorder. 
 For water I must keep a clutter, 
 Or chide your wife for stinking butter. 
 Or getting such a deal of meat, 
 As if you'd half the town to eat. 
 That wife of yours, the devil's in her, 
 I've told her of this way of dinner, 
 Five hundred times, but all in vain- 
 Here comes a rump of beef again : 
 O that that, wife of yours would burst- 
 Get out, and serve the boarders first. 
 Pox take 'em all for me I fret 
 So much, I shall not eat my meat 
 You know I'd rather have a slice." 
 u I know, dear sir, you are not nice ; 
 You'll have your dinner in a minute, 
 Here comes the plate and slices in it 
 Therefore no more, but take your place 1 
 Do you fall to, and I'll say grace." 
 
 BSD of vol. U 
 
 Vol. I, F f
 
 C <wid B. BalJivift Printers, 
 Mew Bridgc-strset, LonJon.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 Los Angeles 
 
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