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 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBEAEIES. 
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. By Alan Muie, author of ' Lady 
 
 Beauty,' ' CMldren's Children,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. By the Author of 
 
 'Queenie,' ' Orange Lily,' ' A Jewel of a Girl,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
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 ADRIAN BRIGHT. By Mrs. Caddy, author of ' Artist 
 
 and Amateur,' ' Lares and Penates,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1884. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/jonathanswiftnov01lond
 
 
 5 
 
 o 
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT 
 
 
 io CHAPTER I. 
 
 o 
 
 Mrs. Swift was free of the Brotherhood 
 of Sorrow. The members of that fra- 
 ternity do not cry for nothing. Few 
 things preserve so rigid a loyalty to the 
 rules of proportion as does real wretched- 
 ness. And so Mrs. Swift was half aston- 
 ished to find herself sobbing over the 
 letter on her knee — a simple note from 
 Jonathan to say he was coming home — 
 and fell involuntarily to wondering why 
 she did it, and to looking back for expla- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 nation, in a dreamy way, as far as the 
 black vista would let her. 
 
 What a mercy it is in the constitution 
 of human nature that sorrow cannot be 
 cumulative ! Griefs cannot climb on each 
 other's shoulders to pull us down. The 
 latest black figure shuts out the view of 
 the rest, holds them back, warns them 
 off. Do you imagine that Job, w^hen he 
 heard of the strong wind that blew upon 
 the corner of the house and knew himself 
 childless, do you imagine that he thought 
 then of his sheep and of his camels? Per- 
 haps you do, reader ; it depends on 
 whether or not you have a soul. Mrs. 
 Swift, at any rate, had not made lier soul 
 subservient to her reason, her divinity 
 to her humanity, and she reaped the bene- 
 fit just then. The chain of her retro- 
 spect snapped at a year before, broken 
 by the chasm of a grave ; and the shadows 
 on the other side, where bitter poverty
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 6 
 
 stood with his foot on comfort, and scorn 
 had triumphed over respectful considera- 
 tion, she scarcely saw. The memory of 
 the father recalled the son. 
 
 Yes, it must be, he had failed again, 
 was disappointed again, crushed again. 
 The letter did not say so, but her in- 
 stincts told her. Poor Jonathan ! Nobody 
 knows what it is to fail but those who 
 deserve to succeed. But his mother knew 
 lie knew it. How bitter it would be, she 
 thought. Twice ! And worse than ordi- 
 nary failure too. If he had not attempted 
 more, he might have earned money. The 
 wind howled outside, and Mrs. Swift 
 shivered. She glanced at the tiny grate. 
 The fire was out ; on purpose, to save 
 fuel. It need not have been, if Jonathan 
 had hewn wood and drawn water — sacred 
 wood and sacred water, because for his 
 mother. And then she cried again ; it 
 was so bitter for him to know it. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 She jDicked up his note and read it 
 again. There was no hint as to when 
 he would come, nor how ; and the letter 
 itself was dateless. Mrs. Swift thought 
 a moment. The floods had made the 
 roads scarcely passable for days, and if 
 Jonathan had set off to walk from Lon- 
 don, he could not be far behind his herald. 
 With the inconsistency of love the mo- 
 ther's heart was cheered at once. It 
 might be that night he would come. 
 She listened. The rain was falling in 
 torrents. How v/et he would be should 
 he come. The fire must be laid, at least, 
 ready to light, and some tea put for him. 
 His home-coming would not seem so bit- 
 tej^, if privation were kept out of sight 
 just at first. So Mrs. Swift called, 
 
 ' Lauriel, my pet, Lauriel.' 
 
 The door opened almost instantly, and 
 Jonathan Swift's only sister entered. 
 
 * You called, mamma ?'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 5 
 
 ' Your brother is coming home,' replied 
 Mrs. Swift, making an effort to put away 
 the thoughts of luliy, as they came crowd- 
 ing back, lest she should dash the happy 
 smile that had risen in the great lustrous 
 eyes which were gazing at her. 
 
 ' Oh ! I am so glad ; won't it be nice, 
 mother mine,' said the girl, joyfully. * He 
 must have sold his book, and is coming 
 back to write another. He shall give you 
 a new dress, mamma — that old thing is so 
 shabby — and he shall cheer you up, which 
 is ever so much better than all the clothes 
 in creation. Do you know, mamma,' the 
 girl ran on, * I was stupid enough to be 
 frio-htened this mornino^ because there was 
 no money left, and no dinner, no, not 
 enough for Towzer, in the house. Jonathan 
 made me promise before he went not to 
 adopt the Whig principle of getting into 
 debt, and, besides, I'm not at all sure our 
 credit is good enough to help me to break
 
 6 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 my word if I would. Is he comiDg to- 
 night, mamma ?' 
 
 ^I don't quite know/ answered Mrs. 
 Swift ; ' but you had better lay the fire, my 
 pet, and put tea so that the poor boy can 
 get it directly, if he do.' Away ran the 
 girl with a rippling laugh. 'Lauriel,' 
 called her mother, when she had reached 
 the door, 'if your brother come, don't say 
 anything about money matters — just at 
 first. Jonathan will be tired. And, Lau- 
 riel, perhaps you had better say nothing 
 even about his book.' 
 
 Half an hour later, Lauriel was survey- 
 ing, with not altogether unmixed satisfac- 
 tion, the result of her labours to brighten 
 the dismal little chamber, when a footstep 
 was heard outside. 
 
 * Surely, mamma,' she said, ' that is not 
 Jonathan ! Those feet seem to sympathise 
 with the ground they tread on, and I am 
 sure his don't. Xo,' she continued, * that
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 7 
 
 is not bis knock. That sounds like a 
 sleepy artizan making day-wages . out of 
 cold iron ; not a bit like Jonathan, and 
 Jonathan famous, too. Stay, mamma,' she 
 cried, ' I will go.' 
 
 But Mrs. Swift had slipped past her and 
 raised the latch. The dull tread was not 
 so altered as to deceive her. Putting the 
 door ajar, as though to look out, she 
 whispered to her sou, ' Let Lauriel be 
 happy for to-night. ' Then she kissed 
 him. 
 
 The majority of men say that human 
 beings have only five senses. A majority 
 is generally wrong : and this is a case in 
 point. Even the majority have more than 
 five senses, they have more nearl}'- fifty, or 
 fifty times fifty. A sense is a means of 
 communication with the mind and soul 
 and spirit of a man, and if you tell me that 
 all the impressions you remember to have 
 felt came to you through your ears, or
 
 8 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 eyes, or nose, or taste, or feeling, I can 
 only reply that nothing ever has made an 
 impression on your soul a,nd sjDirit. The 
 operation has been confined to your brain. 
 Oh ! no ; often does an influence come in 
 upon the soul by one of those wicket-gates 
 of heaven which we cannot see, nor define, 
 nor predicate about, but only say we feel 
 it is within us, and that its key is in the 
 keeping of the God who made it. 
 
 His mother's kiss acted like a cordial on 
 Jonathan Swift. He drew a long breath, 
 and, without being aware of the effort he 
 made, called out, in the cheeriest of voices, 
 
 'Well, mother, you are first: terribly 
 well, I hope ; and the little one, how is the 
 little one?' 
 
 Lauriel dashed into his arms only to re- 
 treat again from the dripping figure with 
 a silvery laugh. • 
 
 'Go home, Neptune,' she cried, 'we 
 haven't got a volcano to dry you at, and
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 9 
 
 we doiVt want any seaweed, not to-day, 
 thank 3-011, not to-day.' 
 
 Then she stopped in amazement, and, 
 staring at him, said, 
 
 ' Migbt I ask, Mr. Neptune, whether it 
 is with a view of getting all the salt washed 
 out of you that you travel without an 
 overcoat ?' 
 
 Mrs. Swift trembled. There stood the 
 great gawky body crowned by a face radi- 
 ant, to all appearance, with happiness, in 
 spite of the heart which moved its muscles 
 being bruised almost to breaking. And 
 Lauriel was close to him, gazing with an 
 air of mock criticism straight into liis eyes. 
 He must wince under the unconscious 
 thrust whicb reminded him that his ambi- 
 tion had only led to a pawn-shop. 
 
 ' Such a long story,' he replied, pretend- 
 ing to look mysterious, ' 1 put it into poetry 
 as I came along. You shall hear it pres- 
 ently.' Then he continued, 'Correspond
 
 10 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 to evaporation like a good little sun, as 
 you are, and pull off my coat. Wo — o — 
 Phaeton, take care, you'll sublime it if 
 you're not careful.' 
 
 *' Ah !' said Lauriel, ^ what a mercy it is 
 an old one, for it is quite spoiled.' It was 
 the only one Jonathan Swift had left in 
 the world. 
 
 'Nay, 'tis a beauty,' he laughed, as 
 cheerily as ever. ' Now, I'm off to squeeze 
 the rain out of my hair, for fear it should 
 get through to the brain, and I'll be back 
 in one moment to warm myself at the 
 volcano.' Off he went. 
 
 Mrs. Swift lit the fire with a tinder-box, 
 which seemed determined not to catch, it 
 took her so long to strike a spark ; while 
 Lauriel, having vainly attempted to relieve 
 her mother of the task, sat back in a chair 
 and chattered away out of sheer happiness. 
 The tinder caught, and the fire burnt up 
 at last, however, in spite of Mrs. Swift's
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 11 
 
 efforts, and she Avas obliged to face her 
 daughter again with all the placidity her 
 feelings would permit of. A very general 
 effect sufficed fortunately ; one candle and 
 a tiny fire are not good footlights ; and 
 even had Lauriel been predisposed to fancy 
 anything was amiss and to scan her mo- 
 ther's face, the flickering shadow which 
 rose and fell upon it, like the lapping tide 
 of trouble, would have probably sufficed 
 to conceal a little longer the bitter secret 
 from detection, and have kept alive a little 
 longer the happy laugh. 
 
 It is just possible, reader, that you do not 
 see any rhyme or reason in this collusion 
 between a brilliant man of genius and a 
 respectable old lady to keep the knowledge 
 of pauperism and ruin, and the anticipa- 
 tion of hunger, thirst, cold, misery, and 
 wretchedness, from the sister of the one 
 and the daughter of the other. If you do 
 not, believe me, it is because you have no
 
 12 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 conception what these things mean ; or be- 
 cause you never loved with that great love 
 which places another's happiness immeas- 
 urably above the desire for that other's 
 sympathy. 
 
 'What an age he is!' sighed Lauriel. 
 'Is he never coming? I expect that story 
 of the great-coat is being put into poetry 
 noiv, 
 
 " and Neptune coming will impart 
 Impromptus he has learned by heart." 
 
 I've got a fit of the muses, mamma ; that's 
 because Jonathan has come home ; see how 
 they run — 
 
 " The rising sun mil scarce believe his sight 
 Impromptus ! and yet ready for to-night !" 
 
 Listen, mamma,' laughed the girl, ' I am 
 certainly his sister, and his spirit pervades 
 the house. 
 
 " Illustrious Neptune, listen, lue hold 
 Your wit is certainly your freehold. 
 For you'ld be forced the pace t'increase 
 If you held nothing but a lease."
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 13 
 
 I bad better make the most of my time, 
 hadn't I, mamma, and cap my own moral? 
 Directly Jonathan comes I shall be as dull 
 as — let me see — as usual.' 
 
 ' I hope your brother is not ill/ said 
 Mrs. Swift ; ' he has been gone half an 
 hour.' 
 
 And certainly Jonathan did not appear 
 to be in any hurry. He was sitting in his 
 room just exactly as he had gone to it, 
 with his elbows on his knees and his chin 
 resting on his hands, staring straight into 
 a small mirror hanging on the wall. Shut 
 your eyes, my friend, do not look over his 
 shoulder, it is horrible. For he has looked 
 so long that the image becomes real and 
 looks back at him, and then he chuckles 
 to it and edges his chair nearer to it, and 
 it chuckles to him and edges its chair 
 nearer to him. Then the chuckle dies 
 away, and Jonathan Swift scowls awfully. 
 Slowly, cautiously he lifts his nails.
 
 14 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 crooked, like vultures, to scratch the 
 figure off the glass ; but the eyes look 
 in at him, and he dare not. Then, with- 
 out uttering a sound, he raves at it, chat- 
 ters with his teeth, jibes and jabbers and 
 dances ; but the unearthly eyes look at 
 him still, and he feels their terror over- 
 coming him. Back he slinks, and back 
 and back, looking still because he must 
 look, till, the corner reached, he crouches 
 in it, palsied by the ghastly fear. He has 
 sunk below the mirror, the spell is broken, 
 and Jonathan Swift breaks out into a 
 clammy sweat ; for he knows he has been 
 mad. 
 
 Just a moment for self-consciousness to 
 re-assert itself, and he falls on his knees to 
 pray with the fervour of despair for his 
 mother, and Lauriel, "and his ambition. 
 He rose with such a feeling of extreme 
 physical exhaustion as made it painful for 
 bim to stand upright ; so, resigning him-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 15 
 
 self for the moment, as be fancied, to tlie 
 desire for rest, he lay down upon his bed, 
 and was asleep in an instant, sound asleep. 
 So sound indeed that Lauriel knocked 
 aofain and acrain at the door, vet ofot no 
 answer. She had come upstairs to see 
 what had become of him. Oh, how he 
 thanked God afterwards she had not come 
 sooner ! Then she partially opened the 
 door and said, 'Jonathan.' No answer. 
 Ag^ain 'Jonathan.' Still no answer. Then 
 she went in and saw he was sleeping pro- 
 foundly, just as he had arrived, soaked to 
 the skin, his shirt-sleeves wet and his 
 boots muddy; but his face was not the 
 same, for the great forehead was ashy 
 white, and the hard, drawn mouth did not 
 look as if it could ever smile again. Then 
 she saw it all ; she could not but see it, 
 and she would have liked to have left him 
 and gone away and cried ; but woman-like 
 she remembered he was sleeping in his wet
 
 16 JONATHAN SWIBT. 
 
 clothes at the risk of his life, so she went 
 nearer to him and patted his cheek and 
 said, ' Poor Neptune !' 
 
 Jonathan awoke with a start, drew his 
 hand across his brow, and then, recollect- 
 ing himself, he was going to force a smile^ 
 but Lauriel stopped him. 
 
 ^ Never mind, brother, it will all come 
 right in the end ; you must win in the end, 
 you know you must. Don't look like that,' 
 she cried, ^ don't look like that : you are 
 going to let your heart break. Jonathan, 
 Jonathan, remember mother !' 
 
 ' Thank you, darling,' he said (and the 
 look passed away), * I will. I have been 
 putting ambition before her and you ; it 
 shall come last now. I will go to Moor 
 Park to-morrow.'
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MooE Park was the residence of Sir Wil- 
 liam Temple. It was a great big house, 
 and was kept up as a great big house, the 
 capital of a large estate, ought to be. In 
 the meantime, that is all I need say about 
 it; for the jaded novel-reader will bo 
 thankful to learn that a description of the 
 golden sheen of the setting sun and the 
 landscape generally are not essential to an 
 intelligent comprehension of Jonathan 
 Swift's history. The only wonderful thing 
 about Moor Park, it being a very large 
 house indeed, was that Sir William Temple 
 conveyed more honour to it by living in it 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 than lie got by owning ifc, wliicli is very 
 unusual indeed under the circumstances. 
 
 Most men are so much on a par of in- 
 significance that the only way to distin- 
 guish them is by where they live. Nobody 
 ever said, * Sir William Temple of Moor 
 Park;' one might as well have said, 'Adam 
 of the Garden of Eden.' Perhaps this is 
 not altogether a compliment to Sir Wil- 
 liam. It is almost equivalent to saying 
 that he was not a man of the highest 
 order by any manner of means. Genius 
 very rarely indeed succeeds in filtrating 
 through stratum after stratum of minds 
 down to the common herd in the course of 
 a lifetime, unless that be a very long one ; 
 and when a statesman at fifty is perfectly 
 understood and appreciated, it is because 
 his stock in trade is talent, which, being 
 thin, drains quickly. This was distinctly 
 true in the case in point. 'No one could 
 accuse Sir William of genius — it would
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 19 
 
 bave beeu as sane to accuse him of man- 
 slaugliter ; yet he was very clever indeed, 
 a brilliant scholar, a clear-headed, shrewd 
 man of business, an acute negotiator, and, 
 as follows, of course, a successful states- 
 man. Which means he had ordinary parts, 
 great diligence, and a most retentive me- 
 mory. Jonathan Swift said bitterly, when, 
 one day in after years, some friends were 
 commenting on Sir William's enormous 
 power of recollection — ' Time ! what of it ? 
 He ought to be able to remember every- 
 thing through eternity, for his memory is 
 hii soul.' 
 
 Sir William Temple was a distant rela- 
 tive of Mrs. Swift's. He was a cousin 
 four times removed — twice by blood, once 
 by his reputation, and once by Moor Park ; 
 nevertheless, he was the nearest relation 
 Mrs. Swift bad left, and the one to whom 
 she would be obliged to apply for assist- 
 ance if the worst came to the worst; un- 
 
 C2
 
 20 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 less, on consideratioD, she preferred to 
 starve. Jonathan had seen the great man 
 once, two years before, and, as the result 
 of this interview, had registered a solemn 
 vow never to see him again till all the 
 obligation of mutual intercourse should 
 be on the other side. He had asked for 
 assistance, and had been offered charity. 
 What an enormous difference there is be- 
 tween the two ! The one is emancipating 
 a man and the other buying a slave. And 
 Jonathan 8wift had refused the offer. 
 Twenty-three is hopeful, conscious strength 
 is hopeful, and unless one faces despair it 
 seems hard to let one's best feelings gorge 
 the a^Dpetite of pride. Two years had 
 made a difference, however, in his point 
 of view. Twenty-five was not quite so 
 sanguine ; for the moment it was not san- 
 guine at all — and the conscious strength ! 
 Oh, those two minutes by the mirror ! 
 Accordingly, when Jonathan Swift said,
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 21 
 
 at the close of tbe last chapter, that he 
 would go to Moor Park, he meant it, in 
 defiance of his vow ; and when, ten min- 
 utes later, he walked slowly downstairs to 
 join his mother and sister in the sitting- 
 room, he had quite made up his mind. 
 He sat down by the fire and tried to for- 
 get the awful experience he had had up- 
 stairs. No, nothing would ever help him 
 to do that, but ' Itself.' He shuddered. 
 
 ' You are cold still, Jonathan,' said Mrs. 
 Swift. ' Drink this brandy, and don't 
 trouble to talk to-night. To-morrow, 
 when you are rested, will be time enough.' 
 
 It was a relief to talk, however, and so 
 he answered by saying, 
 
 ' I went to see Windmarsh among 
 others, and as to the rest, I need not 
 trouble you. Those men are all cut from 
 one pattern — a brown-paper one, you 
 know — and the consequence is that they 
 have a desperate partiality for the rags
 
 22 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 which helped to make them ; to such an 
 extent, in fact, that they won't be decently 
 civil to any other rags. It certainly is 
 not marvellous that they are so slow in 
 estimating brains, for they are, beyond 
 all question, shrewd enough in judging 
 of appearances, and what old clothesman 
 or fashionable tailor ever was a judge of 
 Homer or Milton ? Yes, for a sample, you 
 may take my reception from Windmarsh. 
 I went to his shop and asked to see him. 
 What was my business ? asked the clerk, 
 quite unnecessarily ; he knew the formula 
 as well as though I had gone through it 
 the day before. A book to sell ? Ah, yes, 
 ■would I wait? So I waited an hour and 
 a quarter, until Windmarsh came out of 
 his den to see me. I saw that he had 
 taken-in all my separable attributes at 
 a glance; and at a glance I saw that 
 he never would, or could, take-in my
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 2B 
 
 inseparable attributes. Clothes were liis 
 vocation distinctly, when men were con- 
 cerned, and binding, when books. "Are 
 you the man who had the suicide on Snow 
 Hill to describe for me ?" he asked. But 
 I assured him I was not, and presumed 
 to roughly indicate the wares I had for 
 disposal. It was the " Tale of a Tub " 
 that I had with me. He picked it up 
 and glanced over it. Oh, how his lip 
 curled ! How he despised it ! Presently 
 he chanced on that part where it is de- 
 scribed how the three brothers find in 
 their father's will their justification, totU 
 dem Uteris, for wearing shoulder-knots. I 
 always thought that piece would make 
 the fortune of the book; and so it will, 
 because Windmarsh did not think so. In- 
 deed, when he came to it, he read it out, 
 looked me straight in the face, and asked 
 me whether I really thought such ridicul-
 
 24 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ous rubbish was wit, and whether any 
 sane man would laugh at it except in 
 derision ?' 
 
 ' Oh, Jonathan/ said Lauriel, ' I hope 
 3^ou snubbed him well/ 
 
 ' No,' answered her brother, * I was 
 toady enough to refrain ; but remember, 
 I was cold, hungry, and penniless. And, 
 besides, there was no use in my trying 
 to be quits with him ; for, though he 
 could give me money, I certainly could 
 never give him brains/ 
 
 ' Did they all think equally bad of your 
 work, Jonathan ?' put in his mother. 
 
 He got up and walked backwards and 
 forwards across the little room before he 
 answered. It requires some moral cour- 
 age to confess absolute failure, even to 
 those who are nearest and most sympa- 
 thetic, and even when we have only failed 
 in the eyes of so many Windmarshes. 
 Then he said, * Yes,' and, forcing a laugh,
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 25 
 
 added, * It may fairly be said that I have 
 failed utterly. No one would take the 
 *'Tale of a Tub" at a gift.' There was 
 more implied in what he said than he 
 cared to express just then. 
 
 ' What models of wisdom !' said Lauriel, 
 bitterly. 
 
 ' In good sooth they are/ replied her 
 brother. ' And they are very generally 
 copied. Oh, they have a large following 
 in their wit !' 
 
 * It will come all right some day, Jona- 
 than,' said Mrs. Swift, striving to be, 
 cheerful. 
 
 * Ah ! yes/ he answered, ' so I believe, 
 and have written on that ground a dedica- 
 tion to "Prince Posterity/' but you see, 
 mother, we can't wait to be fed by that 
 illustrious individual. You and Lauriel 
 must have bread, and a roof to cover you ; 
 and all the recognition coming centuries 
 may lavish upon me won't give you those :
 
 26 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 not a crust, not a tile ! No, I have failed 
 in earning money by my brains, and that 
 was what I wanted to- do. The fame 
 would have come in good time. One of 
 the half-dozen men capable of appreciating 
 it would have come across my book some 
 day or other, and then, when bidden by a 
 Somers, the mob would have cheered to 
 the skies. But it was money I wanted ; it 
 was a question of self-preservation with 
 me ; I wished to earn a living, that was all, 
 and the inner circle of the world I would 
 appeal to, refused the author of the 
 '' Tale of a Tub " his dinner.' 
 
 * Perhaps,' he added, wearily, while the 
 ever-present thought of those terrible 
 moments surged black upon him, ' perhaps 
 I am wrong. Windmarsh may be right — 
 the ** Tale " may be all nonsense. You see 
 it is the second trial and the second book. 
 I have wasted two years on the venture, 
 was I wrong after all ? Have I no more
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 27 
 
 brains than Saul and bis brethren and his 
 father's asses ? Well, be it so, just now. 
 I will try no more — just now. There is 
 no time for experiments. Something must 
 be done to buy you a new dress, mother,' 
 he went on, unconsciously quoting Lauriel's 
 happy words of so short a time before, 
 ' and to put some coals on the fire. To- 
 morrow I intend to do it.' 
 
