returned a very solemn protestation of his innocence, but however appeared much disturbed at the accusation. Some days afterwards he was seized with a pain in his back and side, which, as it was not violent, was not suspected to be dangerous; but, growing daily more languid and dejected, on the 25th of July he confined himself to his room, and a fever seized his spirits. The symptoms grew every day more formidable, but his condition did not enable him to procure any assistance. The last time that the keeper saw him was on July the 31st, 1743; when Savage, seeing him at his bedside, said, with an uncommon earnestness, "I have something to say to you, sir;" but, after a pause, moved his hand in a melancholy manner; and, finding himself unable to recollect what he was going to communicate, said, "Tis gone!" The keeper soon after left him; and the next morning he died. He was buried in the churchyard of St. Peter, at the expeuse of the keeper.

neither his judgment nor experience, have published, either in ostentation of their sagacity, vindication of their crimes, or gratification of their malice.

His method of life particularly qualified him for conversation, of which he knew how to practise all the graces. He was never vehement or loud, but at once modest and easy, open and respectful; his language was vivacious and elegant, and equally happy upon grave or humorous subjects. He was generally censured for not knowing when to retire; but that was not the defect of his judgment, but of his fortune: when he left his company, he was frequently to spend the remaining part of the night in the street, or at least was abandoned to gloomy reflections, which it is not strange that he delayed as long as he could; and sometimes forgot that he gave others pain to avoid it himself.

It cannot be said, that he made use of his abilities for the direction of his own conduct; Such was the life and death of Richard Sa- an irregular and dissipated manner of life had vage, a man equally distinguished by his virtues made him the slave of every passion that hapand vices; and at once remarkable for his weak-pened to be excited by the presence of its object, nesses and abilities.

He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit of body, a long visage, coarse features, and melancholy aspect of a grave and manly deportment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon a nearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manner. His walk was slow, and his voice tremulous and mournful. He was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter.

and that slavery to his passions reciprocally produced a life irregular and dissipated. He was not master of his own motions, nor could promise any thing for the next day.

With regard to his economy, nothing can be added to the relation of his life. He appeared to think himself born to be supported by others, and dispensed from all necessity of providing for himself; he therefore never prosecuted any scheme of advantage, nor endeavoured even to His mind was in an uncommon degree vigo- secure the profits which his writings might have rous and active. His judgment was accurate, his afforded him. His temper was, in consequence apprehension quick, and his memory so tena- of the dominion of his passions, uncertain and cious, that he was frequently observed to know capricious; he was easily engaged, and easily what he had learned from others, in a short disgusted; but he is accused of retaining his time, better than those by whom he was inform-hatred more tenaciously than his benevolence. ed; and could frequently recollect incidents, with all their combination of circumstances, which few would have regarded at the present time, but which the quickness of his apprehension impressed upon him. He had the peculiar felicity that his attention never deserted him; he was present to every object, and regardful of the most trifling occurrences. He had the art of escaping from his own reflections, and accommodating himself to every new scene.

He was compassionate both by nature and principle, and always ready to perform offices of humanity; but when he was provoked (and very small offences were sufficient to provoke him) he would prosecute his revenge with the utmost acrimony till his passion had subsided.

His friendship was therefore of little value; for, though he was zealous in the support or vindication of those whom he loved, yet it was always dangerous to trust him, because he conTo this quality is to be imputed the extent of sidered himself as discharged by the first quarrel his knowledge, compared with the small time from all ties of honour or gratitude; and would which he spent in visible endeavours to acquire betray those secrets which in the warmth of conit. He mingled in cursory conversation with fidence had been imparted to him. This practhe same steadiness of attention as others apply tice drew upon him a universal accusation of to a lecture; and, amidst the appearance of ingratitude; nor can it be denied that he was thoughtless gayety, lost no new idea that was very ready to set himself free from the load of an started, nor any hint that could be improved. obligation; for he could not bear to conceive He had therefore made in coffee-houses the same himself in a state of dependence, his pride being proficiency as others in their closets: and it is equally powerful with his other passions, and remarkable, that the writings of a man of little appearing in the form of insolence at one time, education and little reading have an air of learn- and of vanity at another. Vanity, the most ing scarcely to be found in any other perform-innocent species of pride, was most frequently ances, but which perhaps as often obscures as

embellishes them.

