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a lethargy, which rendered him incapable of affifting his family and friends. But, in the midst of this diftressful fituation, Sir William Temple stepped in to Swift's assistance, and enabled him to continue his studies at Oxford, and, when he quitted that University, carried him to his house, making him his friend and domeftic companion.

When he had been about two years at Moore park, he contracted a long and dangerous illness by eating an immoderate quantity of fruit; and to this surfeit he ascribed that giddiness in his head, which ever afterwards continued, with irregular intermissions, and which at last terminated in the most terrible manner.

When he was sufficiently recovered to travel, he went into Ireland, by the advice of his physicians, to try the effects of his native air, and found so much benefit that his health was quickly restored; so that he foon returned to Sir William Temple, his friend and patron, who was now removed from Moore-park to Sheen, where he was often visited by King William. Here Swift had frequent opportunities of converfing with that Prince, who once offered to make him a Captain of horse, which he refused, as he had at that time resolved to take orders. Accordingly he went to Ireland, and enlisted himself under the banner of the church. He carried with him letters of recommendation from Sir William Temple to Lord Capel, at that time Lord Deputy, who gave him the first vacancy, a Prebend, worth about 100 1. per annum.

But this preferment was too far from London, and the conversation in which he delighted; so that he resigned it in favour of a friend, and returned to Sheen, where he continued till the death of Sir William Temple, who, beides a pecuniary legacy, left to him the care of publishing his posthumous works..

King William having promised Sir William Temple, that Swift should have the first vacancy which might

happen among the Prebends of Westminster or Canterbury, Swift, upon the death of Sir William, came to London, and took the earlieft opportunity of delivering a petition to the King, in which he claimed his promise; but, it producing no effect, he gave up, with the greatest reluctance, after a long attendance at Whitehall, all thoughts of a fettlement in England; for, tho' he had dedicated Sir William Temple's works to the King, his Majefty never took the leaft notice of him after Sir William's death. He therefore complied with an invitation from the Earl of Berkley, appointed one of the Lords Justices in Ireland, to attend him as his Chaplain and private Secretary. But one Bush, who also attended Lord Berkley, infinuated to his Lordship, that the poft of Secretary was very improper for a Clergyman; accordingly the Earl made some flight apology to Swift, and divested him of that employment, which he bestowed upon Bush. This injurious treatment Swift revenged by a short but fatyrical copy of verses, intitled, 'The discovery."

However, during the joint government of the Earls of Berkley and Galway, he was presented to the livings of Laracor and Rathbeggan; the former of which was worth about 200 1. per annum, and the latter about 601. These were the only preferments he obtained till he was made Dean of St. Patrick's, in 1713.

When Swift took poffeffion of these two livings, he went to reside at Laracor, and gave public notice to his parishioners, that he intended to read prayers every Wednesday and Friday. Upon the subsequent Wednesday, the bell was rung, and the Rector attended at his desk, when, after having fat some time, and finding the congregation to confist only of himself and his clerk, Roger, he began, "Dearly beloved Roger, the fcripture moveth you and me in sundry places," and then proceeded regularly through the whole service. He could not however confine himself to a constant refidence

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at this place, but made frequent excursions not only to Dublin but to London. While he was indulging this rambling disposition, the rich deanry of Derry became vacant, and was intended for him by Lord Berkley; but Dr. King, then Bishop of Derry, and afterwards Archbishop of Dublin, earnestly intreated his Lordship that the deanry might be given to some grave and elderly Divine who would refide upon the spot, and not to fo young a man who would be fo frequently abfent. Accordingly Swift was fet afide on account of his youth. However, he lived to fee Dr. King fet afide for his age; for, upon the death of Dr. Lindsay, he claimed the Primacy of Ireland; but he was looked upon as too far advanced in years to be removed. The Archbishop had no opportunity of shewing his resentment except to the new Primate Dr. Bolter, whom he received in his own house, without rising from his chair, and making this apology: "My Lord, I am certain your Grace will forgive me, because you know I am too old to rife."

