Of the few works which he wrote in the capacity of an author, and not of a party zealot or personal enemy, The Tale of a Tub was by far the earliest in point of time, and has, by many, been considered as the first in point of merit. We confess we are not of that opinion. It is by far too long and elaborate for a piece of pleasantry;-the humour sinks, in many places, into mere buffoonery and nonsense-and there is a real and extreme te

sary. 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-diousness arising from the too successful mima thorough knowledge of the baser parts of icry of tediousness and pedantry. All these human nature-and a complete familiarity defects are apparent enough even in the main with every thing that is low, homely, and fa- story, in which the incidents are without the miliar in language. These were his gifts;- shadow of verisimilitude or interest, and by. and he soon felt for what ends they were far too thinly scattered; but they become ingiven. Almost all his works are libels; gene- sufferable in the interludes or digressions, rally upon individuals, sometimes upon sects the greater part of which are to us utterly and parties, sometimes upon human nature. illegible, and seem to consist almost entirely Whatever be his end, however, personal of cold and forced conceits, and exaggerated abuse, direct, vehement, unsparing invective, representations of long exploded whims and is his means. It is his sword and his shield, absurdities. The style of this work, which his panoply and his chariot of war. In all his appears to us greatly inferior to the History of writings, accordingly, there is nothing to raise John Bull or even of Martinus Scriblerus, is or exalt our notions of human nature,-but evidently more elaborate than that of Swift's every thing to vilify and degrade. We may other writings, but has all its substantial learn from them, perhaps, to dread the con- characteristics. Its great merit seems to consequences of base actions, but never to love sist in the author's perfect familiarity with the feelings that lead to generous ones. There all sorts of common and idiomatical expresis no spirit, indeed, of love or of honour in any sions, his unlimited command of established part of them; but an unvaried and harassing phrases, both solemn and familiar, and the display of insolence and animosity in the unrivalled profusion and propriety with which writer, and villany and folly in those of whom he heaps them up and applies them to the he is writing. Though a great polemic, he exposition of the most fantastic conceptions. makes no use of general principles, nor ever To deliver absurd notions or incredible tales enlarges his views to a wide or comprehen- in the most authentic, honest, and direct sive conclusion. Every thing is particular terms, that have been used for the commuwith him, and, for the most part, strictly per-nication of truth and reason, and to luxuriate sonal. To make amends, however, we do in all the variations of that grave, plain, and think him quite without a competitor in perspicuous phraseology, which dull men use personalities. With a quick and sagacious spirit, and a bold and popular manner, he joins an exact knowledge of all the strong and the weak parts of every cause he has to manage; and, without the least restraint from delicacy, either of taste or of feeling, he The voyages of Captain Lemuel Gulliver seems always to think the most effectual is indisputably his greatest work. blows the most advisable, and no advantage of making fictitious travels the vehicle of unlawful that is likely to be successful for satire as well as of amusement, is at least as the moment. Disregarding all the laws of old as Lucian; but has never been carried polished hostility, he uses, at one and the into execution with such success, spirit, and same moment, his sword and his poisoned originality, as in this celebrated performance. dagger his hands and his teeth, and his en- The brevity, the minuteness, the homeliness, venomed breath,--and does not even scruple, the unbroken seriousness of the narrative, all upon occasion, to imitate his own yahoos, by give a character of truth and simplicity to the discharging on his unhappy victims a shower work, which at once palliates the extravaof filth, from which neither courage nor dex-gance of the fiction, and enhances the effect terity can afford any protection.- Against of those weighty reflections and cutting sesuch an antagonist, it was, of course, at no time very easy to make head; and accordingly his invective seems, for the most part, to have been as much dreaded, and as tremendous as the personal ridicule of Voltaire. Both were inexhaust ble, well-directed, and unsparing; but even when Voltaire drew blood, he did not mangle the victim, and was only mischievous when Swift was brutal. Any one who will compare the epigrams on M. Franc de Pompignan with those on Tighe or Bettesworth, will easily understand the distinction.

to express their homely opinions, seems to be the great art of this extraordinary humorist, and that which gives their character and their edge to his sly strokes of satire, his keen sarcasms and bitter personalities.

