Subject to giddiness from his youth, the attacks grew more frequent with advancing age. He desisted from study. Deafness came on, making conversation difficult. Having vowed never to wear spectacles, he was unable to read.

Memory left him, reason deserted him*, and he became first a maniac, then an idiot. After a year of total silence, his housekeeper, on the 30th of November, told him that the usual bonfires and illuminations were preparing to celebrate his birthday. An interval of reason flashed its light across his midnight sky, and he answered, 'It is all folly; they had better let it alone.' Sunk again into a silent idiocy, he expired in the ensuing October, 1744. When his will was opened, it was found that he had left his fortune to build an asylum for idiots and madmen. His morning rose in clouds, and his evening went down in eclipse.

Loves. Never was genius more fatal in its influence, nor friendship more blighting, nor unprosperous love more widely famed. While a student in the university, he formed an attachment to Jane Warying, sister of his college companion, and poetically termed "Varina". In a letter of April, 1696, Swift complains of her formality and coldness, tells her that he has resolved to die as he has lived-all hers. She signifies, at last, her desire to consummate their union; but the vision that had made the morning and the evening varied enchantments, was passing. A second letter of May, 1700, is written in the altered tone of one who is anxious to escape from a connection which he regrets ever to have formed. Time had perhaps estranged him by its unequal development of their characters, and the superior charms of another had begun to weave their spell around the lover's heart.

In Temple's family, he met a very pretty, dark-eyed, modest young girl of fifteen, a waiting-maid,-Esther Johnson. Seventeen years her senior, he became her instructor; found pleasure in cultivating her talents; became her companion and friend, though he could little have thought how closely and tragically their fortunes and their fame were hereafter to be united. She loved and reverenced him only; and he immortalized her as "Stella", or 'Star that dwelt apart'. To reconcile himself to an obscure retirement, he invited her with her friend Mrs. Dingley to reside in Ireland. They lived in the Parsonage when he was away, and when he returned, removed to a lodging, or to the house of

I remember as I and others were taking with Swift an evening walk, about a mile out of Dublin, he stopped short; we passed on; but perceiving he did not follow us, I went back and found him fixed as a statue, and earnestly gazing upwards at a noble tree, which, in its upper branches, was much withered and decayed. Pointing at it, he said, 'I shall be like that tree; I shall die at the top.'-Dr. Young.

a near clergyman. From London, during the period of his political struggles (1710-1713), he wrote to her twice a day, a journal of his daily life, familiarly, playfully, and endearingly; records, for her gratification, his slightest actions; tells where he goes, where he dines, whom he meets, what he spends

His letters are his last occupation at night, and his first in the morning:

'I can not go to bed without a word to them (Stella and Mrs. Dingley); I can not put out my candle till I bid them good night'.

He had met in London yet another girl, eighteen, beautiful, rich, lively, graceful, and fond of books, a merchant's daughter,-Esther Vanhomrigh. Twenty-six years her senior, he offered to direct her in her choice of studies. She esteemed him, thanked him, then loved him, unacquainted with the peculiar situation in which he stood related to another. "Vanessa"--for so he had poetically named her-avowed her passion, and received in return, first railery, then the cold proffer of everlasting friendship. Thinking to possess her love without returning it, he had encouraged her feelings, to disappoint her just expectations. With an irrepressible devotion, she followed him to Dublin; hoping, waiting, remonstrating, entreating, so impassioned, so unhappy, so agonized, when all her offerings had failed, that her letters of love and complaint are sadder than wails above the dead:

'If you continue to treat me as you do, you will not be made uneasy by me long... I am sure I could have borne the rack much better than those killing, killing words of you. The reason I write to you is because I cannot tell it to you, should I see you. For when I begin to complain, then you are angry; and there is something in your looks so awful that it strikes me dumb. Oh that you may have so much regard for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul with pity! I say as little as ever I can. Did you but know what I thought, I am sure it would move you to forgive me, and believe that I can not help telling you this and live.'*

Discovering the gulf he had incautiously approached, he sought to alleviate the perils he could no longer avert, tried to turn her mind to other objects and interests, but in vain. She refused to mingle in society, rejected two advantageous offers of marriage, and in 1717 withdrew to a country retreat, to nurse in seclusion her melancholy and hopeless attachment. Here she received occasional visits from Swift, each of which she commemorated by planting with her own hand a laurel in the garden where they met.

