proper periods they shook their kettles, which made a melancholy sound, like the ringing of a knell for their partner and confederate.

After these followed several officers, whose assistance was necessary for the more decent performance of the great work in hand.

The procession was closed with an innumerable crowd of people, who frequently sent out loud huzzas; which were censured by wiser heads as a mark of inhumanity, and an ungenerous triumph over the unfortunate, without duly considering the various vicissitudes of human life. However, as it becomes an impartial historian, I will not conceal one observation, that Mr. Wood himself appeared wholly unmoved, without the least alteration in his countenance; only when he came within sight of the fatal tree, which happened to be of the same species of timber with his own person, he seemed to be somewhat pensive.

At the place of execution he appeared undaunted, nor was seen to shed a tear. He made no resistance, but submitted himself with great resignation to the hangman, who was indeed thought to use him with too much roughness, neither kissing him nor asking him pardon. His dying SPEECH was printed and deserves to be written in letters of GOLD. Being asked whether it were his own true genuine SPEECH, he did not deny it. Those of the softer sex who attended the ceremony lamented that so comely and well-timbered a man should come to so untimely an end. He hung but a short time, for, upon feeling his breast, they found it cold and stiff.

It is strange to think how this melancholy spectacle turned the hearts of the people to compassion. When he was cut down, the body was carried through the whole city to gather contributions for his wake, and all sorts of people showed their liberality according as they were able. The ceremony was performed in an alehouse of distinction, and in a manner suitable to the quality of the deceased.

While the attendants were discoursing about his funeral, a worthy member of the assembly stood up and proposed that the body should be carried out the next day and burned with the same pomp and formalities used at his execution, which would prevent the malice of his enemies and all indignities that might be done to his remains. This was agreed to; and about nine o'clock on the following morning there appeared a second procession. But burning not having been any part of the sentence, authority thought fit to interpose, and the corpse was rescued by the civil power.

We hear the body is not yet interred, which occasions many speculations. But what is more wonderful, it is positively affirmed by many who pretend to have been eye-witnesses that there does not appear to be the least alteration in any one lineament or feature of his countenance, nor visible decay in his whole frame, further than what had been made by worms long before his execution. The solution of which difficulty I shall leave among naturalists.

country even to the ground, the inhabitants whereof never prejudiced me nor mine. With an aspect veiled over with gloomy confusion, and a conscience agitated by the greatest remorse, I am convinced that I have merited, and am liable to suffer, this puuishment which the laws of a just and a most wronged country have deemed convenient to be inflicted on me.

In the first respect, I have most vilely abused a gift conferred on me by so good a protector and so gracious a king; and in the next place, proposed to build my fortune on the ruined foundatious of an innocent kingdom. Yet I hope that my damnable inclinations may not survive me, or my degeneracy from my indigent yet honest ancestors remain an aspersion to my innocent posterity.

My parents' fortune proving insufficient, and my faculties somewhat incapable, they endeavoured (and to be sure with no small expense) to procure me an employment whereby I might enjoy an honest living, and prove a credit both to them and myself.

At the expiration of my apprenticeship, being by an indenture bound to a brazier, they endeavoured by degrees to purchase for me instruments, and by my own sedulity I endeavoured to increase them. But setting up for myself in a short time, I came into tolerable good acquaintance and good business, and at length obtained a patent from our most gracious king George, by the interest of others, for the coining of halfpence and farthings for the use of one of his majesty's dominions called Ireland.

But I, like a grand juror, a designing knave, and perfidious villain (which humble confession, with my life, I am apt to think are sufficient to make a restitution for my frustrated stratagem), applied my gift to a

wrong use.

Therefore as it hath been my misfortune to trace the paths of unhappiness, pity my disconsolate condition. Reproach me not hereafter so vilely as ye have done me heretofore, but let your rebukes be mitigated with the sweets of lenity, and say, as it was told to Alexander the coppersmith, I have done you much wrong, for which I pray that I may be indulged at the great bar of my offended Creator.

me.

You'll see, gentlemen of the mob, that in a little time I hope to find out some way or other to make you all satisfaction for the great care that you have taken of Some of you have made a good hand by me already, and will make more in a short time; but I assure you that you shall not have one halfpenny or farthing of my money into your country, for I will find some other place for them.

