pence of several hundred pounds, when he did not believe he should ever again claim the privileges for himself; because he would not hurt his successor by an injurious precedent. The poor, in the liberty of his cathedral, were better regulated than any other in the kingdom: They were all badged, and were never found begging out of their diftrict. For thefe he built and furnished a little alms-house, being assisted by fome voluntary contributions, and he preserved among

thein uncommon cleanliness and decency, by constantly visiting them in person. Nór wa's his care and kindness confined to his cathedral; he improved his living of Laracor, though he continued there but a short time, and left both the house and glebe a convenient and agreeable retreat to his succeffor, at a confiderable expence. . In his private capacity, he was not only charitable but generous, and whatever misanthropy may be found in his writings, there does not appear to have been any in his life. · Hi's writings in defence of the poor people of Ireland are well known, and that he might not be wanting himself, while he pleaded their caufe with others, he conltantly lent out a largé fum of money, in small portions, to honest, industrious, and necellitous tradermien, upon easy terms. Belides this, he fréquently gave five and ten pounds, without any parade, when proper objects offered.

Hc

He was diligent to relieve the poor, and, at the same time, to encourage industry, even in the lowest station i he used regularly to visit a great number of poor, chicfly women,

, as well in the public streets, as in the bye allies, and under the arches of Dublin. If he was not exempt from the infirmity of loving money, yet he was clear of the vice. If his æconomy degenerated into avarice, it must be confessed it did not contract his bounty. He turned all the evil of excellive frugality, upon bimself; it induced him to walk, when he had been used to ride, and he would then say, he had earned a shilling or eighteen pence, which he had a right to do what he pleased with, and which he conftant. ly applied to his usual charities, which by this expedient he could continue, and yet expend less upon the whole than before. Whilst he abounded in charity, he was not less diligent in the practice of other virtues, or less devout and constant in the folemnities of religion. He was remarkably temperate, both in eating and drinking. He was not only just, but punctual in his dealings, and he had an inviolable regard for truth. As he constantly attended divine worship when he was at home, so he used always to go early to church when he was in London, and never to sleep without assembling his family in his own chamber to prayers. An abhorrence of hypocrisy was a Atriking particular in his character; he even

carried it to such an excess, that it is not cafy to determine, whether it was more a virtue than a vice; for it brought upon him the charge of irreligion, and encouraged others to be irreligious. In proportion as he abhorred hypocrify, he dreaded the imputation of it, and therefore concealed his piety with as much diligence, as others conceal their vices, which custom has not made reputable. As his abhorrence of hypocrisy exempted him from affectation, the natural equity of his mind fecured him against envy. He cultivated genius wherever he found it, and in whatever degree, with greatzeal and assiduity, and would frequently spend much time in correcting and improving any literary composition that had the least appearance of ingenuity. As a writer, he had no equal. His file is masterly, correct, and strong, never diffusive, yet always clear; and if we consider it in comparifon of his predecessors, he has outdone them all, and is one, perhaps the chief, of those few select English writers, who have excelled in elegance and propriety of language. In politics, his favourite topic, he appears like a masterly gladiator; he wields the sword of party with ease, juftness, and dexterity, and while he entertains the ignorant and the vulgar, he draws an equal attention from the learned and the great. When he is serious, his gravity becomes him; when he laughs, his readers must laugh with him. In poetry,

he

a

Ire would not take pains to excel : but became, in fonre measure, superior to it, and assumed more the air and manner of a critic, than a poet. But what shall be laid for his love of trifles, and his want of delicacy and decorum ? Forgive him these errors, and draw a veil over certain excrefcences of wit and humour ; you will then admire him as an honour to the public, and a scourge to all the knaves and fools of his time. Upon the whole, his conduct was greatly variegated, so much as to appear even capricious and contradictory. However, if we look a little deeper than the surface, these seeming contradictions will be found to arise from the fame principles. Swift was naturally temperate and chalte, it was therefore easy for him to be frugal; but he was also naturally high{pirited; and therefore, as wealth is the pledge of independence, it is not ftrange his frugality should verge to excess. However, as he acted upon Christian principles of general virtue, he did not deliver himself up to natu. ral propensions, when contrary to his duty; and therefore his love of money did not contract his charity to the poor, or defraud hs successors to enrich himself. The same fpirie which secured his integrity, by disdaining the meannels of a lie, produced that dread of hypocrisy which concealed his piety, and betrayed him into appearances of evil: and the fame want of natural tenderness which mad:

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him obdurate and austere, transferred the diftribution of his liberality from instinct to religion. Such was Jonathan Swift, whose life,

. with all the advantages of genius and learning, was a scale of infelicity, gradually afcending, till pain and anguish destroyed the faculties by which they were felt. An inftructive leffon to teach the wise humility, and the simple content.

By his will, which is dated in May 1740, just before he ceased to be a reasonable being, he left about 1200 l. in legacies *; and the rest of his fortune, which amounted to about 11,000 l. to erect and endow an hospital for ideots and lunatics. He was buried in the great isle of St. Patrick's cathedral, under a ftone of black marble, infcribed with the

* His will, like all his other writings, is drawn up in a peculiar manner. Even in so serious a composition he could not help indulging himself in leaving legacies that carry with them an air of raillery and jeft. He disposes of his three hats, his belt, his second best, ani his third best beaver, with an ironical folemnity that renders the bequests rediculous. He bequeaths' to . Mr. John Gratton a silver box, to keep in it the to

bacco which the said John usually chewed, called • pigtail.' But his legacy to Mr. Robert Gratton is ftill more extraordinary. • Item, I bequeath to Mr. • Robert Gratton, 'prebendary of St. Andrew's, my

strong box, on condition of his giving the fole ufe • of the faid box to his brother, Dr. James Gratton,

during the life of the said Doctor, who hath more ! occasion for it,'

following

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