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 sign my name, is both ridiculous and unaccountable. I am sensible I owe a great deal of this usage to sir Robert Walpole," &c.

From this and other passages of Swift's letters at this period, it is evident he attributes the displeasure he had incurred at court to the art of Walpole, and in nearly all his latter poems he gives full scope to his resentment. His residence in, and the unhappy condition of, the country he had made so many efforts to regenerate, tended to embitter his declining years. In one of his letters to Bolingbroke he deplores the irritation of mind which the continual sight of misery he was unable to alleviate, owing to the infliction of unjust laws, made him unable to control. "I find myself," he says, 'disposed every year, or rather every month, to be more angry and revengeful: and my rage is so ignoble that it descends even to resent the folly and baseness of the enslaved people among whom I live.... 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."

And in another to Pope, speaking of his letters, he observes, "None of them have anything to do with party, of which you are the clearest of all men by your religion and the whole tenor of your life; while I am raging every moment against the corruptions in both kingdoms, and especially of this, such is my weakness."-The aversion he had so long felt for his continued residence in Ireland is still more strongly expressed in a passage of a confidential letter to Dr. Sheridan, which contained the singular request that the doctor would attend his body, when he was dead, as far as Holyhead, to see it interred there; "for," he observes, with a spirit worthy the best patriots of antiquity, "I would not willingly lie in a country of slaves."

About the year 1736 the dean's memory became more and more impaired; and those brilliant faculties which had enlightened and entertained the world gave signs of evident decay. He was engaged in composing the poem of the "Legion Club," when one of his fits of giddiness and deafness returned with such violence that he never recovered from the consequences. From that moment he seldom attempted any composition that required much thinking or more than a single sitting to complete; a melancholy proof of his rapid decline. That melancholy was fearfully increased by his knowledge that the approaching calamity of loss of intellect was the effect of disease, not of age and time; a strange and fatal disorder which had attended him like his shadow, or pursued him like an assassin, by whose dagger he knew he must fall, while vainly hurrying to escape from place to place. No affliction can be imagined more terrible than that with which so sunlike and clear an intellect, so piercing a wit, and so grand and powerful a mind were thus threatened. His misery was increased by the strength of his imagination brooding over the unhappy scene he foresaw must be his lot. He was often heard to offer up earnest prayers to God, 66 to take him away from the evil to come;" and as each lamented day of his birth came round, he would recur to his bible in an agony of spirit, and repeat the solemn and awfully grand adjurations of afflicted Job. To put the climax to his sufferings, his passions, always of a violent character, tended further to weaken and pervert his understanding; and that

he was himself perfectly conscious of the hopeless state of his health was shown by his observation to a brother clergyman upon occasion of a narrow escape from death. They had been standing conversing immediately below a large heavy mirror, and had just removed when the cords that supported it suddenly gave way, and it fell with great violence to the ground. His friend immediately uttered an ejaculation of gratitude for his providential escape; and Swift's reply was very remarkable: "Had I been alone," he said, "I could have wished I had not removed." Dr. Young has recorded another instance of this sad prescience in the mind of the unfortunate dean. When walking out with some friends, about a mile from Dublin, it was observed that he had suddenly disappeared: Dr. Young turned back, and found Swift at some distance gazing intently at the top of a lofty elm, the head of which had been blasted. Upon his friend's approach he pointed to it, significantly adding, "I shall be like that tree, and die first at the top." "An unusually long fit of deafness soon disqualified him for conversation," says Sheridan, "and made him lose all relish for society; few were desirous of visiting him in that deplorable state." He could no longer amuse himself with writing; and having formed a resolution of never wearing spectacles, he was equally prevented from reading. Without employment or amusement of any kind, the time wore heavily along; and not a ray, except derived from religious hope in the intervals of pain, pierced the surrounding gloom. We hasten in sorrow, as from some unavoidable calamity, over the closing scene. The state of his mind is vividly described in a few sentences to his friend and comforter, Mrs. Whiteway :-"I have been very miserable all night, and to-day extremely deaf and full of pain. I am so stupid and confounded that I cannot express the mortification I am under both in body and in mind. All I can say is, 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. 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."