Sure this will quell your loud acclamations against me, and prevent any further mobs.

For the performance of the above I give under my hand, WILL. WOOD.

THE DRAPIER'S LETTER

TO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF IRELAND. 1745.

In the year 1745 lord Chesterfield arrived as lord-lieutenant in Ireland. Swift was then in a state of imbecility, and soon after died. The following paper was published under so popular a name, to divert the Irish from the schemes of the Jacobites.

MY DEAR COUNTRYMEN,

It is now some considerable time since I troubled you with my advice; and as I am growing old and infirm, I was in good hopes to have been quietly laid in my grave before any occasion offered of addressing you again; but my affection for you, which does not decay though my poor body does, obliges me once more to put you in mind of your true interests, that you may

not unwarily run yourselves into danger and distress for want of understanding or seriously considering it.

I have many reasons to believe that there are not few among you who secretly rejoice at the rebellion which is now raised in Scotland, and perhaps conceive hopes of some alteration for the better in their circumstances and condition if it should succeed. It is those mistaken people whom I design to talk to in this letter, and I desire no more of them than to give me a fair hearing, examining coolly with themselves whether what I shall say be true.

It is no objection to my speaking to them that they are generally papists. I do not know how other people are disposed; but for my part, I hate no man for his religion; I look upon a papist as my countryman and neighbour, though I happen myself to be a protestant. And if I know what advice is good for him, I can see no reason why I should not give it him, or why he should not take it.

A papist has sense, I suppose, like other men, to see his interest and advantage, and the same natural desire to embrace it where he finds it; and if I can show him where it lies, he will not, I believe, kick it from him, barely to spite me as a protestant.

I have nothing to say to the popish gentry of this kingdom. They would hardly take such a plain man's advice; and besides, they have so many ways of coming off safe themselves, though the poor people were undone, that I need not be concerned for them.

My care is for the common people-the labourers, farmers, artificers, and tradesmen of this nation; who are in danger of being deluded by their betters, and made tools of to serve their purposes, without any advantage to themselves. It is possible that, among the lords and squires, one perhaps of a hundred would get something by a change. Places and employments will be promised them, no doubt; and a few of those promises, perhaps, the French and Scotch friends of the pretender might give him leave to keep. But what are the poorer sort the better all this while? Will the labourer get one farthing a-day more? Will the farmer's rent be lowered? Will the artificer be more employed, or better paid? Will the tradesman get more customers, or have fewer scores upon his books?

I have been bred in a careful way of life, and never ventured upon any project without consulting my pillow first how much I should be a gainer in the upshot. I wish my good countrymen would do so too, and, before they grow fond of change, ask themselves this sober question, Whether it would better their condition if it were really brought about? If it would not, to what purpose do we wish it? If the poor labourer, when all is over, is to be a labourer still, and earn his groat a-day as hardly as he did before, I cannot find why he should think it worth his while to venture a leg or an arm, and the gallows too into the bargain, to be just where he set out. If he must dig and delve when the pretender is settled on the throne, he had as good stick to it now, for any difference I

can see.

I believe my countrymen are not so mad as to imagine the pretender can, or will, give every one of them estates; and I am sure, if he does not, they can be only where they were. If a farmer must pay his rent, I see no reason that he should be much concerned whether he pays it to one man or to another. His popish landlord will, I suppose, demand it as soon and as strictly as a protestant; and if he does not pay it, pound his cattle, or distrain his goods, as readily at least.

I have not observed that tenants to popish landlords wear tighter clothes, ride better cattle, or spend more money at markets and fairs, than the tenants on protestants' estates; therefore I cannot believe they are

better used. On the contrary, I know from long experience that there is more money taken in my shop from the latter than the former; and therefore I suppose that, generally speaking, they are in better circumstances. I could wish all of them had better bargains; but since they will not be mended by the best successes that their own hearts could wish to the pretender, they may as well be quiet, and make the best of such as they have already.

There is not a more foolish trade than fighting for nothing; and I hope my good countrymen will be too wise to be persuaded into it. Fine speeches and fair promises will not be wanting to delude them; but let them remember the warning I now give them, that, when all is over, the very best that can befall them is to have their labour for their pains.

