wafted to Ireland regarding the accomplished and fascinating Miss Vanhomrigh. We shall relate the rest of this extraordinary narrative in the language of his biographer. "He employed Dr St George Ashe, bishop of Clogher, his tutor and early friend, to request the cause of her melancholy; and he received the answer which his conscience must have anticipated, it was her sensibility to his recent indifference, and to the discredit which her own character sustained from the long subsistence of the dubious and mysterious connexion between them. To convince her of the constancy of his affection, and to remove her beyond the reach of calumny, there was but one remedy. To this communication Swift replied, that he had formed two resolutions concerning matrimony: one, that he would not marry till possessed of a competent fortune, the other, that the event should take place at a time of life which gave him a reasonable prospect to see his children settled in the world. The independence proposed, he said, he had not yet achieved, being still embarrassed by debt; and, on the other hand, he was past that term of life after which he had determined never to marry. Yet he was ready to go through the ceremony for the ease of Mrs Johnson's mind, providing it should remain a strict secret from the public, and that they should continue to live separately, and in the same guarded manner as formerly. To these hard terms Stella subscribed; they relieved her own mind at least, from all scruples on the impropriety of their connexion, and they soothed her jealousy, by rendering it impossible that Swift should ever give his hand to her rival. They were married in the garden of the deanery by the bishop of Clogher, in the year 1716." The arrangement, mean and mortifying as it was, served to support Stella's existence a few years longer. Meanwhile, Miss Vanhomrigh, unconscious of Swift's situation, had followed him to Ireland and taken up her abode near Celbridge, where she was occasionally favoured with a visit from the dean, and such attentions as served to cherish the few reviving embers of hope in her bosom. At last her impatience prevailed, and she ventured on the decisive step of writing to Mrs Johnson herself, requesting to know the nature of the connexion which subsisted betwixt her and Swift. The answer she received, and the brutal conduct of Swift himself, when informed of what she had done, were fatal blows; she sunk at once under the disappointment of the delayed, yet cherished hopes, which had so long sickened her heart, and beneath the unrestrained wrath of him for whose sake she had indulged them. From such sickening details let us turn to contemplate the literary character of this extraordinary man.

The productions of Swift's pen, with a few exceptions, were of an ephemeral kind, written with a temporary and immediate object, and written with all the taste, and all the high colouring too, necessary for such a purpose. Bearing this in mind, Swift must be allowed to have been a man of rare genius and astonishing resources. The care with which posterity has collected together these hasty productions is a convincing proof of their great merit. They have probably never been equalled in their line. They are written," says a celebrated northern critic, "with great plainness, force, and intrepidity,-advance at once to the matter in dispute, give battle to the strength of the enemy, and never seek any kind of advantage from darkness or obscurity. Their distinguishing feature, however, is the force and the vehemence

66

of the invective in which they abound; the copiousness, the steadiness, the perseverance, and the dexterity, with which abuse and ridicule are showered upon the adversary. This, we think, was, beyond all doubt, Swift's great talent, and the weapon by which he made himself formidable. He was, without exception, the greatest and most efficient libeller that ever exercised the trade; and possessed in an eminent degree all the qualifications which it requires a clear head,—a cold heart,—a vindictive temper,-no admiration of noble qualities,-no sympathy with suffering, not much conscience,-not much consistency,-a ready wit, —a sarcastic humour, a thorough knowledge of the baser parts of human nature,—and a complete familiarity with every thing that is low, homely, and familiar in language."

His most popular and his best work is the voyages of captain Gulliver. "It is the contrast," says Scott, "between the natural ease and simplicity of the style, and the marvels which the volume contains, that forms one great charm of this memorable satire on the imperfections, follies, and vices of mankind. The exact calculations' preserved in the first and second part, have also the effect of qualifying the extravagance of the fable." His letters to Stella are admirable and interesting compositions of their kind, and upon the whole present us with the most favourable view of Swift's character. Of his poetry we need say nothing; for we apprehend few readers now-a-days will feel disposed to assign the dean a niche in the poetical temple. His verses are nothing more than rhymed prose. His style it may not be fair to criticise too rigidly, seeing, as already hinted, that he always wrote currente calamo, on the spur of the moment. When we say that it is essentially a vulgar style, we mean that it is a style fitted above all other styles to please and captivate ordinary readers, to make good his point with the multitude; and, considering with what aims and objects Swift always wrote, when we speak thus of his style we apprehend we are giving it the very highest praise. He never rises to eloquence, but he is always clear, and precise, and forcible; he affects no graces, but he commands a boundless variety of universally understood terms and expressions; and what iswe should have been better pleased to say was, but the remembrance of recent controversies forces upon us the present tense-what is then, we say, of first-rate importance to a party-writer, his vocabulary of abuse and scurrility is perfectly inexhaustible; abuse is his inspiration, and, when the occasion serves, he pours it forth with all the fertility and exuberance of true genius.