Yet, near as he naturally supposed he was to his end, he survived upwards of five years after the date of these lines. His understanding wholly failed; and it was found necessary to appoint legal guardians of his person and estate. As if doomed to ex

haust the catalogue of human miseries beyond those incident to infirmity or age, he was only relieved from a fit of lunacy which continued several months, by sinking into a state of idiotcy which lasted till his death. This event took place October 19th, 1745. No sooner were the tidings known than the citizens of Dublin gathered from all quarters, and gave unfeigned testimony of the respect, and even veneration, in which he was held. They forced their way into the deanery, to pay the last tribute of grief to their departed benefactor; and happy were they who first got into the chamber where that noble heart lay still from the indignant griefs which had torn it, to procure locks of his hair, or the least memento, to hand down as sacred reliques to their children and their far posterity. "So eager were these numbers, that in less than an hour," says Sheridan, "his venerable head was entirely stripped of all its silver ornaments, till not a hair remained. There were to be heard nothing but lamentations round the

a " Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And dying mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue."

precincts where he lived, as if he had been suddenly cut off in the flower of his years."

He was buried in the most private manner, according to the directions in his will, in the great aisle 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 depositum est corpus
JONATHAN. SWIFT. S. T. P.
Hujus Ecclesiæ Cathedralis
Decani

Ubi sæva indignatio
Ulterius cor lacerare nequit ;
Abi viator

Et imitare si poteris,

Strenuum pro virili libertatis vindicem.
Obiit anno (1745)

Mensis (Octobris) die (19)
Etatis anno (78).

"The later letters of Swift," it is observed by Dr. Warton," are curious and interesting, as they give us an account of the gradual decay of his intellect and temper and strength of mind and body, and fill us with many melancholy but useful reflections. We see the steps by which this great genius sunk into discontent, into peevishness, into indignity, into torpor, into insanity." In the sad accounts of his latter state some curious facts have also been preserved, which show that he had occasional intervals of sense. His physician used to accompany him out for the air; and on one of these days Swift remarked a new building he had not before seen, and inquired for what it was designed, to which Dr. Kingbury replied, "That, Mr. Dean, is the magazine for arms and powder for the security of the city." "Oh, oh!" said the dean, pulling out his pocket-book, "let me take an item of this; it is worth remarking. My tablets,' as Hamlet says, my tablets; memory, put down that;"" which led to the following epigram, supposed to be the last verses which he produced:

"Behold a proof of Irish sense,

Here Irish wit is seen;

When nothing's left that's worth defence,
We build a magazine."

In the very singular exhortation, likewise, addressed to the sub-dean and chapter of St. Patrick's, as late as January, 1741, he displayed some of those gleams and even flashes of peculiar humour which shone in his best days, though fast verging upon imbecility.

By Swift's will, which is dated in May, 1740, a short time before he sunk into comparative unconsciousness, he left about 12007. in legacies, and the bulk of his fortune, upwards of 11,000l., to erect and endow an hospital for idiots and lunatics.

Nearly all the biographers of this illustrious but eccentric genius have found reason to remark that his character was so various and so contradictory as to render it difficult to convey a clear and accurate idea of it as a whole. It is a magnificent picture, composed of strong lights and shadows, but in which the grandeur of design, the rich and varied composition, the general effect and splendid colours, become only more powerful from the occasional contrast of the depth of shadows giving relief to other parts of the subject. His conduct in the discharge of what he conceived to be his public duties, the greatness and disinterestedness of his literary character, and his general benevolence, far outweigh the les estimable traits of his singular and powerful mind. As a public man, indeed, no one in similar circumstances ever evinced more true greatness and disinterestedness of conduct; he provided for all who applied to him deserving his support, before he received any recompense for his arduous labours in

