The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland Volume V Part 4

While Mr. Savage was in prison, he began, and almost finished a satire, which he ent.i.tled London and Bristol Delineated; in order to be revenged of those who had had no more generosity for a man, to whom they professed friends.h.i.+p, than to suffer him to languish in a gaol for eight pounds. He had now ceased from corresponding with any of his subscribers, except Mr. Pope, who yet continued to remit him twenty pounds a year, which he had promised, and by whom he expected to be in a very short time enlarged; because he had directed the keeper to enquire after the state of his debts.

However he took care to enter his name according to the forms of the court, that the creditors might be obliged to make him some allowance, if he was continued a prisoner; and when on that occasion he appeared in the Hall, was treated with very unusual respect.

But the resentment of the City was afterwards raised, by some accounts that had been spread of the satire, and he was informed, that some of the Merchants intended to pay the allowance which the law required, and to detain him a prisoner at their own expence. This he treated as an empty menace, and had he not been prevented by death, he would have hastened the publication of the satire, only to shew how much he was superior to their insults.

When he had been six months in prison, he received from Mr. Pope, in whose kindness he had the greatest confidence, and on whose a.s.sistance he chiefly depended, a letter that contained a charge of very atrocious ingrat.i.tude, drawn up in such terms as sudden resentment dictated. Mr. Savage 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 a.s.sistance. The last time the keeper saw him was on July 31, when Savage, seeing him at his bed-side, said, with 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 church-yard of St. Peter, at the expence of the keeper.

Such were the life and death of this unfortunate poet; a man equally distinguished by his virtues and vices, and, at once, remarkable for his weaknesses and abilities. He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit of body, a long visage, coa.r.s.e features, and a 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 manners. His walk was slow, and his voice tremulous and mournful. He was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter. His judgment was eminently exact, both with regard to writings and to men. The knowledge of life was his chief attainment. He was born rather to bear misfortunes greatly, than to enjoy prosperity with moderation. He discovered an amazing firmness of spirit, in spurning those who presumed to dictate to him in the lowest circ.u.mstances of misery; but we never can reconcile the idea of true greatness of mind, with the perpetual inclination Savage discovered to live upon the bounty of his friends. To struggle for independence appears much more laudable, as well as a higher instance of spirit, than to be the pensioner of another.

As Savage had seen so much of the world, and was capable of so deep a penetration into nature, it was strange he could not form some scheme of a livelihood, more honourable than that of a poetical mendicant: his prosecuting any plan of life with diligence, would have thrown more l.u.s.tre on his character, than, all his works, and have raised our ideas of the greatness of his spirit, much, beyond the conduct we have already seen. If poverty is so great an evil as to expose a man to commit actions, at which he afterwards blushes, to avoid this poverty should be the continual care of every man; and he, who lets slip every opportunity of doing so, is more ent.i.tled to admiration than pity, should he bear his sufferings n.o.bly.

Mr. Savage's temper, in consequence of the dominion of his pa.s.sions, was uncertain and capricious. He was easily engaged, and easily disgusted; but he is accused of retaining his hatred more tenaciously than his benevolence. He was compa.s.sionate 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 pa.s.sion had subsided. His friends.h.i.+p was therefore of little value, for he was zealous in the support, or vindication of those whom he loved, yet it was always dangerous to trust him, because he considered himself as discharged by the first quarrel, from all ties of honour and grat.i.tude. He would even betray those secrets, which, in the warmth of confidence, had been imparted to him. His veracity was often questioned, and not without reason. When he loved any man, he suppressed all his faults, and when he had been offended by him, concealed all his virtues. But his characters were generally true, so far as he proceeded, though it cannot be denied, but his partiality might have sometimes the effect of falshood.

In the words of the celebrated writer of his life, from whom, as we observed in the beginning, we have extracted the account here given, we shall conclude this unfortunate person's Memoirs, which were so various as to afford large scope for an able biographer, and which, by this gentleman, have been represented with so great a mastery, and force of penetration, that the Life of Savage, as written by him, is an excellent model for this species of writing.