In 1701, Swift took his Doctor's degree, and upon the death of King William, which happened in the fame year, he came into England. He was no ftranger to the great men of both factions, diftinguished by the names of Whig and Tory; but he foon openly attached himself to the latter, tho' he had been educated among the Whigs, alledging, that the Whigs had abandoned their old principles, and embraced others, which their fathers detested. He continued in England from the year 1702 to the year 1710, and fecretly laboured very diligently in profecuting the schemes which were formed to produce the change in the Ministry which then happened. In the year 1709, his intimacy with Lord Oxford commenced, at which time his character, as an author, was fufficiently established. And, from the year 1710 to 1713, he was constantly employed in maintaining the cause of the Miniftry, in pamph

lets, poems, and weekly papers; when, instead of a fettlement in England, which was the unwearied object of his ambition, he was madet Dean of St. Patrick's. Such an acqui sition, in point of power and revenue, might indeed have been looked upe on as no inconfiderable acquifition'; but to Dr. Swift, whose conftant aim was a fettlement in this kingdom, a dignity in any other could be looked upon only as an honourable and profitable banishment. Perhaps his friends, who found his spirit fierce and ungovernable, and the motions of his genius often irregular, wished him happily and profitably promoted at a di-" stance. The Queen had intended him a bishopric in England, but Dr. Sharpe, Archbishop of York, reprefented him to the Queen, as a person who did not believe the chriftian religion; and, a certain great Lady supporting the aspersion, the Queen at length difpofed of the bishopric in favour of another. The Dean, however, still fpoke of the Queen with decorum, but, when he mentioned either the Bishop or the Lady, his resentment knew no bounds.

On his arrival in Ireland to take poffeffion of his deanry, he found the rage of party so violent, that the common people, who looked upon him as a Jacobite, pelted him with stones and dirt, as he passed through the ftreets. The chapter of St. Patrick's received him with reluctance, and conftantiy opposed all his meafures; but Swift was too well acquainted with human nature to be greatly chagrined at this treatment. His first step was to reduce his reverend brethren of the chapter of St. Patrick's to obedience; in which he so perfectly and speedily fucceeded, that in a very short time af ter his arrival not one of them offered to oppose him; but, on the contrary, held him in the greatest esteem and veneration.

He staid no longer in Ireland than was requifite to establish himself in his deanry, returning to England in the beginning of the year 1714, where"

he found his great friends disunited among themselves, the Queen in a bad state of health, and distressed in her fituation; all his endeavours to obviate these evils being ineffectual, he retired to a friend's house in Berkshire, where he remained till the death of the Queen. This fatal catastrophe putting a final period to all his views in EngJand, he returned as fast as possible to his deanry in Ireland, loaded with those agonizing passions, grief and difcontent.

As he was known to have been of the Tory party, and had written against the Whigs, he met with frequent indignities, not only from the populace, but from perfons of almost every condition. This treatment soured his temper, confined his acquaintance, and added bitterness to his stile.

In the year 1716, he was privately married by Dr. Athe, then Bishop of Clogher, to a Lady whom he has celebrated under the name of Stella; she was daughter of Mr. Johnson, Steward to Sir William Temple, who at his death left her 1000 1. in confideration of her father's faithful services. She was a person of great delicacy, extremely beautiful, and equally remarkable for the sweetness of her temper and the poignancy of her wit; her understanding was of the first class, her prudence uncommon, and her piety exemplary. She was guided by virtue in morality, and by fincerity in religion. She had great skill in music, and was perfectly well acquainted with all the leffer arts that employ a Lady's leisure. The Dean became acquainted with her, while he lived with Sir William Temple. When she left England is not known; but they continued in the fame economy after marriage as before; he living at the deanry, and she in lodgings on the other fide of the Liffy. He never openly acknowledged her as his wife, nor was there any thing in their behaviour inconfiftent with decorum, or beyond the limits of Platonic love. And such care was al ways taken to fummon witnesses, that

perhaps it would be impoffible to prove their having been ever together but in prefence of at least a third person. A conduct so very extraordinary in itself could not fail of giving rife to various reflections. But perhaps this is one of those actions whose true sources will never be discovered.