The idea

verities in which it abounds. Yet though it is probable enough, that without those touches of satire and observation the work would have appeared childish and preposterous, we are persuaded that it pleases chiefly by the novelty and vivacity of the extraordinary pictures it presents, and the entertainment we receive from following the fortunes of the traveller in his several extraordinary adventures. The greater part of the wisdom and satire at least appears to us to be extremely vulgar and common-place; and we have no

true value or principles; but satisfies himself with collecting or imagining a number of fantastical quackeries, which tend to illustrate nothing but his contempt for human understanding. Even where his subject seems to invite him to something of a higher flight,

idea that they could possibly appear either | multitude of his vulgar and farcical represen impressive or entertaining, if presented with- tations of particular errors in philosophy, he out these accompaniments. A considerable nowhere appears to have any sense of its part of the pleasure we derive from the voyages of Gulliver, in short, is of the same description with that which we receive from those of Sinbad the sailor; and is chiefly heightened, we believe, by the greater brevity and minuteness of the story, and the superior art that is employed to give it an ap-he uniformly shrinks back from it, and takes pearance of truth and probability, in the very midst of its wonders. Among those arts, as Mr. Scott has judiciously observed, one of the most important is the exact adaptation of the narrative to the condition of its supposed

author.

shelter in common-place derision. What, for instance, can be poorer than the use he makes of the evocation of the illustrious dead-in which Hannibal is conjured up, just to say that he had not a drop of vinegar in his camp; and Aristotle, to ask two of his commentators, "The character of the imaginary traveller is ex- "whether the rest of the tribe were as great actly that of Dampier, or any other sturdy nautical dunces as themselves?" The voyage to the wanderer of the period, endowed with courage and Houyhnhmns is commonly supposed to discommon sense, who sailed through distant seas, please by its vile and degrading representawithout losing a single English prejudice which he tions of human nature; but, if we do not had brought from Portsmouth or Plymouth, and on his return gave a grave and simple narrative of strangely mistake our own feelings on the what he had seen or heard in foreign countries. subject, the impression it produces is not so The character is perhaps strictly English, and can much that of disgust as of dulness. The picbe hardly relished by a foreigner. The reflections ture is not only extravagant, but bald and and observations of Gulliver are never more refined tame in the highest degree; while the story or deeper than might be expected from a plain mas-is not enlivened by any of those numerous ter of a merchantman, or surgeon in the Old Jewry; and there was such a reality given to his whole person, that one seaman is said to have sworn he knew Captain Gulliver very well, but he lived at Wapping, not at Rotherhithe. It is the contrast between the natural ease and simplicity of such a 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. It is said that in natural abjects where proportion is exactly preserved, the marvellous, whether the object be gigantic or diminutive, is lessened in the eyes of the spectator; and it is certain, in general, that proportion forms an essential attribute of truth, and consequently of verisimilitude, or that which renders a narration probable. If the reader is disposed to grant the traveller his postulates as to the existence of the strange people whom he visits, it would be difficult to detect any inconsistency in his narrative. On the contrary, it would seem that he and they con duct themselves towards each other, precisely as must necessarily have happened in the respective circumstances which the author has supposed. In this point of view, perhaps the highest praise that could have been bestowed on Gulliver's Travels was the censure of a learned Irish prelate, who said the book contained some things which he could not prevail upon himself to believe."-Vol. i. pp.

340, 341.

That the interest does not arise from the satire but from the plausible description of physical wonders, seems to be farther proved by the fact, that the parts which please the least are those in which there is most satire and least of those wonders. In the voyage to Laputa, after the first description of the flying island, the attention is almost exclusively directed to intellectual absurdities; and every one is aware of the dulness that is the result. Even as a satire, indeed, this part is extremely poor and defective; nor can any thing show more clearly the author's incapacity for large and comprehensive views than his signal failure in all those parts which invite him to such contemplations. In the

and uncommon incidents which are detailed in the two first parts, with such an inimitable air of probability as almost to persuade us of their reality. For the rest, we have observed already, that the scope of the whole work, and indeed of all his writings, is to degrade and vilify human nature; and though some of the images which occur in this part may be rather coarser than the others, we do not think the difference so considerable as to account for its admitted inferiority in the power of pleasing.