'This relation (says he) will not be wholly without its use, if those, who languish under any part of his sufferings, should be enabled to fortify their patience, by reflecting that they feel only those afflictions from which the abilities of Savage did not exempt him; or those, who in confidence of superior capacities, or attainments, disregard the common maxims of life, shall be reminded that nothing can supply the want of prudence, and that negligence and irregularity long continued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible.'

FOOTNOTES: [1] However slightly the author of Savage's life pa.s.ses over the less amiable characteristics of that unhappy man; yet we cannot but discover therein, that vanity and ingrat.i.tude were the princ.i.p.al ingredients in poor Savage's composition; nor was his veracity greatly to be depended on. No wonder therefore, if the good-natur'd writer suffer'd his better understanding to be misled, in some accounts relative to the poet we are now speaking of.-Among many, we shall at present only take notice of the following, which makes too conspicuous a figure to pa.s.s by entirely unnoticed.

In this life of Savage 'tis related, that Mrs. Oldfield was very fond of Mr. Savage's conversation, and allowed him an annuity, during her life, of 50 l.-These facts are equally ill-grounded:- There was no foundation for them. That Savage's misfortunes pleaded for pity, and had the desired effect on Mrs. Oldfield's compa.s.sion, is certain:-But she so much disliked the man, and disapproved his conduct, that she never admitted him to her conversation, nor suffer'd him to enter her house. She, indeed, often relieved him with such donations, as spoke her generous disposicion.-But this was on the sollicitation of friends, who frequently set his calamities before her in the most piteous light; and from a principle of humanity, she became not a little instrumental in saving his life.

[2] Lord Tyrconnel delivered a pet.i.tion to his majesty in Savage's behalf: And Mrs. Oldfield sollicited Sir Robert Walpole on his account. This joint-interest procured him his pardon.

Dr. THOMAS SHERIDAN.

was born in the county of Cavan, where his father kept a public house. A gentleman, who had a regard for his father, and who observed the son gave early indications of genius above the common standard, sent him to the college of Dublin, and contributed towards the finis.h.i.+ng his education there. Our poet received very great encouragement upon his setting out in life, and was esteemed a fortunate man. The agreeable humour, and the unreserved pleasantry of his temper, introduced him to the acquaintance, and established him in the esteem, of the wits of that age. He set up a school in Dublin, which, at one time, was so considerable as to produce an income of a thousand pounds a year, and possessed besides some good livings, and bishops leases, which are extremely lucrative.

Mr. Sheridan married the daughter of Mr. Macpherson, a Scots gentleman, who served in the wars under King William, and, during the troubles of Ireland, became possessed of a small estate of about 40 l. per annum, called Quilca. This little fortune devolved on Mrs. Sheridan, which enabled her husband to set up a school. Dr. Sheridan, amongst his virtues, could not number oeconomy; on the contrary, he was remarkable for profusion and extravagance, which exposed him to such inconveniences, that he was obliged to mortgage all he had. His school daily declined, and by an act of indiscretion, he was stript of the best living he then enjoyed. On the birth-day of his late Majesty, the Dr. having occasion to preach, chose for his text the following words,

Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.

This procured him the name of a Jacobite, or a disaffected person, a circ.u.mstance sufficient to ruin him in his ecclesiastical capacity. His friends, who were disposed to think favourably of him, were for softning the epithet of Jacobite into Tory, imputing his choice of that text, rather to whim and humour, than any settled prejudice against his Majesty, or the government; but this unseasonable pleasantry was not so easily pa.s.sed over, and the Dr. had frequent occasion to repent the choice of his text.

Unhappy Sheridan! he lived to want both money and friends. He spent his money and time merrily among the gay and the great, and was an example, that there are too many who can relish a man's humour, who have not so quick a sense of his misfortunes. The following story should not have been told, were it not true.

In the midst of his misfortunes, when the demands of his creditors obliged him to retirement, he went to dean Swift, and sollicited a lodging for a few days, 'till by a proper composition he might be restored to his freedom. The dean retired early to rest. The Dr. fatigued, but not inclinable to go so soon to bed, sent the servant to the dean, desiring the key of the cellar, that he might have a bottle of wine. The dean, in one of his odd humours, returned for answer, he promised to find him a lodging, but not in wine; and refused to send the key. The Dr. being thunderstruck at this unexpected incivility, the tears burst from his eyes; he quitted the house, and we believe never after repeated the visit.