Richard Savage.

BORN A. D. 1698.-DIED A. D. 1743.

THIS unfortunate genius is commonly reputed to have been the illegitimate son of an English peeress. The facts connected with his birth are thus stated: The countess of Macclesfield, a woman of a violent temper and dissolute habits, having quarrelled with the earl, her

The biographer here alludes to the consistency and plausibility of the descriptions given by the travelied captain, of the marvellous wonders he had witnessed both amongst the pigmies and giants.

husband, resolved to be divorced from him, and with this view declared that the child with which she was then pregnant was the offspring of adulterous intercourse with the earl of Rivers. The earl of Macclesfield obtained an act of parliament for the dissolution of his marriage, and the children of his countess were declared illegitimate. Meanwhile the countess was delivered of a son, the subject of this memoir, on the 10th of January, 1698; and the earl of Rivers so far at least countenanced the profligate mother as to stand godfather to the child at his baptism, and give him his own name.

The unfortunate infant was, however, immediately committed to the care of a poor woman, who was directed to educate him as her own son, and who appears to have kept her trust in this respect with remarkable fidelity: as the youth did not discover his parentage until after his nurse's death, when the facts connected with his birth were revealed to him by some letters and papers which he discovered among the effects of his foster-parent. Savage was placed at a grammar-school near St Alban's for his education. While at this school, Earl Rivers, his reputed father, died. "He had frequently inquired for his son,' says Dr Johnson, "and had always been amused with evasive answers. On his deathbed, however, he thought it his duty to provide for him, and therefore demanded a positive account with an importunity not to be diverted or denied." His mother, the same authority informs us, though no longer able to withhold an answer, "determined at least to give such as should cut him off for ever from that happiness which competence affords, and therefore declared that he was dead." Mr Galt, in his recent Lives of the Players,' has thrown some discredit on this sad tale, and we are willing that, bad as the infamous countess undoubtedly was, she should at least have the advantage of Mr Galt's ingenious advocacy. "I would rather," says he, "believe that Dr Johnson was in error, than that Nature went so far wrong. There is no shadow of evidence to show that Mrs Brett-as the alleged mother of Savage was now called, in consequence of a second marriage with Colonel Brett, who became a patentee of Drury-lane theatre-was in personal communication with Earl Rivers. But, granted that she had told him, or wrote to him, that their son was dead, might it not have been the case? for, as I shall have occasion to show, besides the fact relative to Mrs Lloyd's legacy already noticed, the identity of the countess of Macclesfield's son, and Savage, the poet and player, is by no means satisfactorily established. Be it also observed, that Earl Rivers could not but know, in the long course of more than ten years, in which the child was under the direction of his grandmother, Lady Mason, that she was the proper person to ask concerning him. But to suppose that, in so long a period, Earl Rivers, who had no objection to acknowledge the child-who was the child's godfather-never once inquired after him, is to accuse human nature, in his lordship, of as great an exception to its customs, as in the case of the mother: probability revolts at the supposition. Perhaps Lady Mason might have been by this time dead; but, as I have shown, there was no special concealment, at least from Lord Rivers, of the existence of the child, so long as he lived; nor was it likely, when the part which Mrs Lloyd acted towards him is considered, that there could have been any difficulty, so long as she was alive, of tracing him. Dr Johnson assumes that the wickedness of the mother, in this instance,