VOL. I.

the cause, as he esteemed it, of the religion and liberties of his country. Perhaps his crowning merit, coming immediately after the days of our Charleses and Jameses, was to teach literary men not only to respect themselves, but by consistent principle, manly independence, and long assiduous intellectual cultivation, to claim respect and equality of mind instead of patronage from superiors only in rank and station. The same elevation of intellect, the same moral strength and resolution, will be found to animate the whole circle of his duties. The bold asserter of civil liberty combined with the highest religious doctrine, he was also the strenuous supporter of the rights of the Anglican church as of his own cathedral, and in attention to its economy and revenues he was most strict and exemplary. Here, if carried no further, is fame enough for any one. In the words of his friend Pope it may in this respect be said—

"Honour and fame from no condition rise;

Act well your part-there ali the honour lies." With a rare sense of justice, presenting a pattern to greater members of the church, he consulted the interest of his successors in preference to his own, and diverted not the renewal of leases to family purposes. Another excellent feature of his religious character was, that no one more detested the vice of hypocrisy; and his great anxiety that no stain of the kind should attach to his memory betrayed him into a certain boldness and plainness of manners which gave offence in high quarters, and often proved distasteful to those who were not aware at the time of his pure and lofty motives. Lord Bolingbroke on this head declared, with great justice, that Swift's conduct through life was that of hypocrisy reversed; and in real love of peace, of good-will to men, and charity to all ranks and creeds (as witness his friend Pope and so many others), he was surpassed by few, and in the still higher christian virtues of truth and fidelity by none. His piety, by the admission of his worst enemies, was sincere; he regularly attended public worship, and always read prayers to the members of his household in the morning and in the evening.

Next in importance, if considered as a citizen and a patriot, he was uniformly steady and vigilant in his duty, directed by the best motives, though he may sometimes have mistaken the means, in his intense eagerness to punish vice and folly by a public exposure of details before considered safe from the shafts of satire, and left to conscience or Heaven to discharge.

In his wonderful efforts to correct the erroneous system so long pursued by the government of Ireland, his conduct, like his writings, did him immortal honour and gave him deserved perpetuity of fame. His ambition and greatness of spirit allowed him to make no distinction with regard to persons; he spoke as he thought, and told the greatest the severest truths; and his wise opinions were always received with respect, if not reverence, although seldom obeyed. He was fearless to a fault in the stern unflinching assertion of his cause, and never shrunk from the eye or withering frown of power; no prosecution could make him even withdraw from public notice, much less silence the resistless eloquence of his tongue and pen. Nor did the unanimous applause of a grateful nation for the successful efforts of the Drapier appear to change or to exalt him in his own eyes; it even failed to administer balm to his suffering mind.

In point of natural disposition, Swift had all the irritability and more than the unhappiness peculiar to a richly-gifted intellect. Then disappointment, the most disastrous combination of circumstances,

and consequent discontent, haunted him almost from his childhood, soured his temper towards the close of life, and prevented him from enjoying real happiness. "I remember," he says to lord Bolingbroke, "when I was a little boy I felt a great fish at the end of my line, which I drew up almost on the ground, but it dropped in, and the disappointment vexes me to this very day; and I believe it was the type of all my future disappointments." That Swift's unhappy feelings and views were wholly sincere and unaffected there can be no doubt, from the sad effects produced upon those he most loved and upon his own mind; it was the evil spirit of his destiny, which no exorcism of love, or fame, or success beyond the fondest hopes of genius, could ever expel; it tore his heart with cruel indignation, and seemed a part of his very nature:

"Naturam expellas furcâ tamen usque recurret."