His only other considerable works in prose, are the "Polite Conversation," which we think admirable in its sort, and excessively entertaining; and the "Directions to Servants," which, though of a lower pitch, contains as much perhaps of his peculiar, vigorous and racy humour, as any one of his pro ductions. The Journal to Stella, which was certainly never intended for publication, is not to be judged of as a literary work at all

but to us it is the most interesting of all his productions-exhibiting not only a minute and masterly view of a very extraordinary political crisis, but a truer, and, upon the whole, a more favourable picture of h's own mind, than can be gathered from all the rest of h's writings-together with innumerable anecdotes characteristic not only of various eminent individuals, but of the private manners and public taste and morality of the times, more nakedly and surely authentic than any thing that can be derived from contemporary publications.

Of his Poetry, we do not think there is much to be said;-for we cannot persuade ourselves that Swift was in any respect a poet. It would be proof enough, we think, just to observe, that, though a popular and most miscellaneous writer, he does not mention the name of Shakespeare above two or three times in any part of his works, and has

Which keeps the peace among the gods,
Or they must always be at odds:
And Pallas, if she broke the laws,
Must yield her foe the stronger cause;
A shame to one so much ador'd
For wisdom at Jove's council board;
Besides, she fear'd the Queen of Love
Would meet with better friends above.
And though she must with grief reflect,
To see a mortal virgin deck'd
With graces hitherto unknown
To female breasts except her own:
Yet she would act as best became
A goddess of unspotted fame.
She knew by augury divine,
Venus would fail in her design:
She studied well the point, and found
Her foe's conclusions were not sound,
From premises erroneous brought;
And therefore the deduction's naught,
And must have contrary effects,
To what her treacherous foc expects."
Vol. xiv. pp. 448, 419.

The Rhapsody of Poetry, and the Legion Club, are the only two pieces in which there is the least glow of poetical animation; though, in the latter, it takes the shape of ferocious and almost frantic invective, and, in the former, shines out but by fits in the midst of the usual small wares of cant phrases and snap. pish misanthropy. In the Rhapsody, the fol lowing lines, for instance, near the beginning, are vigorous and energetic.

"Not empire to the rising sun

nowhere said a word in his praise. His par-
tial editor admits that he has produced noth-
ing which can be called either sublime or
pathetic; and we are of the same opinion as
to the beautiful. The merit of correct rhymes
and easy diction, we shall not deny him; but
the diction is almost invariably that of the
most ordinary prose, and the matter of his
pieces no otherwise poetical, than that the
Muses and some other persons of the Hea-
then mythology are occasionally mentioned.
He has written lampoons and epigrams, and
satirical ballads and abusive songs in great
abundance, and with infinite success. But
these things are not poetry;-and are better
in verse than in prose, for no other reason
than that the sting is more easily remem-
bered, and the ridicule occasionally enhanced,
by the hint of a ludicrous parody, or the drol-
lery of an extraordinary rhyme. His witty
verses, when they are not made up of mere
filth and venom, seem mostly framed on the
model of Hudibras; and are chiefly remarka-
ble, like those of his original, for the easy and
apt application of homely and familiar phrases,
to illustrate ingenious sophistry or unexpected
allusions. One or two of his imitations of
Horace, are executed with spirit and elegance,
and are the best, we think, of his familiar
pieces; unless we except the verses on his
own death, in which, however, the great
charm arises, as we have just stated, from
the singular ease and exactness with which
he has imitated the style of ordinary society,
and the neatness with which he has brought
together and reduced to metre such a number
of natural, characteristic, and common-place
expressions. The Cadenus and Vanessa is,
of itself, complete proof that he had in him
none of the elements of poetry. It was writ-
ten when his faculties were in their perfec-
tion, and his heart animated with all the ten-
derness of which it was ever capable-and
yet it is as cold and as flat as the ice of Thulé.
Though describing a real passion, and a real
perplexity, there is not a spark of fire nor a
throb of emotion in it from one end to the
other. All the return he makes to the warm-Yet,
hearted creature who had put her destiny into
his hands, consists in a frigid mythological
fiction, in which he sets forth, that Venus and
the Graces lavished their gifts on her in her
infancy, and moreover got Minerva, by a trick,
to inspire her with wit and wisdom. The style
is mere prose-or rather a string of familiar
and vulgar phrases tacked together in rhyme,
like the general tissue of his poetry. How-
ever, it has been called not only easy but
elegant, by some indulgent critics--and there-
fore, as we take it for granted nobody reads it
now-a-days, we shall extract a few lines at
random, to abide the censure of the judicious.
To us they seem to be about as much poetry
as so many lines out of Coke upon Littleton.