 There was a long, sad silence in the dis- 
 mal little room. Jonathan Swift's resolve 
 looked like the grave of so many hopes no 
 one of those three mourners had ever 
 dreamed of burying out of his sight, that 
 it was very, very bitter. Presently Lauriel 
 got up and went to where he sat, thinking, 
 thinking, thinking, in spite of himself, of 
 ' lij and wondering whether It was coming 
 back again. 
 
 ' Jonathan,' she whispered, ^ you won't 
 be angry with me, will you, if I propose 
 something you don't like ? I am sure it is
 
 28 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 a very good idea, and quite feasible too. 
 There is nothing against it, indeed there 
 isn't, and you could go on writing just 
 until you happened to hit on some popular 
 notion which might take, and induce every- 
 body to run aftfer your better pieces, and 
 then there would be fame, and money, and 
 everything. You will consider it, Jona- 
 than, won't you, before you quite make up 
 your mind ?' 
 
 ' I fear, Lauriel pet/ he answered, * the 
 case is beyond your magic ; what is the 
 treasure-trove, sweet seventeen, that will 
 w^ork such wonders ?' 
 
 ' Promise first, Jonathan, you won't be 
 angry.' 
 
 ' Not unless you are very naughty in- 
 deed,' he replied, with a sad smile. Then 
 he picked up one of her hands that rested 
 on his knee, while she leant over him, and 
 was going to kiss it. * Lauriel,' he said, 
 ' what have you been doing with your
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 20 
 
 hands ? They are not so delicate as they 
 used to be ; and, now I think of it, where 
 is Mary? I have not seen her all the 
 evening. You brought in tea yourself.' 
 
 ^ Oh, Jonathan/ she answered, ' she was 
 so much trouble, far more trouble than she 
 was worth, really we get on much better 
 without her, really we do, and, Jonathan, 
 (mind you have promised),' she went on, 
 dashing at it, ' I have been amusing my- 
 self by doing up a few Steinkirks and cuffs 
 for the people at Heme Castle. They 
 think I do them very nicely, they do in- 
 deed, Jonathan, and I could get lots more 
 to do from round about, and make plenty 
 of money to live here, it costs very little, 
 and you could write till the time came, it 
 couldn't be long, Jonathan, when the 
 world would find you out, and honour you. 
 Do, please, let me do it, do, please !' 
 
 There was a pause, and Jonathan Swift 
 caught himself guessing curiously whether
 
 30 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 tlie demon of failure had any lower depths 
 to lead him to than this ; then he answer- 
 ed, in a voice so unnaturally devoid of 
 animation, that Lauriel started, and for 
 the instant doubted whether it were her 
 brother who had spoken, 
 
 ' Ah ! let me see, you are to be a washer- 
 woman, and I am to live on your earnings, 
 say for ten years, say for twenty. Oh ! 
 Lauriel, how could you ?' Then, clasp- 
 ing her in his arms with unusual passion, 
 ' Unselfish little angel, no, no, no ! I tell 
 you, Lauriel, I had rather fail for ever/
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Though Jonathan Swift stuck to the spirit 
 of his determination, he was obliged to 
 modify its letter. Things had come to 
 such a pass at the cottage, and the defi- 
 ciency in ways and means was so complete, 
 that it was absolutely necessary for him to 
 make some arrangement which should tide 
 his mother and sister over the short time 
 which would elapse before they could re- 
 ceive the charitable dole his proud spirit 
 had steeled itself to beg from the distant 
 cousin. So he spent next day in making 
 promises to the landlord and praying for 
 consideration from the butcher and baker ;
 
 32 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 and he was surprised to find how easily 
 his promises were accepted and his prayers 
 agreed to. 
 
 * Sir,' however remarked the last trades- 
 man he visited, * Mrs. Swift has always 
 paid cash until now ; and besides, if you 
 will pardon my saying so, Miss Lauriel is 
 bound to marry a duke some day— -that is, 
 sir, if dukes have tastes in keeping with 
 their position.' 
 
 Jonathan was enlightened by this 
 speech in a way he did not at all appre- 
 ciate. It was a signal flash from a rock 
 ahead which until now he had forgotten 
 or ignored. If Lauriel was so glaringly 
 pretty that a butcher could see it with his 
 naked eye, taking care of her became a 
 very serious responsibility. She must evi- 
 dently be perfect ; for Jonathan knew she 
 was pretty, and nothing appeals equally to 
 a butcher and a poet but the unquestion- 
 able. So the brother began to cast over
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT, 33 
 
 anxiously in his mind every possible person 
 within a radius of ten miles who might 
 take it into his head to marry Lauriel, and 
 was rejoiced to find the number exceed- 
 ingly small. At the same time he made a 
 mental resolution that the married baker 
 should certainly wait for ever for a settle- 
 ment of his bill rather than that the 
 bachelor butcher should be their creditor 
 for a penny. He shuddered to imagine 
 his sister obtaining his discharge from a 
 debtor's prison by accepting as her lord 
 and master this slayer of beeves or another 
 like him. 
 
 Gentle reader, Jonathan Swift was not 
 a snob. Permit me incidentally to explain 
 the word. A snob is an individual who 
 attempts, successfully or otherwise, to 
 obtain a character he does not deserve. 
 Eating peas with one's knife is not snob- 
 bish ; it is boorish. Pray pardon this 
 lecture a la Trench ; but the word is so 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 very generally misapplied that, without 
 the explanation, most people would have 
 imagined, when they read that Jonathan 
 Swift was not a snob, that he was a man 
 with whose political convictions they had 
 every sympathy. No, he was not a snob. 
 He had no objection to a butcher as such. 
 That is to say, he did not pretend to be a 
 higher and more perfect representative of 
 his genus than a butcher might be. All 
 he did pretend was to be a higher and 
 more perfect representative of his race 
 than the butchers he had chanced to en- 
 counter, and of whom he had heard, were. 
 So far as his experience extended, he did 
 not believe that the slaughter-house was 
 peculiarly calculated to develop the higher 
 nature of those who spent their time there. 
 That was all. But it was enough to make 
 him very anxious about leaving his sister 
 in the false position of being the equal or 
 inferior of such people in the eyes of the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 35 
 
 world. However, there was no help for 
 it, and be only determined to warn his 
 mother seriously to beware of everybody, 
 from the butcher's duke to the duke's 
 butcher. 
 
 It was dusk when Jonathan reached 
 home, and the rain, which during the day 
 had allowed the soaking earth a short re- 
 spite, began to fall afresh. The wind rose 
 with startling rapidity. Lurid clouds 
 gathered densely, far as the eye could 
 reach, and presently the lightning began 
 to flash and the thunder to rattle. Lauriel 
 opened the door. 
 
 * How awful it looks !' she said. ^ Come 
 in, Jonathan, come in.' 
 
 He looked at her as she stood in the 
 porch, with the dull, unnatural light upon 
 her face reflected from the metallic-like 
 clouds, while, with frightened eyes and 
 clasped hands, she shrank from the artil- 
 lery of heaven. She was surpassingly 
 
 d2
 
 36 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 beautiful, but he saw slie was part of a 
 picture. Those clouds — were thej omin- 
 ous ? And then he smiled again, for he 
 remembered he stood between her and 
 them. Eash self-confidence of genius, fato 
 smiled back. 
 
 That evening, as the three sat dismally 
 enough listening to the raging hurricane 
 crashing madly among the trees, there 
 came a knock at the door. It was re- 
 peated again and again, uselessly, for the 
 noise of the tempest disdained that any 
 meaner sound should be audible. Pre- 
 sently a lull came, however, and then the 
 loud rapping penetrated to the sitting- 
 room. Lauriel went at once to the door, 
 and had scarcely opened it when a manly 
 voice called out, 
 
 ^Well, young woman, I suppose I can 
 come in out of tbe weather ?' 
 
 Jonathan was close behind his sister, 
 having risen just after her.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 37 
 
 *Yes/ lie said, 'pray come v[ij for it is 
 not a nisfht when we can turn a doof out 
 of doors.' He did not at all like Lauriel 
 being spoken to in that exceedingly fami- 
 liar way by any stray wayfarer, so he 
 accentuated the ' for/ It served his 
 purpose. 
 
 Henry, Count de Guiscard, was of the 
 number of those who understand inflec- 
 tions, and it was he who had been lost in 
 the storm and had addressed Lauriel as 
 ^ young woman.' Seeing at a glance that 
 he had not got ordinary ten-pound house- 
 holders to do with, he modulated his tone 
 accordingly. 
 
 ' I beg ten thousand pardons,' he said, 
 bowing profoundly ; ' but really, upon my 
 honour, the wind has nearly blinded me.' 
 
 A terrific crash, as a gust tore a limb 
 from a tree and hurled it to the ground, 
 drowned the rest of the apology. 
 
 ' Pray come in,' repeated Jonathan,
 
 38 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 pacifically, as in duty bound, though some- 
 thing jarred upon him in an indefinable 
 way, and made him dislike the tall stranger 
 in spite of his polite tact. 
 
 So the Count de Guiscard went in and 
 proceeded to pay for his entertainment by 
 being as agreeable as he could, speculating 
 in the intervals as to where on earth he 
 was, and who these refined, highly culti- 
 vated people were, to whom, nevertheless, 
 the difference between a penny and three- 
 halfpence was plainly of great consequence. 
 
 ' 1 lost myself utterly,' he laughed, ' and 
 hardly expect to know where I am ever 
 again in the world.' 
 
 Jonathan took the hint. 
 
 *My name is Swift,' he said. 'Allow 
 me to introduce you to my mother and 
 sister ; we are here about two miles due 
 west of Merton.' 
 
 The count bowed. 
 
 *My name is Guiscard,' he said; 'it
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 39 
 
 would be egotistical to tell you who I am, 
 because it would monopolise the conversa- 
 tion of the evening. People get partly 
 over the difficulty by calling me a soldier 
 of fortune ; but that is distinctly incorrect, 
 because she fights against me. I have 
 got the better of her to-night,' he added, 
 cheerily, ' and have to thank you for the 
 kind co-operation which has enabled me 
 to take her in flank.' 
 
 Good spirits are contagious. Jonathan 
 began to be less gloomy. 
 
 ' Soldiers have an enormous advantage 
 over the rest of mankind,' he said ; * for- 
 tune can't avoid being either on one side 
 or the other, and the side on which she 
 isn't need not wait; whereas ordinary 
 mortals, not being certain of where she 
 is, have no notion of which point of the 
 compass to betake themselves from or to.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said the count, ^ that would be all 
 very well if there were no soldiers but
 
 40 JONATHiVN SWIFT. 
 
 soldiers ; but you forget the Commis- 
 sariat Department. Fortune is horribly 
 exhausted in the victualling.' 
 
 Lauriel laughed. 
 
 ' Don't you think,' said the count, ap- 
 pealing to her, ' don't you think it very 
 hard that in time of war the enemy should 
 destroy us, and in time of peace the civi- 
 lians disband us ; that the foe should 
 gloriously knock us on the head if they 
 can, and the friend gloriously starve us to 
 death if they can't?' 
 
 ' Oh !' she answered, ' death and no pay 
 
 is so much worse than life and half-jDay 
 
 that I think the government do all that 
 
 can be expected of them. It would be a 
 
 hardship to the slain if the warriors who 
 
 survive them were to get still more than 
 
 they do out of their continued existence.' 
 
 * " Who draws his sword and runs away 
 Continues still to draw his j)ay, 
 But who upon the field lies slain 
 Will draw nor sword nor pay again," '
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 41 
 
 said Jonathan, rhyming as he needs must 
 -when occasion offered. 
 
 ^ I surrender at discretion,' laughed 
 Monsieur de Guiscard. ' Defend myself 
 I cannot, and run away I cannot (in spite 
 of your recommendation), because you are 
 so ready with your '^ feet." Tell me/ he 
 added — ' I appeal to you as a poet — is the 
 ascent of Parnassus a penance or a prac- 
 tice ; does one climb to learn the goose- 
 step, or because one has learnt the 
 goose-step ?' 
 
 ' I protest against your answering that 
 question, Jonathan/ said Lauriel. ' Un- 
 less you wish to spend the rest of your 
 natural life in listening to a dissertation 
 on the nature and essence of poetry, do 
 please, Monsieur Guiscard, withdraw the 
 interrogatory.' She hesitated a little 
 before saying, ' Monsieur.' 
 
 The count spoke English with complete 
 fluency, and without any trace of foreign
 
 42 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 construction in bis sentences ; but his 
 accent here and there bore marks of an 
 ahen tongue. 
 
 ' You are right,' he said, pleasantly, ' I 
 am as French as French can be. I have 
 lived days and days and days without 
 tasting roast beef — once a whole fortnight, 
 but that was during a state of siege. I 
 have laughed dozens of times for the 
 pleasure of the thing, and without enter- 
 ing the occurrence in a note-book ; I 
 wrote the epitaph of my best friend in a 
 ball-room,' 
 
 ' Oh, fye !' said Lauriel. 
 
 ' It was my own,' went on the count. 
 
 a — ' 
 
 ' A thousand pardons,' interrupted Jon- 
 athan ; * do be so good as to quote the 
 epitaph.' 
 
 ^ No, and again no !' laughed he. ' It is 
 bad enough to read an epitaph after one's
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 4^ 
 
 death, when one is forgotten. But the 
 contrast with the living subject — I couldn't 
 be submitted to it ; not yet — no, not 
 yet; 
 
 ' There is one in the neighbouring 
 churchyard,' said Jonathan (stretching his 
 imagination for the occasion), ' which de- 
 scribes in an inimitably succinct manner 
 the diverse qualities of piety and humour 
 which the remembered dead was possessed 
 of— 
 
 *' Hie Jacet John Thompson escaped from life's yoke, 
 ' 1 will meet you above/ were the last words he spoke. 
 Ah ! he ivas such a fellow to crack a good joke !" ' 
 
 ' They have done Mr. Thompson grievous 
 wrong, one way or other, surely,' said the 
 count, ' he couldn't think life a " yoke," 
 and he couldn't leave it in the sense of 
 escaping from it, if he really had any 
 sense of the ridiculous. This I'm quite 
 sure of, that though he might find the
 
 44 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 world he went to a great deal better than 
 this one, he wouldn't find it half as funny. 
 One doesn't laugh when one is happy, one 
 laughs when one is amused. There can't 
 be anything amusing there, there can't be 
 anything to laugh at. There can't be any- 
 thing flippant. Oh ! dear me, I am much 
 afraid heaven was not made for French- 
 men.' 
 
 'Or, monsieur,' said Lauriel, with a 
 tinge of seriousness underlying her tone of 
 banter which did not escape Monsieur de 
 Guiscard, ' is it vice versa T 
 
 'Very possibly that is so,' he replied; 
 ' but you must admit that either way is 
 hard, very hard.' 
 
 ' Really,' said Jonathan, ' it seems to me 
 that nothing completely satisfies you either 
 as regards things present or things to 
 come ; for you have scarcely finished 
 abusing this world with half-pay in the 
 bargain, before you como knuckles down
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 45 
 
 on eterual felicity as being deficient in 
 humour.' 
 
 ' As you are stout, be merciful,' laughed 
 De Guiscard, ' or stay, I shall beat a re- 
 treat and save my character for infallibility 
 (at least in my own eyes) before you have 
 time to destroy it utterly. How late it is,' 
 he continued, looking at his watch, ' I fear 
 I have kept you all up, thoughtlessly, far 
 beyond regulation hours.' 
 
 ' We have to thank you for brighten- 
 ing up our evening wonderfully,' said 
 Jonathan. 
 
 ' Indeed you have,' added Lauriel. 
 
 ' All the obligation is on my side,' an- 
 swered De Guiscard, ' and I have enjoyed 
 myself ' — he hesitated — ' beyond expres- 
 sion, and that is a very great deal, you 
 know, or it would not surpass my chat- 
 ter. Pray make my excuses to madame, 
 your mother.' (Mrs. Swift had quietly 
 slipped away some time before.) Then he
 
 46 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 went off to his room, Jonathan leading the 
 way, but first he shook hands with Lauriel, 
 and put just a suspicion of adoration into 
 the clasp.
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 The Count de Guiscard rose early next 
 morning, very early indeed. He had not 
 slept much ; the storm did not admit of it ; 
 and besides that he recognised, with the 
 eye of a man accustomed to face emergen- 
 cies, and to conquer them too, that if the 
 idea, come to him on the wings of the 
 tempest, were to bear him fruit it must 
 strike its roots at once. So he cultivated 
 it assiduously all night as he lay and listen- 
 ed to the howling of the wind, and when 
 morning dawned he went to satisfy him- 
 self as to the only remaining unknown
 
 48 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 quantity in his calculation by consulting 
 his mirror. 
 
 ' That will do,' he sighed to himself, as 
 he looked. ' I am very reasonably good- 
 looking and exceedingly like a gentleman ; 
 yes, that will do.' 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard had often satis- 
 fied himself about this fact before. That 
 was precisely why he did it again. It 
 , rather surprised him that, at last, he had 
 not begun to look like — himself. Present- 
 1}^ he went downstairs. Lauriel was 
 sweeping the sitting-room. He slipped 
 past, opened the front door, stood in the 
 porch and waited. It was just possible 
 that Lauriel might not like their poverty 
 exposed so clearly to a stranger, and 
 would be pleased at his tact in being 
 pointedly blind to it. In a minute or 
 two she came to the door, however, broom 
 in hand. 
 
 'I think this letter is yours, Monsieur
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 49 
 
 de Guiscard/ she said, and added, with, 
 a smile, ' It was considerate of you not 
 to frighten us last night with your title, 
 but you see my crest is more illustrious 
 than jouvs—pIaj2ia genista I' and she showed 
 her broom in a pretty mock triumph. 
 
 Evidently it did not occur to her to be 
 ashamed of her insignia of office. 
 
 * Pardon me for remarking,' he replied, 
 a little gravely, * that I don't think that is 
 your crest.' 
 
 There was a tone of kindly sympathy 
 in his voice that touched Lauriel. Ever 
 since the necessity had arisen, she had 
 done the work of charwoman without a 
 murmur, even to herself. But it was very 
 hard, nevertheless, to one trained as she 
 had been, and with a temperament such 
 as she possessed. So she felt thank- 
 ful to Monsieur de Guiscard for his in- 
 sinuation that her chief end was not 
 sweeping floors or cooking dinners. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 bO JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' How quiet tlie morning seems to be 
 bj contrast with last night,' she said, for 
 the sake of changing the subject. 
 
 ' Don't you think the morning always 
 does ?' he answered, turning round and 
 facing her fully. ' Or no, you will not, 
 but to me it does ; let me tell you why. 
 It is as good a peg to hang what I 
 have to say to you upon as any other. 
 A drowning man makes slight distinctions 
 between the straws he clutches at. Miss 
 Swift, I am being hunted — to death.' 
 She turned very pale. 'Look,' he con- 
 tinued, half-drawing his sword, that showed 
 a dull, red blue upon its blade. ' Look.' 
 
 She shuddered and drew back. 
 
 * Murder !' she gasped. 
 
 * If that is a synonym for self-defence 
 against a peer of the realm, when the 
 assailed is only a French count, yes !' 
 
 ' Who was it ? When did it happen ? 
 Where ?' she asked, with difficulty fighting 
 against her terror.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 51 
 
 * Pray do not be alarmed/ he answered, 
 in a tone of gentle sadness that reassured 
 her — surely no vulgar cut-throat could 
 speak like that. ^ It is unutterably selfish 
 of me to frighten you thus, simply for 
 the sake of saving my insignificant life; 
 but there is more than that at stake, — my 
 honour. Oh, I cannot bear to die the 
 death and leave the reputation behind me 
 of a felon, because of a crime I have 
 not committed, a deed I have not done. 
 Listen, Miss Swift, I have only been aware 
 of your existence for a few hours. My 
 mind was made up to this, when I had 
 been aware of it for a few moments. My 
 life, my honour, are absolutely in your 
 hands — that is the first thing. And now 
 I will tell you why I presume to ask for 
 your protection, and why I think you will 
 accord it to me. 
 
 ' I served last year in Germany as cap- 
 tain in a French infantry regiment, a regi- 
 
 E 2 
 
 U. OF ILL LIB.
 
 5.^ JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ment somewhat celebrated for its luck in 
 always seeing a good deal of the enemy. 
 As a consequence of its fame in this 
 respect, a very considerable number of 
 young bloods, who wished to win a char- 
 acter for courage, used, at the opening 
 of every campaign, to join the ranks as 
 volunteers, see us through a big battle, 
 and then go home with their laurels. 
 Well, it chanced, as the malignancy of 
 fate would have it, that among these there 
 appeared last year a younger brother of 
 Lord Mohun. He chose my company, 
 and joined it whilst I was away on a 
 few days leave of absence, and was a very 
 disagreeable surprise to me on my return. 
 I disliked him instinctively ; he hated me. 
 ' Before very long he backed ingloriously 
 out of a wine-shop squabble with some 
 civilians, and, for the credit of the regi- 
 ment, I was forced to report the matter 
 to our colonel. The affair was hushed
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 63 
 
 up, however, tlie authorities having re- 
 ceived general orders from home to be 
 most careful not to offend influential 
 foreigners who might be some day of use, 
 and especially to let the young English- 
 men of family do as nearly as might be 
 just what they pleased. Nevertheless, I 
 had made an enemy who was vindictive in 
 an inverse ratio to his want of courage, 
 and against whom I could scarcely hope 
 to defend myself in the long run, joining 
 as he did great influence to his hatred, and 
 wealth to his implacability. Of course I 
 had friends, but they were mere gentle- 
 men and officers like myself, and as for 
 money, I was dependent (with the excep- 
 tion of a few hundreds a year) entirely on 
 my commission. I took the only course 
 open to me under the circumstances, and 
 challenged him to fight. He evaded the 
 challenge by obtaining an order sending 
 him instantly to the front with some 
 despatches.
 
 54 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' At that time the enemy were believed 
 to be retiring before our advance, and to 
 be bej^ond striking distance. The Hon. 
 Ernest Fitzjames (that was his name) 
 had not long started on his mission, how- 
 ever, when couriers announced that the 
 foe were massing in great force, evidently 
 determined to fight, and that reinforce- 
 ments were urgently required to sustain 
 our advanced position in case of an attack. 
 My regiment, among others, was at once 
 ordered off, and by dint of a forced march 
 of twenty miles on a stormy night we 
 arrived just as the expected action began. 
 The necessity was so great that we were 
 obliged to dash straight at the enemy 
 without even snatching a moment's rest. 
 
 * What was my astonishment, as I 
 scrambled across a ditch which lay in our 
 road, to find in its safe shelter, well hid- 
 den by weeds, mud, and stagnant water, 
 the Hon. Mr. Fitzjames. My men were
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 55 
 
 dead tired, the least clieck would have 
 damped their ardour ; to have seen me 
 stop for an instant would have meant the 
 retreat of my company, and it might very 
 possibly not have stopped there ; so, with- 
 out waiting even to put this pink of 
 chivalry under arrest, I leapt the hedge 
 and rushed straight forward. As luck 
 would have it, the impetuosity of our at- 
 tack saved us from having to repeat it, 
 and the enemy retired sullenly to his 
 entrenchments. 
 
 ' The instant I could be spared I ran 
 back to the ditch in hopes to find my man 
 still among the rushes. But no, he had 
 gone. I was surprised at this, for the 
 roar of the artillery had hardly ceased, 
 though the muskets had been silent for 
 some time, and I did not fancy he would 
 stir from his refuge until not a shot men- 
 aced his valuable existence. Had he re- 
 cognised me as I charged over him, and
 
 56 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 been more terrified to remain than to fly ? 
 