His judgment was eminently exact both with regard to writings and to men. The knowledge of life was indeed his chief attainment; and it is not without some satisfaction, that I can produce the suffrage of Savage in favour of human nature, of which he never appeared to entertain such odious ideas as some, who perhaps had

predominant: he could not easily leave off, when he had once begun to mention himself or his works; nor ever read his verses without stealing his eyes from the page, to discover in the faces of his audience, how they were affected with any favourite passage.

A kinder name than that of vanity ought to be given to the delicacy with which he was always careful to separate his own merit from every

In cases indifferent, he was zealous for virtue, truth, and justice: he knew very well the neces-lence and resentment of which he is accused sity of goodness to the present and future happiness of mankind; nor is there perhaps any writer, who has less endeavoured to please by flattering the appetites, or perverting the judg

SWIFT.

AN account of Dr. Swift has been already col- | clergyman, who was minister of a parish in lected, with great diligence and acuteness, by Herefordshire. During his life the place of his Dr. Hawkesworth, according to a scheme which birth was undetermined. He was contented to I laid before him in the intimacy of our friend- be called an Irishman by the Irish; but would ship. I cannot therefore be expected to say occasionally call himself an Englishman. The much of a life, concerning which I had long question may, without much regret, be left in the since communicated my thoughts to a man obscurity in which he delighted to involve it. capable of dignifying his narrations with so much elegance of language and force of sentiment.

gree at last by special favour; a term used in that | tinued his studies, and is known to have read, University to denote want of merit.

Of this disgrace it may be easily supposed that he was much ashamed, and shame had its proper effect in producing reformation. He resolved from that time to study eight hours a day, and continued his industry for seven years, with what improvement is sufficiently known. This part of his story well deserves to be remembered; it may afford useful admonition and powerful encouragement to many men, whose abilities have been made for a time useless by their passions or pleasures, and who, having lost one part of life in idleness, are tempted to throw away the remainder in despair.

In this course of daily application he continued three years longer at Dublin; and in this time, if the observation and memory of an old companion may be trusted, he drew the first sketch of his "Tale of a Tub."

When he was about one-and-twenty, (1688,) being by the death of Godwin Swift, his uncle, who had supported him, left without subsistence, he went to consult his mother, who then lived at Leicester, about the future course of his life; and, by her direction, solicited the advice and patronage of Sir William Temple, who had married one of Mrs. Swift's relations, and whose father, Sir John Temple, master of the rolls in Ireland, had lived in great familiarity of friendship with Godwin Swift, by whom Jonathan had been to that time maintained.

Temple received with sufficient kindness the nephew of his father's friend, with whom he was, when they conversed together, so much pleased, that he detained him two years in his house. Here he became known to King William, who sometimes visited Temple when he was disabled by the gout, and, being attended by Swift in the garden, showed him how to cut asparagus in the Dutch way.

King William's notions were all military; and he expressed his kindness to Swift by offering to make him a captain of horse.

When Temple removed to Moor-park, he took Swift with him; and when he was consulted by the Earl of Portland about the expedience of complying with a bill then depending for making parliaments triennial, against which King William was strongly prejudiced, after having in vain tried to show the Earl that the proposal involved nothing dangerous to royal power, he sent Swift for the same purpose to the King. Swift, who probably was proud of his employment, and went with all the confidence of a young man, found his arguments, and his art of displaying them, made totally ineffectual by the predetermination of the King; and used to mention this disappointment as his first antidote against vanity.

Before he left Ireland he contracted a disorder, as he thought, by eating too much fruit. The original of diseases is commonly obscure. Almost every boy eats as much fruit as he can get, without any great inconvenience. The disease of Swift was giddiness with deafness, which attacked him from time to time, began very early, pursued him through life, and at last sent him to the grave, deprived of reason.

Being much oppressed at Moor-park by this grievous malady, he was advised to try his native air, and went to Ireland; but, finding no benefit, returned to Sir William, at whose house he con

among other books, "Cyprian" and "Irenæus." He thought exercise of great necessity, and used to run half a mile up and down a hill every two hours.

It is easy to imagine that the mode in which his first degree was conferred, left him no great fondness for the University of Dublin, and therefore he resolved to become a master of arts at Oxford. In the testimonial which he produced, the words of disgrace were omitted; and he took his master's degree (July 5, 1692) with such reception and regard as fully contented him.