Dr. Sheridan died in the year 1738, in the 55th year of his age. The following epitaph for him was handed about.

Beneath this marble stone here lies Poor Tom, more merry much than wise; Who only liv'd for two great ends, To spend his cash, and lose his friends: His darling wife of him bereft, Is only griev'd-there's nothing left.

When the account of his death was inserted in the papers, it was done in the following particular terms;

'September 10, died the revd. Dr. Thomas Sheridan of Dublin. He was a great linguist, a most sincere friend, a delightful companion, and the best Schoolmaster in Europe: He took the greatest care of the morals of the young gentlemen, who had the happiness of being bred up under him; and it was remarked, that none of his scholars ever was an Atheist, or a Free-Thinker.'

We cannot more successfully convey to the reader a true idea of Dr. Sheridan, than by the two following quotations from Lord Orrery in his life of Swift, in which he occasionally mentions Swift's friend.

'Swift was naturally fond of seeing his works in print, and he was encouraged in this fondness by his friend Dr. Sheridan, who had the Cacoethea Scribendi, to the greatest degree, and was continually letting off squibs, rockets, and all sorts of little fire-works from the press; by which means he offended many particular persons, who, although they stood in awe of Swift, held Sheridan at defiance. The truth is, the poor doctor by nature the most peacable, inoffensive man alive, was in a continual state of warfare with the Minor Poets, and they revenged themselves; or, in the style of Mr. Bays, often gave him flash for flash, and singed his feathers. The affection between Theseus and Perithous was not greater than the affection between Swift and Sheridan: But the friends.h.i.+p that cemented the two ancient heroes probably commenced upon motives very different from those which united the two modern divines.'

'Dr. Sheridan was a school-master, and in many instances, perfectly well adapted for that station. He was deeply vers'd in the Greek and Roman languages; and in their customs and antiquities. He had that kind of good nature, which absence of mind, indolence of body, and carelessness of fortune produce: And although not over-strict in his own conduct, yet he took care of the morality of his scholars, whom he sent to the university, remarkably well founded in all kind of cla.s.sical learning, and not ill instructed in the social duties of life. He was slovenly, indigent, and chearful. He knew books much better than men; And he knew the value of money least of all. In this situation, and with this disposition, Swift fattened upon him as upon a prey, with which he intended to regale himself, whenever his appet.i.te should prompt him. Sheridan was therefore certainly within his reach; and the only time he was permitted to go beyond the limits of his chain, was to take possession of a living in the county of Corke, which had been bestowed upon him, by the then lord lieutenant of Ireland, the present earl of Granville. Sheridan, in one fatal moment, or by one fatal text, effected his own ruin. You will find the story told by Swift himself, in the fourth volume of his works [page 289. in a pamphlet int.i.tled a Vindication of his Excellency John Lord Carteret, from the charge of favouring none but Tories, High-Churchmen, and Jacobites.] So that here I need only tell you, that this ill-starred, good-natur'd, improvident man returned to Dublin, unhinged from all favour at court, and even banished from the Castle: But still he remained a punster, a quibbler, a fiddler, and a wit. Not a day pa.s.sed without a rebus, an anagram, or a madrigal. His pen and his fiddle-stick were in continual motion; and yet to little or no purpose, if we may give credit to the following verses, which shall serve as the conclusion of his poetical character.'

With music and poetry equally bless'd[1], A bard thus Apollo most humbly address'd, Great author of poetry, music, and light, Instructed by thee, I both fiddle and write: Yet unheeded I sc.r.a.pe, or I scribble all day, My tunes are neglected, my verse flung away.

Thy substantive here, Vice Apollo [2] disdains, To vouch for my numbers, or list to my strains.