 * When this thought struck me, I emerged 
 from the ditch, intending to relinquish my 
 search, and looking a good deal dirtier 
 than the stains of legitimate battle and 
 march had made me. Imagine my aston- 
 ishment when a guard of ten men, headed 
 by himself, suddenly surrounded and ar- 
 rested me on the charge of having been 
 guilty of gross cowardice in forsaking my 
 company when ordered to charge, and 
 hiding in that ditch. The effrontery of 
 the thing paralysed me. I surrendered 
 my sword as in a dream, and was marched 
 straight off to a drumhead court-martial. 
 
 * On the way it occurred to me that I 
 should have great difficulty in proving my 
 innocence. It is wonderful how little one 
 sees during a battle except what is straight 
 before one. It was quite possible that 
 not a man in my company would be able to 
 swear to whom it was that led the charge.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 57 
 
 They would only see some one in a certain 
 uniform waving a sword. I was reassured 
 by reflecting, however, that the lieutenants' 
 uniforms were so different from mine that 
 the men would be sure to know a captain 
 w^as present ; besides which, only one lieu- 
 tenant went into action in my company, 
 the other being wounded and in hospital. 
 
 ' There was little time for doubt. A 
 court was constituted on the spot, and 
 then — think of it — lie swore to having seen 
 me hide, to having taken command of the 
 company when the lieutenant was shot — 
 as he had been, poor fellow, early in the 
 action — and to having returned to arrest 
 me when all was over. You must remem- 
 ber that the volunteers of rank wore a 
 uniform closely resembling that of a cap- 
 tain in the regiment in which they chose 
 to serve. Indeed the only difference was 
 in the epaulets. 
 
 ' I told my story. My men were ques-
 
 58 JONATHAN S^IFT. 
 
 tioned ; but, witli tbe exception of an old 
 sergeant, who was positive lie had seen 
 my face as I cut down a gunner by one of 
 the guns we captured, no one was sure 
 whether I had been myself or somebody 
 else. Several, however, had seen the in- 
 cident in point, and knew the captain, 
 whoever he was, had sabred a gunner, 
 and it fortunately occurred to the Presi- 
 dent to look at both my sword and that of 
 my accuser. Mine was bloody, his was 
 clean. I was released. The Hon. Ernest 
 Fitzjames asserting very justly that find- 
 ing me innocent was finding him guilty, 
 left the regiment and returned to England. 
 *I fancied I was saved. But no. In a 
 few weeks an order came from court to 
 dismiss me from the army, as ^' it was in- 
 credible that Mr. Fitzjames should be 
 guilty of gratuitous falsehood." Orders 
 were further given to spare my life as a 
 reward for past services !
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 59 
 
 * From that moment I devoted myself to 
 the sacred task of clearing my tarnished 
 honour from the stain it bore. With this 
 view I came to England and dogged my 
 enemy's footsteps. I wished to meet him 
 in the presence of two men of undoubted 
 probity, and force him with my sword to 
 tell the truth before them. I could never 
 accomplish it. Often I could have killed 
 him when alone, but that would have been 
 worse than useless. 
 
 ' One day he came unexpectedly into a 
 tavern where I sat alone. I shall never 
 forget his face as it looked when he recog- 
 nised me. I slowly rose and cursed him 
 under my breath, but did not offer to draw. 
 That he saw, and guessing why, knowing 
 he was safe as yet, he smiled. Oh ! God, 
 he smiled, a hideous, satanic smile of de- 
 light at my misery, and then went quickly 
 away. It was useless waiting longer; he 
 had seen me, and would be very careful
 
 60 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 for some time to come — besides, it was 
 unsafe. Means would be found to remove 
 me. 
 
 ' So I left Loudon, meaning to hide some- 
 where till my foe was lulled again. Now 
 listen. Last evening at dusk, 1 should 
 think forty miles from this, three desper- 
 adoes, having the Honourable man at a 
 safe distance behind them, set upon me 
 when tired and alone. I felt half inclined 
 to let them do their worst ; but the recol- 
 lection that I should die dishonoured 
 nerved me. It was foolish to kill them, 
 for I did not doubt the arch-fiend in the 
 rear had some story ready which would 
 hang me for it, so I tried to escape by 
 fairly running away. One poor wretcb, 
 however, was too fleet of foot, and — I was 
 
 forced to 
 
 * Then I ran again, ran, ran, ran for six 
 hours by byeways, woods, and meadov/s, 
 absolutely as fast as I could, away from
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 61 
 
 injustice, the gallows, irretrievable dis- 
 honour, everlasting reproach, till, utterly 
 worn out by fatigue and the tempest, I 
 reached this — is it to be a haven ?' 
 
 His voice trembled a little, and his 
 handsome eyes were clouded by a look 
 of weary sadness. Lauriel was deeply 
 touched. 
 
 * What can we do for you T she askedy 
 simply. ' How hard it is !' 
 
 ' You can let me stay here,' he answer- 
 ed. 'It is far from the scene of this^^ 
 touching his sword significantly ; ' no one 
 unacquainted with the speed of foot and 
 endurance I possess would believe it possi- 
 ble I could yet be so far from it. Besides, 
 this is the very last place they will think 
 of looking for me in^ What interest could 
 you have in abetting my concealment? 
 Nobody will dream of such a thing. No, 
 here I am safe ; elsewhere I am lost — I am 
 lost.'
 
 62 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' You shall stay. You shall be saved, if 
 we can do it. Jonathan is clever, he will 
 do it if it can be done. Oh, how wicked 
 the world is ! Tell me/ she cried, passion- 
 ately, as all the wrongs and troubles of 
 those nearest and dearest to her seemed 
 to shine out more clearly than ever in the 
 glare of this great iniquity, ' tell me is it 
 all bad, wicked, dishonest, hateful ? Is 
 there nothing that is good ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' he answered, with a bitter smile, 
 ' there is — the ideal.' Then, changing his 
 tone, he went on, rapidly, 'Pardon me, 
 Miss Swift, but you must not tell your 
 brother, nor your mother, yet. The house 
 is liable to be searched at any moment, 
 and, if they know I am still here, they will 
 either have to betray me or — which would 
 be worse — tell a lie, and, even if they did 
 tell a lie to save me, they could not tell it 
 well enough to serve the turn. Ah ! Miss 
 Swift, few people can help telling the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 63 
 
 truth most signiiSicantly when they fancy 
 they are misleading most. Besides, there 
 is risk in this : none for you, yon are a 
 girl, not one would have the heart to 
 punish you for an act of Christian charity. 
 But your brother? It might be very 
 serious indeed for your brother to know. 
 In fact, I would not for worlds be guilty 
 of allowing him to run any such fearful 
 risk as would thereby be incurred, for a 
 stranger and an outcast like myself. ISTo ; 
 I would rather face my fate at once wdth 
 my conscience clear and only pray to be 
 forgotten.' 
 
 ' Jonathan is going away to-day,' she 
 said, her eyes filKng. ^ Poor Jonathan !' 
 
 Monsieur the Count de Guiscard drew a 
 lonof breath. His well-drilled features 
 nearly broke away from control, and a 
 smile was so imminent that he was forced 
 to clasp his brow with his hand, as though 
 in a dull effort to stroke away the care
 
 64 JOJS^ATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 that sat there. This news simplified mat- 
 ters so very much from the count's point 
 of view, as the reader will see immediate- 
 ly, that his satisfaction is scarcely to be 
 wondered at. 
 
 ' It shall be as you wish,' said Lauriel, 
 looking at him with a great pity. 
 
 Then he recovered himself, and, taking 
 her hand reverently in his, said, with 
 solemn emphasis, 
 
 ' May the God of the merciful bless 
 you.'
 
 65 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Jonathan Swift was nearing Moor Park 
 and looking very weary, gaunt, and hag- 
 gard. He had trudged on alone for five 
 days, ever since, indeed, he had shaken 
 hands near Merton with the Count de 
 Guiscard, wished him a cheery good-bye, 
 and promised not to mention his name 
 (bailiffs, dear sir, the count had said) on 
 any consideration whatever. Terribly de- 
 pressed he felt. "While chatting with 
 Monsieur de Guiscard he had managed to 
 put a screen of gaiety between himself and 
 his reflections. But wit is a sorry com- 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 66 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 forter. To warm one's soul with a jest 
 is analagous to warming one's hands with 
 a cigar. All the bright bubbles with 
 which Jonathan had covered the *inky 
 waves of disappointment' and worse, 
 while good company favoured him, burst 
 in a moment when he was left alone, 
 and so for five days the black, naked 
 tide had been staring up at him, uncom- 
 promisingly reminding him of what had 
 been and of the worse there might be still 
 in store. 
 
 Presently the park-gates caught his eye. 
 He stopped, waited a moment, and then 
 began to saunter backwards and forwards, 
 up and down the road. He was screw- 
 ing his courage to the sticking-point, and 
 a terrible point it was to his proud, sensi- 
 tive nature. At a distance it had not 
 seemed so difficult to bow down before 
 the golden calf and worship it: to hum- 
 ble himself in the dust and confess his
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 67 
 
 litter failure to this man who would have 
 no earthly sympathy with him, except as 
 an evidence of his own shrewd foreknow- 
 ledge ; but here, by the park-gates, face 
 to face with the proofs of his utter insig- 
 nificance in the eyes of a world which 
 always does prefer ornamental ironwork 
 to brains, it seemed almost impossible for 
 him to endorse, as it were, his own con- 
 demnation. Do you see how hard it was ? 
 Jonathan Swift was a genius. The stu- 
 pidity of some dozen ignorant publishers 
 had made him a pauper and crushed him. 
 Now he was coming to beg his bread from 
 a man who had throughout prophesied 
 his failure and sneered at his talents. It 
 was maddening. He thought of iliat and 
 shuddered. It might be actually madden- 
 ing. What would his mother and Lauriel 
 do if It came before any provision was 
 made for them ? No, there was no escape. 
 He must do it, and he must bear it too.
 
 68 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 He calmed himself, and rang the bell. 
 
 * What do you want ?' asked the porter. 
 
 * To see Sir William,' answered Jona- 
 than, and then, recollecting his errand, 
 he added, humbly, * If you will allow me ?' 
 
 * I don't think he will see you,' i^eplied 
 the man, ^ but it is not my place to keep 
 you out. You can go on to the house, 
 and ask there.' 
 
 Then he graciously opened the portent- 
 ous-looking gate, let Jonathan through, 
 watched him for a few gawky strides down 
 the avenue, and then went into the lodge 
 again to pursue the more profitable occu- 
 pation of making mole-traps. 
 
 Sir William was at home, and would see 
 Jonathan Swift presently, but matters of 
 some little importance detained him mean- 
 while. Such was the answer our hero got 
 after a dreary wait with the porter. He 
 had forgotten himself a little, and had 
 sent up his name as Mr. Jonathan Swift.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 69 
 
 The studied omission of the prefix he was 
 rather thankful for than otherwise. 
 
 ' It was considerate to give me the key- 
 note to the coming interview so distinctly/ 
 he thought, while a smile that would have 
 gladdened Laurence Sterne to see, shone 
 for an instant in his eye, * very consider- 
 ate.' 
 
 The key-note was going to be given 
 more distinctly still. The illustrious ne- 
 gotiator of the Triple Alliance never risked 
 being misunderstood ; so a further mes- 
 sage came down after another weary hour 
 had dragged itself along, that probably 
 Jonathan was hungry, in which case he 
 could refresh himself in the buttery. The 
 victory had been won at the park-gates. 
 Jonathan merely bowed his assent; but 
 there was an expression of quiet dignity 
 in his ugly face that forced the footman 
 to say, in defiance of orders to the con- 
 trary, as the strange figure prepared to
 
 70 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 follow him, ' This way, sh\ if you please/ 
 A few of the upper servants were hav- 
 ing their dinner in the buttery. Jonathan 
 Swift was to rank in future as their social 
 equal. Accepting the situation, he bowed 
 with native politeness to his compeers, and 
 as he did so a face caught his eye which 
 he was fated never to forget — which was 
 going to shape his destiny for ever. It 
 was the face of a girl of sixteen. You 
 must imagine her, reader. I shall not 
 describe her. I dare not describe a woman 
 in prose ; for I am a poet, by the grace of 
 God. And in poetry I cannot describe 
 her, for the only poetry is the ideal, and 
 there could be no ideal beyond her copy ! 
 
 The butler, observing his glance, intro- 
 duced him, ' Miss Hestor Johnson,' and 
 the footman continued, ' Mr. Swift.' Din- 
 ner was almost over when Jonathan en- 
 tered, and before many minutes the butler, 
 civilly begging pardon for himself and the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 71 
 
 rest, left tlie table, leaving only Hestor, 
 whom he asked to take care that Mr. Swift 
 got plenty to eat and was not hurried. 
 Jonathan had scarcely eaten since he left 
 home, and was ravenously hungry — so 
 hungry that he felt he must eat, though 
 every mouthful were an insult ; yet the 
 lumps of solid, unmitigated charity seemed 
 to choke him. He put down his knife and 
 fork and drew his hand wearily across his 
 brow. 
 
 * Excuse me,' he said, rising to go, * I 
 am very stupid to-day, I know. I have 
 been walking, you see, for five days, and 
 am so tired. Another time I will do my 
 best to be more amusing/ 
 
 ' Pardon me, Mr. Swift,' answered Hes- 
 tor, * I must really insist on your eating 
 something. You are utterly worn out, 
 and, unless you make an effort, you will 
 probably be seriously ill to-morrow.' 
 
 As it was, Jonathan felt too ill to object
 
 72 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 to anything ; surrendering to the girlish 
 decisiveness, he sat down again and tried 
 to smile. 
 
 ' You need this first,' went on the young 
 hostess, pouring out a small glass of 
 brandy and water. ' Come, you cannot 
 say no to a lady.' 
 
 Jonathan vaguely waited a moment for 
 a sparkling reply to occur to him, as was 
 its wont, and then answered, simply, 
 
 ' You are very good, thank you ; yes, I 
 think I do need it.' 
 
 Then there was a long pause, while 
 Jonathan struggled laboriously to swallow 
 some dinner, and Hestor felt rather un- 
 comfortable at the memory of her boldness. 
 
 ^ Is your stay at Moor Park to be long, 
 Mr. Swift?' she asked at length. 
 
 ' I have no idea,' replied Jonathan, ' not 
 the least. I am a very distant and very 
 poor connection of Sir "William Temple's 
 —so distant, in fact, as to be no connec-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 73 
 
 tion at all worth mentioning, and yet so 
 unutterably poor, I am obliged to plead 
 the relationship or starve. My mother, 
 too, and my sister, they are dependent on 
 me. I do not think for myself alone I 
 would ask anything from anybody. Once 
 I should have been sure ; not now — not 
 after this.' 
 
 He was scarcely speaking to her as he 
 said this. The words conveyed a discovery 
 to himself which absorbed his attention. 
 No, he was not sure what limit, if any, he 
 was determined to set to his degradation. 
 Hestor looked at him very pitifully ; she, 
 too, knew something of trials like this, 
 young though she was ; and if there is a 
 fact in Nature, it is this, that the only 
 portal to sympathy is sorrow — that the 
 only feeling of compassion possible to 
 human beings is a fellow-feeling. 
 
 Presently she said, 
 
 * Pray excuse me if I misunderstand
 
 74 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 you, but if tlie post of secretary to Sir 
 William would not be distasteful to you, I 
 fancy he would be exceedingly glad of 
 your assistance. He is busily employed 
 in proving the antiquity of some Greek 
 author or other, and ' — she smiled — ' you 
 know Greek, do you not ?' 
 
 Jonathan looked curiously at the young 
 girl facing him. There was a scarcely 
 disguised tone of confidence in her voice, 
 which conveyed to his mind the impression 
 that the appointment she spoke of was as 
 much in her gift as in Sir William's, or 
 that she thought so. Noticing his look, 
 she added, hurriedly, 
 
 ^ Of course, I know nothing whatever 
 about it, beyond the fact that Sir William 
 has had great difficulty in obtaining the 
 assistance he required, and that the late 
 secretary, after the lapse of six months, is 
 not yet succeeded.' 
 
 ^ That is very good news,' said Jon-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 75 
 
 athau, ' but such a dignity is almost 
 beyond my ambition and quite beyond 
 my hopes. There is as much chance of 
 Sir William's proving the antiquity of 
 that Greek author himself as of his 
 allowing me to do it for him.' 
 
 ' You are bitter/ said Hestor. 
 
 * I am human,' he replied, ' and I know 
 Greek.' 
 
 ' So is, and does, Sir William,' retorted 
 Hestor, stoutly. 
 
 ■ Ah ! yes, equally,' was the reply. ' But 
 pardon me,' went on Jonathan, ' I don't 
 mean to say anything against one who has 
 probably done a great deal for you, and 
 towards whom, of course, your feelings 
 must be very different from my own.' 
 
 A swift shade of colour rose in Hestor's 
 face and died as quickly away. Jonathan 
 saw it, and wondered what it meant. 
 
 *Yes,' she said, 'he has done a great 
 deal for me, a very great deal. I live here
 
 76 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 amid every comfort, am well dressed, have 
 books to read, pocket-money to spend or 
 give away, and so on, in return for which 
 I do absolutely nothing. You see, Mr. 
 Johnson was Sir William's steward for 
 very man}^ years.' 
 
 ' I quite understand,' replied Jonathan ; 
 ' a sacred debt of gratitude paid to the 
 father's daughter.' Nevertheless, he did 
 7iot quite understand. 
 
 * Yes,' she answered, musingly, * a sacred 
 debt paid to the father's daughter.' 
 
 Jonathan felt rather afraid of the sub- 
 ject of conversation, so to change it he 
 fixed on the structure instead of the sub- 
 stance of the last sentence. 
 
 ' What a terrible language English is,' 
 he said, ' so far as personal pronouns are 
 concerned. One never knows except by 
 the context who is meant by " he," '' his," 
 " him," when more than one individual is 
 mentioned at a sitting. Possibly that
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 77 
 
 accounts for the national egotism, *'I," is 
 the only pronoun which represents a per- 
 son whose identity is beyond all question, 
 and a person whose identity is beyond all 
 question is famous, and people who are 
 famous have a right to be egotistical 
 
 q.e.d; 
 
 ' That is a grammatical reason, Mr. 
 Swift, but not a good one,' laughed Hestor. 
 
 ' And isn't it sad to consider,' answered 
 he, ' that it is the best one extant ?' 
 
 * Say that to Sir Wilham,' she said, * and 
 he will adore you. For a man who has 
 done so much for England, he admires his 
 countrymen wonderfully little.' 
 
 ' Marvellous !' answered Jonathan, ' al- 
 most as marvellous as that .the armourer 
 who sold a sword to a soldier at a hand- 
 some profit, yet did not love him, although 
 the sword subsequently saved the soldier's 
 life. And far more wonderful than that 
 the man who conferred the public benefit
 
 78 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 of ditching (at a price) the main road from 
 London to Westminster, yet bated both 
 towns very cordially.' 
 
 * The price and profit account for those 
 instances/ replied Hestor ; * but Sir Wil- 
 liam has done all he has for England, and 
 for nothing.' 
 
 ' Two things which equally deserve to 
 be worked for,' interposed Jonathan ; ' but 
 his reward has been better than that, Miss 
 Johnson, he has gained admiration.' 
 
 * The admiration of a mob you despise.' 
 'For the present,' he answered, 'but, 
 
 v/hen they admire me^ I shall modify my 
 opinion.' 
 
 As he spoke, the footman entered with 
 a message that Sir William v/as ready to 
 see Mr. Swift if he would step upstairs. 
 Jonathan rose to go. 
 
 ' Thank you/ he said to Hestor, ' very 
 much indeed for having lightened my 
 darkness as you have done this afternoon.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 79 
 
 Pray crown your kindness by wishing 
 that, when next I dawn upon you, it may 
 be as the full-blown secretary of an ex- 
 Minister of State/ 
 
 ' Very willingly/ she said. 
 
 And then Jonathan went up into the 
 awful presence, and Hestor stood by the 
 window looking out at the fish-pond, won- 
 dering why she had taken such a fancy to 
 the uncouth owner of the sad, ugly face ; 
 and recalling all the benefits which had 
 been heaped upon her by Sir William 
 Temple.
 
 80 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Sir William Temple, with all his faults, 
 was a gentleman. He was overbearing, 
 unsympathetic, matter-of-fact, selfish; but 
 still a gentleman. So when the footman 
 announced 'Mr. Swift,' and Jonathan ad- 
 vancing had said, 'You were right, Sir 
 William, I was wrong/ he replied, ' I was 
 afraid I should be. And I hope you will 
 excuse the strong expression of my opin- 
 ion on that very ground, and, if I hurt 
 your feelings, will forget it.' 
 
 He would have said the same to his 
 washerwoman under the same circum-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 81 
 
 stances. It was bis own self-respect, as a 
 gentleman, be was considering, and of 
 course tbat was a constant quantity, un- 
 influenced by wbetber tbe politeness was 
 aimed at a sovereign or a slave. Tbere 
 was no request to be seated all tbis wbile, 
 so Jonatban ran no risk of misunderstand- 
 ing tbe meaning of Sir William's civility. 
 
 A moment's pause, and tben, 
 
 ' Well, Swift, to put disagreeable facts 
 as agreeably as possible, I suppose you 
 bave come to me for assistance, everytbing 
 else baving failed you ?' 
 
 ' I bave.' 
 
 * And yet,' went on Sir William, ' every- 
 tbing else bas not failed you ; you are a 
 big, strong, sturdy fellow, tbougb certain- 
 ly not very soldierly in appearance — wby 
 do you not enlist?' 
 
 * 1 don't tbink,' answered Jonatban, 
 ' tbat for my own part I sbould prefer tbat 
 to starving; and so far as my poor mo- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 tlier and Lauriel are concerned the pay of 
 a common soldier would not allow me even 
 to assist their poverty.' 
 
 * Lauriel? Who is Lauriel?' was the 
 reply. * You have surely not been so in- 
 sane as to marry on the chance of selling 
 a few pages of satire ?' 
 
 ' My only sister,' answered Jonathan. 
 
 * Ah ! an invalid ?' queried Sir William. 
 'No, thank God, she is perfectly well 
 
 and strong. My mother, too, enjoys fairly 
 good health.' 
 
 ' I asked,' pursued Sir William, * because 
 ill-health naturally occurred to me as the 
 only pertinent objection why your mo- 
 ther and sister should not earn their own 
 living.' 
 
 * That would be the only pertinent 
 objection,' was the sad reply, ' if my 
 strength did not constitute another and a 
 better one than their weakness. If, be^ 
 sides failing, as I have already failed, I am
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 83 
 
 doomed to fail more bitterly still in the 
 effort to earn, no matter how humbly, the 
 very few shillings necessary to help these 
 two dear ones from the buffets of the 
 world, then, Sir William, my mother can 
 go charing and my sister can take a 
 situation as a housemaid, but not till 
 then.' 
 
 ' Of course it is no business of mine,' an- 
 swered he, ' but as a practical matter par- 
 don my observing that you are being very 
 unwise in this. You might fail, as you 
 have suggested ; you might die. What is 
 then to become of your helpless relatives 
 unused to help themselves? Take com- 
 mon-sense advice when you can get it. 
 Tell your mother that the battle of life is 
 hard enough to fight when one's arms are 
 free, much more when one is bound as you 
 propose to be : say that she must provide 
 for herself as best she can, and that your 
 sister must do so too ; then you will be in 
 
 g2
 
 84 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 a position to accept such a situation as you 
 have some chance of being offered.' 
 
 ' Spare me, please spare me,' answered 
 Jonathan. ' You do not mean that, you 
 cannot mean it ; it is only said to humble 
 me; but, God knows, I am humbled in 
 the dust already.' 
 