Meanwhile, the familiar power of pleasing which Stella had long possessed, suffered a partial eclipse. The altered tone of his London letters betrayed a divided affection, and Vanessa's arrival in Dublinwhose name he had all but suppressed-developed the cause, while it increased the apprehensions of Stella. Sensibility to his late indifference,

Letter of Vanessa, Dublin, 1714.

and jealousy neither unreasonable nor dishonorable, were preying upon her health. The bloom and beauty of youth had faded away in the midst of hopes and wishes unfulfilled, while she was bitterly conscious that her reputation was clouded by her mysterious connection with Swift, though her conduct was irreproachable. She had an undoubted claim, however, over the affections of his heart, and he married her at last from a sense of duty, 1716, secretly, in the garden of the Deanery, with the understanding that she should be his wife only in name. On his public days, she regulated the table, but appeared at it as a mere guest. Their relations remained as before, and they lived on opposite banks of the Liffey. Tardy, poor, and feeble reparation! Immediately after the ceremony, he was gloomy and agitated. Delany, his biographer, called upon Archbishop King, to mention his apprehensions; met Swift rushing by with a countenance of distraction, found the Archbishop in tears, and inquired the reason:

'Sir', said the prelate, 'you have just met the most unhappy man upon earth; but on the subject of his wretchedness you must never ask a question.'

The tragedy deepens as it draws to a close. Without explaining his conduct, he continued his visits to Vanessa-with more reserve, let us hope, and with increased anxiety to direct her passion into other charnels. Eight years she had cherished that passion in solitude. By the death of her younger sister in 1720, whose failing health she had nursed, yet another sorrow was added. Her affection for Swift redoubled its energy. Driven almost to madness by suspense and suspicion, she wrote at last to Stella to ascertain the nature of her connection with the Dean, and was informed, in reply, of the marriage. Stella gave the letter to Swift for explanation. 1n a rage he carried it to the unhappy Vanessa. His countenance, as he entered the room, struck terror into her soul, and she could scarcely invite him to a seat. Without a word, he flung

a letter on the table before her, and instantly left. Opening the packet, she found only her own communication to Stella,―the death-warrent to her hopes and to her life. She languished a few weeks and died, 1723, a victim to the cruelty and duplicity of him on whom she had vainly lavished life's warmest and purest affections, who had suffered her to pine and sink in hopeless affliction, because at first he would not, and afterward dared not, avow his double dealing, and his incapability of accepting the heart she offered. Judge of the rare gift and the costly sacrifice, from the Ode to Spring, in which she alludes to her unhappy attachment. Never was harp tuned more touchingly to the pathetic eloquence of woe:

Hail, blushing goddess, beauteous Spring!
Who in thy jocund train dost bring
Loves and graces-smiling hours--
Balmy breezes-fragrant flowers;

Come with tints of roseate hue,

Nature's faded charms renew!

Yet why should I thy presence hail?

To me no more the breathing gale

Comes fraught with sweets, no more the rose
With such transcendent beauty blows,

As when Cadenus* blest the scene,
And shared with me those joys serene.
When unpercived, the lambent fire
Of friendship kindled new desire;
Still listening to his tuneful tongue,
The truths which angels might have sung,

Divine imprest their gentle sway,
And sweetly stole my soul away.
My guide, instructor, lover, friend,
Dear names, in one idea blend;
Oh! still conjoined, yonr incense rise,
And waft sweet odours to the skies!

Swift made a tour of two months to the south of Ireland, a prey to remorse; returned to Dublin, and received Stella's forgiveness. Poor Stella, married when on her part all but life had faded away, was twelve years dying. Living desolately on, in hope that he would in time own and receive her, she sank into the grave in 1728, without any public recognition of the tie. It is said that Swift never mentioned her name without a sigh. That he felt distress and contrition, there is no doubt. His misanthropy increased, and his malady grew more malignant. Perhaps, in the case of Vanessa, dreading her grief, and watching for a favorable moment, he had delayed a disagreeable discovery till too late. Aware that insanity lurked in his frame, he may have felt, in the case of Stella, that he had no right to marry. But no plea could efface the blot on his character, that, without any intention of marrying either, he attached to himself two of the loveliest women of his time, encouraged their friendship for his own content, and tortured them by hopes deferred, till the grave closed upon their piteous accents, as despair upon their hearts.