About the year 1720, the Dean, who lately had been so severely afpersed, began to be popular; but this popularity was not universal till the publishing of the Drapier's letters, when all ranks and profeffions were unanimous in their applause. He now became the idol of the people of Ireland; his health was drank in every company, and his effigies painted in every street. Acclamations and vows for his profperity attended his footsteps, wherever he passed. He was confulted in whatever related to domestic policy in general, and the trade of Ireland in particular. He was particularly confulted by the weavers, who frequently came in a { body to receive his advice in settling the rates of their manufactures, and the wages of their journeymen. When elections were depending for the city of Dublin, several corporations refused to declare themselves, till they had confulted his sentiments and inclinations, which were punctually followed with equal chearfulness and fubmiffion. In this state of power, thus admired and beloved, he continued till he loft his senses, a loss which he seemed to forefee, and which he prophetically lamented to his friends.

The total depravation of his senses came upon him by degrees. He was seized, in the year 1736, with a violent fit of giddiness when he was writing a fatyrical poem, called the Legion Club, which he found so dread. ful, that he left the poem unfinished, and never after attempted a compofition of any length either in verse or profe. However, his converfation still remained the fame, lively and se. vere; but his memory gradually leffened, and, in proportion as that decayed, he grew more fretful and impatient

patient. From the year 1739 till the latter end of 1741, his friends found his paffions so violent and ungovernable, his memory so decayed, and his reason so depraved, that they were obliged to keep all strangers from him; for till then he had not appear ed totally incapable of converfation: but, at the beginning of the year 1742, the small remains of his understanding became entirely confused, and his rage increased absolutely to a degree of madness. In this miferable state he continued for fsome time; but at last funk into a quiet, speechless, idiot, dragging out the remainder of his life in that helpless situation. He died to wards the end of October, 1745. The manner of his death was easy without the least pang or convulfion; nor was the rattling in his throat hardly fufficient to give an alarm to his attendants, till fome small time before he expired. Such a kind of diffolution would have been defired by a man possessed of his reafon; but the Dean was utterly insensible, and feemed, for fome years before his death, to be reserved only as an example to mortify the pride of human nature, and shew us, that the least thunderbolt from Heaven can, in a moment, so effectually destroy this boasted reasoning faculty, that not the least traces of it shall remain.

Dr. Swift, for fome years before this terrible catastrophe, was often attacked with giddiness, and found his memory gradually decay, which gave him reason to apprehend his fate. He often lamented, in the most affecting manner, the fate of the Duke of Marlborough, Lord Somers, and other great men, who before their deaths were reduced to a state of childhood and idiotisin; and even seemed to feel an impulse of what was to happen to him before he died.

He left all his fortune, which, when fome few legacies were paid, amounted to near eleven thousand pounds, to build and endow an hofpital for idi, ots and lunatics. A charity remarkably generous, as the unhappy per

fons, who receive the benefit, must for ever remain insensible of their benefactor.

Thus died Dr. Swift, whose capaci ty and strength of mind were undoubtedly equal to any task whatever. His pride, or, to use a fofter name, his ambition, was boundless; but his views were checked in his younger years, and the effects of that disappointment were visible in all his actions. He was four and fevere, but not abfolutely ill-natured. He was sociable only to particular friends, and only to them at particular hours. He was not fo great a stranger to politeness as to the practice of it. He was a mixture of avarice and generofity; the former was frequently prevalent, the latter feldom appeared, unless excited by compassion. He was open to adulation, and could not, or would not, distinguish between low flattery and juft applause. He was by his abilities rendered fuperior to envy. He was undisguised and perfectly ferene. He performed the duties of the church with great punctuality, and a decent degree of devotion. He read prayers rather in a strong nervous voice than in a graceful manner; and, altho' he has often been accused of irreligion, nothing of that kind appeared in his conversation or behaviour. In his friendships he was constant and undifguised. He was the fame in his enmities. He generally spoke as he thought, in all companies, and at all feafons.