 'Excuse me contradicting you,' was tho 
 curt reply, * I never say what I do not 
 meau, except diplomatically, and that, you 
 will admit, is altogether beyond the pre- 
 sent question. However, I am to under- 
 stand that my advice is distasteful. Very 
 well, you will agree with me some day ; 
 and now, what next ? Do you want 
 money ?' 
 
 Jonathan drew himself up a little. 
 
 ^ ISTo,' he said, ' I am not a beggar — yet 
 — not in its baldest sense, at least. No, 
 I do not wish money, except in return for 
 some service which I trust I can render. 
 It is employment I seek, Sir William. I
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 85 
 
 do trust you can give me some, almost 
 anything, no matter what.' 
 
 * You are a poet, are you not ? But, 
 let me see — the book you showed me 
 was not poetry, was it ? It was prose, if 
 I remember rightly/ 
 
 ^ It was prose/ answered Jonathan, 
 * still, I must confess, I think myself a 
 poet. Very likely I am wrong.' 
 
 ' That is rather beside the point, how- 
 ever,' was the reply. ' I rather meant 
 by my question that your tastes were 
 literary, purely literary. You could not, 
 for example, undertake to superintend the 
 execution of some extensive land drainage 
 I am about to carry out?' 
 
 ' If no other employment with which 
 I am conversant occurs to you, I will 
 superintend the drainage only too gladly,' 
 answered the poet ; ' and as to my capa- 
 bilities ' 
 
 * In short, you cannot do it, if you 
 would,' put in Sir William;
 
 86 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' Perhaps a few claj^s' experience *" 
 
 was the pleading answer. 
 
 Alas, poor Jonathan, how he yearned 
 for this occupation, which promised him 
 the work and pay of a superior navvy. 
 
 ' True ; but in the meantime the lawns 
 and terraces might be ruined for years. 
 Well, I scarcely know, besides that, what 
 I can offer you. I am far from being a 
 rich man. My position will not warrant 
 me in building a niche simply that you 
 may occupy it, were I ever so desirous 
 of doing so. At the same time, if you 
 care to change your mind as to a gift — 
 and, for my own part, I really fail to see 
 any tangible difference between accepting 
 money for nothing, and accepting it in 
 payment for services which are artificial 
 and useless — you can ask the steward for 
 ten pounds. I trust you will quite under- 
 stand, nevertheless, that that is the limit 
 of my bounty. By taking the money, it
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 87 
 
 is clearly to be borne in mincl, you give 
 me an implicit discharge of any claims, 
 real or imaginary, you believe you have 
 upon me.' 
 
 ^ No, thank you, Sir William,' said Jona- 
 than, speaking very slowly and quietly. 
 * I would take it, if I could, for my mo- 
 ther's sake, but I cannot. Then there is 
 nothing ? All my torture has been for 
 nothing. I have grovelled in the dust for 
 nothing. Yet you can be kind, humane, 
 generous. You have treated the daughter 
 of your dead servant, kindly, humanely, 
 generously ' 
 
 ' What, in the name of all that is occult, 
 does that matter to you ?' irritably inter- 
 posed Sir William. 
 
 ' Well, good-bye, I will go. I must not 
 waste any time. Five days have passed 
 uselessly already. I will ask strangers for 
 work ; or, if I must beg, I will beg from 
 strangers.'
 
 88 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 And the tall, gaunt figure turned to the 
 door, and strode gloomily away without 
 another word. Back to the entrance-hall 
 went Jonathan, and there paused hesitat- 
 ing. He had left his hat in the buttery 
 when summoned to meet Sir William, and 
 he did not at all relish the idea of going 
 there to fetch it. Something warned him 
 that his girl hostess was there, still stand- 
 ing by the oriel window and wondering 
 whether the bitter scholar had been offered 
 his much-wished-for secretaryship, and he 
 was loth to tell her that he had been 
 found incompetent to take charge of 
 draining the kitchen-garden, and had 
 been offered ten pounds to go away and 
 promise never to come back. He waited 
 some time to see if anyone willing to get 
 his hat for him would chance to come. 
 Fate had decreed otherwise. He did not 
 wait long, the house seemed to stifle him. 
 He longed to leave it and its memories
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 89 
 
 behind him; so, acting on a sudden im- 
 pulse, lie opened the door and stood, as 
 he had expected, in the presence of Hestor 
 Johnson. 
 
 ' I think I left my hat here/ he said ; 
 * and, before I go, allow me to thank you 
 again for your kindness.' 
 
 ' Might I ask you to do me a favour, 
 Mr. Swift?' was the reply. 
 
 * Anything in my power,' he answered, 
 with a grim smile to himself, as he recol- 
 lected how little that was. 
 
 * It is certainly in your power,' answered 
 Hestor ; * it is to wait here a few minutes 
 while I bring you something I am particu- 
 larly anxious you should see.' 
 
 Jonathan bowed. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Hestor, as she left 
 the room to go straight upstairs to the 
 door out of which our hero so lately came, 
 with a fresh sword in his spirit, a fresh 
 drop of bitterness polluting his soul.
 
 90 J0NATHi5LN SWIFT. 
 
 Arrived there, she looked round lier as 
 though to make sure she was alone, and 
 then . entered. Five minutes later she 
 returned again to the buttery with a light 
 heart and sparkling eyes. 
 
 * I cannot find what I wanted,' she said, 
 ^ but I met Sir William, who says he 
 wishes to see you again for a moment 
 before you go. Wilt you please go now?* 
 
 Jonathan stared in amazement. 
 
 ' Please go now,' she reiterated. ' Sir 
 WiUiam is going out, and may miss you. 
 But as a favour to me,' she interposed, 
 ' and to acquit you of any obligation to 
 me for making you eat your dinner.' 
 
 ' I obey,' said Jonathan ; ' but first good- 
 bye, and again thank you.' 
 
 Tritest of reflections ! ' how a straw 
 may infiuence our destiny^' what a load of 
 arrant absurdity generations of mock 
 philosophers have piled upon thy back ! 
 Oh I the children who have crushed towns
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 91 
 
 beneath avalanches; the little ditches 
 which have decided the fates of empires ; 
 the molehills which have altered the des- 
 tiny of the world ! Eubbish, you wretched 
 symposium, at which there is neither phi- 
 losophy nor dinner. It was a child, and 
 the force of gravitation, which hurled the 
 seething mass of boiling rock down to its 
 destiny. It was bad generalship, inferior 
 forces, and the ditch which lost the battle ; 
 and, if King William had died of a fever 
 or the small-pox, who on earth would have 
 suggested that his disease bore any con- 
 ceivable relation to this precious ' straw ' ? 
 And why is the death of a great man more 
 a straw when he dies of a molehill than 
 when he dies of the measles ? A result is 
 never more than commensurate with its 
 cause. You can get energy out of no- 
 thinor, no more in the moral world than in 
 the physical, and it is madness to expect 
 you can. When Olive's pistol missed fire,
 
 '92 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 it did not save India, any more than all 
 the bullets which missed him afterwards, 
 and all the diseases he did not have, saved 
 India. 
 
 Pray pardon this digression, but Jona- 
 than Swift's position might suggest the 
 ' strawic ' craze to some one, and I am 
 anxious to guard against any such con- 
 tingency. 
 
 Sir William had put on his hat, and was 
 going out, as Jonathan reached the study. 
 
 ' I had forgotten,' he said, ' that a work 
 on which I am engaged — Greek — requires 
 some transcribing, verification, &c. If you 
 are sufficiently a Greek scholar, and if you 
 choose to accept the office, and position, of 
 my private secretary, I am willing to give 
 you a trial. At the same time, it must be 
 distinctly understood that you will be my 
 secretary, and not my relative or friend.' 
 
 Then, without waiting for an answer, 
 he walked on, down the passage, down the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 93 
 
 stairs, out into the garden. Jonathan, 
 with a tumult of contending passion in his 
 breast, flung himself into a chair. 
 
 ^ Ah !* he exclaimed, bitterly apostro- 
 phising the absent baronet, ' if it were as 
 easy to be your secretary as not to be 
 your friend, the office would be a sine- 
 cure.'
 
 94 
 
 CHAPTER YIL 
 
 Eate was weaving a gigantic web round 
 Jonathan Swift. He was a big fly, and 
 required a big web. A very little scorn, 
 misjudgment, obloquy are enough to crush 
 a poor weakling, whether in the world of 
 letters or elsewhere. Even as little as the 
 flail of some hack critic, the unknown and 
 unknowable discerner of good and evil 
 on the staff of a weekly paper, is too 
 much for some. lo^noring: the fact that 
 the only brilliant thing about — say, for 
 instance, the dramatic critic of the Bathe- 
 nceiim, is the rapidity with which his re-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 95 
 
 marks are forgotten, some people, silly in 
 this respect if in no other, have allowed 
 these remarks to kill them. God grant 
 that, when I am fatally run over, it may be 
 by a railway train, not by a donkey-cart I 
 
 Jonathan Swift was, I repeat, a very 
 big fly. To fairly crush him required all 
 the efforts of Dulness and her satellites ; 
 so she wove a very big web, and Monsieur 
 the Count de Guiscard was one of the 
 strongest meshes in the web she wove. 
 It may be necessary to mention this for 
 fear anyone should suspect me of digress- 
 ing from the thread of my biography in 
 saying so much about this soldier of for- 
 tune and his doings. Wait, reader; for 
 he who can wait circles the world without 
 an effort. 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard, after wishing 
 Jonathan good-bye on the morning when 
 they parted, walked briskly down the high 
 road towards Merton, until a turn fairly
 
 96 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 hid his route from view, and then at once 
 made his way through the hedge into an 
 oak plantation, and sauntered leisurely 
 back in the direction of Mrs. Swift's cot- 
 tage. He did not dare to remain on the 
 public road one minute longer than was 
 absolutely necessary, and yet he was sadly 
 afraid that Jonathan also might by some 
 accident retrace his steps. To avoid the 
 barest possibility of a meeting, he picked 
 out a fallen tree in a well-sheltered nook, 
 seated himself upon it, and waited. From 
 where he sat he could see obliquely down 
 a steep gully and over the tops of the 
 farther saplings far away to the horizon, 
 where the rearguard of the storm mus- 
 tered its thick clouds angrily against the 
 deep blue sky. I will tell you what he 
 was thinking of as he gazed with eyes, 
 which did not seem to see, at the misty 
 battlements and turrets ; for it will help 
 you to understand him.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 97 
 
 He was thinking of a moss-grown castle 
 in Picardy, standing with giant walls and 
 blade-like windows, the end of a long vista 
 through a vale of chestnut-trees ; and there 
 upon the lawn, by the light — not dim 
 enough, alas ! — of the hazy moon, he saw 
 a youth and a maiden. He is pleading in 
 vain an honourable love, yet he is noble, 
 and she is only beautiful — no, not only so, 
 for she loved him too. And the youth, 
 how he adored that village angel, and how 
 he adored her memory still ! Monsieur de 
 Guiscard knew, for he remembered — for 
 it was he. 
 
 ' 'No, no,' she is saying, ' you are mad — 
 it would ruin you. I will save you — I will 
 go. Henri, Henri, kiss me before I go 
 away for ever !' 
 
 The first and last. The great door 
 swings open suddenly : there is a rush of 
 liveried assassins, and behind them, 
 through the sombre archway, is seen the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 old marquis, pallid with rage at the de- 
 gradation of his only son : then a scuffle, 
 a frantic curse, as the young lord is 
 seized, disarmed, and sees in his helpless- 
 ness that some one of his father s servants 
 has bettered the instructions of their 
 master 'to alarm, only to alarm,' and that 
 his second life is lying dead, dead, dead 
 before him. And then the cloisters where 
 the broken-hearted abbot of twenty-five 
 had striven to dig with missal and rosary 
 a tomb deep enough for his grief, and, 
 failing, had plunged into mad vice black 
 enough to disgrace even the place and the 
 times. Then the degradation, gentle in 
 consideration of the blue blood coursing in 
 the young man's veins ; degradation gilded 
 with a cavalry command, but degradation 
 still, and acting as such, debasing as such. 
 And then from bad to worse through all 
 the devious paths of private wickedness, 
 public infamy, to a soldier's treachery, de- 
 tection, flight.
 
 JOxVATHAN SWIFT. 99 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard, pale and agitated, 
 rose from his seat. 
 
 *I can never own even her grave again,' 
 he said aloud to himself ; ' I can never be 
 buried beside her if I fail in this. Nothing 
 else will gain me pardon, and I need favour. 
 Succeed I must.' 
 
 As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a 
 small bottle curiously arranged in two 
 divisions, one containing a thin roll ot 
 paper and the other a powerful acid, the 
 object, of course, being that, if the stopper 
 were removed by one unacquainted with the 
 secret the writing on the paper should be 
 at once destroyed. Carefully extracting 
 the scroll and unfolding it, Monsieur de 
 Guiscard feasted his eyes on the in- 
 structions which gave him one more 
 chance of living and dying other than 
 an outcast and a felon in the eyes of the 
 world. 
 
 They ran thus, and were in the hand-
 
 100 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 writing o£ the French king, though signed 
 by the Stuart exile : 
 
 * You will use every means of rescuing 
 our subjects from the tyranny of the 
 usurper who is alone and personally 
 responsible for his misdeeds and the 
 punishment for which he deserves to per- 
 sonally bear. 
 
 ' James.' 
 
 ' A desperate work,' he thought, with a 
 sigh, as he replaced the precious document 
 in its resting-place, ' and in desperate 
 hands. I wish k-i-1-1 had not been spelt 
 in so many letters, it would have been 
 more significant of confidence — however' — ' 
 And, dismissing the vain regret, he re- 
 sumed his walk towards his base of opera- 
 tions. 
 
 The royal progression through Eng- 
 land had been arranged for some time
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 101 
 
 in the summer of 1695, and the pretended 
 route to be followed had been ostentatious- 
 ly made public, as though to show how 
 completely the king trusted even his 
 enemies. The expedition was in reality 
 neither more or less than a gigantic per- 
 sonal canvass, designed to influence, so far 
 as such means could do so, the impending 
 parliamentary elections, and on that ground, 
 if on no other, all appearance of caution 
 had to be carefully excluded. 
 
 "William the Deliverer knew exceedingly 
 well that his life was always menaced : that 
 a faction as insignificant as it was desper- 
 ate would never desist, while his life pro- 
 longed their opportunity, from thirsting 
 after his blood. He estimated their 
 menaces, their hatred, their perseverance, 
 precisely at what these were worth. When 
 no reason to the contrary existed, every 
 precaution against danger was freely 
 taken : but the moment that circumstances
 
 102 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 showed these precautions themselves to in- 
 volve greater danger — that of calling the 
 attention of the nation to the isolation of 
 a bayonet-protected king — then, at once 
 he called his guards, as it were, from pro- 
 tecting himself to protect his people. 
 
 It was pretty generally understood, con- 
 sequently, that the royal progression about 
 to take place would be a very modest 
 affair in so far as the central authorities 
 were concerned. The guards of honour, 
 the yeomen, the constables, would be just 
 such as the respective counties chose to 
 furnish, and, if any district chanced to 
 be sufficiently disloyal, the king and his 
 attendants would drive through that dis- 
 trict with very little more pomp and cir- 
 cumstance than would ordinary gentle- 
 men. 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard knew all this of 
 course before we became acquainted with 
 him at the door of Mrs. Swift's cottage —
 
 JONATHAN SWIl^T. 103 
 
 it was why he was there. Logic is rarely 
 an important factor in desperate enter- 
 prises, of whatever sort. There is a point 
 in odds beyond which calculation seems 
 only a laborious method of finding out 
 the certainty of uncertainty, and, as a 
 natural consequence, the more hopelessly 
 difficult the enterprise, the less clearly 
 defined very often is the scheme on which 
 he who has undertaken it relies for his 
 success. 
 
 This was pre-eminently the case with 
 Monsieur de Guiscard. From the mo- 
 ment he had received the death-warrant 
 we have watched him reading, and had 
 been informed of the glorious reward its 
 execution would entail upon himself, he 
 had been possessed by the determination 
 to accomplish his purpose on the theatre 
 on which we see him. How, so far he 
 had scarcely considered, and why he should 
 have chosen Merton in preference to any
 
 10-1 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 other equally secluded spot was a psycho- 
 logical problem he had taken no trouble 
 to fathom. The only clear idea, indeed, 
 that Monsieur de Guiscard had was that 
 from the moment he put his foot on 
 English soil, he must keep very well hid- 
 den. He had done so. When the storm 
 caught him in Merton woods, he had been 
 more than a week in England, and yet 
 had excited suspicion in nobody. He was 
 beginning to distrust his good luck. It 
 could not last for ever, and on the scene 
 of his intended exploit the difficulties to 
 be encountered, and especially the grand 
 difficulty of keeping entirely out of sight, 
 loomed up big and threatening. Such 
 was his case when he was driven by the 
 hurricane to take shelter in Mrs. Swift's 
 cottage. 
 
 We have seen how he availed himself 
 of the unexpected opportunity. The con- 
 versation of the Swifts soon disclosed to
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 105 
 
 him that they were precisely the indi- 
 viduals on whom most reliance could be 
 placed to keep the secret of his presence, 
 if they had a good enough reason for 
 doing so ; and when he found that Jona- 
 than was going away almost immediately, 
 and probably for long, the course to follow 
 seemed so distinct that Monsieur de Guis- 
 card took it without a thought. The 
 story Lauriel heard from the persecuted 
 soldier of fortune, was, of course, a gigan- 
 tic fabrication, designed purely and simply 
 to excite her compassion, and afford a 
 reason for Monsieur de Guiscard's other- 
 wise incomprehensible desire for rigid se- 
 clusion from the outside world. As such 
 it had answered its purpose admirably, 
 and, as he strolled back to the cottage, 
 the only doubt in the mind of the would- 
 be regicide was whether all the pur- 
 pose in the w^orld would enable him to 
 support the insufferable ennui of such
 
 106 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 an imprisonment as now lay before him. 
 
 ^ Ah/ sighed he, ' it is a terrible thing 
 not to be able to be even consistently 
 miserable for ten consecutive minutes — 
 and it is very French.' 
 
 As he approached the cottage, he saw 
 Lauriel in the little garden which adjoined 
 it, busily employed in repairing, so far as 
 she could, the damage wrought by the 
 storm. The thick privet-hedge which shut 
 in the tiny plot had been in several places 
 crushed and broken by limbs blown from 
 the trees wliich had fallen on it. Lauriel 
 stopped in despair before one great gap 
 through which projected a bough that had 
 not long ago been the chiefest glory of a 
 grand old oak. 
 
 *I can never move that,' she said to 
 herself, ' and if I could, the gap would be 
 there still. How unfortunate !' she mused, 
 looking at the footway outside the hedge ; 
 * passers-by can see in at our windows now
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 107 
 
 — that is, when there are any passers-by ; 
 and if but one of the villagers saw Mon- 
 sieur de Guiscard ! How long he is re- 
 turning — can he have been discovered ?' 
 
 The poor girl shuddered at the thought, 
 and glanced down the wood in the direc- 
 tion of Merton. The first object her gaze 
 encountered was, of course, the subject of 
 her meditation. Monsieur de Guiscard him- 
 self, standing just outside the wicket-gate, 
 and regarding her with eyes in which pen- 
 sive admiration was mingled with sadness 
 in most captivating proportions. The 
 admiration offered by distress is naturally 
 felt to be the highest form of commenda- 
 tion, but Lauriel was too anxious about 
 Monsieur de Guiscard's safety to even 
 notice his expression. 
 
 * Pray come in,' she cried ; ^ you must 
 not run unnecessary risk. Have you been 
 seen this morning ?' 
 
 ' I think not,' he answered. ' Oh ! Miss
 
 108 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Swift, how it galls me to have to take the 
 precautious of a felon ! It is scarcely 
 better than to be one. But come, my 
 better nature has not all been crushed out 
 of me by a heartless persecution yet — not 
 yet; I will not give you the pain of keep- 
 ing even so trifling a secret as my story is 
 from your mother a moment longer. Ugh ! 
 it is horrible to have to hide anything, but 
 
 — oneself ! Do you know, I told the 
 
 first lie that ever passed my lips to your 
 brother this moruing ? I asked him not 
 to mention my name anywhere, I prayed 
 him not to, indeed, and, unaccustomed 
 to concealment, did it so clumsily that 
 he asked me why. "Bailiffs," I said — 
 "bailiffs!"' 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard's handsome face 
 clouded drearily at the memory of sucb a 
 blot upon his honour. 
 
 ' I wish,' said Lauriel, ' it had not been 
 unsafe to tell Jonathan,' and then, as the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 109 
 
 thought suddenly struck her, she turned 
 round and added, ' What possessed you to 
 tell us your real name ?' 
 
 There was a reproachful ring in Mon- 
 sieur de Guiscard's voice as, looking her 
 straight in the face and drawing his hand 
 wearily across his brow, he answered, 
 
 ' I deserve the implied rebuke, Miss 
 Swift, and I feel it bitterly. Yes, if I 
 told your brother a lie, I might have told 
 you one too.' 
 
 The scientists — the men whose souls are 
 not manufactured in Birmingham — gener- 
 ally talk, when they have exhausted their 
 stock of electricity and evolution, about 
 latent heat. There is a great deal of latent 
 evidence in certainty, which explains the 
 connection of my ideas. Monsieur de 
 Guiscard had told his story throughout 
 with such tact and skill that it had never 
 occurred to Lauriel to question his ver- 
 acity, yet it would have required nothing
 
 110 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 but a breath to inspire her with doubt. 
 This last touch, however, was certainty, 
 which corresponded to latent heat in 
 steam. The north wind of suspicious 
 circumstance would have to blow for 
 long before it cooled the warm trust in- 
 spired by Monsieur de Guiscard's master- 
 piece, ' I might have told you one too !' 
 
 If one wishes to talk sense, one is gener- 
 ally obliged to be original. That is a 
 mercy. As an exception, allow me to re- 
 mark that nothing is more unfailingly in- 
 fectious than confidence, than trust (ex- 
 cept, by the way, its antithesis), and that 
 Monsieur de Guiscard was very well aware 
 of the fact. So, as they passed the narrow 
 doorway, he felfc that victory was won, and 
 was not in the least astonished at his suc- 
 cess when an hour later Mrs. Swift, as 
 tenderly concerned about his fate as was 
 her daughter, escorted him to the room 
 Jonathan had lately occupied, and which
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. Ill 
 
 was to be bis domicile until the storm 
 
 should cease to grumble, and the clouds 
 should roll away.
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WEEK or so after Jonathan Swift bad 
 left home, Lauriel found awaiting her in 
 Merton, upon the occasion of one of her 
 forced marches, as she was wont to term 
 her little relished journeys to the village, a 
 letter, and a small parcel from her brother. 
 Hastily dispatching her commissions, she 
 ran home with the new-found treasures, 
 determined not to open them until her 
 mother could jointly have the delight of 
 investigating whatever of good news they 
 might contain. She had scarcely started, 
 however, before she stopped again and
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 113 
 
 hesitated. The letter had come to Merton 
 by a carrier who was also a dealer in vari- 
 ous kinds of fancy goods, and, among other 
 things, in tobacco. Now Lauriel's womanly 
 eyes had noticed that Monsieur de Guis- 
 card had lately been smoking but half a 
 pipe in the course of twenty-four hours, 
 and she surmised that probably it was be- 
 cause his stock of the divine narcotic was 
 nearly all offered. She beat her pretty 
 little foot upon the ground and doubted. 
 There was no money in her purse — not 
 any. Her mother would so much enjoy 
 opening that parcel from Jonathan. But 
 Monsieur de Guiscard^ . So she open- 
 ed it, and there being money in it, as she 
 had expected, bought a small parcel of 
 tobacco, and then trotted off through the 
 wood as fast as possible. 
 
