which made so deep an impression on him, that he never afterwards could think with patience of his uncle Goodwin, nor could he heartiz ly forgive the neglect shewn him during that time by his other relations. in those days, in which he could not be said to answer badly, for he did not attempt to answer at all. This account I had from his own. lips. He told me he had made many efforts, upon his entering the college, to read some of the old treatises on logic, writ by Smeglesius, Thocke maumus, Burgers dicius, &c. and that he never had patience to go through, three pa ges of any of them, he was so disgusted at the stupidity of the work. Swift made a firm resolution that he never would read any of those books; which he so pertinaciously adhered to: that though he was. stopped of his degree the first The uneasy situation of mind which a young man of high spirit must have been in, under such circumstances, produced consequences likely to prove destructive of his future fortunes. For, in such a state, he could not bear to give the necessary application to some of the more dry parts of the academic studies, for which he had indeed naturally no great relish; but passed his time chiefly in read-time of sitting for it, on account of ing books of history and poetry; his not answering in that branch, which were better calculated to he went into the hall a second. relieve the troubles of his mind. In time, as ill prepared in that reconsequence of this, when the time spect as before; and would also came for his taking the degree of have been stopped a second time, Bachelor of Arts, he was stopped, on the same account, if the interas he himself expresses it, for est of his friends, who well knew dullness and insufficiency. It is to the inflexibility of his temper, had be supposed the word dullness not stepped in, and obtained it for was, on this occasion, used by him; although in a manner little Swift jocosely, as the cause assign-to his credit, as it was inserted in ed for stopping any person of a degree, in answering badly in any branch of literature appointed for that particular examination; which does not necessarily imply dullness, as it may as well proceed from idleness. But in Swift's case it was rather to be imputed to contumacy, than either the one or the other. For the fact is, there was one branch of the examination, on which the greatest stress was laid than the lowness of his circum: stances from his birth, could have kept that fire from bursting out; nothing less than the galling yoke of dependence, could have restrained that proud spirit within due bounds. The Swift of the world left Ireland in 1688, to visit his mother who then resided at Chester, he found her incapable of affording assistance. She recommended her son to go to Sir William Temple (a distant relation) and make his case known to him.However granting such an application might be to the proud spirit of Swift, yet, as it was his only recourse, he followed his mother's advice, and soon after presented himself to Sir William Temple. Sir William received him with great kindness, and Swifts first visit continued near two years. Sir William had been ambasador and mediator tions on his unhappy circumstances. Yet under this heavy pressure, the force of his genius broke out, in the first rude draft of the Tale of a Tub, written by him at the age of 19, though communicated to nebody but his chamber-fellow, Mr. Waryng; who, after the publication of the book, made no scruple to declare that he had read the first sketch of it in Swift's hand writing, when he was of that age. Such was the opening of this great man's life; and from such a beginning, who could at that i me have imagined that such mighty things were to ensue? He has now in his one and twentieth year; unqualified for any profession but that of the church; in which he had no prospect of succeeding from interest; the recluseness of his life had rendered him little known; and a temper soured by the misery of his situation, did not qualify him much for making of a general place at Nimeguen personal friends. How unpromising were the prospects of such a man, just entering into the world, under such circumstances! And yet it is to these very circumstances, probably, that the world owes a Swift; to the want of money and want of friends. Whoever is acquainted at all with the life and writings of Swift, must see that he had an uncommon share of spirit and fire in his constitution.--Such, as it had been kept under during the heat of youth, would probably have precipitated him into some extravagant courses. Nothing less before the revolution, in which character he became known to the Prince of Orange, who frequently visited him at Sheen, after his arrival in England, and took his advice in affairs of the utmost impor. tance. Sir William being then lame with the gout, Swift used to attend his majesty in the walks about the garden, who admitted him to many familiarities. Swift during his residence with Sir William, applied himself with great assiduity to his studies; in which for the space of eight years once a year. His manner of tra he was employed, by his own account at least eight hours a day,velling was extraordinary, he al but with few intermissions. The first of these was occasioned by an illness, which he attributed to a surfeit of fruit, that brought on a coldness of stomach, and giddiness of head, which pursued him more or less during the remainder of his life. About this time Sir William began to know something of the value of his young guest, the Tale of a Tub was now revised and corrected by Swift. A work bearing 'such a stamp of original genius, must, in a man of Sir William Temple's delicate taste, and, nice discernment, have at once raised the author into a high place in his esteem, and made him look upon him afterwards with very different eyes. Accordingly we find that, about this period, he trusted him with matters of great importance. He introduced him to King William and suffered him to be present at some of their conferences. And above all, he consulted him constantly, and employed him in the revisal and carrection of his own works. In this situation Swift continued, still applying closely to his studies till the year 1692, when he went to Oxford in order to take his master's degree to which he was admitted ad eundem