Appearance. Tall, strong, and well made; of dark complexion, blue eyes, black and bushy eyebrows, hooked nose, and features sour and severe, seldom softened by any appearance of gaiety.

Writings. Tale of a Tub† (1704); a powerful satire, whose object was to ridicule the Catholics and Presbyterians, with the view of defending and exalting the Church of England. A father had three sons, -Peter (Church of Rome), Martin (Church of England), and Jack (Presbyterians, or Protestant Dissenters). Upon his deathbed he bequeathed to each of the lads a coat (Christianity), warning them to wear it plain.

'Sons, because I have purchased no estate nor was born to any, I have long considered of some good legacies to leave you, and at last, with much care, I have provided each of you with a good coat. With good wearing the coats will last you as long as you ive, and will grow in the same proportion as your bodies, lengthening and widening of themselves, so as to be always fit.'

They were expressly forbidden to add or diminish from their coats one thread. After a time, however, they came to a town, adopted its

† Explained by Swift to mean, that, as sailors throw out a tub to a whale to keep him amused and prevent him from running foul of their ship, so in this treatise, his object is to divert the freethinkers of the day (who drew their arguments from the "Leviathan" of Hobbes) from injuring the state by their wild theories in politics and religion.

manners, fell in love with some stylish ladies, and, to gain their favors, began to live as gallants. Embarrassed by the extreme simplicity of their clothes, they longed for a more fashionable attire. An adroit interpretation of the will (Bible) admitted shoulder-knots. Silver fringe was soon in fashion :

'Upon which the brothers consulting their father's will, to their great astonishment found these words: "Item, I charge and command my said three sons to wear no sort of silver fringe upon or about their said coats," etc.

Peter, however, who was a skillful critic, had found in a certain author, which he said should be nameless,

'that the same word, which in the will is called fringe, does also signify a broomstick; and doubtless ought to have the same interpretation in this paragraph. This another of the brothers disliked, because of that epithet silver, which could not, he humbly conceived, in propriety of speech be reasonably applied to a broomstick; but it was replied upon him that this epithet was understood in a mythological and allegorical sense. However, he objected again, why their father should forbid them to wear a broomstick on their coats, a caution that seemed unnatural and impertinent; upon which he was taken up short, as one who spoke irreverently of a mystery, which doubtless was very useful and significant, but ought not to be over-curiously pried into, or nicely reasoned upon.'

By similar evasions, gold lace, embroidery, and flame-colored satin linings were added to their coats. The will was at length locked up, and utterly disregarded. Peter, claiming the supremacy, styled himself My Lord Peter, and discarded from the house his brothers, who reopened the will and began to understand it. To return to primitive simplicity, Martin tore off ten dozen yards of fringe, a huge quantity of gold lace, but kept a few embroideries, which could not be got away without damaging the cloth; Jack, in his enthusiasm, stripped away everything, reduced himself, in the operation, to tatters, and, envious of Martin, joined the Eolists, or inspired worshipers of the wind:

'First it is generally affirmed or confirmed that learning puffeth men up; and secondly they proved it by the following syllogism: words are but wind; and learning is nothing but words; ergo learning is nothing but wind. . . . This, when blown up to its perfection, ought not to be covetously hoarded up, stifled, or hid under a bushel, but freely communicated to mankind. Upon these reasons, and others of equal weight, the wise lists affirm the gift of belching to be the noblest act of a rational creature. At certain seasons of the year, you might behold the priests among them in vast numbers... linked together in a circular chain, with every man a pair of bellows applied to his neighbor... by which they blew each other to the shape and size of a tun; and for that reason, with great propriety of speech, did usually call their bodies their vessels.'

The work, though admired was widely condemned. To a later edition was prefixed an apology, in which the author declared that his meaning had been misconceived. Perhaps so. A very peculiar person, like Swift, might so write, without any ill intention. But what shall we say of the spirituality of him who treats with pompous merriment