 ' YoM see,' she was saying to herself, as, 
 with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed by 
 her haste, she entered the cottage, ' the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 letter is the great thing, mamma can open 
 that : and Monsieur de Guiscard must be 
 so terribly dull only getting out when it is 
 dark. He is so kind and thoughtful, too, 
 for others, that one surely ought to think 
 of him a little in return. Yes, mamma 
 can open my letter instead.' There was 
 presently an amicable discussion on this 
 point between Mrs. Swift and her daugh- 
 ter. ' But,' urged Lauriel, ' J will open the 
 parcel for my share,' and, the little ruse 
 succeeding, Lauriel, under cover of a glee- 
 ful laugh, mentioned to her mother about 
 the tobacco purchase, and begged her to 
 give it to Monsieur de Guiscard. 
 
 ' Why not give it to him yourself, my 
 dear ?' answered Mrs. Swift. ' The thought 
 was yours, you should have the credit of 
 it.' 
 
 Lauriel could not say why not, so she 
 struck a theatrical attitude, laughed more 
 gleefully than ever, and cried.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 115 
 
 ' Behold, oh! world, the great impersona- 
 tion of every virtue — no, no, mamma, the 
 credit of half a pound of tobacco would be 
 my apotheosis. Jonathan says, mamma, 
 you always want to find out the first cause 
 of everything, and he says the first cause 
 of everything is — I don't know. I wonder 
 what he says in his letter/ So they fell 
 to work to read it, and it ran as follows : 
 
 ' My dear little Sister, 
 
 ' A secretary writes that some 
 one else may not write, not that anybody 
 may read ; and I am turning thoroughly 
 official. So rejoice in this, probably the 
 last letter you will receive from me, not 
 because this is the last but because the last 
 one wasn't. 
 
 ' As a proof of ray growing appreciation 
 of Sir William's trinity — order, method, and 
 himself — I send you along with this three 
 weeks' wages, to the amount of £4 2^. 4c/., 
 
 I 2
 
 116 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 neatly stowed away in a cardboard bos^ 
 labelled in red ink, and given me by the 
 great ex-minister's butler. Remember, 
 Lauriel, I trust you. You promised me ! 
 No more washing Steinkirks ; no more 
 spoiling those pretty little white fingers 
 for the sake of a great ugly brother who 
 is rapidly finding out that his only merit 
 consists in having such a mother and sis- 
 ter. £4 2^. 4cd. is not a gigantic sum by 
 any manner of means, but living as you 
 do — very wretchedly, that is to say — it 
 will supply you until I can send more. 
 God knows how thankful 1 am to be able 
 to do even this little towards my duty and 
 my love. For, do you know, I am very 
 fond of you indeed, my little sister. But, 
 on consideration, the chances are that you 
 do not know ; for I was not at all clear on 
 the point myself until last night, when, in 
 a dream — now don't laugh, Lauriel, my 
 blood curdles — I saw an infinite maze,
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 117 
 
 woveD, as it were, of curved rays of liglit, 
 and stretching like a web throughout all 
 space ; and as I lay wondering what this 
 could be, and looking earnestly at it, I 
 saw that another web crossed through the 
 first as the woof crosses the warp, but its 
 threads were black, like the tissue of outer 
 darkness. 
 
 ' "Wondering still more, I gazed still 
 more earnestly, and at length I observed 
 that the lines near to where I stood 
 were vibrating rapidly, although the mo- 
 tion was no longer discernible at a very 
 little distance onwards. Turning round 
 to understand the cause of this agitation, 
 I became aware that along each ray there 
 was travelling a " something " which I 
 could see but could not comprehend — at 
 least, not so long as it continued to move ; 
 but each grew still, sooner or later, and 
 then, although the substance was never 
 apparent, one could tell the shape and
 
 lis JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 read the letters which the mazy path it 
 had journeyed along had worn upon it. 
 And on some I could see, "•' Eternal influ- 
 ence for good," and of these the rays 
 stretching before them could be followed 
 as far as the eye could reach ; but on 
 others it was, ^' Throughout all time for 
 evil," and the rays before these reached a 
 very little way — only, indeed, to where a 
 great river of infinite whiteness, springing 
 in full flood at once from a jasper rock, 
 caught them in its waves, and so de- 
 flected them that they too became as the 
 others. 
 
 ' Kow, as I watched these indescribable 
 somewhats, ever more and more amazed, 
 I noticed that there was none but what 
 travelled in harmony with some others, 
 suiting its mazy path to their sinuosities ; 
 indeed, it seemed that cadence was a con- 
 dition of their existence. And not only 
 was this individual, but while each moved
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 119 
 
 regularly with its group, eacli group moved 
 also in cadence with another, and so on as 
 far as my grasp permitted me to follow. 
 Observing this, I remembered what Plato 
 had said, and, ceasing to allow myself to 
 be absorbed in watching alone, I began to 
 listen intently. Strangely enough, I could 
 hear nothing. That there was music, I 
 could see^ but I could not hear one 
 note. 
 
 * Then in my dream I was sad and wept, 
 and through my tears I became aware of 
 something in front of me, behind me, 
 around me, which I could not see, w^iile 
 my eyes were dry. It was a Spirit infinite, 
 eternal, unchangeable, in His being, wis- 
 dom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, 
 and truth ; and through my tears, which 
 reduced and diminished like a lens what 
 was far too great for me to see without 
 them, I saw that He was tuning all the 
 motions of each individual and group to
 
 120 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 the sound of Himself as it ruDg in a reed 
 called Love. 
 
 ' Strangely enough I trembled to see it, 
 for I slept ; and, Lauriel, we all sleep here. 
 I saw that a higher than fate, a more 
 necessary than necessity, demanded the 
 existence of those black, black lines. 
 There needed " discords to complete the 
 music." Just then I heard it ; for I had 
 cauofht a breath from the reed and was 
 inspired by Love. The web close to me 
 was vibrating strongly ; a music was ring- 
 ing out far too clearly, far too sweetly. I 
 knew it, I knew it was yours, and I could 
 not help; and the discord, the pitchy 
 darkness came, as the love that looked 
 in sleep so fearfully like cruelty directed 
 and mingled with the clear, bright note, 
 with you, and hushed it till the other 
 side of the great white river should be 
 reached. Then I awoke, chilled to the 
 soul, and, Lauriel, can you wonder that
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 121 
 
 I know DOW how very much I love 
 you .^ 
 
 ' Silly fellow,' laughed Laurie!, as much 
 to reassure herself as to soothe her mo- 
 ther. ' If he must turn prophet as well 
 as poet, we shall have to change his name 
 from Jonathan to David. What a bad 
 letter he writes, mamma, not a word about 
 anything one wishes to know. I had far 
 rather be told what he actually had for 
 dinner than what he imagines I am going 
 to have for destiny ! However, we may 
 infer it was pork. Now, to proceed. I 
 really believe that there is some news, 
 after all — listen. 
 
 ' '' To change, begging your pardon, a 
 disagreeable subject, while avoiding going 
 from bad to worse by omitting all refer- 
 ence to Sir William Temple and his Greek 
 inquiries, I am driven to inform you that 
 there is a young lacly here of very pre-
 
 122 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 possessing appearance and agreeable man- 
 ners. It is quite within the bounds of 
 possibihty that she is neither the one nor 
 the other when anywhere else, but here 
 she is undoubtedly both. One thinks so 
 much more of a lamp on a dark night 
 than in the day time. There is a great 
 deal, too, in the circumstances under 
 which an acquaintanceship is made, and 
 it is odd how coincident have been my 
 meetings with this damsel, and my strokes 
 of good fortune. It was immediately after 
 seeing her that Sir William elected me to 
 the influential and lucrative post I occupy; 
 and so with twenty other occurrences. 
 Something is going wrong — I see, by acci- 
 dent, Miss Johnson, mention what it is, 
 and it goes right straightway. In fact, 
 to be honest, I am growing superstitious, 
 and tell her all manner of grievances, 
 hopes, etcetera, with a lurking belief 
 that the mere fact of doing so will be
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 123 
 
 an irresistible reason for a bappy issue. 
 And remember that it must be necromanc}^ 
 or nothing — neck or nothing — for, though 
 1 call her a lady, and though she is one 
 in every other respect, she is not so by 
 birth by any manner of means, being only 
 the daughter of the great man's late 
 butler. 
 
 ' " Sir William — who has his good points 
 after all — is very kind to her, out of con- 
 sideration to her father's memory, and as 
 a somewhat tardy return for his long and 
 faithful services. She does what she likes, 
 goes where she likes ; gets a little poc- 
 ket-money occasionally, which she either 
 spends on books or gives away, and voila 
 tout, as those people say who, having a 
 scanty knowledge of their own language, 
 are fain to eke it out with another. You 
 see, of course, that poor Miss Johnson is 
 really worse off than I am, and has as 
 little real influence. However, I have
 
 124 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 become possessed with the idea, thanks 
 to a sequence of accidents, that sbe is 
 potential energy itself, and like her in 
 proportion to her apparent great bene- 
 ficence." 
 
 ' Oh !' said Lauriel. ' Oh !' chimed her 
 mother. That was all. 
 
 'Now/ went on the letter, 'good-bye. 
 There is a great deal left to say, but I 
 must insist on adhering to my theory. 
 The tail of a letter ought to be, like the 
 tail of everything else in Nature, the 
 thinnest part of the body ; but then, fur- 
 ther, I detest anything thin, especially in 
 literature, so I save my consistence by 
 emulating the two grandest objects in the 
 world — a man and a guinea-pig — and leave 
 the tail out altogether.' 
 
 ^ Not a word about the poor boy's dinner, 
 nor whether they have given him a com- 
 fortable room,' said Mrs. Swift.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 125 
 
 ' I shall open a correspondence with 
 Miss Johnson and find out/ was the reply. 
 And so the sitting; terminated.
 
 126 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Monsieur be Guiscard bad not been idle 
 during his fortnight's residence with the 
 Swifts ; he had thought a great deal. 
 With most men it is much better to act 
 without thinking than to think without 
 acting, because the chances are that, 
 though they may do something by acci- 
 dent worth doing, they will never through 
 all eternity think anything worth think- 
 ing. I wish the whole genus of those 
 creatures which the education of the nine- 
 teenth century has carved out of so-and-so 
 many hundredweights of flesh and blood,
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 127 
 
 and who call themselves 'earnest thinkers,' 
 would take this fact to heart. I mean for 
 their own sakes ; they do exceedingly little 
 harm to other people. 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard, however, was a 
 good deal above the average, and thought 
 to some purpose ; besides, he had got 
 something to think about, which, after all, 
 is one of the great difficulties in the way 
 of so many. From having a confused, 
 indistinct idea that his own character was 
 to be restored, or at least whitewashed, 
 somehow, thanks to King William being 
 got rid of, somehow, he had arrived at a 
 pretty clear notion of how this consumma- 
 tion was to be brought about. 
 
 One of the very few men in England on 
 whom Monsieur de Guiscard could count 
 for hearty support in any scheme he chose 
 to concoct, having for its object the over- 
 turn of William the Deliverer and the 
 Protestant succession, was James, Lord
 
 128 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Yane of Vane Castle. Now Vane Castle 
 was the home of Lauriel's Steinkirks, and 
 was within two miles of Mrs. Swift's cot- 
 tage. When Monsieur de Guiscard sailed 
 from France on the errand we are con- 
 sidering, he was well aware that he had 
 not been asked to undertake so illustri- 
 ous, if dangerous, a task until the honour 
 and risk had been dechned by almost 
 every Jacobite of greater respectability 
 than himself ; and he also knew that one 
 of the , very few exceptions, one of the 
 men who had not been asked, and who 
 would have attempted the feat if he bad 
 been, was Lord Vane ; and the reason was 
 that King James did not understand Lord 
 Vane, who prided himself upon being what 
 we should now call ' a philosophical radi- 
 cal,' and, as a necessary consequence, did 
 not trust him. But the reader will have 
 no difficulty in understanding the poor 
 ex-monarch's objection when he knows
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 129 
 
 the master of Vane Castle better. Mean- 
 while, it is sufficient to observe that his 
 knowledge of the opinions and character 
 of Lord Vane had partly directed the 
 count by a kind of instinctive preference 
 towards the district in which he lived. 
 
 ' I observed some turrets during my 
 walk this evening/ Monsieur de Guiscard 
 remarked, a few days after his arrival, to 
 Lauriel. ' Who lives in that eyrie, and 
 how does he like it ?' And in a very few 
 minutes he had assured himself that it 
 was, as the absence of any other suitable 
 residence had led him to imagine, the 
 place he was in search of. 
 
 Up to the time at which this chapter 
 begins, however, the count had not intro- 
 duced himself to his desired co-conspira- 
 tor. If chickens do not hatch in throe 
 weeks, they certainly will not in a month, 
 he had wisely considered, and had there- 
 fore not risked sharing his scheme with 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 JONATHAN SvV'IFT. 
 
 anyone a moment sooner than necessity 
 demanded. Now, however, he had done 
 all he could do alone, and without better 
 information than the news, letters Lauriel 
 borrowed from the village afforded ; so, 
 choosing a dark night, he launched the 
 rickety lifeboat of his fortunes on the 
 troubled waters of conspiracy. 
 
 That night Lord Vane was in his library, 
 stretched in an easy-chair, reading the 
 ' Hind and Panther,' when a servant en- 
 tered and handed him a sealed envelope. 
 The baron was on his feet in an instant ; 
 he knew the seal. 
 
 * Who brought this ?' he asked. 
 
 ' I don't know, my lord,' replied the 
 man ; ' he said there was no answer, but 
 if you wished to send any message he 
 would step upstairs.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' was the answer. 
 
 So, a moment later, the Count de Guis- 
 card and Lord Vane were face to face, and
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 131 
 
 fate began another thread in the big web 
 she was weaving for our hero. 
 
 * In accordance with the contents of 
 this/ began Lord Vane, indicating the 
 letter he had opened in the meantime, ' I 
 offer yoLi a hearty welcome, only qualified 
 by the regret that none of my countrymen 
 is prepared to serve the public good as, I 
 imagine, are you, a foreigner (or the king 
 would not have written this).' 
 
 ' I will do anything,' replied De Guis- 
 card, ' that I can, and that is ri^ht, to 
 fulfil the wishes of my king and yours.' 
 And then, looking round, ' Might I ask, 
 my lord, whether conversation here is 
 absolutely safe?' 
 
 ' Quite,' affably returned the other, ' ex- 
 cept as being between a full man and a 
 fasting one. You must be hungry — you 
 have come far, no doubt. By the way, 
 where have you come from, and how ?' 
 
 'Place, manner, time,' cheerily answered 
 
 k2
 
 132 JOI^^ATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 De Guiscard, who was uot at all anxious 
 to give any information on this score \intil 
 he was quite sure of his ground. ' The 
 coast, skulked by night, and, to be frank, 
 I am hungry, and more especially that 
 variety of hunger which is known as 
 thirst. I suppose, my lord, that because 
 our business is serious is no reason for 
 our being so too ?' 
 
 Lord Yane laughed. 
 
 ' Do you see what I am doing ?' he said, 
 pulling a handle. * This is a bell hung 
 on a wire communicating with the ser- 
 vants' hall. An improvement that, is it 
 not, on the barbarous custom, not only of 
 our ancestors, but even of so many around 
 us, who, refusing to believe that change 
 and evil are not synonymous, deny them- 
 selves the benefits of modern progress. 
 Yet some day,' he continued, with a sigh, 
 which told only too plainly the pleasure 
 he derived from having his invention to
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 133 
 
 himself, ' every haberdasher in Cheapsicle 
 will call his apprentice this way.' 
 
 ' Ah !' metaphorically answered De Guis- 
 card, ' improve bells as much as you like, 
 but stick to a handle to ring them 
 
 by.' 
 
 * Yes, I am quite clear about that,' said 
 Lord Yane. * And now, while you are 
 dining, you won't care to talk, and, as 
 theory should always precede practice, I 
 will seize the favourable opportunity of 
 explaining on what principles alone any 
 such enterprise as that which I think you 
 meditate can be justified.' 
 
 ' Do you think,' doubtfully objected De 
 Guiscard, ' that the road matters, if the 
 goal be the same ?' 
 
 'Beyond all doubt it does,' was the 
 reply ; ' for unless one knows the road 
 by which another is travelling, one never 
 can be sure of the goal.' 
 
 ' True,' acquiesced De Guiscard, seeing
 
 134 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 objection useless, but dubious as to wbe- 
 ther abstract politics or theology would 
 improve his claret. ' True.' 
 
 ' I shall not be long,' continued the 
 good-natured peer ; ' for nothing is true 
 which cannot be proved in ten minutes. 
 And now for my principles. You will 
 understand, however, that, although I am 
 just now convinced of the justness of 
 my conclusions, and am willing to risk 
 life, fortune, e\^ery thing in their defence, 
 yet I am well aware of the fallibility of 
 human reason, and shall welcome any 
 criticism on any point in which you may 
 detect a flaw. I hold, then, with the 
 old philosophers that the only thing worth 
 living for is happiness, and that, there- 
 fore, the pursuit of happiness should be 
 the main object of life. Of course it 
 follows that government, as a human in- 
 stitution, is a machine for manufacturing 
 happiness for those governed, and I am
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 135 
 
 certain, thanks to careful historical in- 
 vestigation, that a despotic monarchy best 
 fulfils this condition. Now, I believe, on 
 the other hand, in the absolute right of 
 a majority to do as they please with 
 both themselves and other people, and 
 I confess that for long it puzzled me 
 how to reconcile the two propositions. I 
 think, however, that it can be done thus 
 — and it is an essential element of de- 
 spotic government, after all — you must 
 force the majority to agree with you.' 
 
 ' Capital,' laughed De Guiscard. 
 
 * Stay now,' interrupted Lord Vane. * I 
 am serious, and, as I believe, strictly 
 loo^ical. Consider. No one denies the 
 right of anybody to bring anybody else 
 to his way of thinking, on such a sub- 
 ject for instance as this, by pointing out 
 to him the inevitable consequences of 
 popular government : its revolutions, dis- 
 turbances, mob-tyrannies, or, in other
 
 136 -JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 words, by appealiug to bis fears. ISTow, 
 wbat more do I do if I take a pistol, 
 present it at wbom it may concerD, and 
 tell bim to ao^ree witb me or be sbot ? 
 I still only appeal to bis fears. Wbat 
 I mean is tbis. Tbe "majority" argu- 
 ment rests altogetber on a pbysical basis. 
 If I admitted any distinction between a 
 pbysical appeal to tbe fear or otber pas- 
 sion of a Britisb elector and a mental 
 one, I sbould, of course, to be consis- 
 tent, bave to stop estimating a "majority" 
 by units of flesb and blood. I am a 
 tborougb-going democrat, bowever, and 
 tbe only peculiarity about me is tbat I 
 am a consistent one.' 
 
 'You are quite rigbt, so far,' replied 
 De Guiscard ; and tben, as a leading ques- 
 tion, ^ Suppose you bad to sboot tbe man 
 in question ?' 
 
 'My rigbt to do tbat,' answered Lord 
 Vane, ' would entirely depend on wbetber
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 137 
 
 or not I had a reasonable chance of sub- 
 sequent success in obtaining a majority ; 
 for of course the majority confers the 
 right, if I have it with me at the time, 
 or, which is precisely the same thing, 
 can retrospectively confer it, if it comes 
 over to me afterwards. As to this right, 
 there can be no doubt whatever, or what 
 would be the meaning of the word "rebel," 
 and what the justification of hanging, 
 drawing, and quartering ?' 
 
 ' And,' said De Guiscard, facing round, 
 * what is our chance ?' 
 
 ' You are either a very bold or a very 
 desperate man to talk about such subjects 
 with a perfect stranger,' returned Lord 
 Yane. ' Ah ! I see you think we are very 
 much on a par as to that ; but remember, 
 the present government of England re- 
 stricts itself as much as possible to hang- 
 ing foreigners, that they would much 
 rather win my support than cut off my
 
 V68 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 head, and lastly, that mj word would 
 hang you, while vice versa it is not 
 so; 
 
 'So be it/ returned De Guiscard, who 
 knew a good deal more about the man he 
 was addressing than Lord Vane imagined. 
 ' I am quite happy in your hands ; while 
 as to you in mine, read that' — handing 
 his scroll, — 'and allow me to distinctly 
 inform you that I am in England to carry 
 out my master's command as therein im- 
 plied, and your master's wish as therein 
 expressed.' 
 
 ' How ?' 
 
 'It is partly to enable me to answer 
 that question that I have done myself the 
 honour to wait upon you,' replied the 
 count. 
 
 ' Say rather you have done me, Monsieur 
 le Comte,' graciously returned the other. 
 ' Well, I suppose you have no objection to 
 tyrannicide ?'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 139 
 
 De Guiscard stared. This cool, argn- 
 mentative way of putting the matter fairly 
 took away his breath. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' pursued Lord 
 Yane, evidently annoyed ; ' but I under- 
 stood you to agree with the propositions I 
 laid down a few minutes ago, in which 
 case the other follows as of course.' 
 
 De Guiscard, scarcely recovered from 
 his amazement, simply bowed. 
 
 ' And observe this,' went on the irre- 
 pressible logician ; ' if a man prefers his 
 liberty to his life, he has a clear right to 
 do so, and to die as much in defence of 
 his liberty as in defence of his life ; but 
 notice, there is no moral difference between 
 one life and another, so if a man may 
 murder himself to escape from slavery — 
 or, which is the same thing, rise in arms 
 when he is morally certain to be beaten — 
 he may take anybody else's life with the 
 same end. Or again, consider this, and
 
 140 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 escape from the conclusion if you can. If 
 a man may take another's life in defence 
 of his own, may he not take it in defence 
 of what makes his life his own, his 
 liberty?' 
 
 ' Undoubtedly you are right,' said De 
 Cruiscard, who had recovered the use of 
 his tongue. ' What startled me a little 
 was your business-like way of putting a 
 subject which, after all, is scarcely 
 pleasant.' 
 
 ' ISTa}^,' said Lord Vane, ' nothing is 
 really unpleasant which can be proved 
 to be right, and 1 pride myself on never 
 shrinking from a logical conclusion, let it 
 he what it please. Thank you, yes, I will 
 take a glass of claret. Now, there being 
 no abstract objection to tyrannicide, it 
 remains to be considered whether there 
 are any practical ones.' 
 
 Monsieur de Guiscard was a little puzzled 
 what to say. He had come to propound
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT, 141 
 
 a definite scheme and obtain the means of 
 carrying it into effect ; but he was too 
 shrewd a man of the world not to estimate 
 Lord Vane at his true value after such a 
 conversation, and he hesitated before com- 
 municating his tissue of human passion to 
 a syllogistic automaton. People are apt 
 to deride passion as being a fluctuating, 
 uncertain thing, and to compare it in this 
 respect at a great disadvantage with 
 reason. There is no accounting for such 
 a thing but by the eternal necessity of 
 error. Go back to history ; I would ask all 
 those of whom it is worth a wise man's 
 while to ask anything, go back to history, 
 go back to your own experience even, and 
 tell me whether it is reason or passion 
 which has had the most real influence upon 
 mankind, upon yourself ? Was it reason 
 which decided ' Homoousion ' ? Tell me, 
 oh ! Constantino, great emperor, who never 
 understood the point at issue. Or tho
 
 142 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Reformation ? Say, Jenny Geddes of 
 wooden argument memory. Or the Revo- 
 lution ? Deny it, Shaftesbury, with blood 
 on your fingers; and you, Sydney, with 
 coppers in your pocket ; and you, Halifax, 
 greatest of statesmen, grandest of men, 
 because — you know I am right. And tell 
 me, Yoltaire, had you^ concerned in your 
 revolution, six intelligent disciples ? Mon- 
 sieur de Guiscard knew very well that syl- 
 logisms were not to be relied on as a basis 
 for estimating anyone's course of conduct. 
 Better ones might supplant them at any 
 moment ; but feeling is constant, always 
 for long, and generally for life. So, I re- 
 peat, he was puzzled what to reply to 
 Lord Vane's question. Presently he said, 
 
 ' The locality is good, is it not, for such 
 an attempt ?' 
 