It might appear from some portion of his letters that the charge of misanthropy brought against Swift is not wholly unfounded; but when we turn on the other hand to his warm and constant friendship and wide-spread charity, we are inclined to think that it sprung, as he has himself recorded, "from his rage and resentment at the mortifying sight of the slavery, folly, and baseness about him, and among which he was forced to live." He informs Dr. Sheridan, with the air of an anxious friend, that "he would every day find his description of yahoos more resembling. You should think and deal with every man as a villain, without calling him so or valuing him less. This is an old true lesson."

In these maxims we can evidently trace the results of disappointment, disease, and age. Though Swift was so well acquainted with human nature from its highest to its lowest scene, still his knowledge was that of the poet rather than of the philosopher-a fatal dower of the imagination, morbid in some respects, rather than derived from the process of reasoning and founded upon experience and facts. In its main character, indeed, it is the knowledge of

Shakspeare, Homer, Dante, Cervantes, Fielding, and Scott, rather than of Aristotle, Locke, or of men attached to philosophy, science, taste, and virtu.

With regard to the peculiarities of his style, vigour, simplicity, and conciseness assuredly take the lead. He was the first writer who expressed his meaning without any display of subsidiary epithets or expletives of any kind, tending to weaken the impression of simple truth. In the use of synonymes he was even more sparing than Addison, and devoted his attention to illustrate the force of his ideas; and it is thus that metaphor is so seldom met with in his

In

works. But he abounds in clear and beautiful allegory, and his images are always just and new. political discussion, his favourite study, he was superior to any man of his time, not excepting Addison. His poems, like his masterly political allegories, are a series of general and particular satires, and were mostly written for some special occasion. Even before the complimentary lines of Pope he had taken his rank as the Rabelais of England :

"Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air, Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair." If less learned, his wit was more piercing and his satire more close and trenchant. His ideas flowed with ease and rapidity, and he used to say "when he sat down to write a letter he never leaned his head upon his elbow till he had finished it." Cum magnis vixisse appears to have been no less his favourite motto than it was that of Horace, and his letters everywhere attest his high ambition of intellectual rule, and his proud desire of dictating even

to the most eminent and great. His Journal and letters are the most genuine and valuable transcripts of his mind; for in these he threw off all party trammels, and his extraordinary and often contradictory qualities shine forth without alloy. They display complete knowledge of the world, combined with innumerable traits of benevolence, fierce resentment, and an indignation at the sufferings and oppression of the people, which hurried him into misanthropy. Though lofty and commanding with his superiors in rank, towards his equals he was full of social ease, wit, and spirit; and though rough in appearance, was really and condescendingly kind to his inferiors. While economical and saving, he devoted his money to the noblest purposes; and he appears in this respect to have modelled his conduct upon his excellent observation to lord Bolingbroke, "that a wise man should have money in his head, but not in his heart;" but in his declining years he is thought to have furnished some proof of his distinguished friend's reply, "that a wise man should take care it would assuredly descend to the heart, the seat of how he lets money get too much into his head, for the passions."

Swift was celebrated for his amusing anecdote as well as surpassing wit and repartee, and he had an pithy, as if careful not to engross the whole time excellent way of telling a story; always brief and and conversation of the company. Addicted to no vice, he seemed to rise superior to the meaner temptations and pleasures of the world; he was heard to declare that on no occasion was he intoxicated

neither, it might be added, with wine nor power; while from women and gaming he appears to have kept himself free, from choice as well as principle.

Swift was of middle stature, inclining to tall, rofeatures. He had a high forehead, a handsome bust, and manly, with strongly marked and regular nose, and large piercing blue eyes, which retained their lustre to the last. He had an extremely agreeable and expressive countenance, which, in the words of the unfortunate Vanessa, sometimes shone with a divine compassion,-at others, the most engaging vivacity, indignation, fearful passion, and striking awe. His mouth was pleasing, he had a fine regular set of teeth, a round double chin with a small dimple; his complexion, a light olive or pale brown. His voice was sharp, strong, high-toned; but he was a bad reader, especially of verses, and disliked music. His mien was erect, his head firm, and his whole deportment commanding. There was a sterndid not entirely remove. ness and severity in his aspect, which wit and gaiety smile, but never laughed aloud. When pleased he would

In his diet Swift was abstemious; he preferred plain dishes, generally hashed; and in drinking he seldom exceeded a pint of claret. In his person he was neat and clean even to superstition, and appeared regularly dressed in his gown every morning, to receive the visits of his most familiar friends.

