servations he made. His intention was to have passed the whole winter there; but as the doctor was called up to town upon business during the Christmas vacation, Swift found the place desolate without him, and followed him in a few days. During this visit, it appeared by many instances that avarice had then taken possession of him to a great degree. Doctor Sheridan had prevailed on the burgesses of Cavan to meet the Dean, in a body, at a place four miles distant from the town to compliment him on his arrival. The doctor told him, in return, he ought to invite them to an entertainmet; with which the Dean, after some time, though not without manifest reluctance, complied. He gave them a very shabby dinner at the inn, and called for the bill, before the guests had got half enough of wine. He disputed several articles, said there were two bottles of wine more charged than were used, flew into a violent passion, and abused his servants grossly for not keeping better count. The servants ran away, and doctor Sheridan, without speaking a word, went off and left him to himself. This was the manner in which they always treated him, at that time, when he was in one of those fits, for the least opposition, or even the presence of those with whom he was angry, served but to increase his passion almost to frenzy. But when he had time to cool, he always expressed deep concern at his infirmity.

Of the peevishness of his temper at that time, among many other instances, he gave a remarkable one, at the inn of Virginy, his last stage before his arrival at Cavan. In passing to his chamber, he saw the maid employed in scraping a piece of beef, and stopped to ask her, how many maggots she had got

out

out of it. The wench smartly answered, "Not so many as there are in your head." This repartee, which, at another period of his life would have pleased him much, and probably produced half a crown to the maid for her wit, now threw him into a passion, in which he was so weak as to complain of her to her mistress, and insist on her being discharged for her

sauciness.

When the burgesses of Cavan went out to meet him, one of them addressed him in a complimentary speech on the occasion, which was but ill delivered, as he had a remarkable thickness of utterance. When he had done, Swift asked him, "Pray, sir, are you the town serjeant?" (a low office, and scarcely above the rank of a common constable). "No, Mr. Dean," answered Dr. Sheridan, "that is Mr. Brooks the apothecary, our eldest burgess." "I thought so," said Swift, "for he spoke as if his mouth was full of drugs." How must his disposition have been changed, when the highest civilities that could be shown him, and which formerly were received with the greatest pleasure, and returned with the utmost politeness, now produced nothing but marks of disgust!

From this time all his infirmities increased fast upon him, particularly his avarice, to a high degree. Doctor Sheridan, who still continued to pass great part of his vacations at the deanery, saw many flagrant instances of this, whereof he thought himself bound both by friendship, and a solemn engagement he had entered into, to give information. This alludes to a conversation that had passed between Swift and doctor Sheridan, as they were riding together on the strand, some years before the doctor left Dublin. The topick happened to be that of old age, which Swift

said he found coming fast upon him, and he supposed he should not be exempt from its attendant infirmi ties. "But there is one vice its usual concomitant, the most detestable of all others, and which therefore I would most endeavour to guard against, I mean avarice; I do not know any way so effectual for this purpose, as to engage some true friend to give me warning when he sees any approaches of that sort, and thus put me upon my guard. This office I expect from you, and hope you will give me a solemn assurance that you will most punctually fulfil it.” The doctor very readily entered into the engagement; and now thought himself bound to discharge it. With this view, in one of his vacations passed at the deanery, he set down daily in a journal kept for that purpose, all the instances he could perceive of the Dean's parsimony; which in a fortnight arose to a considerable amount. Armed with these proofs, he one day took an opportunity of asking the Dean, whether he recollected a discourse which had passed between them on the strand, relative to old age and avarice, and the solemn engagement he had made him enter into upon that occasion. Swift, as one suddenly alarmed, answered with precipitation, "Yes, I remember it very well-Why-do y u perceive any thing of that sort in me?" You shall be judge yourself said the Doctor-read over that paper, and see whether it is not high time I should now perform my promise. The Dean read over the articles with a countenance in which shame and despondency were blended. When he had done, he leaned his head upon his hand, with his eyes cast on the ground, and remained for some time buried in profound thought; at last he just lifted up his eyes, without changing

his posture, and casting a side glance at the Doctor, with a most significant look, asked him-" Doctordid you never read Gilblas?" alluding to the famous story of a similar conduct of his toward the archbishop, when he was his secretary, which lost him. his post. After such a scene, the reader will easily conclude, that the disease was past remedy; and that the doctor, like poor Gilblas, would probably not continue long in favour. Thus was lord Bolingbroke's observation upon a passage in one of Swift's letters fully verified; where he says, he had made a maxim which ought to be written in letters of diamond, “That a wise man should have money in his head, but not in his heart." To which his lordship replies, "That a wise man should take care how he lets money get too much into his head, for it would most assuredly descend to the heart, the seat of the passions."

And yet this vice, which daily increased, and made him act grudgingly and sordidly in all other articles of expense, had no effect upon his charities, which were continued as usual. I had a remarkable instance given me of this by Mrs. Sican, two years after this period, when his avarice was at the height. She had called on him one morning, and upon the usual question being asked of " What news?" said, a very melancholy affair had happened the night before to an acquaintance of her's, one Mr. Ellis, cabinet-maker, whose house and goods were destroyed by fire; and as he was a young man just beginning the world, newly married, she was afraid it would prove his ruin, unless he was relieved by charitable contributions. Swift asked what character he bore? She said an exceeding good one, for sobriety, industry, and integrity. The Dean then went to his

desk,

desk, and brought out five broad Portugal pieces, which passed at that time in Dublin for four pounds each, and gave them to her as his subscription.

Dr. Sheridan, finding himself disappointed in all his expectations on his removal, continued at Cavan but little more than two years; when he sold his school, and returned to Dublin. While a house was preparing for him, he took up his abode as usual at the deanery, where he was seized with a fit of illness, which confined him for some weeks to his chamber. The Dean was not in a condition at that time to afford any consolation, nor in a disposition of mind to be troubled with a sick guest. A longer fit than usual of his old complaint, had deprived him of all society, and left him a prey to the horrour of his own thoughts. He had long been weary of the world, and all that was in it. He had no prospect of relief but from death, for which he most ardently wished, even when his state was not so bad. For some years before, he never took leave of a friend in an evening, but he constantly added, "Well, God bless you, and I hope I shall never see you again." In this hopeless state, deprived of all the comforts of life, no wonder if he was dead also to the feelings of friend

That he was weary of life, appears in many passages of his letters; and the following anecdote will show how much he wished for death. In the year 1739, three years after his memory had first declined, he had been standing with a clergyman under a very large heavy pierglass, which, just as they had moved to another part of the room, fell down suddenly, and broke to pieces. The clergyman, struck with a sense of the danger they had escaped, turned to Swift, and cried out, "What a mercy it is that we moved the moment we did, for if we had not, we should certainly have been both killed!" Swift replied, "Had you been out of the case, I should have been happy to have remained there." S