 ' Very,' answered Lord Vane. ' We shall 
 not do this exceedingly limited monarch 
 much honour, and as for the common peo-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 143 
 
 pie, their loyalty is greater than their enter- 
 prise, and beyond a gift of Merton ale, or 
 some absurdity of that sort, they will do 
 nothing. So the guard of honour, or dis- 
 honour, as you please, will probably not be 
 enormous. We two, thanks to the near 
 approach to which I should be entitled, 
 could make a certainty of the affair with 
 short concealed blunderbusses. Of course 
 the chances are we should be taken, but 
 you, count, with the gallantry of your na- 
 tion, no doubt do not consider that, and, as 
 for me, my conviction of the negative 
 character of death, makes me quite in- 
 different to such a risk.' 
 
 De Guiscard saw by this time that 
 Lord Yane would never do for practical 
 politics. 
 
 ' I must be off now,' he said, 'for fear of 
 exciting the suspicion of your people, or 
 of mine host where I am lodging. Pray 
 turn the matter over in your mind, and,
 
 144 JONATHAN SWIFT 
 
 above all, get as much information as 
 possible about the king's movements. I 
 will give myself and the cause the pleasure 
 and advantage of conferring with you 
 further in a day or two. You will be at 
 home ? Next time I shall send up my 
 name as — say, Johnson — and not look at 
 all as now. One can make a little change 
 go a long way with care. Do not commu- 
 nicate with me otherwise, I beg, my lord ; 
 it would not be safe.' 
 
 ' Yery well ; but where are you hiding ?' 
 asked Lord Yane. 
 
 De Guiscard told him. 
 
 ^ That must be a good place,' returned 
 the other, ' for even I scarcely remember- 
 ed its existence. There is nobody there 
 but an old woman, is there not ? But, 
 by the way, don't fall into the Devil's Hole 
 on your way home, the cottage is very 
 near it.' 
 
 * I probably shall/ laughed De Guiscard.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 145 
 
 ' National politeness, my lord ; we French- 
 men all go to the devil, you see, to save 
 him the trouble of fetching us. Good 
 night.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 146 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 Meanwhile Jonathan Swift was working 
 away at Moor Park translating English 
 into Greek and Greek into English, and 
 was making himself so useful that Sir 
 William, diplomatically balancing profit 
 against pleasure, decided against his in- 
 tuitive dislike of his secretary, and resolv- 
 ed to put up with him as a necessary evil. 
 The two saw each other as little as the 
 exigencies of the Anglo-Greek question 
 would permit of, and Sir William soon 
 found that the more general his instruc- 
 tions the better the work progressed. As
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 147 
 
 for Jonatban, he felt his life would be en- 
 durable if he need not be snubbed more 
 than twice a da}^, and exerted himself to 
 make sure of his post, while at the same 
 time he indulged as freely as he dared 
 when in the baronet's presence in those 
 peculiarities of thought . and expression, 
 in paradoxical statements and quaint 
 opinions, which were just such as the sober 
 jog-trot mind of that illustrious mediocrity 
 could not support. 
 
 Apart from the interviews witii Sir 
 William which this judicious management 
 kept at a minimum, and the smallness of his 
 salary, Jonathan had no external griev- 
 vance. True, he dined in the buttery with 
 the higher servants, but he had soon come 
 to estimate that pitiful standing insult at 
 what it was worth ; and, besides, he pre- 
 ferred infinitely dining with Hestor John- 
 son to dining alone, not to say with Sir 
 Wilham. Indeed, as the weeks rolled by 
 
 l2
 
 148 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 and tbe memory of those awful moments 
 when he was mindless faded a little, Jona- 
 than began at times to 'fancy he was happy. 
 Inspired by tlie great love he bore the 
 two dear ones at home, he strove to forget 
 the cold iron of failure which rankled in 
 his soul, and to be happy in that best way 
 — by making others happy. Do not love 
 him the less, reader, because he often fail- 
 ed to find in love and duty, balm for tlie 
 wound of ungratified ambition. He 
 would have been a god if he had, not a 
 man. Again and again the passionate 
 longing to force the world to believe in 
 liim, in spite of all its imbecility and dun- 
 derheadedness, grew into a mania. There 
 were other Jonathan Swifts in the world ; 
 lie knew^ it ; fortunate ones wlio had been 
 born with a candlestick to set their light 
 in. And it was their ' bravoes ' the world 
 echoed. He would become known to 
 them, appeal to them. But how? And
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 149 
 
 the darkness engulpbecl him. No words 
 can express what a lion feels to be worried 
 to death by dogs, 
 
 Every day, too, he felt, what was worse 
 than the neglect by others of the merits 
 he himself knew were his, the greater evil 
 of a doubt of those merits growing in the 
 inmost recesses of his own heart. Again 
 and again he found himself anxiously 
 wondering whether after all God had 
 given him the stupendous intelligence he 
 had once believed, and then he flew to his 
 Greek translations, or wrote a long letter 
 to Lauriel or his mother, hoping they were 
 moderately comfortable on the pittance he 
 could afford, and abusing Steinkirks. 
 
 One morning very early, having ex- 
 hausted these remedies in vain, and feeling 
 utterly wretched and sick at heart, Jona- 
 than went out into the shrubbery, with an 
 indefinite intention of doing something 
 between breathing the fresh air, writing
 
 150 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 an ode ou criticism, and drowning him- 
 self. To his astonishment Hestor John- 
 son was there before him. 
 
 * How ill you look, Mr. Swift,' she said, 
 with pretty alarm. 
 
 ' Do 1 ?' returned he, brightening up a 
 good deal by the magic of her presence ; 
 ' then I am the very reverse of a gay de- 
 ceiver — I'm a miserable fact.' 
 
 ' The truth is,' continued Hestor, seating 
 herself demurely on a rustic bench as a 
 throne of judgment — ' the truth is, you 
 work too hard and take too little exercise ; 
 now plead guilty and the court will be 
 lenient.' 
 
 Sbe looked very pretty, with her real 
 concern peeping through her mock gravity 
 in fitful flashes, and it seemed more natu- 
 ral to Jonathan to say something about 
 that than to plead to either count in the 
 indictment. 
 
 'Really, fair judge, you would make the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 151 
 
 Ugliest wig in creation look like a halo/ 
 
 * Order in the court,' she laughed ; ' re- 
 member, prisoner at the bar, Lord Bacon's 
 essay on judicature, and don't attempt to 
 warp a righteous judgment. Guilty or not 
 guilty?' 
 
 ' And a sergeant's gown like lilies in all 
 their glor3^' 
 
 ' This is wilful obstruction of the busi- 
 ness of the court,' went on Hestor. ' I 
 shall convict you of contempt, and the 
 sentence is this : You see the cone hill,' 
 pointing with her pretty white finger, 
 * there is a glorious view from it ; it is 
 only five hundred yards from the house to 
 the top, and yet,' solemnly, ' you have 
 never yet ascended it. The court decrees 
 that every morning at ten o'clock, wind 
 and weather ' 
 
 ' And Sir William Temple,' put in Jona- 
 than— 'W. T. and WET.' 
 
 ' — permitting, you shall walk, run, or
 
 1 52 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 otherwise progress from the great door to 
 the top of the cone hill and back again.' 
 
 ' Temper justice with mercy, gracious 
 judge,' said Jonathan, 'and show me the 
 way for the first time, or it may take me 
 as long as Sisyphus/ 
 
 ^ The court consents to the prisoner's 
 petition,' was the merry reply ; ' and now 
 the judge is going to pick flowers.' 
 
 Another minute, and she had vanished 
 among the shrubs, and it suddenly occurred 
 to Jonathan that he had been quite happy 
 for five consecutive minutes. Then he 
 went back to his translation, and got very 
 little done before ten o'clock came, con- 
 sidering how hard he seemed to be work- 
 ing. Back in the shrubbery again, Jona- 
 than stood waiting for his fair conductress, 
 when a footman brought him a pencil note 
 from Hestor, saying, ' The court is very 
 sorry it cannot go. The prisoner is ear- 
 nestly requested to undergo the sentence, 
 nevertheless.'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 153 
 
 ' There is a visitor coming to-day, sir/ 
 said tlie man, as lie lianded the note. 
 
 *To stay?' asked Jonathan, unconsciously 
 actuated by a desire for tlie ample leisure 
 to explore the cone hill that would proba- 
 bly follow from Sir William having some 
 antique diplomatist on his hands. 
 
 *'So I believe, sir,' replied the man. 
 
 ' Thank you very much,' said Jonathan, 
 seating himself on Hester's judgment-seat, 
 pulling a copy of his favourite author, 
 Montaigne, oat of his pocket, and prepar- 
 ing to enjoy himself for half an hour. 
 
 Interest would not waken, however, and 
 in five minutes he was scribbling on the 
 title-page out of the multitude of his heart 
 as follows : — 
 
 ' How many giant Andes rise, 
 In grand confusion hurled, 
 More like deep valleys of the skies 
 Than mountains of the world ! 
 Yet which of them, despite their worth, 
 A poet's praise e'er knew ?
 
 154 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 For mountains cover half the earth, 
 
 But poets — they are few ! 
 
 Then, oh, thou very little hill 
 
 (Mere tumult of the plain), 
 
 Let proud delight thy bosom fill, 
 
 To thus insj^ire my strain. 
 
 Fair, fair, happily fair. 
 
 When the sunbeams play with the summer there, 
 
 And the thrush and the linnet are learning to sing 
 
 From the music of flowerets opening ! 
 
 Fair, fair, unsjDeakably fair. 
 
 When the winter scowls at his triumph there, 
 
 And the birds are flown, and nothing is glad ; 
 
 Yea, all the fairer to then be sad. 
 
 Fair, fair, serenely fair, 
 
 When 'tis neither summer nor winter there. 
 
 And the sky seems changing never again. 
 
 Oh, how fair to be beautiful then !' 
 
 After which, governed by the connec- 
 tion of ideas, he laid down his book and 
 started for the cone hill at a gawky 
 trot. Once there, he found that Hestor's 
 opinion as to the view was quite justified 
 in fact. ' I wonder which view she pre- 
 fers,' he thought, gazing leisurely about 
 him. ' I wish she were here.' Aod then,
 
 . JONATHAN SWIFT. 155 
 
 while a flusli on the divinely ugly face 
 showed that Jonathan was a little bit 
 ashamed of the transposition of his ideas, 
 * I wish mother and Lauriel were here 
 too. Miss Johnson has really been very 
 kind to me ever since I entered this 
 valley of the shadow of conventionality 
 and thick-headedness,' ran on his medita- 
 tions, 'and, on consideration, I have never 
 done anything to indicate my apprecia- 
 tion of her good Samaritanship. I won- 
 der if she would like some compliment- 
 ary verses ; girls generally do. Those 
 lines in " Montaigne " would do, with a 
 tag to them.' So, leaning against a tree, 
 he proceeded to write the tag. 
 
 ' But never a hill cared so little as lie, 
 For he knew I was writing of 
 
 ' Bother ! '' Hestor " won't rhyme. I 
 must change her name. There, now I 
 must be off.' And the gawky trot was 
 put on active service.
 
 156 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Meanwhile^ a young man had strolled 
 up to the seat Jonathan had lately oc- 
 cupied in the shrubbery, and began to 
 amuse himself with the open copy of 
 * Montaigne.' It was Henry St. John. 
 He was dressed extravagantly well ; a 
 little out of the fashion in the sense of 
 being beyond it ; and there was about 
 him an air of affectation scarcely pro- 
 nounced enough to be detected in any 
 overt action, but still undoubtedly there, 
 in general effect. (I daresay our dear 
 friends of patchwork vocabulary would 
 call it a je ne sais guoi of conceit, but 
 then they are in the habit of talking 
 about ' they don't know what.') That 
 is what an elderly man would have 
 noticed. One of his own age, three and 
 twenty, would have been chiefly struck 
 by the obvious expression of good-nature 
 and good-fellowship which played in his 
 eyes, and which went so far towards
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 15? 
 
 making him the most popular of men 
 wherever he went, while a woman, a real 
 one, not a female man with 'rights' and 
 a university education, would have seen 
 all that, and the fascinating sweetness, 
 the dignity, and the self-confidence too. 
 
 Henry St. John was one of the cleverest 
 men of the seventeenth, or, for the matter 
 of that, any other century, and he Avas 
 perfectly aware of it. I am afraid, reader, 
 you do not love him the better for his 
 self-knowledge ; but pray consider. Sup- 
 pose he had not been one of the cleverest 
 men God ever created, suppose, on the 
 other hand, he had been a common-place, 
 humdrum, uninspired British elector, what 
 would have been his choice in introspec- 
 tion according to your creed ? Why, to 
 appreciate himself fairly (which is what 
 you object to), or to depreciate himself, 
 and, as a necessary consistent consequence, 
 to apply for admission to a lunatic asylum.
 
 ] 58 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 No, no, it is just as sacred a duty to esti- 
 mate correctly one's abilities as one's want 
 of them, and nobody doubts that. How- 
 ever, I daresay you will like bim present- 
 ly, in spite of his self-appreciation, if not 
 for it. 
 
 Turning over the pages of ' Montaigne,' 
 his eye chanced to light on the pencilled 
 verses on the title-page. 
 
 ' Soho !' he cried, ' " Haunts of the 
 Muses," ' and stopped short. ' Deep val- 
 lies of the skies ' had arrested his atten- 
 tion. He finished the trifle and re-read 
 it. Then, pulling out his pencil as a 
 thought struck him, he wrote underneath 
 this facetious comment — 
 
 ' Tlie poem is pretty, 
 The poet insane, 
 To write a ''hill" ditty 
 Upon a '' montaigne." ' 
 
 Just then Jonathan rounded the corner 
 (puffing and blowing after his unusual
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 159 
 
 exertion) to fetch liis book before going 
 back to work. St. Jolm divined his in- 
 tent, and handing the book, said, with a 
 laugh, 
 
 ' It is yours, I am certain ; no one was 
 ever so unfortunate as am I. I can't 
 attempt to purloin a book without being 
 detected in the act, especially if I have 
 first spoiled it by scribbling bad poetry, 
 nay worse, bad puns all over the blank 
 spaces ; were it not that I would rather 
 die than borrow even from myself, I would 
 call on the " Montaignes " to fall upon me.' 
 
 ' Pray don't,' said Jonathan, * till I am 
 out of the wa}^ ; and, as to the puns, the 
 only people who don't like them are those 
 who cannot make them. Bravo !' he con- 
 tinued, reading the lines, ' this is of the 
 second order of puns, a *' pun with a 
 circumstance." ' 
 
 'Pardon me,' said St. John, medita- 
 tively, ' isn't that a lie ?'
 
 160 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' You know best,' laughed Jonathan, 
 * whether it is altogether Shakespearian 
 or only partly.' 
 
 ' By the way,' returned St. John, ' I 
 ought to introduce myself and explain 
 why I am trespassing. Excuse me for 
 having forgotten, but it seems to me 
 always so much the most natural thing 
 to do that — however, your humble ser- 
 vant, Henry St. John. Of course the 
 name conveys no impression to your mind 
 as to the owner, and, at any rate, I am 
 not responsible ; but, for fear of accidents, 
 allow me to assure you that it is singu- 
 larly inappropriate.' 
 
 ' And your humble servant, Mr. St. 
 John, Jonathan Swift, local secretary to 
 Sir William Temple ; of me, that is a full 
 and exhaustive description, for, beyond 
 saying that my name is the best part 
 about me, I can further assure you it is 
 all there is.'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 161 
 
 St. John frankly held out liis band. 
 
 * You astonisla me/ lie said. ' I had no 
 notion Sir William had sense enough to 
 appreciate a man of your stamp. How he 
 must bore you ! Well, I congratulate Sir 
 William.^ 
 
 Jonathan's face flushed at these the 
 first words of sympathy he had ever re- 
 ceived from any created being save his 
 mother and sister. 
 
 * Thank you,' he said, ' for I know you 
 mean that as a compliment; but really 
 when a man, who has succeeded as Sir 
 William has done, does not appreciate 
 anybody (in fact, quite the reverse in my 
 case), where is one bound to suppose the 
 want of sense to lie?' 
 
 * Ah, so ! he does not then. It did seem 
 marvellous, certainly : and now for your 
 question, let me see — Why, when a man 
 has thrown double sixes ten times running, 
 without having loaded the dice, mind, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 should he not have written " Hudibras " 
 and the " Merchant of Venice " ? — I give it 
 up.' 
 
 ' Nay,' said Jonathan, with loyal banter, 
 * surely double sixes had very little to do 
 with the Triple Alliance.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' replied St. John, ' but 
 that was paradoxical all through. Fancy 
 one man composing a triple alHance, yet 
 that is more than a joke.' 
 
 ' AYell,' replied the secretary, feeling in 
 honour bound to maintain the credit of his 
 employer in the eyes of some one who 
 might be nearl}^ a stranger for aught he 
 knew, ' it is very kind of him to keep me 
 here as he does, for he neither likes me 
 nor in any way believes in me, and I am 
 an eternal source of irritation to his strong 
 point, which is — common sense.' 
 
 ' Yes, that is his strong point, and I 
 should think you were,' added St. John, 
 with a merry laugh. Then the two young
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 163 
 
 men went indoors together, talking and 
 laughing, and a friendship had begun 
 which was never to terminate.
 
 164 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Henry St. John quite felt he had made a 
 change for the worse when the exigencies 
 of society drove hira to leave Jonathan in 
 peace, and go instead to commune with 
 Sir William ; but before an hour had 
 elapsed the feeling had deepened to such 
 a degree that he looked forward with live- 
 ly dread to the dinner time. Cut-and-dry 
 politics had been talked out, so had cut- 
 and-dry art, literature, and theology. 
 What was to be done at dinner ? Both 
 the old man and the young one could 
 talk, and each very well, but it was
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 165 
 
 quite beyond them to talk to eacli other. 
 Poor St. John, who was never satisfied 
 with knowledge, had vainly endeavoured 
 to extract real information from the veteran 
 diplomatist on those subjects with which he 
 was best acquainted, especially the Conti- 
 nental History of England during the last 
 few years of Charles II., and had very 
 soon stopped in despair. There is a living 
 English statesman who is probably the 
 most overrated man in all this overrated 
 age. Some people compare him to Burke 
 — God help thee, Edmund, truly thy pearls 
 are cast before swine ! — but there is a 
 remnant left in Israel who know better. 
 Well, this statesman talks eternally about 
 the Crimean War, and knows every fact 
 in history but one, namely, that the beings 
 it concerns are men. That fact Sir William 
 Temple had not mastered either, and so 
 the future Viscount Bolingbroke very soon 
 tired of dummy substitutes. Come to a
 
 166 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 dead-lock, Sir AYilliam harked back to the 
 cause of his young friend's visit, and they 
 set to work to perpetrate the transparent 
 fraud on each other of talking the whole 
 thing over again. 
 
 * Your father and I were always such 
 very good friends, Mr. St. John, that I 
 should be only too glad to do anything in 
 my power to oblige his son or even his 
 son's friend, but of course it is much more 
 easy to do the former than the latter. 
 You see I can myself do nothing now-a- 
 days. The limit of my tether is asking 
 some one else to do something, and you 
 can conceive how much the force of any 
 such application varies according to the 
 personal favour which the granting of it 
 would seem to confer on myself, and that 
 of course depends exclusively on my re- 
 lationship to the person for whom I ask 
 consideration.' 
 
 ' Quite so, Sir William,' answered the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 16 
 
 1-7 
 
 yoiiDg man, eagerly grasping the renewed 
 opportunity of pleading for his friend, 
 *but I imaofined that thousfh, of course, 
 3'ou could not ask much for one in whom 
 you had no direct interest, still you could 
 ask something ; and pray remember that a 
 very little would be a great deal to him. 
 A clerkship in the War office, Home office, 
 any office would at least give poor Mat- 
 thew Prior an opportunity of showing what 
 he is worth, would give him more spare 
 time, and, above all, would raise him out 
 of the unspeakably soul-degrading position 
 of common pot-boy in a common inn.' 
 
 ' Well, I will think about it,' replied Sir 
 William, ' but do not fancy you have set 
 me an easy task. Eemember that though 
 there are a good many clerkships, there 
 are ten times as many people crowding to 
 fill them, and probably as many patrons, 
 each pushing his best, and each just as 
 omnipotent as you seem to fancy me to be.
 
 168 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Tell me, now, liow did you come across 
 this Bacchanalian Muse.' 
 
 * Well, Sir William, I will be frank and tell 
 you exactly how, for though it does not re- 
 dound to my credit still it does to that of 
 poor Matt, and, besides, I know that with 
 your enormous experience of human na- 
 ture you don't expect young men to be 
 young women.' Sir William bowed at the 
 compliment, and St. John went on. ' Matt, 
 so far as he knows, has only got one re- 
 lative in the world, his uncle, James Prior, 
 who keeps a tavern in Cheapside, and sells, 
 by the way, some very excellent claret. It 
 is a quiet house, so I often dine there with 
 a friend when business calls me up to 
 town.' 
 
 ' Or pleasure ?' queried Sir William. 
 
 'Well, yes, or pleasure,' answered St. 
 John. ' One evening as I walked down 
 Cheapside on my way to the tavern, in 
 company with a man, who shall be name-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 169 
 
 less, because of ensuing circumstances, we 
 met as we neared the door a remarkably 
 pretty girl. She was shabbily dressed, 
 but there was an air of quiet dignity about 
 her which stamped her in my eyes as a 
 lady at once, whether rich or poor. She 
 seemed desirous to escape observation, and 
 was walking hurriedly along looking at no 
 one. The man I was with saw her com- 
 ing and pointed her out to me. He was a 
 thoroughly vulgar fellow with not one re- 
 fined feeling from head to foot. "A 
 pretty baggage," he said. His tone annoy- 
 ed me. " She is a perfect lady," I return- 
 ed, shortly. " Bet you a hundred guineas 
 she's not," he replied, ''and toss you who 
 runs the risk of kissing her as proof." 
 Thoroughly savage, I took the bet, and 
 lost the toss before giving myself a mo- 
 ment to reflect on the brutality of my 
 conduct, and just as she was passing Prior's 
 tavern, I stepped up and kissed her. All
 
 170 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 I had time to see was, tliat she turned a 
 ghostly white, and stood quite still, trem- 
 bling from head to foot, for the next in- 
 stant Matthew Prior had felled me by a 
 blow from his fist. I was up again in an 
 instant, and ' 
 
 ' Ean him through the body, I suppose ^ 
 a mercy it was not mortal,' put in Sir 
 "William. 
 
 ' Oh, no,' said St. John, ' I had come to 
 my senses as quickly as I went out of 
 them ; so of course I shook hands with 
 him, and thanked him for giving me just 
 what I deserved. The same evening I 
 fought my " friend " (having Matt for my 
 second) for insulting the lady.' 
 
 * But you were equally guilty,' said Sir 
 William, not a little amazed. 
 