No man, it is agreed by all his biographers, ever appreciated with greater tact the qualities and sincerity of his friends; and the better to assist his judgment, he formed a sort of calendar of friendship, in which he arranged them under the heads of ungrateful, indifferent, doubtful; and it is mortifying to think he should have found reason to class so many, even among those whom he had benefited, under the former head.

With regard to Swift's natural disposition, his love of study, his sagacious knowledge of mankind, it has been well observed by Scott that Shakspeare's description of Cassius will apply to him admirably :—

He reads much,
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men.-
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit,
That could be moved to smile at anything."

In his latter days Swift was an early riser, though at one period of his life he was said to lie in bed and think of wit for the day. Of his learning it has been said that it was not that of a professed scholar. Dr. J. Warton pointed out the errors of quantity in his Latin verse. His Latin prose is far from classical. His letter to Pope on his translation of Homer does not show any familiar acquaintance with the original; and his "Letter to Lord Oxford on the Improvement of the English Language" is almost superficial. In his controversy on Phalaris he had wit and sarcasm in abundance, but little learning, to bring to the support of his friend Temple. In the same way, his observations on the character of Brutus are very inferior to the masterly review of the character in the third volume of Gibbon's "Memoirs." In Greek his knowledge is said to have enabled him to read the best authors with tolerable facility, but not more; and as regarded Latin, it did not enter into the critical niceties of the language. Our great Chaucer's flow of wit, the amenity and graces of his frank joyous spirit, were Swift's early admiration and study; he even made a selection of a number of epithets in alphabetical order, with references, and a list of the oaths used by the different characters in his stories. Like most other men of genius and active mind, he is said to have been fond of old romances, and to have carefully studied them—a fact that rather surprises us-with close attention. His collection of books, however, comprehended none of the elder dramatists, not even a copy of Shakspeare, and the modern plays of Wycherly and Rowe were presented by the authors. History was his leading pursuit, and in the decline of life he confined his attention nearly altogether to Clarendon. Like most men of genius, Swift was fond of residing in the country, though not at all susceptible to the charms of what is termed romantic, picturesque, or grand scenery. He detested field-sports and cruelty of all kinds, but delighted in planting and rural scenery, for the freedom it gave him from restraint, the open air, and exercise, of which he was excessively fond. His independent but wayward character often made him appear, to those unacquainted with him, full of contradictions. A zealous churchman, he had the highest respect for the rights of his order, though he wrote with a spirit of satire and a levity bordering upon profaneness. The object in view being good, he was not over-scrupulous with regard to the means of effecting it; and though a friend to liberty, he ranged himself on the side of the Tories. This choice, between two of the least evils, led to many impositions and forgeries on the side of his foes, who attributed to him a thousand meannesses and follies which he never said or did. Perhaps the strongest instance is to be found in the "Courtier's Creed," which, with all its clever application, contains that air of profaneness which Swift conscientiously avoided; but it is well invented. "I believe," it runs, "in king George II., the greatest captain and the wisest monarch between heaven and earth; and in sir Robert Walpole, his only minister, our lord, who was begotten of Barret, the attorney, born of Mrs. W. of Houghton, accused of corruption, con. Many of which are at this time in the hands of his descendaut, Mr. Edmund Swift, conservator of the regalia in the Tower, who possesses also a portrait of the dean taken when he was in advanced years, and some other curiosities appertaining to his eelebrated relative, especially the original MSS. of Swift's political treatises and poems previously published

victed, expelled, and imprisoned. He went down into Norfolk; the third year he came up again; he ascended into the administration, and sitteth at the head of the treasury, from whence he shall pay all those who shall vote as they are commanded. I believe in Horace's [his brother's] treaty, the sanctity of the bishops, the independency of the lords, the integrity of the commons, restitution from Spain, resurrection of credit, discharge of the public debts, and peace everlasting. Amen."