While he lived with Temple, he used to pay his mother at Leicester a yearly visit. He travelled on foot, unless some violence of weather drove him into a wagon; and at night he would go to a penny lodging, where he purchased clean sheets for sixpence. This practice Lord Orrery im putes to his innate love of grossness and vulgarity: some may ascribe it to his desire of surveying human life through all its varieties: and others, perhaps with equal probability, to a pas sion which seems to have been deeply fixed in his heart, the love of a shilling.

In time he began to think that his attendance at Moor-park deserved some other recompense than the pleasure, however mingled with improve ment, of Temple's conversation; and grew so impatient, that (1694) he went away in discontent.

Temple, conscious of having given reason for complaint, is said to have made him deputy mas ter of the rolls in Ireland; which, according to his kinsman's account, was an office which he knew him not able to discharge. Swift there fore resolved to enter into the church, in which he had at first no higher hopes than of the chaplainship to the Factory at Lisbon; but, being recommended to Lord Capel, he obtained the prebend of Kilroot, in Connor, of about a hundred pounds a year.

But the infirmities of Temple made a compa nion like Swift so necessary, that he invited him back, with a promise to procure him an English preferment in exchange for the prebend, which he desired him to resign. With this request Swift quickly complied, having perhaps equally repented their separation, and they lived on together with mutual satisfaction; and, in the four years that passed between his return and Temple's death, it is probable that he wrote the "Tale of a Tub" and the "Battle of the Books."

Swift began early to think, or to hope, that he was a poet, and wrote Pindaric odes to Temple, to the King, and to the Athenian Society, a knot of obseure men, who published a periodical pamphlet of answers to questions, sent, or sup posed to be sent, by letters. I have been told that Dryden, having perused these verses, said, "Cousin Swift, you will never be a poet;" and that this denunciation was the motive of Swift's perpetual malevolence to Dryden.

In 1699 Temple died, and left a legacy with his manuscripts to Swift, for whom he had obtained, from King William, a promise of the first prebend that should be vacant at Westminster or Canterbury.

That this promise might not be forgotten,

ton.-R.
* The publisher of this Collection was John Dur

Swift dedicated to the King the posthumous works with which he was intrusted: but neither the dedication, nor tenderness for the man whom he once had treated with confidence and fondness, revived in King William the remembrance of his promise. Swift awhile attended the court; but soon found his solicitations hopeless.

tion, "Not all that you and I have in the world, nor all that ever we shall have, should hire me to write the Tale of a Tub."

The digressions relating to Wotton and Bentley must be confessed to discover want of knowledge or want of integrity; he did not understand the two controversies, or he willingly misrepresented them. But wit can stand its ground against truth only a little while. The honours due to learning have been justly distributed by the decision of posterity.

He was then invited by the Earl of Berkeley to accompany him into Ireland, as a private secretary; but, after having done the business till their arrival at Dublin, he then found that one Bush had persuaded the Earl that a clergyman "The Battle of the Books" is so like the was not a proper secretary, and had obtained "Combat des Livres," which the same question the office for himself. In a man like Swift, such concerning the ancients and moderns had procircumvention and inconstancy must have ex-duced in France, that the improbability of such cited violent indignation.

a coincidence of thoughts without communication is not, in my opinion, balanced by the anonymous protestation prefixed, in which all knowledge of the French book is peremptorily disowned.*

But he had yet more to suffer. Lord Berkeley had the disposal of the deanery of Derry, and Swift expected to obtain it; but, by the secretary's influence, supposed to have been secured by a bribe, it was bestowed on somebody else; For some time after, Swift was probably emand Swift was dismissed with the livings of La-ployed in solitary study, gaining the qualificaracor and Rathbeggin in the diocess of Meath, tions requisite for future eminence. How often which together did not equal half the value of he visited England, and with what diligence he the deanery. attended his parishes, I know not. It was not till about four years afterwards that he became a professed author; and then, one year (1708) produced "The Sentiments of a Church-ofEngland Man;" the ridicule of Astrology under the name of "Bickerstaff;" the "Argument against abolishing Christianity;" and the Defence of the "Sacramental Test."

At Laracor he increased the parochial duty by reading prayers on Wednesdays and Fridays, and performed all the offices of his profession with great decency and exactness.