 ' True,' was the reply, ' and we ran equal 
 risk. It was one of the few duels, of 
 which the result could not be unjust, and 
 to be short, I put his arm in a sling
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 171 
 
 for six weeks, my broken bead lasting 
 about tbe same time.' 
 
 ' It was courageous, certainly, for a man 
 in tbe position of Mr. Prior to do sucb a 
 tbing,' said Sir William ; 'if you had run 
 bim tbrougb, notbing would bave been 
 done to you after sucb provocation. It 
 was certainly a terrible risk. But tbougb 
 you don't seem to see it in that ligbt, 
 m}^ dear St. Jobn, your part in tbe 
 transaction was more noble by far. You 
 are a wortby son of your fatber, sir, and 
 tbougb I bave beard a great deal about 
 your follies, and your worse than follies, I 
 am very glad to see you at Moor Park ; 
 and, if I can do anything for your chival- 
 rous friend, rely upon me I shall do it.' 
 
 After which destruction of the barriers 
 of diplomatic reserve, Sir William felt 
 scarcely comfortable. ' You run too 
 much after pretty faces,' be remarked at 
 length. ' Take care, for the sake of the
 
 172 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 great name jou. bear. You must sober 
 clown, get married, go into Parliament, to 
 be able to say you have sat tbere : there is 
 no necessity to do any w^ork ' 
 
 ^ There is nothing would please me bet- 
 ter than a seat in the Commons house,' 
 returned the young man, ' but as to get- 
 ting married — hm ! AVho, Sir William, 
 
 in a more or less remote connection with 
 that subject, is the very pretty girl I saw 
 this morning in the garden^?' 
 
 The statesman rose, and sauntered to 
 the window. 
 
 ' In the garden ? Where ?' 
 
 ' She is the last person whose latitude 
 and longitude need specification,' said St. 
 John, with a laugh. ' She makes them, 
 she is her own sun. You cannot have 
 seen her if you do not know her.' 
 
 ' If she was dark,' said Sir William, 
 from the shelter of the window recess, 
 while feelinofs agitated him of which his
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 173 
 
 companion never dreamt, * it was probably 
 Hestor Johnson whom you saw.' 
 
 ' Very well, I adore Hestor Johnson,' 
 answered St. John : ' but who is she ?' 
 . ^ The orphan of my late steward,' replied 
 the other. ' He was my good servant for 
 many years, and, as I have no means of 
 recompensing him personally, I do all in 
 my power for his daughter. She lives 
 here, doing nothing but amusing herself 
 with music and books, or as she pleases. 
 So it has been for years. I must look 
 after her better now, however. Let me 
 see, she is sixteen, I think ; it is scarcely 
 fair to leave her so entirely to her own 
 devices now. I shall send her away from 
 Moor Park in charge of some elderly dame 
 or other. If not, she will probably marry 
 a footman !' 
 
 'Why not?' asked St. John, somewhat 
 astonished. 
 
 Sir William had turned towards the
 
 174 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 window again, and seemed to be observing 
 something very intently as he answered, 
 
 ' Oh, merely because I should be glad 
 to see her more comfortably settled for 
 her father's sake.' 
 
 ' Well, Sir William,' laughed St. John, 
 * I can only say that either that steward 
 was an abnormally good steward, or else 
 you are an abnormally good master.' 
 
 Then that subject dropped too, and 
 the elder man looked anxious, the young 
 one a little bored. 
 
 ' I hope,' presently remarked the visitor, 
 ' that my sudden arrival has not greatly 
 inconvenienced you in any way. Some 
 one may be going to dine with you on 
 political business, or a hundred things. 
 Pra}^ don't let me stand in your way, 
 whatever happens.' 
 
 'No, I am quite alone,' was the reply, 
 *as, indeed, I nearly invariably am.' Poor 
 St. John drew a mental sigh. It was,
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 175 
 
 theD, as be had feared, a dual dinner 
 that be saw before bim. ' Your company 
 will be quite an agreeable cbange, I assure 
 you.' 
 
 The young man believed, however, that 
 he bored his distinguished friend, and 
 knew that his distinguished friend bored 
 him, and very naturally Jonathan Swift 
 occurred to him as a prospective remedy. 
 While he was wondering how to com- 
 pass his object, and obtain an invitation 
 for Lazarus to the rich man's table, Sir 
 William was called away, and St. John 
 took the opportunity of retreating to the 
 shrubbery, conventionality permitting. 
 Hestor Johnson was there when he en- 
 tered, but the instant she saw him she 
 turned to go away, as in steward-daugh- 
 ter bound. He stopped her, however, 
 with the easy affability of a superior. 
 
 ' Pray, do not let me disturb you, Miss 
 Johnson ; we are very nearly related :
 
 176 JONATHAIS' SWIFT. 
 
 you are Jolins'n and I am St. John/ 
 
 ' It makes a good deal of difference 
 evidently,' was the quietly vindictive reply, 
 'or I also would probably have had the 
 revelation you have been so obviously 
 vouchsafed on the subject of manners.* 
 
 Poor St. John was aghast. 
 
 * Pray, forgive me,' he cried. ' I never 
 can apologise enough, but I took you to 
 be a Miss Johnson about whom Sir Wil- 
 liam Temple had just been speaking, and 
 addressed you in the tone which would 
 have been suitable for her, though how 
 unsuitable for you, heaven knows.' 
 
 Hestor laughed a malicious little laugh. 
 
 ' Then, I presume, Sir William has the 
 honour of your acquaintance, possiblj^ you 
 are nearly related.' 
 
 ' Don't be cruel, I beseech you,' cried 
 St. John. ' I did not mean to be rude.' 
 
 'Never mind, 1 will take the will for 
 the deed,' answered Hestor.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 177 
 
 *Now then,' he said, 'I feel much more 
 like St. Sebastian than St. John — utterly 
 riddled — so please let me stay and hear 
 you talk about somebody else ; it would 
 do me good. May I ?' 
 
 She looked at him with clear, impas- 
 sive eyes, her revenge not yet exhausted. 
 
 * Certainly ; but I don't know the angel 
 Gabriel, and of course he comes next 
 — after you.' 
 
 * Well, it's lucky for the angel Gabriel 
 that he never mistook you for Miss John- 
 son,' said St. John; 'but, if I were he, 
 I would risk all for the sake of making 
 your acquaintance.' 
 
 ' He being Personius to your Alexan- 
 der ?' 
 
 'I am a friendless stranger, miss — 
 madam, and, if you destroy me, it is fair 
 to warn you that the carcass will pro- 
 bably be left on your hands.' 
 
 Hestor smiled, and St. John discovered, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 to his amazement, that a created being 
 could be more beautiful than Hestor 
 severe. 
 
 * Don't be alarmed,' she said. ' I will 
 leave you life enough to enable you to go 
 away.' 
 
 'Meanwhile,' he answered, as a lead- 
 ing question — for he was dying with 
 anxiety to know who this fair creature 
 was — ' you have before you the mortal 
 remains of Henry St. John, inanimate, 
 save by a sense of insignificance.' 
 
 She did not offer to enlighten him, 
 however, for she keenly enjoyed making 
 him understand what a steward's daugh- 
 ter might be, and that would come best 
 as a disclosure. So she only assumed 
 an unutterably pretty air of mocking pat- 
 ronage, and said, soothingly, 
 
 ' Never mind, one sense is much more 
 than most people have.' 
 
 ' Stay,' he interposed, ' or you will de-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 179 
 
 prive me of it. Change the subject while 
 there is time ; talk about — about — about 
 Mr. Swift ; you know him.' St. John had 
 pitched, in his haste to escape from his 
 tormentor, upon the first human being 
 who occurred to him and could be proba- 
 bly made to serve the purpose. He fancied 
 that just the very faintest additional colour 
 came into the fair cheeks before him when 
 he said it, and added instantly, with the 
 tact which was part of his nature, ' Or the 
 garden, the flowers, anything.' 
 
 Hestor saw the little addition, and, 
 divining its object, felt grateful to the 
 author of it, and of course, just because 
 of that, she refused to leave Jonathan the 
 prey of silence. 
 
 ^Mr. Swift? Certainly. Well, I like 
 Mr. Swift very much ; don't you ?' 
 
 ' Immensely,' answered St. John. ' But, 
 to be quite frank, I only met him here 
 for ten minutes or so — half an hour, 
 
 N 2
 
 180 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 perhaps — and quite by accident, this very 
 morning.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Of course you like him, every- 
 body must like him ; but you don't know 
 him. Half an hour — no. I don't know 
 him. He has only been here a few weeks. 
 If one studied Mr. Swift carefully every 
 day for forty years, one might stand a dim 
 indistinct chance of really understanding 
 him. If he succeed, as he deserves to do^ 
 he is capable of leaving something behind 
 him which will enable the whole world to 
 understand him two hundred years hence 
 better than they will while he lives — 
 through an interpreter, of course — I mean 
 it will give him a chance of having an in- 
 terpreter who feels with him, without which 
 nobody will ever comprehend Jonathan 
 Swift, any more than without such sympa- 
 thy one can comprehend the Bible.' 
 
 * Every day for forty years ! Then the 
 sooner I begin the better. Do you know
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 181 
 
 whether he will dine with us this evening ? 
 And shall I begin at his head or his 
 feet?' 
 
 ' Firstly, yes/ she said ; ' secondly, I 
 daresay, though, as a rule, no ; and thirdly, 
 I strongly recommend you to begin with 
 his feet, because then you may some day 
 get to his head, whereas, vice versa, you 
 will never get to his feet.' 
 
 ' What, not in forty years !' 
 
 * Ignoring the sneer — no, don't pro- 
 test — would you like to begin it this 
 evening ?' 
 
 ' Well, really,' said St. John, ' if you are 
 going to do us the unspeakable honour of 
 gracing Sir William's table, I am too 
 lost in rapture to desire any further 
 felicity.' 
 
 ^ Oh, dear me, how clumsy ! I ! — cer- 
 tainly not ; I dine in the buttery. Good- 
 bye for the present.' And, with a smile of 
 mischievous delight at the look of blank
 
 182 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 amazement on the face of lier mystified 
 auditor, she glided away through the 
 bushes.
 
 183 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Lord Bacon says, ' Some have been so 
 curious as to note that the times when the 
 stroke or percussion of an envious eye 
 doth most hurt are when the party envied 
 is beheld in glory or triumph, for that 
 sets an edge upon envy ; and besides, at 
 such times, the spirits of the person envied 
 do come forth most into the outward parts, 
 and so meet the blow.' This may be true 
 or it may not ; I cannot say. The nine- 
 teenth century has given in. To get at 
 causes, properly so called (barring alto- 
 gether the first cause, for the nineteenth
 
 184 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 century fancies it understands that), it 
 scorns to make an effort. In every sense 
 of the word, the nineteenth century lives 
 for effect. Doctors publish in the Times 
 that they do not aim at abolishing the dis- 
 ease, but at curing the patient, or, in other 
 w^ords, their ideal is a guinea a visit. 
 Lawyers carefully avoid deciding anything 
 but just the point necessary to wrong 
 somebody ; but then their ideal is — thank 
 God, I do not know ! Artists : there is Sir 
 Noel Paton in the nineteenth century, 
 before whom I bow down and worship, 
 but the Lord deliver us from rubbish and 
 shams, and Euskin and Turner, women 
 peeling potatoes, and ' notes in green.' I 
 am not in the habit, reader, of troubling 
 you with many digressions, so pray excuse 
 this one. It was inspired by this reflec- 
 tion that fortune always dealt its hard- 
 est blows to Jonathan Swift just when, 
 according to Lord Bacon's hypothesis,
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 185 
 
 he was least prepared to resist tbem. 
 To proceed, however. Monsieur de 
 Guiscard felt quite certain, after havino^ 
 slept over it, that all he should gain bj 
 having introduced himself to Lord Yane 
 was information. His assistance was 
 clearly worse than useless ; because it 
 might, or it might not — just according to 
 what appeared at the last moment to the 
 noble peer the most conclusive reason — be 
 relied on. The position was, however, a 
 difficult one. Not even the logical owner 
 of Yane Castle would have submitted to 
 being proved untrustworthy, let the pre- 
 misses be ever so good. In that case, the 
 chances are that he would have discovered 
 some irrefragable reason for paying those 
 who were so injudiciously syllogistic in the 
 coin of their suspicion. Clearly Lord 
 Yane must be concerned in some plot, if 
 only to keep him quiet, and to recompense 
 him for the information he was to procure.
 
 186 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 So thouo^lit Monsieur de Guiscard, and to 
 him the solution was quite obvious. 
 Apart from the ten commandments, a be- 
 lieved lie is better than truth ; for it serves 
 the same purpose and provides as well the 
 intellectual exercise involved in stickinor 
 to it ; it was by the light of this axiom, in 
 which he impHcitlj believed, not being 
 troubled at all by the ten commandments, 
 that Monsieur de Guiscard saw the way 
 out of the difficulty. But then, though 
 nothing was easier than to construct a 
 dummy plot, it was a more serious ques- 
 tion how to carry out the real one single- 
 handed. 
 
 Over this difficult question Monsieur de 
 Guiscard thought long and painfully. One 
 scheme after another flitted, bat-like, 
 through his mind, only to disappear amid 
 the clouds of obvious impracticability. A 
 conspirator who has no earthly object in 
 view but his own advantage, is a much
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 187 
 
 more dangerous man than is he who, 
 inspired by a passionate faith in somebody 
 or somethino^, struofo^les for the benefit 
 of him or it. The cause which over- 
 shadows self, overshadows difficulties, and 
 difficulties unseen are difficulties doubled. 
 There was no fear of any such contingency 
 with Monsieur de Guiscard, however. It 
 could not serve his purpose to die in the 
 execution of the deed he had to do ; so, be- 
 sides seeing his way to success, he had to 
 see his way to safety. Now, reader, what 
 would you have done had you been he, 
 that is to say had you been a man of des- 
 perate fortunes, with only one tender human 
 oasis in a life of shame and crime, only 
 one tender human longing to palliate the 
 remnant that was left, and only one chance 
 of realizing that longing ? Pray, con- 
 sider your answer when you read what 
 Monsieur de Guiscard did. It arose thus. 
 Some weeks had elapsed since the storm
 
 188 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 bore its fateful burden to Mrs, Swift's 
 door, and Monsieur de Guiscard imagined 
 it would be wise to test the feeling of his 
 hostess as to his continued sojourn. True, 
 he contributed handsomely to the joint 
 expenses. He had made a point of that. 
 
 ' You grant me shelter/ he had said, 
 * you run a great personal risk for me. I 
 consent to that because in my weakness, 
 my helplessness, I must, or I must perish ; 
 but to be a burden to you unnecessarily, 
 and while I can well afford to support my- 
 self, Mrs. Swift, never !' 
 
 And besides he had made himself ex- 
 ceedingly pleasant. So agreeable, indeed, 
 that a very few days had changed the mo- 
 tive for giving him sanctuary from human- 
 ity to friendship. 
 
 Well, one day, after having spent the 
 morning in vain cogitations, and having 
 o:ot no further than a vaofue idea that he 
 could mine under the hio^h road and blow
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 189 
 
 Kiug William to eternity, if anyone would 
 light the match, but that to do so alone, 
 undefended, was certain death, the count 
 went down stairs to join Mrs. Swift and 
 Lauriel at dinner. 
 
 On such occasions, conversation was 
 always preceded by a few words of in- 
 quiry on the part of the gentleman as to 
 news of his persecutors, and an expression 
 of hearty sympathy and gratitude on that 
 of the ladies for their visitor's continued 
 safety. This time, however, De Guiscard 
 changed its even tenor. With an air in 
 which regret, concern and thanksgiving 
 were admirably blended, he walked up to 
 Mrs. Swift, and, raising her hand to his 
 lips, said, with a most natural artificial 
 effort, 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Swift, the time has come 
 for me to go. I can very probably succeed 
 now in eluding detection. The search for 
 me must have relaxed. I will not attempt
 
 190 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 to thank jou for your kindness. It would 
 be in vain. But God knows the depth of 
 my gratitude, and what I would do, not in 
 repayment, but in loving service, if I had 
 it in my power. And you, Miss Swift, 
 who have been a very angel of light to 
 a broken-down, ruined, refugee French 
 soldier of fortune, God reward you too.' 
 
 Lauriel had turned very pale, and Mon- 
 sieur de Guiscard saw it. 
 
 ' You do nothing of the kind,' put in 
 Mrs. Swift, with more energy than was 
 usual to her ; ' to go yet would be to court 
 destruction. Your enemies are implac- 
 able; this delay in arresting you will 
 merely have whetted their appetite for 
 revenge. No, Monsieur de Guiscard, go 
 you must not. I should never forgive 
 myself if I allowed you to run so awful 
 a risk without doing everything in my 
 power to deter you. Don't you think so, 
 Lauriel ?'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 191 
 
 * Certainly, mamma.' 
 
 '"Well, really,' said tlie count, 'you have 
 half frightened me out of my resolution.' 
 
 ' I sincerely trust I have,' went on Mrs. 
 Swift ; ' and, moreover, I do not for one 
 moment believe that you yourself really 
 consider it safe to go. The fact is, that 
 rather than be, as you imagine, in our 
 way, and inflict on us more of your society 
 than you conceive we can support, you 
 will run the risk of dying the death of a 
 felon. Now, on your word, Monsieur de 
 Guiscard, is not that so ?' 
 
 ' Well, beyond all question, I must be 
 an incredible nuisance, of course ; but, 
 altogether apart from that ' 
 
 ' There is nothing whatever apart from 
 that. Promise me, I pray, that you will 
 reconsider your determination.' 
 
 ' Then I surrender,' answered the count, 
 * to your infinite goodness, and will bore 
 you a little while longer.'
 
 192 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 A coDSummate actor, Monsieur de Guis- 
 card never forgot liis cliaracter. In all 
 his efforts to amuse bis hostesses and to 
 gain that regard which would doubly 
 ensure the safety of his concealment, he 
 had always contrived to mix enough ap- 
 pearance of the struggle it cost him to be 
 gay, to maintain at once his r(>/^, and to 
 lend an additional value to his good nature. 
 It was sometimes of course only too easy 
 for him to appear miserable, but against 
 that he fought. It was too awful to be so 
 unutterably miserable as that. 
 
 At dinner on the day of the conversa- 
 tion we have recited, Monsieur de Guis- 
 card was, however, in exuberant spirits, 
 and be could not help showing it. In 
 Lauriel's pale face he had received a very 
 revelation. She was more than sorry 
 when he said he must go, and worse than 
 afraid. Yet he had paid her no special 
 attention, nor attempted in any way to
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 193 
 
 gain her affection. Nevertheless, she 
 cared for him, clearly, very much. And, 
 as he thought so, he suddenly heard across 
 the time, 'Kiss me, Henri, before I go 
 away for ever,' and he shuddered. * But 
 your love has been blighted, why not 
 another ?' whispered the fiend within him, 
 and his soul echoed, ' Why not ?' Then, 
 loving thus for nothing, what would she 
 love for love, he thought ? What would 
 she not do for it ? Ay, what would she 
 not risk for it? What was there women 
 had not risked, dared, defied, for love ? 
 The thought set his whole being aglow. 
 The way was clear now. 
 
 Lauriel was very silent during dinner : 
 unusually so. She generally took the 
 brunt of the conversation upon herself, 
 partly to save her mother from fatigue 
 and partly because she felt it a duty to 
 cheer and divert poor Monsieur de Guis- 
 card as well as might be, a task for which 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Mrs. Swift was sadly unfit. It was very 
 difficult for her to be gay. The count's fit 
 of exuberant, irrepressible spirits was very 
 opportune., therefore. Lauriel sheltered 
 behind it, so to speak, smiled mechanically 
 at the jokes she scarcely heard, and 
 thought. She hardly knew what it meant 
 that feeling of dull sorrow which had 
 flooded her soul when this acquaintance of 
 a few weeks had said, ' I must go.' Yet it 
 had been a very real pain, and a very deep 
 one. 
 
 Poor little Lauriel ! And the relief, 
 the joy, quiet, intense, when he had said 
 he would stay a little longer, only temper- 
 ed by the prospect, unthought of before, 
 that it was only a little longer. It was a 
 relief to her when the short repast was 
 over, and she could go upstairs to have a 
 penitent cry over the truth slowly dawn- 
 ing upon her. How sweet, how foolish, 
 how irrevocable. Presently she came
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 195 
 
 downstairs again feeling very happily 
 miserable, and was astonished to find 
 Monsieur de Guiscard evidently waiting 
 for her. 
 
 ' I am so glad you have come.' he said, 
 ' I want to ask a favour.' 
 
 He spoke in a tender tone she had never 
 heard inspire his voice before, yet she had 
 often noticed how sweet and gentle that 
 voice was. I daresay that as a matter-of- 
 fact it was no whit changed from its 
 ordinary, but — 
 
 *■ There is a power in Love 
 Beyond what mortals dream of. He alone 
 Is not a debtor to the power of sense, 
 A slave to five poor miserable means 
 Of working out his great Supremacy. 
 No ! he has agents we know nothing of, 
 Subtle as ether, strong as Destiny, 
 Connecting soul with soul.' 
 
 ' Yes ?' 
 
 The count noticed the new-found timid- 
 ity of her glance. 
 
 o2
 
 196 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' Yes, I want you to take me to see the 
 waterfall at the Devil's Hole. It is quite 
 near this, is it not? Yet I have never 
 chanced to see it all these weeks.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, Monsieur de Guiscard, it would 
 not be safe. Tt is barely dusk yet. You 
 are growing rash and reckless. Eemem- 
 ber the risk you run. Oh, no, no, this 
 will never do.' 
 
 ' Indeed, yes,' he pleaded. ' It rained 
 all this morning, and is cloudy still. No 
 one will trouble to walk up from the 
 village on a day like this, and there is no- 
 body nearer. I have really been more 
 careful than necessity required. I don't 
 believe ten people come here in as many 
 years. Do jplease. The walk would be 
 such a treat. My nocturnal expeditions 
 are a poor substitute for strolls by day- 
 light — and with you.' 
 
 She walked to the door and looked out, 
 hesitating.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 197 
 
 ' Certainly it is a very, very little way : 
 stay, I will run and see if any denizens 
 of the dreary waste are about.' 
 
 A few minutes, and she had returned, 
 prettily breathless, with heightened colour 
 and eyes full of happiness. 
 
 * Yes, you may come, there is no one 
 near ; and the trees shade the Hole so 
 well, one cannot be seen, once one is there, 
 you know.' 
 
 So they went, the dark line and the 
 golden mingling ever more surely. Alas ! 
 brother, brother, — the dream, alas ! the 
 dream ! 
 
 Let us leave them sitting on a ledge of 
 rock looking down into the deep black 
 water ; for, w^orse luck, it is necessary that 
 I should describe to you the Devil's Hole. 
 Exactly, I mean, like a geologist, or an 
 auctioneer, or a modern poet. 
 
 About two hundred yards from the door 
 of Mrs. Swift's cottage, a limestone ridge
 
 198 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 rose abruptly, rearino^ a vertical face of 
 some twenty feet high, sheer out of the 
 plain. Apparently the result of a fault in 
 the formation, which had allowed a partial 
 subsidence to take place, it was traversed 
 obliquely by another fault which cut a 
 narrow gorge through the cliff, but which 
 everywhere else was filled by the accumu- 
 lations of centuries, and was indistinguish- 
 able from the surrounding surface. Thick- 
 ly studded by trees and extensive patches 
 of underwood as the whole country was, 
 ihe little gorge was not readily to be found 
 by a stranger, and might even be missed 
 by one who knew it well. Through it was 
 the way to the Devil's Hole. For, far away 
 down below the surface, a subterranean 
 river had eaten its way along the fault, 
 coming no one knew whence, and going no 
 one knew whither. But a little way fur- 
 ther on a vast hole yawned black and 
 sullen, and down its steep, rocky sides one
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 199 
 
 could look and see a mighty torrent rush- 
 ing in with throbs, like the beat of a 
 human pulse, and fall, fall, falling, till the 
 eye refused to follow and the mind to 
 think. A terrible place, truly, but Lauriel 
 does not think so to-day. Listen, they 
 have sat long and are coming away at last, 
 her hand held fast in his. 
 