I doubt not but you are told " that you will all be made;" and I do not expect that you should take my word to the contrary. I desire only that you would trust the understanding God has given you, and not be fooled out of your senses. Will the manufacturer be made by an entire stop to business? or the tradesman by being obliged to shut up shop? And yet you all must know that in a civil war no work can be carried on, nor any trade go forward. I hope you are not yet so stupid as to think that people will build houses, buy rich furniture, or make up fine clothes, when we are altogether by the ears, and nobody can tell to whose share they will fall at last: and if there be no buyers, you can have no employers. Merchants will not stock themselves with goods when there is no demand for them, to have their shops rifled and their storehouses broken open and plundered by one side or the other.

Indeed, my good friends and countrymen, let designing people say what they please, you will all be ruined in the struggle, let it end which way it will; and it well deserves your thoughts, whether it is worth your while to beggar yourselves and families that the man's name upon the throne may be James instead of George. You will probably see neither of them while you live, nor be one penny the richer for the one or for the other; and, if you take my advice, you will accordingly not trouble your heads about them.

You may think it a fine thing, when you get drunk over your ale, to throw up your caps and cry, Long live king James!" but it would be a wiser thing to think how you will live yourselves after you are beggared in his cause. Will he make good your losses? pay one man for the plundering of his warehouse, and another for the rifling of his shop? Will he give you money, think ye, to release your own and your wives' clothes, which you must pawn for bread, because no work is stirring? Will he buy new looms and tackle for you, because yours have been burnt and destroyed? If you fancy so, you are strangely imposed upon indeed. He will have other things to do with his money; or, if he had any to spare, there will be hungry Frenchmen enough about him to snap it up before it

comes to you.

I will not say anything to you about the dangers you must run in the course of a civil war, though they are very dreadful and more horrid than you can pos sibly imagine, because I cannot think that there is any need of it. I have shown you very plainly that if you should be deluded to take arms, you fight for less than nothing, for the undoing of yourselves and families; and if this argument will not prevail upon you to be quiet, I can only pray for you that God will be pleased to restore you to the right use of your understanding. I am your old and faithful friend,

THE DRAPIER.

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.

THE researches of Dr. Barrett have thrown light upon most of the persons satirized in the following Tripos: besides which, we are indebted to his essay on the earlier part of the Life of Swift for the following general information:

"At the commencement, in July 1688, when this Tripos was pronounced, I find that the under-named 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, Thomas Cox, Richard Barry, William Tirrell, Allen Maddison, William Warren, Jo. Travers, &c., were admitted 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 occurs in this Tripos. At the same time appear on the 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 occurring 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."

ACT I.

OCCIDIT miseros crambe repetita magistros. Your probabo, probabo, is as dull as a Trinity-Sunday sermon.

Dii boni, quas novas aves hic 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 show these gentlemen the ci

vilities 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) Athleticè : superannuati omnes salvi sint pancraticè et, si qui adsint cornuti, quod verisimile est, valeant taurice; deinde si quis adsit medicus immedicabilis, qui skulkat subter id manticæ, quod in tergo est, docto in cujus capite Æsculapius viget, sed in ossibus dominatus astronomiæ et effæto corpore totus inhæret Galenus et Hippocrates, si possibile sit, inquam, valeat ille; sed præ cæteris clericum istum clericorum salvere jubeo, who preaches in an oven, and is of the same name and heraldry with an eminent blind cobbler, who, when the kingdom was all out of the stitches, vamped himself a colonel : if his gravity be here, I salute him for seven several reasons.

First, Because he drinks and goes to the bog-house 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 Stillingfleet and Tillotson themselves were not one jot better or worse, unless we say with the poet,

Sed malè 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 breastplate

of righteousness? It is plain he did, and that his intentions were honourable, for the next Sunday following he preached,-Give Cæsar 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 parish 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:

1st. To show that no noddle in the diocese could bear such a weight as his. 2ndly, To cure a distemper 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 Civilis, sed Polygamister, edentulus sed Polyglottus; qui adeo plenus est literis, ut in ipsa facie omnes linguarum characteres graphicè scribuntur: frustra igitur, reverende doctor, susurrant invidi, te jam senio confectum orientales linguas non callere, cum revera index tui animi sit vultus. Sed etiam atque etiam salvus sit purpuratus nos 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 Atheniau better hung,
Sol varnish'd o'er his face, and Mercury his tongue.-

Quoad altitudinem salutemus Ajacem, quod gracilitatem Tithonem, quoad caput versatile Priamum paralyticum, quod pedes Achillem, quoad crura denique, Colossum.