on the 4th of June, 1692, with many civilities. Swift, during his residence with Sir William, visited his mother ways travelled on foot, except the weather was very unfavourable, when he would clamber up into a waggon; he chose to dine at an obscure ale-house amongst pedlars and hostlers, and to lie where he saw written over the door lodgings for a penny,' but he used to bribe the maid with six-pence for a single bed and clean sheets. Swift went over to Ireland in 1694, being then about 27 years old. He took orders, and had given him, an Irish prebendary. Soon after this Lord Capel gave him the diocese of connor, worth about 1007 a year. To this place Swift immediately repaired in order to reside there, and discharge the du ties of his office. He now for the first time enjoyed the sweets of independence; but these sweets were not of long duration, as he soon saw that the scene of his independence would not pessibly af ford him any other satisfaction in life. He now began to feel his own strength, and conscious of his powers, could not conceive they were meant for so narrow a sphere as that of a small country living.. He felt an irresistable impulse once more to launch into the world, and make his way to a station more suited to his disposition. In this temper of mind he received kind letter from Sir William, with an invitation to return to Moor-Park, his resolution was at once fixed. He determined upon The slanderer has a propensity to think ill of all men ;--he combines in his character every vice; returning but first resolved to resign his living. As there were some singular circumstances attending this resignation, I shall re-but discovers most prominent, those late them exactly as I received of pride, envy and hatred; and it them from a gentleman of veraci- is lamentable, that there is no ty, who declared he had the ac-place, which they do not inhabit. count from Swift himself. (To be Conitnued.) THE OBSERVER, Happy,thrice happy he,whose conscious heart, Inquires his purpose, and discerns his part; Who runs with heed, life's varied chec. quered race Nor lets his hour's reproach him as they pass. Virtue doth dwell on mountains hard to climb; They, ever actuated by these base principles, are busily employed in attacking the characters of man kind;-none are too great nor too good to escape the level of their evenomed darts.-Whenever they discover worth, that merit excites the exercise of their malignant tongues; nor will their souls rest, till their poison is exhausted.This filthy and pernicious infection is generally aimed by the most wicked and profligate part of mankind, against those who are most deserving and worthy of esteem. It affords pleasure to the most vile, Her calm ahodes are fix't on heights perfidious and talkative falshood is sublime; And oft a rough ascent the access de. nies, Hard oft to find, the path to her enjoys. But he who bravely gains the glorious height, Finds his toil paid by pleasure and de. light. Useful knowledge can have no enemies but the ignorant: it cher. ishes youth, delights the aged; is an ornament in prosperity, and yields comfort in adversity. But difficult and abstruse speculations raise a noise and dust;--they turn to no profitable account,-they produce heat, clamour and contradiction. its father, and envy its mother There are in some companies much freedom used by Slander. Private characters are gently and subtilly underminded.; a judgment is passed upon transactions altogether of a private nature, nor can a conversation of this kind be pursued one hour, without some flagrant instance of injustice. Good dispositions have generally the most sensibility, and feel most the cruelty of a slanderous misrepresentation of their conduct. No virtue, no prudence nor caution can entirely prevent it, and every eminent man will have those around him, who hate and envy him. Innocence and patience will however enable us to bearit. When a good man suf fers unmerited calumny, it is like an eclipse of the sun: while it shines unobscured--it shines unnoticed:-but when covered by an unexpected darkness, it attracts our attention, and emerges with superior effulgence. Let the malicious and ignorant enjoy their foul pleasure in distraction:-men of sense will disregard them--Tho' dogs bark at the moon, it still shines in its beautiful serenity and lustre, and moves on its orbit, with undisturbed regu larity. not been able to obliterate, the dread of the death watch may well be considered as one of the most prominent, and still continues to disturb the habitations of rural tranquility with groundless fears and absurd apprehensions. It is not, indeed, to be imagined that they who are engaged in the more important cares of providing the immediate necessaries of life should have either leisure or inclination to investigate with philosophic exactness the causes of a particular sound yet it must be allowed to be a very singular circumstance, that an animal so common should not be more universally understood. It is chiefly in the Our object is to perform duty regard. advanced state of spring that this lets of censure. alarming little animal commences its sound, which is no other than the call, or signal, by which the male and female are led to each other, and which may be considered as analogous to the call of birds though not owing to the voice of the insect, but to its beating on any hard substance with the shield or fore-part of its head. The prevailing number of distinct strokes which it beats is from seven to nine of eleven which very circumstance may, perhaps, still add, in some degree, to the ominous character which it bears among the vulgar. These sounds or beats are given in pretty quick succession, and are repeated at uncertain intervals: and in old houses where the insects are numerous, may be heard at almort To the EDITOR of the LADY'S MISCELLANY. By inserting the following account of the insect called by naturalists ptinus fatidicus, and by the vulgar the death watch, extracted from the sixth volume of Doctor Shaw's General Zoology, you may perhaps contribute to dispel the superstitious fears of some persons of confined knowledge: at any rate you will oblige a constant reader and occasional corespondent. ELEANOR M Among the popular superstitions, which the almost general illumination of modern times has : |