Thy manual sign he refuses to put To the airs I produce from the pen, or the gut: Be thou then propitious, great Phoebus, and grant Belief, or reward to my merit, or want, Tho' the Dean and Delany [3] transcendently s.h.i.+ne, O! brighten one solo, or sonnet of mine, Make one work immortal, 'tis all I request; Apollo look'd pleas'd, and resolving to jest, Replied-Honest friend, I've consider'd your case.

Nor dislike your unmeaning and innocent face.

Your pet.i.tion I grant, the boon is not great, Your works shall continue, and here's the receipt; On Roundo's[4] hereafter, your fiddle-strings spend.

Write verses in circles, they never shall end.

Dr. Sheridan gained some reputation by his Prose-translation of Persius; to which he added a Collection of the best Notes of the Editors of this intricate Satyrist, who are in the best esteem; together with many judicious Notes of his own. This work was printed in 12mo. for A. Millar, 1739.

One of the volumes of Swift's Miscellanies consists almost entirely of Letters between the Dean and the Dr.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Not a first rate genius, or extraordinary proficient, in either.

[2] Dr. Swift.

[3] Now Dean of Downe.

[4] A Song, or peculiar kind of Poetry, which returns to the beginning of the first verse, and continues in a perpetual rotation.

The Revd. Dr. JONATHAN SWIFT.

When the life of a person, whose wit and genius raised him to an eminence among writers of the first cla.s.s, is written by one of uncommon abilities:-One possess'd of the power (as Shakespear says) of looking quite thro' the deeds of men; we are furnished with one of the highest entertainments a man can enjoy:-Such an author also presents us with a true picture of human nature, which affords us the most ample instruction:-He discerns the pa.s.sions which play about the heart; and while he is astonished with the high efforts of genius, is at the same time enabled to observe nature as it really is, and how distant from perfection mankind are in this world, even in the most refined state of humanity. Such an intellectual feast they enjoy, who peruse the life of this great author, drawn by the masterly and impartial hand of lord Orrery. We there discern the greatness and weakness of Dean Swift; we discover the patriot, the genius, and the humourist; the peevish master, the ambitious statesman, the implacable enemy, and the warm friend. His mixed qualities and imperfections are there candidly marked: His errors and virtues are so strongly represented, that while we reflect upon his virtues, we forget he had so many failings; and when we consider his errors, we are disposed to think he had fewer virtues. With such candour and impartiality has lord Orrery drawn the portrait of Swift; and, as every biographer ought to do, has shewn us the man as he really was.

Upon this account given by his lords.h.i.+p, is the following chiefly built. It shall be our business to take notice of the most remarkable pa.s.sages of the life of Swift; to omit no incidents that can be found concerning him, and as our propos'd bounds will not suffer us to enlarge, we shall endeavour to display, with as much conciseness as possible, those particulars which may be most entertaining to the reader.

He was born in Dublin, November the 30th, 1667, and was carried into England soon after his birth, by his nurse, who being obliged to cross the sea, and having a nurse's fondness for the child at her breast, convey'd him s.h.i.+p-board without the knowledge of his mother or relations, and kept him with her at Whitehaven in c.u.mberland, during her residence about three-years in that place. This extraordinary event made his return seem as if he had been transplanted to Ireland, rather than that he owed his original existence to that soil. But perhaps he tacitly hoped to inspire different nations with a contention for his birth; at least in his angry moods, when he was peevish and provoked at the ingrat.i.tude of Ireland, he was frequently heard to say, 'I am not of this vile country, I am an Englishman.' Such an a.s.sertion tho' meant figuratively, was often received literally; and the report was still farther propagated by Mr. Pope, who in one of his letters has this expression. 'Tho' one, or two of our friends are gone, since you saw your native country, there remain a few.' But doctor Swift, in his cooler hours, never denied his country: On the contrary he frequently mentioned, and pointed out, the house where he was born.

The other suggestion concerning the illegitimacy of his birth, is equally false. Sir William Temple was employed as a minister abroad, from the year 1665, to the year 1670; first at Brussels, and afterwards at the Hague, as appears by his correspondence with the earl of Arlington, and other ministers of state. So that Dr. Swift's mother, who never crossed the sea, except from England to Ireland, was out of all possibility of a personal correspondence with Sir William Temple, till some years after her son's birth. Dr. Swift's ancestors were persons of decent and reputable characters. His grand-father was the Revd. Mr. Thomas Swift, vicar of Goodridge, near Ross in Herefords.h.i.+re. He enjoyed a paternal estate in that county, which is still in possession of his great-grandson, Dean Swift, Esq; He died in the year 1658, leaving five sons, G.o.dwin, Thomas, Dryden, Jonathan, and Adam.