Soon after his settlement at Laracor, he invited to Ireland the unfortunate Stella, a young woman whose name was Johnson, the daughter of the steward of Sir William Temple, who, in consideration of her father's virtues, left her a thousand pounds. With her came Mrs. Dingley, whose whole fortune was twenty-seven pounds a year for her life. With these ladies he passed his hours of relaxation, and to them he opened his bosom; but they never resided in the same house, nor did he ever see either without a witness. They lived at the parsonage when Swift wes away; and, when he returned, removed to a lodging, or to the house of a neighbouring cler

gyman.

"The Sentiments of a Church-of-England Man" is written with great coolness, moderation, ease, and perspicuity. The "Argument against abolishing Christianity" is a very happy and judicious irony. One passage in it deserves to be selected:

"If Christianity were once abolished, how could the free-thinkers, the strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning, be able to find another subject so calculated, in all points, whereon to display their abilities? What wonderful productions of wit should we be deprived Swift was not one of those minds which amaze of from those, whose genius, by continual practhe world with early pregnancy: his first work, tice, hath been wholly turned upon raillery and except his few poetical essays, was the "Dis-invectives against religion, and would therefore sentions in Athens and Rome," published (1701) | never be able to shine, or distinguish themselves, in his thirty-fourth year. After its appearance, paying a visit to some bishop, he heard mention made of the new pamphlet that Burnet had written, replete with political knowledge. When he seemed to doubt Burnet's right to the work, he was told by the bishop, that he was "a young man;" and, still persisting to doubt, that he was a "very positive young man."

Three years afterwards (1704) was published "The Tale of a Tub:" of this book charity may be persuaded to think that it might be written by a man of a peculiar character without ill intention; but it is certainly of dangerous example. That Swift was its author, though it be universally believed, was never owned by himself, nor very well proved by any evidence; but no other claimant can be produced, and he did not deny it when Archbishop Sharpe and the Dutchess of Somerset, by showing it to the Queen, debarred him from a bishopric.

upon any other subject! We are daily com plaining of the great decline of wit among us, and would take away the greatest, perhaps the only, topic we have left. Who would ever have suspected Asgill for a wit, or Toland for a philosopher, if the inexhaustible stock of Christianity had not been at hand to provide them with materials? What other subject, through all art or nature, could have produced Tindal for a profound author, or furnished him with readers? It is the wise choice of the subject that alone adorns and distinguishes the writer. For had a hundred such pens as these been employed on the side of religion, they would have immediately sunk into silence and oblivion."

The reasonableness of a test is not hard to be proved; but, perhaps it must be allowed, that the proper test has not been chosen.

The attention paid to the papers published under the name of "Bickerstaff," induced Steele, when he projected "The Tatler," to assume an

When this wild work first raised the attention of the public, Sacheverell, meeting Smalridge, tried to flatter him, by seeming to think him the * See Sheridan's Life, edit. 1784, p. 525; where are author; but Smalridge answered with indigna- | some remarks on this passage.-R.

appellation which had already gained possession | hundred, and met to animate the zeal, and raise of the reader's notice.

the expectations, of each other. They thought, In the year following he wrote a "Project for with great reason, that the ministers were losing the Advancement of Religion," addressed to opportunities; that sufficient use was not made Lady Berkeley; by whose kindness it is not of the ardour of the nation; they called loudly unlikely that he was advanced to his benefices. for more changes and stronger efforts; and deTo this project, which is formed with great pu-manded the punishment of part, and the dismis rity of intention, and displayed with sprightliness sion of the rest, of those whom they considered and elegance, it can only be objected, that, like as public robbers. many projects, it is, if not generally impracticable, yet evidently hopeless, as it supposes more zeal, concord, and perseverance, than a view of mankind gives reason for expecting.

Swift now attained the zenith of his political importance: he published (1712) the “Conduct of the Allies," ten days before the parliament as sembled. The purpose was to persuade the nation to a peace; and never had any writer more success. The people, who had been amused with bonfires and triumphal processions, and looked with idolatry on the General and his friends, who, as they thought, had made England the arbitress of nations, were confounded between shame and rage, when they found that "mines had been exhausted, and millions destroyed," to secure the Dutch, or aggrandize the Emperor, without any advantage to ourselves; that we had been bribing our neighbours to fight * Mr. Sheridan, however, says, that Addison's last their own quarrel; and that among our enc. Whig Examiner was published Oct. 12, 1711; and Swift's first Examiner, on the 10th of the following November.mies we might number our allies.