Swift's public spirit and extensive charities failed to protect him from the charges of parsimony and avarice, though even Johnson admitted they were never suffered to encroach upon his virtue; for though frugal by inclination, he was liberal by principle. "Wealth," he said, "is liberty, and liberty is a blessing fittest for a philosopher. Gay is a slave just by 2000l. too little, but he could not live sine dignitate; he declares it would kill him in a month to make any abatement in his liberalities." writes also to Pope-" Your wants are so few that you need not be rich to supply them, and my wants are so many that a king's 7,000,000 of guineas would not support me."

He

The dean's singularities were indulged even in the most refined society, for, though a perfect master of aristocratic and court manners, he nevertheless put them aside, and assumed a frankness and bluntness which beat down all defence, and proved at first intolerably annoying. He once insisted upon lady Burlington singing for him, though she expressed repeated wishes to be excused, and not knowing her tormentor, at length burst into tears; while it is recorded that Vanessa actually struck him for his freedom of manner the first time she was in his company. Sometimes he carried his peculiarity to a ludicrous or insulting length, especially towards ladies if they showed any want of attention or respect. Dining at a house where part of the tablecloth next him happened to have a small hole, he tore it as wide as he could, so as to eat his soup through it. The reason assigned for such behaviour was to mortify the lady of the house, and to teach her to pay a proper attention to housewifery. Though steady in his friendships, his aversion, as in the instances of Somers, Wharton, and Marlborough, was carried even beyond the grave, and he pursued their funeral trains with keen satirical epitaphs. He levelled sarcasms at Steele in his "Rhapsody on Poetry ;" and seized upon chief-justice Whitshed like a fierce terrier upon some noxious vermin, which he tears and worries after it is killed. By a reiterated fire of lampoons, squibs, and epitaphs, he made him odious and contemptible in the eyes of the people, considering it his duty, as in the case of Wood, to make him an example to all future ages, and coupling his name with that of Anytus, the accuser of Socrates. His satire covered the lawyer Bettesworth with such ridicule and contempt that he declared feelingly in the house of commons that it had deprived him of full 1200l. a-year; no trifle, especially at that period.

Swift often submitted his MS. productions to the correction of his friends, and weighed their objections with candour and impartiality. He made numerous alterations in the poem of "Baucis and Philemon" at Addison's suggestion. He put one of his pamphlets into the hands of a clergyman, and consented to strike out a number of passages; but on seeing the publication the critic became aware of the injudicious alterations, and expressed his regret. "Sir," replied Swift, "I considered them of no very great consequence; but had I stood up in their defence you might have imputed it to an au.

thor's vanity. By my compliance you will at all times hereafter be the more open and free in your

remarks."

Of Swift's general merits as an author we cannot convey a more correct idea than by giving some passages from the able and impartial estimate for which we are indebted to the pen of one of his most enlightened biographers-sir W. Scott:-" As an author there are three peculiarities in the character of Swift: the first is the distinguished attribute of originality; and it cannot be refused him by the most severe critic. Even Johnson has allowed no author can be found who has borrowed so little... There was indeed nothing written before his time which could serve for his model, and the few hints which he has adopted from other authors bear no more resemblance to his compositions than the green flax to the cable which is formed from it.