Having thus followed Dr. Swift from his birth to that terrible catastrophe, which at last put an end to his life, and given a small sketch of his character; it remains that we fay something of his writings. There is a new edition lately published, beautifully printed in 14 volumes, in a small pocket fize. In all his writings we see his own peculiar vein of humour. The fame liberty of expreffion would have been improper and abfurd in any other writer, but it produced the consequences he desired. His feeming arrogance gained him more favour than the humility and affected benevolence

lence of others. His railery and freedom of cenfure are conveyed in a manner more prevalent, and perhaps more agreeable than Hattery. He feldom praised but where merit was confpicuous. A fingle ftroke of his pen pleased more, and reflected more honour, than a long flattering dedication from any other author. His ftyle, particularly in his prose writ ings, was masterly, correct, and strong, never diffusive, yet always clear; and, if we confider it in comparison with his predecessors, he has excelled them all, and is one, perhaps the chief of those few English writers, who have excelled in elegance and propriety of language. But he is not alone intitled to the olive garland; he has had his co-adjutors in the victory. The triumvirate, to whom we owe an elegance and propriety unknown to our forefathers, are Swift, Addison, and Bolingbroke. The prefent century, and indeed all future generations, may be congratulated upon the acquisition of three such men. Swift had perfectly studied the drama of human life, and particularly the tendency and irregularities of its different characters. He has chofen to recommend virtue, by reprefenting vice in a difagreeable and ridiculous light. And, as his temper was naturally full of acrimony, a certain innate feverity runs through all his letters. But what shall be faid for his love of trifles, and his want of delicacy and decorum? Errors, which if he did not contract, at least he increased in Ireland. They are indeed without a parallel, 'and may perhaps for ever remain fo.

Politics were his favourite topic, as they gave him an opportunity of gratifying his ambition and thirst of power; but even here he feldom continued long in one particular path. He has written miscellaneoufly, and chosen rather to appear a wandering comet, than a fixed star.

We have already observed, that, from the year 1710 to the latest period of Queen Anne's reign, he was constantly maintaining the cause of the

Ministry, in pamphlets, poems, and weekly papers. But from that time till the year 1720, when he appeared a champion for Ireland, his fpirit of politics and of patriotifm, kept almost confined within his own breaft.

The Tale of a Tub, which has made so great a noise in the world, was one of Swift's earliest performances, and has never been excelled in wit and fpirit, by his own or any other pen. And tho' our fatyrical author, now and then, may have indulged himself in some personal animosities, or may have taken freedoms not so perfectly confiftent with that folemn decency which is required from a Clergyman; yet, throughout the whole piece, there is a view of ridicule and good humour, that laughs pedantry and affectation into the lowest degree of contempt, and exposes the characters of Peter and Jack in fuch a manner, as never will be forgiven, and never can be answered.

The poetical performances of Dr. Swift ought to be confidered as occafional poems, written either to please, or vex fome particular perfons. We must not suppose them designed for pofterity: However, had he cultivated his genius in that way, he would certainly have excelled, particularly in fatyr; for, in several of his pieces, we see very fine sketches. But he rather chose to discover and correct the works of others than add beauties to his own; and was more defirous of informing and strengthening his mind than indulging the luxuriancy of his imagination. His aim was to be feverely useful rather than politely engaging; and as he was not formed, or would not take the necessary pains to excel in poetry, he became in some measure fuperior to it; and affumed more the airs and manners of a critic than of a poet.

His ambition would scarcely admit any body to the least share of his friendship, except those who could amuse him, or fuch who could do him honour. To these two different claffes

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