"But in the poets we may find

A wholesome law, time out of mind,
Had been confirm'd by Fate's decree,
That gods, of whatsoe'er degree,
Resume not what themselves have given,
Or any brother god in Heaven:

By valour, conduct, fortune won;
Not highest wisdom in debates
For framing laws to govern states;
Not skill in sciences profound
So large to grasp the circle round:
Such heavenly influence require,
As how to strike the Muse's lyre.

Not beggar's brat on bulk begot;
Not bastard of a pedlar Scot;
Not boy brought up to cleaning shoes,
The spawn of bridewell or the stews;
Nor infants dropped, the spurious pledges
Of gypsies littering under hedges;
Are so disqualified by tare

To rise in church. or law, or state,
As he whom Phoebus in his ire
Has blasted with poetic fire."

Vol. xiv. pp. 310, 311. immediately after this nervous and poetical line, he drops at once into the lowness of vulgar flippancy.

"What hope of custom in the fair,

While not a soul demands your ware?" &c. There are undoubtedly many strong lines, and much cutting satire in this poem; but the staple is a mimicry of Hudibras, without the richness or compression of Butler; as, for example,

"And here a simile comes pat in:

Though chickens take a month to fatten,
The guests in less than half an hour,
Will more than half a score devour.
So, after toiling twenty days
To earn a stock of pence and praise,
Thy labours, grown the critic's prey,
Are swallow'd o'er a dish of tea:
Gone to be never heard of more,
Gone where the chickens went before.
How shall a new attempter learn
Of different spirits to discern.
And how distinguish which is which,
The poet's vein, or scribbling itch?"
Vol. xiv. pp. 311, 313.
H 2