"The second peculiarity is his total indifference to literary fame. Swift executed his various and numerous works as a carpenter forms wedges, mallets, or other implements of his art-not with the purpose of distinguishing himself by the workmanship of the tools themselves, but solely in order to render them fit for accomplishing a certain purpose, beyond which they were of no value in his eyes. He is often anxious about the success of his argument, and jealous of those who debate the principles and the purpose for which he assumes the pen; but he evinces on all occasions an unaffected indifference for the fate of his writings, provided the end of their publication was answered. The careless mode in which Swift suffered his works to get to the public, his refusing them the credit of his name, and his renouncing all connexion with the profits of literature, indicate his disdain of the character of a professional writer.

We

"The third distinguishing mark of Swift's literary character is, that, with the exception of history (for his fugitive attempts in Pindaric and Latin verse are too unimportant to be noticed), he has never attempted a style of composition in which he has not attained a distinguished pitch of excellence. may often think the immediate mode of exercising his talents trifling, and sometimes coarse and offensive; but his Anglo-Latin verses, his riddles, his indelicate descriptions, and his violent political satires, are in their various departments as excellent as the subject admitted; and only leave us occasion to regret that so much talent was not uniformly employed on nobler topics." (Scott's "Memoirs," &c.).

It has been observed by Horace Walpole that Swift's style was excellent, though without grace, and that it was more correct than Dryden's or Addison's. Hume, in a letter to Robertson, observes, "What the d-I had you to do with that old-fashioned, dangling word, wherewith? I should as soon take back whereupon, whereunto, wherewithal. I think the only tolerable decent gentleman of the family is wherein, and I should not choose to be often seen in his company; but I know your affection for wherewith proceeds from your partiality to dean Swift, whom I can often laugh with, whose style I can even

approve surely never admire. It has no harmony, no eloquence, no ornament, and not much correctness, whatever the English may imagine. Were not their literature still in a somewhat barbarous state, that author's place would not be so high among their classics."

The English, however, may afford to smile even at the classical Hume's strictures; for after Swift's own attacks upon the Scotch-perhaps as injudicious as they are often undeserved-it is too much to expect that he should be either loved or admired by the writers of that nation.a

One of Swift's truest friends, Dr. Delany, after summing up his merits in reply to the reflections of lord Orrery, concludes with the following excellent observations:-"All this considered, the character of his life will appear like that of his writings; they will both bear to be re-considered and re-examined with the utmost attention, and always discover new beauties and excellencies upon every examination. They will bear to be considered as the sun, in which the brightness will hide the blemishes; and whenever petulant ignorance, pride, malice, malignity, or envy interposes to cloud or sully his fame, I take upon me to pronounce that the eclipse will not last long.

"To conclude, no man ever deserved better of any country than Swift did of his :-a steady, persevering, inflexible friend; a wise, a watchful, and a faithful counsellor, under many severe trials and bitter persecutions, to the manifest hazard both of his liberty and his fortune. He lived a blessing; he died a benefactor; and his name will ever live an honour to Ireland."

In order to observe to the close that impartial spirit and love of truth which actuated the views of a Scott and a Mason in their admirable biographies of the celebrated dean, we give the counter opinion of another commentator on his life and writings, by no means of so favourable a character as the preceding:-"Upon the whole, Swift lived a melancholy instance of the fall of human greatness. His life is a mournful and striking example of the power of disappointment totally to subvert natural cheerfulness, to take away the value of every good, and aggravate real by imaginary evil. The miseries to which human nature is subject made him often think it better never to have existed at all; and this sentiment led him to adopt as a maxim, 'Non nasci homini longè optimum est.' It was under this persuasion that he always read the third chapter of Job upon his birthday; and whoever visited him then was sure to see that part of the bible lying open before him. . . .

.....

"In short, he lived an honour to the human mind, and died, as he had lived in his latter years, a sad monument of the infirmities incident to it; and a melancholy, mortifying memento to the vanity of pride of parts. His death eclipsed the gaiety of his native country, and impoverished the scanty stock of public virtue."

See a critique in the Edinburgh Review (No. liii. p. 56) as an example. The author of the "Swiftiana."

Jan.65.