was true: he even goes so far as to imply that Lord Rivers had, in his will, bequeathed to Savage six thousand pounds; but that, on receiving the account of his death, he altered the will, and bestowed the legacy on another person.' I think the fact of the case is, that the son of Earl Rivers and Lady Macclesfield was, at this time, really dead; and this opinion is strengthened by the over-endeavour of Savage to exaggerate her unnatural enmity. If she had been his mother, there was on his part as great a deficiency of natural feeling towards her, as there was on her part towards him. Truly, if we consider the number of years during which Lord Rivers, his father and godfather, never inquired after him, and the reciprocal conduct of the mother and the son, they must have been three of the most extraordinary personages ever described, for deficiency of natural affection. This interception of the provision which Lord Rivers intended to make, is rendered still more improbable by what Dr Johnson, on the authority of Savage, immediately after states, viz. that his mother endeavoured to rid herself from the danger of being at any time made known to him, by sending him secretly to the American plantations.' Now be it remembered, that his mother became afterwards the wife of the patentee of the very theatre which Savage most frequented. By whose kindness this scheme of kidnapping was counteracted, or by what interposition Mrs Brett was induced to lay aside her design, I know not. It is not improbable that the Lady Mason might persuade or compel her to desist, or perhaps she could not easily find accomplices wicked enough to conour in such an action.' After stating this, Dr Johnson makes the following observations, the justice or common-sense of which is by no means apparent- It may be conceived,' says he, that those who had, by a long gradation of guilt, hardened their hearts against the sense of common wickedness, would yet be shocked at the design of a mother to expose her son to slavery and want-to expose him without interest and without provocation; and Savage might, on this occasion, find protectors and advocates among those who had long traded in crimes, and whom compassion had never touched before.' Without more particularly adverting to the improbability altogether of kidnapping the boy for Virginia, I would only remark on the plain nonsense of Dr Johnson's observations. Was it at all necessary to such a kidnapping scheme, that the mother should disclose to the agents her relationship to the boy they were to convey out of the country in so surreptitious a manner? and if they previously knew the relationship, and were creatures capable of executing such an unnatural machination, would they have scrupled to get this rich lady so effectually into their power as they would have done, either by executing her scheme, or by seemingly conniving at it, by taking her son into their own charge? If they did not know of the connexion, what comes of the Doctor's moral revulsion of the kidnappers? This part of the story, which rests on Savage's authority alone-and Savage was never respected by his contemporaries for his probity-I have no hesitation in at once rejecting, as in its conception an extravagant monstrosity; for the mother in all this period seems to have left the management of the child entirely to her own mother, Lady Mason, and no cause nor motive had occurred to move her to intercept the intended legacy, far less to instigate her to the wickedness of sending her son to slavery in Virginia. Dr John

son, in the same frame of insatiable credulity, continues-' Being hindered, by whatever means, of banishing him into another country, she formed soon after a scheme for burying him in poverty and obscurity in his own; and that his station in life, if not the place of his residence, might keep him for ever at a distance from her-(and yet she was the wife of a patentee of the theatre)-she ordered him to be placed with a shoemaker in Holborn, that after the usual time of trial he might become his apprentice.' The good Doctor, in the simplicity of his heart, states this on the authority of Savage himself. Now, mark how loosely this tale hangs together. In the first place, it supposes the mother all this time to be spontaneously actuated by something like a demoniacal virulence against her son, although it is manifest that Lady Mason was the agent in all that related to the child by Lord Rivers. Now, was Lady Mason dead when this project of the apprenticeship was hatched? It is not so said. Then who was the agent to negotiate with the shoemaker? Did that agent know of the relationship of the child? Was the shoemaker so incurious as to take no step to ascertain who were the connexions of this mysterious apprentice? Was no money to be paid to the shoemaker? The story-though it be true, in fact, that Savage was an apprentice to a shoemaker in Holborn— appears utterly improbable in the alleged anterior machination. If Lady Mason had been alive, she would of course, from her previous part in the plot, have been the negociator, through the nurse, as whose son the bastard passed; and here again the character of Lady Mason comes to be considered. Has it ever been blemished in all this business? and she was, at least, known to the nurse, if the nurse did not know who were the parents of the child. But observe what follows. While Savage is apprentice to the shoemaker, the nurse, who had always treated him as her own son, dies, and Savage, as her son, proceeds to 'take care of those few effects which by her death were, as he imagined, become his own.' Now had this old woman no relations who knew that the child had been placed with her? none to interfere, as people in their condition of life were likely to do, that he should have been permitted to take possession of her effects? Mark also; in taking possession of her effects, Dr Johnson says, that he opened her boxes and examined her papers, among which he found some letters written to her by the Lady Mason, which informed him of his birth, and the reasons for which it was concealed.' This is curious. Is it probable that Lady Mason would have committed herself by writing any such letters to the old woman, had there existed such a wish for concealment as it is attempted to make us believe? That there may have been letters from Lady Mason, which suggested the idea of inquiring to whom they related; and that Savage, by inquiry, might have ascertained they concerned the child of Lady Macclesfield and Lord Rivers, which had been placed while an infant with his mother, the nurse, is highly probable; and from the character of his mind, it is not at all unlikely that he should have either imagined himself to be that child, or fancied that, with the evidence, he might pass himself off as such. My opinion is that the latter was the case, and that the poet and player, Richard Savage, was, in his capacity of Lady Macclesfield's son, an impostor. A remarkable gleam of light is thrown upon the probability of this notion by a circumstance hitherto unnoticed. The famous trial of the An