Such were the libels which a Tory writer | distinguish between a promise and a bargain; for found it sate to publish under a Whig admin- he will be sure to keep the latter, when he has the istration in 1736; and we do not find that any fairest offer."-Vol. iv. pp. 149-152. national disturbance arose from their impu- We have not left ourselves room now to nity, though the libeller was the most cele- say much of Swift's style, or of the general brated and by far the most popular writer of character of his literary genius:-But our the age. Nor was it merely the exasperation opinion may be collected from the remarks of bad fortune that put that polite party upon we have made on particular passages, and the use of this discourteous style of discus- from our introductory observations on the sion. In all situations, the Tories have been school or class of authors, with whom he the great libellers-and, as is fitting, the must undoubtedly be rated. On the subjects great prosecutors of libels; and even in this to which he confines himself, he is unques early age of their glory, had themselves, when tionably a strong, masculine, and perspicuous in power, encouraged the same licence of writer." He is never finical, fantastic, or defamation, and in the same hands. It will absurd-takes advantage of no equivocations scarcely be believed, that the following char- in argument-and puts on no tawdriness for acter of the Earl of Wharton, then actually ornament. Dealing always with particulars, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, was publicly he is safe from all great and systematic misprinted and sold, with his Lordship's name takes; and, in fact, reasons mostly in a series and addition at full length, in 1710, and was of small and minute propositions, in the handone of the first productions by which the rev-ling of which, dexterity is more requisite than erend penman bucklered the cause of the genius; and practical good sense, with an Tory ministry, and revenged himself on a exact knowledge of transactions, of far more parsimonious patron. We cannot afford to importance than profound and high-reaching give it at full length-but this specimen will judgment. He did not write history or philosophy, but party pamphlets and journals;— not satire, but particular lampoons ;-not pleasantries for all mankind, but jokes for a particular circle. Even in his pamphlets, the broader questions of party are always waved, to make way for discussions of personal or im mediate interest. His object is not to show that the Tories have better principles of gov ernment than the Whigs, but to prove Lord Oxford an angel, and Lord Somers a fiend, to convict the Duke of Marlborough of avarice or Sir Richard Steele of insolvency ;-not to point out the wrongs of Ireland, in the depres sion of her Catholic population, her want of education, or the discouragement of her industry; but to raise an outcry against an amendment of the copper or the gold coin, or against a parliamentary proposition for remitting the tithe of agistment. For those ends, it cannot be denied, that he chose his means judiciously, and used them with incomparable skill and spirit. But to choose such ends, we humbly conceive, was not the part either of a high intellect or a high character; and his genius must share in the disparage

answer our purpose.

"Thomas, Earl of Wharton, Lord Lieutenant

of Ireland. by the force of a wonderful constitution, has some years passed his grand climateric, without any visible effects of old age, either on his body or his mind; and in spite of a continual prostitution to those vices which usually wear out both. His behaviour is in all the forms of a young man at fiveand-twenty. Whether he walks, or whistles, or talks bawdy, or calls names, he acquits himself in each, beyond a templar of three years' standing.He seems to be but an ill dissembler, and an ill liar. although they are the two talents he most practises. and most values himself upon. The ends he has gained by lying, appear to be more owing to the frequency, than the art of them: his lies being sometimes detected in an hour, often in a day, and always in a week. He tells them freely in mixed companies, although he knows half of those that hear him to be his enemies, and is sure they will discover them the moment they leave him. He swears solemnly he loves and will serve you; and your back is no sooner turned, but he tells those about him, you are a dog and a rascal. He ges constantly to prayers in the forms of his place, and will talk bawdy and blasphemy at the chapel-door. He is a presbyterian in politics, and an atheist in religion; but he chooses at present to whore with a papist. He has sunk his fortune by endeavouring to ruin one kingdom, and has raised it by going farment which ought perhaps to be confined to the impetuosity and vindictiveness of his temper.

in the ruin of another.

"He bears the gallantries of his lady with the indifference of a stoic; and thinks them well recompensed, by a return of children to support his family, without the fatigues of being a father. "He has three predominant passions which you will seldom find united in the same man, as arising from different dispositions of mind, and naturally thwarting each other: these are, love of power. love of money, and love of pleasure; they ride him sometimes by turns. sometimes all together. Since the second and has met with great success; having gained by his goverment, of under two years, five-and-forty thousand pounds by the most favour able computation, half in the regular way, and half in the prudential.

he went into Ireland, he seems most disposed to

"He was never yet known to refuse, or keep a promise, as I remember he told a lady, but with an exception to the promise he then made (which was to get her a pension); yet he broke even that, and, I confess, deceived us both. But here I desire to

Of his style, it has been usual to speak with great, and, we think, exaggerated praise. It is less mellow than Dryden's-less elegant than Pope's or Addison's-less free and noble than Lord Bolingbroke's and utterly without the glow and loftiness which belonged to our earlier masters. It is radically a low and homely style-without grace and without af fectation; and chiefly remarkable for a great choice and profusion of common words and expressions. Other writers, who have used a plain and direct style, have been for the most generally give us an impression of the poverty part jejune and limited in their diction, and as well as the tameness of their language but Swift, without ever trespassing into figured or poetical expressions, or ever employing a