Two of them only, G.o.dwin and Jonathan, left sons. Jonathan married Mrs. Abigail Erick of Leicesters.h.i.+re, by whom he had one daughter and a son. The daughter was born in the first year of Mr. Swift's marriage; but he lived not to see the birth of his son, who was born two months after his death, and became afterwards the famous Dean of St. Patrick's.

The greatest part of Mr. Jonathan Swift's income had depended upon agencies, and other employments of that kind; so that most of his fortune perished with him[1], and the remainder being the only support that his widow could enjoy, the care, tuition, and expence of her two children devolved upon her husband's elder brother, Mr. G.o.dwin Swift, who voluntarily became their guardian, and supplied the loss which they had sustained in a father.

The faculties of the mind appear and s.h.i.+ne forth at different ages in different men. The infancy of Dr. Swift pa.s.s'd on without any marks of distinction. At six years old he was sent to school at Kilkenny, and about eight years afterwards he was entered a student of Trinity College in Dublin. He lived there in perfect regularity, and under an entire obedience to the statutes; but the moroseness of his temper rendered him very unacceptable to his companions, so that he was little regarded, and less beloved, nor were the academical exercises agreeable to his genius. He held logic and metaphysics in the utmost contempt; and he scarce considered mathematics, and natural philosophy, unless to turn them into ridicule. The studies which he followed were history and poetry. In these he made a great progress, but to all other branches of science, he had given so very little application, that when he appeared as a candidate for the degree of batchelor of arts, he was set aside on account of insufficiency.

'This, says lord Orrery, is a surprising incident in his life, but it is undoubtedly true; and even at last he obtained his admission Speciali Gratia. A phrase which in that university carries with it the utmost marks of reproach. It is a kind of dishonourable degree, and the record of it (notwithstanding Swift's present established character throughout the learned world) must for ever remain against him in the academical register at Dublin.'

The more early disappointments happen in life, the deeper impression they make upon the heart. Swift was full of indignation at the treatment he received in Dublin; and therefore resolved to pursue his studies at Oxford. However, that he might be admitted Ad Eundem, he was obliged to carry with him the testimonium of his degree. The expression Speciali Gratia is so peculiar to the university of Dublin, that when Mr. Swift exhibited his testimonium at Oxford, the members of the English university concluded, that the words Speciali Grata must signify a degree conferred in reward of extraordinary diligence and learning. It is natural to imagine that he did not try to undeceive them; he was entered in Hart-Hall, now Hartford-College, where he resided till he took his degree of master of arts in the year 1691.

Dr. Swift's uncle, on whom he had placed his chief dependance, dying in the Revolution year, he was supported chiefly by the bounty of Sir William Temple, to whose lady he was a distant relation. Acts of generosity seldom meet with their just applause. Sir William Temple's friends.h.i.+p was immediately construed to proceed from a consciousness that he was the real father of Mr. Swift, otherwise it was thought impossible he could be so uncommonly munificent to a young man, so distantly related to his wife.

'I am not quite certain, (says his n.o.ble Biographer) that Swift himself did not acquiesce in the calumny; perhaps like Alexander, he thought the natural son of Jupiter would appear greater than the legitimate son of Philip.'

As soon as Swift quitted the university, he lived with Sir William Temple as his friend, and domestic companion. When he had been about two years in the family of his patron, he contracted a very long, and dangerous illness, by eating an immoderate quant.i.ty of fruit. To this surfeit he used to ascribe the giddiness in his head, which, with intermissions sometimes of a longer, and sometimes of a shorter continuance, pursued him till it seemed to compleat its conquest, by rendering him the exact image of one of his own STRULDBRUGGS; a miserable spectacle, devoid of every appearance of human nature, except the outward form.