Sponte suâ properant, labor est inhibere volentes.

Anglicè,

With awkward gown tuck'd up, he scow'rs along,
And at each stride measures a parasang.

Inter cæteros, peculiari dignus est salutatione bellus quidam homunculus; I do not mean Mr. Brady'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 Jephson 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 obe

ACT II.

Oppon. Dom. Barry. In tempore veni, quod omnium rerum est primum.

Nam vereor, Domine, you are brought as low as Witherton in Chevy Chase, or Mr. Lloyd in the chapel. Ridicula capita! inepto risu res ineptior nulla est.

Absint joci (as sir Jephson said, when he had none), res seria jam, imo de funeribus, agitur. Muliercula enim misella humanissima, nobis vicina, et Magistri Hewetson soror unica, non ita pridem moriebatur; nec amicorum immemor ingrata dicessit: sed quicquid vel corpusculi sui vel rei humano foret usui, hoc supremo testamento, amicis suis in formam subsequentem benigna legavit.

The Last Will and Testament of Mrs. Mary Hewetson.

She bequeathed her brains to a learned grave gentleman, 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 quæso, amoveate paulisper. Oh! salve, Magister Burridge ;a I remember Tommy Cox told me yours 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. Horncastle:b but the true opinion is, she bequeathed to Mrs. Jenkinson, whose speaking organ (as I told you before) is employed in Mrs. Donell's elixir bonæ famæ.

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. Delauny with a pair of breeches; and her looking-glass and night-rail to my lady Neddy Hall. Her toothpick to Dr. Loftus, and patch-box to Mrs. Lucy Coghill,c which so disguised her at the Confirmation in St. Werburgh's church, that the zealous archdeacon did not know sir John's daughter; sed zelo verè Fitzgeraldina 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, quæ sit? Splenia tolle, leges.

But to return; she left her courageous heart to pretty

Mr. Weaver.

live among the ancients, he would be taken for a wrestling-master, with his skin oiled for the palæstra. 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 pie-woman) by his smell. 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. He spends half his salary a-year in wash-balls, fuller'searth, 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 without a trope:

Vipera Cappadocem malesana momordit, at ipsa
Gustato periit sanguine Cappadocis.

Anglicè,

Were

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, Gorged 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 stuff's himself, that if you come nigh him you'll know what is for dinner. Every belch is a bill of fare; his bedfellow dreams of grubbins all night. One that lay with him by accident fancied himself at the mouth of an oven, full of tainted mutton-pies. Mr. Butler, junior, who, to stifle his hogoes, 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 plague of the heels. he in orders, it would be dangerous for him 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 terrible 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 sin 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 Rubrick, 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

C

take this character:

A College Steward

is an animal mixture, a medley or hodge-podge of butcher and cook, of scullion and scholar. He livese negatively by the privation of others, and mortifies more flesh than all the divines in the kingdom. Did he a Ezekiel Burridge, who is mentioned in the beginning of the second act, was elected scholar in June 1683, commenced A.B. February 1683-4, and A.M. July 1687. He, is mentioned by Ware, in his account of the Writers of Ireland, and by King, in his State of the Protestants.-DR, BARRETT.

b A person of this name is mentioned in King's State of the Protestants.

e Daughter of sir John Coghill, and sister to Dr. Marmaduke Coghill.

d These digressions, interspersed, may remind us of the digressions in the Tale of a Tub.

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 punishment that consisted in depriving deliquents of commons. These advantages are here alluded to.

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 foretels a general punishment. The making of either of these is the spoiling of a scholar; as a gentleman bound 'prentice forfeits his heraldry, or the knighthood of an alderman spoils a cit. They live plentifully with traffic between themselves, and yet every day eat and drink their bargains. To conclude, they cast up their sins once a-mouth, but do not repent, because their iniquities are confirmed by the senior fellows,

a This reminds us of the author of the Tale of a Tub, who enlarges so much upon the eructations of the Eolists.

b Probably Brinsley Butler, at that time a student in the college.

That is, when we, by way of punishment, are put out of commons, he derives some advantage to himself by it.