 * I used to be frightened of the waterfall, 
 oh, so frightened ; I fancied that somehow 
 it was my fate, and shrank from it (Jona- 
 than used to say so, half in jest, half in 
 earnest) and I could not bear to hear its 
 rumbling, those pulses seemed always to 
 say, "Come, Stephanie, come, Stephanie, 
 come." Jonathan heard it too — that is 
 why he began to call me Lauriel ; it isn't 
 my real name, you know. But now ! oh, 
 how I love it. And I have gone to it, 
 haven't I, and how kind it has been to me ; 
 we will both of us love it, always, always, 
 won't we — Henri?'
 
 200 JONATHAN S\nFT. 
 
 Then he stooped and kissed her fore- 
 head. May God forgive him, for I never 
 can.
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 However it came about, it did come about 
 that Henry St. John was not the only 
 fi^uest Sir William Temple entertained at 
 the dinner the former had so much dread- 
 ed. Jonathan Swift was there too. He 
 had been invited by a characteristic note. 
 
 'Dear Me. Swift, 
 
 * If you are not otherwise en- 
 gaged, I shall be glad if you will be my 
 guest at dinner this evening. 
 
 ' Yours faithfully.' 
 
 * Be my guest,' was the neat way in
 
 202 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 whicli Sir William conveyed, to one wliom 
 he knew very well would understand a hint, 
 the idea that neither Jonathan nor anybody 
 else was, while at his table, looked upon 
 by him as other than a gentleman and an 
 equal. 
 
 As for Jonathan, he would very much 
 have preferred not to go. Of all the 
 things which he detested the one he hated 
 most utterly was being in society which 
 had a right to esteem itself as his superior. 
 ' Were I acknowledged,' he would say, ' as I 
 shall be if I have time, then I would mix, 
 and willingly, with men whose accidents of 
 birth and fortune are so much beyond 
 mine, as my accident of intelligence is 
 beyond theirs. Meantime, no.' 
 
 And although he was well aware that 
 Sir William would treat hini precisely as 
 he would treat anybody else, and listen 
 attentively to his opinions, defer courteous- 
 ly to his judgments, and applaud his wit
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 203 
 
 quite as agreeably as though he were 
 dealing with a ducal guest instead of an 
 amanuensis one, still, he also knew that 
 that was because Sir William was a gen- 
 tleman, and not because his secretary was 
 Jonathan Swift. It would be deference to 
 good breeding, not deference to him. I 
 think Jonathan Swift was right. Nothing 
 is more usual than to see men, ay, and 
 women, too, crawling, creeping, wriggling 
 into society, which is unanimous in regard- 
 ing them, when it deigns to do so at all, 
 with passive contempt, and then, heaven 
 help them, they think themselves dignified 
 by the contact. After all, I daresay they 
 are ; at any rate, it cannot possibly degrade 
 them. 
 
 Before making up his mind, however, 
 to refuse, he had gone to consult, as was 
 becoming usual for him, Hestor Johnson, 
 and she had insisted so strongly on how 
 unwise it would be to do so, as to carry
 
 204 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 her point. So Jonathan dined with Sir 
 WiUiam Temple for the first time in his 
 life. 
 
 Dinner passed off very pleasantly. Sir 
 William did just talking enough to make 
 the young men talk, throwing in occasion- 
 ally an anecdote culled from a long experi- 
 ence. St. John chattered away intermin- 
 ably, leaving nobody time to consider 
 what a miracle it was he never seemed to 
 talk too much ; while Jonathan, when the 
 strange feeling of his new position wore 
 off, enjoyed himself immensely. Present- 
 ly, through the medium of a discussion 
 on Shakespeare, somebody reached the 
 mazy question of different types of char- 
 acter. 
 
 ' Ah/ said Sir William, ' that is a sub- 
 ject which only experience can give an 
 acquaintance with. To get a character 
 out of a book is an impossibility. You. 
 can get something, a hint that Tom was
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 205 
 
 wicked, Dick worse, and Harry worst of 
 all, but that is no more a " character " 
 than the colour of the eyes is a portrait. 
 The whole character is the whole man. 
 As ambassador at the Hague, I once met a 
 man who interested me very much. I 
 will tell you about him, if you won't be 
 bored, as a sample of what I mean. It 
 won't lay open to you the individual's 
 character, but it will convey some idea of 
 the complications involved in such a study. 
 Silly people talk about the fidelity of ro- 
 mances to nature, when, as they say, each 
 action in these is the necessary outcome 
 of a certain character face to face with a 
 certain circumstance. But of course, in 
 nature, character is circumstance, and that 
 is all we can concern ourselves with ; for 
 out of nature, or more correctly, above it, 
 character is the Grace of God and passes 
 knowledge. Would you like to hear of 
 ni}^ French friend as the best contribution
 
 206 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 I can offer to the entertainment, and for 
 which I fear, so far, I have clone very 
 "little — a slight headache, gentlemen, so 
 pray excuse my not having been a good 
 host.' 
 
 Being pressed to favour his guests with 
 the story, Sir William recounted a dark 
 tale of a ruined life, blurred, disfigured, 
 almost blotted out by crime, and vice, and 
 wretchedness, yet strangely lit now and 
 then by unexpected goodnesses. 
 
 ' By the way, Sir William,' St. John 
 said, when he concluded, * you have 
 never mentioned the fellow's name.' 
 
 ' True. He was a marquis (though he 
 never used the title) as well as an abbe. 
 He generally called himself the Count de 
 Guiscard.' 
 
 Jonathan started. 
 
 * Was he,' he said, — ' but stay, it is some 
 years since you saw him. Just before I 
 left home to come here a distinguished
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 207 
 
 looking man, calling himself Monsieur de 
 Guiscard, came to tlie cottage to seek 
 shelter from a terrific storm which was 
 raging. He was French beyond all ques- 
 tion, tall, good-looking, and his age might 
 be anything. It could scarcely have been 
 he, however, or he would have given a 
 false name.' 
 
 ' Nay,' said Sir William, ' I am not at 
 all sure of that. The fellow is consum- 
 mate liar enough to know the absurdity 
 of telling a useless lie. The odds were 
 millions to one against your having ever 
 heard his name. Had he given another, 
 complications might just as readily have 
 arisen out of it, as from his own. At 
 any rate, I will mention the matter in 
 writing to London. Do you know where 
 he is now, or where he was going?' 
 
 As Jonathan said *No,' how little he 
 imagined what the conversation that so 
 closed would bring forth.
 
 208 ' JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 There was still more involved iu that 
 evening's entertainment of infinite con- 
 sequence to our hero as the reader will 
 see. The question of Triennial Parlia- 
 ments, being the great political question 
 of the day, of course came up for dis- 
 cussion in good time, and Sir William, 
 who was a man of extensive information 
 and sound common sense, was much 
 struck with the complete grasp Jonathan 
 seemed to have of the constitutional 
 questions involved. He seemed to pos- 
 sess a perfect appreciation of the states- 
 manship of the issue, as opposed to the 
 politics of it, which amazed the profes- 
 sional diplomatist. Sometimes Jonathan 
 could not resist a startling paradoxical 
 expression of what was, after all, sound 
 sense, which irritated Sir William's some- 
 what common-place preferences, but there 
 was enough for all that of the kind of 
 talent he could appreciate to raise his
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 209 
 
 secretary very mucli indeed in his esti- 
 mation. 
 
 It was, on the other hand, the sparks 
 which St. John looked for when he re- 
 membered the unknown beauty's warn- 
 ing, and he rejoiced to see that, with 
 a]l his sense, Jonathan preferred a good 
 thing to a defensible position. 
 
 'Absolute monarchy is tyranny, but 
 absolute democracy is tyranny and an- 
 archy both,' said St. John, whose views 
 were in a minority. 
 
 ^ Yes, tyranny ovei^ anarchy,' was the 
 reply. 
 
 'Nay, all revelation and history con- 
 tradict that.' 
 
 'Both of them can't. They are dia- 
 metrically opposite. Kevelation is, " God 
 is Love," History, " man isn't." ' 
 
 It so chanced that a London post 
 arrived as they were chatting, and as 
 it brought some very important dispatches 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 from court for Sir Williara, he excused 
 himself, for fear an immediate reply 
 might be required, and retired to the 
 library to read them. Left alone, the 
 young men had a long and earnest con« 
 versation, some of which, reader, please 
 excuse my recording. I want jou to 
 get a glimpse of the man as he really 
 ■was, before what was coming, came. 
 
 ' Is that really your reading of history ?' 
 asked St. John. 'Do you see nothing 
 less diabolical than that in all the re- 
 cords of all the ages ; or to your mind, 
 in good earnest, would " Man is Hate " 
 be a fair, impartial epitaph on that race 
 which was once created in God's own 
 image ?' 
 
 'No,' — mark it, reader. 'No. I see 
 what is coming. You wall tell me I 
 would rather libel my species than miss 
 the occasion for a joke. Still, no, that 
 is not my reading of history, I do 7iot
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 211 
 
 find that "Man is Hate." That would 
 involve his being hateful, and I don't 
 tliink he is. He is very generally stupid, 
 but not by any manner of means offen- 
 sive or obnoxious. I have been forced 
 to despise the intellectual capacities of 
 a great many people both in history and 
 experience, but, do you know, I hardly 
 believe in villainy.' 
 
 * Marvellous !' answered St. John. ' You 
 are not so much of a misanthrope as am I 
 — in fact, it was only the exclusiveness, 
 the grasp of your epigram, that I objected 
 to. All men are not hate, and all men 
 are not hateful, but a very great many are 
 — most, in fact. So mucb as that appears 
 in the terms of ordinary conversation. 
 Somebody by a little inconvenience saves 
 from ruin a dear friend, perhaps a rela- 
 tive, and everybody else says, " What self- 
 sacrifice 1" They can't conceive of its 
 being the least self-sacrificing thing he 
 
 p2
 
 212 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 could have done. And generosity, giving 
 something away, has come to be synony- 
 mous with what, rightly considered, is the 
 polossal satisfaction of forgiving an injury. 
 Is not that hateful?' 
 
 'Why, no,' answered Jonathan. *I 
 really do not think so. Such clerical 
 errors reflect the stupidity of the race, not 
 its viciousness. To be frank, too, I am 
 sorry I agree with you even as far as I 
 do. Once I would have felt more at my 
 ease in maintaining the cause of mankind 
 as being very little lower than the angels ; 
 but I have met with a good deal of trou- 
 ble, we have had a good deal at home, and 
 it is difficult to be enthusiastic over a race 
 which seems eternally to ill-treat all that 
 is nearest and dearest to one.' 
 
 St. John looked curiously at his new 
 friend. 
 
 'Pardon me, Mr. Swift,' he said; 'you 
 think the world only stupid because it
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 213 
 
 only does not appreciate you — you are 
 right; but you will hate it when it wrongs 
 you too.' 
 
 * Then T nray God it never may, for it 
 would be a terrible thing and a devilish 
 to hate, hate, hate. So far am I from 
 that at present, at least,' he added, with a 
 smile, ^ that my ambition is to take holy 
 orders, and do, as a clergyman, all the 
 good I can to my fellow-creatures. From 
 that point of view I don't think the buffets 
 of an entire generation could make me 
 hate a single individual. One is forced to 
 remember always that the greatest evil is 
 only misdirected good, and that men, truly 
 images of God, might possibly be evolved 
 by changes, only He knows how slight, 
 from natures the vilest, meanest, and most 
 despicable. Besides, whatever one is, lay 
 or clerical, how could one ever be so un- 
 just as to bear an antipathy to an entire 
 race, and that one's own, because of the
 
 214 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 injustice, perfidy, wickedness, cruelty, what 
 you will, of a few? — ^for, after all, it is 
 only at the bands of a few that any man 
 can suffer.' 
 
 'You forget,' replied St. John, 'you are 
 a man too, and of like passions with them- 
 selves. That would be the why and where- 
 fore, if the test ever came (as I do hope 
 most devoutly it never may) to you or to 
 me. There is one great advantage I have 
 over many people,' he added, changing his 
 tone, * for, however I may come to hate 
 mankind if they drive me to it, I shall 
 never swerve from adoring the ladies. By 
 the way, that reminds me I had an adven- 
 ture in the shrubbery this morning.' 
 
 Jonathan began to feel vaguely uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 ' You did !' he cried. ' Uncommonly 
 clever of you, I'm sure. K'obody else 
 ever succeeded in penetrating the prose of 
 Moor Park before. Well, what was it ?'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 21 5 
 
 * More correctly, what was she ? I don't 
 know — do you ? This is the description — 
 heaven on earth garnished with Chili 
 vinegar.' 
 
 Jonathan smiled. 
 
 ' That would be a bad-tempered defini- 
 tion of Miss Johnson ; but it couldn't have 
 been she ; she is too reserved — it might 
 appear like pride to a stranger — to have 
 spoken to you.' 
 
 * No, it was not Miss Johnson. I 
 thought it was, and addressed her as one 
 would a person in her position. Oh, dear 
 me, I shall never forget it !' 
 
 Jonathan was disgusted to feel he was 
 quite glad of poor St. John's misfortunes, 
 and that it was hard work to even ap- 
 pear sympathetic ; but when his friend 
 had told the whole story he knew it was 
 Hestor. However, the twinge of jealousy 
 and the natural elation at the opinion 
 she had expressed about himself were
 
 216 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 swallowed up in amazement. ' What is 
 the mystery underlying this ?' he thought. 
 ' Can the way in which her wish appears 
 to be law be merely coincidence? Or 
 why, in the name o£ all that is occult, 
 does Sir William do me the incredible 
 honour of asking me to dinner, simply 
 because she appears to have wished it T
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Next morning Jonathan Swift awoke in 
 the best of spirits. The events of the 
 day before had cheered him up wonder- 
 fully. Hope had sprung afresh in his 
 heart. Perhaps things would come right 
 some day. It was just possible that he 
 might succeed, after all ; that the world 
 would cease to trample on him ; that his 
 talents might be recognized, and his glori- 
 ous ambition to be great, and to be 
 greatly good, be reached. The appro- 
 bation of one young man of four and 
 twenty may seem a slight enough peg
 
 218 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 on wliicli to hang sucli higli anticipations, 
 but it was the first masculine encour- 
 aofement Jonathan had ever known, and 
 he valued it proportionately. Besides, 
 St. John's was more than an individual 
 opinion, it was a power. The days of 
 ^' noble authors and distinguished critics " 
 were not then over. 
 
 ' Let but a lord confess the happy lines, 
 How the sense brightens, how the wit refines !' 
 
 wrote Pope a good while later. And, 
 though St. John was not in that happy 
 position himself, his high connections and 
 his intimate relations with many of the 
 leaders of wit and fashion, made his good 
 word almost as valuable as though he 
 were. Speaking of Matthew Prior the 
 night before to Jonathan, he said. ' If 
 Sir William cannot do anything for him, 
 I shall go to the Earl of Dorset.' Fancy 
 what a prospect was there for a poor 
 dejected author who had never got be-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 219 
 
 yond the circle of publishers and critics, 
 and who had to rely upon sheer happy- 
 go-lucky for the felicity of a single man 
 of intelligence happening to ever see his 
 book at all. And a very poor chance 
 that is. Everybod}^ worth mentioning, 
 from Jonathan Swift to Thomas Carlyle, 
 can vouch for it. 
 
 So, I repeat, Jonathan awoke that morn- 
 ing in the best of spirits. So good were 
 they that he screwed up his courage to 
 do a thino^ which he had not dared to 
 do since the last failure — he dared to 
 write. He went to a draY^^er, unlocked 
 it, and took out his once dearly-beloved 
 'Tale of a Tub/ and began to glance 
 approvingly over the pages. Presently, 
 some quaint notions came to him, as was 
 their wont, and he decided to add them 
 to the tale. Fearing, however, to be dis- 
 turbed if he remained in his room, and 
 being quite decided that the inspiration
 
 220 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 was too good to be lost, he bethought 
 him of a nook in the garden where he 
 often sat, and took his writing materials 
 thither. A very pleasant nook it was, 
 and one where he was quite safe from 
 interruption. He had found it by chance 
 one day while in pursuit of a poor wound- 
 ed raven, whose broken wing he thought 
 it might be possible to set. It was in 
 the heart of a o^israntic laurel which o^rew 
 close by the pathway. All round it ap- 
 peared one solid mass of foliage, black 
 and impenetrable, but some frost, or acci- 
 dent of years before, had killed the great 
 central trunk, and it had been sawn off 
 at a very convenient height, as Jona- 
 than observed, for a table, while several 
 branches growing out from it formed a 
 fair, natural substitute for an arm-chair. 
 
 Comfortably settled there, Jonathan 
 began to write the * digression concerning 
 -critics.' Buried in his work, he got as
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT, 221 
 
 far as the ' third and noblest sort of critics,' 
 explaining how ^ every true critic is a hero 
 born, descending in a direct line from a 
 celestial stem by Momus and Hybris, who 
 begat Zoilus, who begat Tigellius, who 
 begat Etcetera the elder, who begat Bent- 
 ley, and Rhymer, and "Wotton, and Per- 
 rauit, and Dennis, who begat Etcetera the 
 younger,' when he became conscious of a 
 giddiness and faintness gradually stealing 
 over him. He tried to rise, but was forced 
 by the feeling of dull helplessness to sit 
 down again, and, the langour increasing 
 rapidly, in a very few minutes he was in a 
 dead faint. How long he lay unconscious 
 propped by the kindly branches of the 
 laurel, he never knew. Sense came back 
 very, very slowly, and all recollection 
 blotted out for the time of where he was 
 and why ; he fancied that he heard in a 
 dream Sir WilHam Temple talking to Hes- 
 ter Johnson very softly and tenderly thus:
 
 222 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 * How sorry I am, what my regret is, no 
 one knows, certainly, poor child, you do 
 not. The ill done cannot be undone, but. 
 Hestor, it may be intensified, and it is 
 against that I am so anxious to guard, and 
 yet, without exposure, how can I ? So far 
 is certain, that I have allowed you to stay 
 here too long. While you were a child it 
 did not matter. It could attract no atten- 
 tion, invite no questioning that the orphan 
 of my steward should shelter beneath my 
 roof; but now — Besides, it is not good 
 for you. The society into which you are 
 forced for the sake of appearances, the 
 subterfuges you are obliged to practise, 
 the treatment you receive ' 
 
 ' You are very good, very good indeed ; 
 pray don't think of those things. Do you 
 think it better I should go away? Of 
 course I will if you wish it, if it is neces- 
 sary for the sake of appearances ; but 
 don't send me for my own sake. I
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 223 
 
 am very bappy here, and many things 
 that would annoy you very much don't 
 trouble me at all. You see I have been 
 accustomed to the society I live in all my 
 life. It does not jar on my nerves as it 
 might. And, besides, you could not put 
 me in any other without attracting fatal 
 attention — anything is preferable to that' 
 ' No, not anything' answered Sir William, 
 * not anything. Your care is my sacred 
 duty, I have made it so, and I must bow 
 to the consequences of my act, come what 
 will. If my reputation be blasted in my 
 old age, and men over whom I have set 
 myself all my life as a moral censor dis- 
 cover at last that Sir William Temple is 
 no better than his neighbours, and much 
 worse than many of them, why, so be it. 
 I will not escape by taking another step in 
 infamy. It is my fault that you are what 
 you are. Heaven helping me, you shall 
 never be any worse if care can prevent it.'
 
 224 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Jonathan dreamily thought the ivory 
 gates and golden had been very widely 
 opened, and fancied Hestor smiled one of 
 her sweet incomprehensible smiles before 
 she answered. 
 
 ' And yet I am not so dreadful but that 
 you would be sorry to lose me.' 
 
 ^ Child!' 
 
 * Nay, I mean it ; for I do not think you 
 would love me so, if I were other than I 
 am. Do not risk discovery for my sake, 
 remember I would suffer too ; perhaps you 
 think T ought to do some work now that I 
 am grown up, so that people may not 
 wonder. Yes ?' 
 
 * No, child, no, that would be worse and 
 worse. No, no ; I have been in the wrong 
 to let you live here year after year and 
 forget what might be. Something else 
 must be arranged. By the way, have you 
 seen young St. John? I suppose not?' 
 
 ^ Yes; why?'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 225 
 
 * Nothing, I wondered.' But lie drew 
 Lis hand wearily across his brow and 
 sighed. * The Manor Cottage used to 
 belong to his uncle. It reminded me of 
 him. Would you object to live at the 
 Manor Cottage ?' 
 
 ' I ! — oh, no. But I am very happy 
 here, much happier here. There need be 
 no change yet, need there ?' she pleaded. 
 
 She spoke in low tones, scarcely above 
 a whisper, but with an earnestness there 
 was no mistaking. As Jonathan heard the 
 words, a vague doubt about whether he 
 dreamed or not came over him. He opened 
 his eyes, and then recollection came back 
 like a flood. The voices again ; he lis- 
 tened. 
 
 ' That you are your own mistress is the 
 hardest part of your fate. I cannot com- 
 mand ' 
 
 ^ Oh, don't say that, please don't. I 
 could not bear you should doubt me so. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 If you wisb it, even only as a preference, I 
 will do it, of course. It seemed a little 
 hard just at first to go away from you and 
 Moor Park, that was all.' 
 
 The voice trembled perceptibly. It was 
 real beyond all doubt. Jonathan was 
 dreaming the dream of life. Amazed be- 
 yond expression, he hesitated what to do. 
 To discover himself would be probably to 
 complicate matters. He had heard un- 
 wittingly what was not intended for any 
 human ear but those to which it was 
 addressed ; but that was, so far, all his 
 own. Sir William and Hestor need never 
 know that any mortal was aware of some 
 great secret being shared between them. 
 He could trust himself to be as silent as 
 the laurel itself. Yes, it was best to re- 
 main quiet and hope they would say no 
 more. 
 
 ^ It will scarcely be going away,' answer- 
 ed Sir William. ' The Manor Cottaofe is
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 227 
 
 within walking distance ; I shall often see 
 you, and you can come here sometimes/ 
 
 ' Who shall I live with, and what is to 
 be understood ?' with a desperate effort at 
 calmness which Jonathan could hear in 
 her voice as distinctly as he could have 
 seen it, had the laurel permitted, in her 
 trembling lip and tearful eyes. 
 
 * I have thought of that ' — there was a 
 sob — ' for God's sake don't cry, child, some 
 one might see you.' Hestor was still in 
 an instant. ' I have thought of that. A 
 lady (what they call a decayed gentle- 
 woman) is to live there, and you will 
 nominally be her companion : as a matter 
 of fact she will be yours. Her name is 
 Dingley, Mrs. Dingley. She is about 
 twice your age, but is amusing and intelli- 
 gent, and, I should think, an easy person 
 to live with. Besides, she is very discreet. 
 Will that do ?' 
 
 ' Don't think me ungrateful because I 
 
 q2
 
 228 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 cry. You are very, very kind and good 
 to me. I know it is all for the best.' 
 
 ^ r believe so. Now then, away !' saying 
 Avhicb, after looking carefully round, Sir 
 William Temple stooped hurriedly and 
 kissed Hestor Johnson. 
 
 Jonathan put his hand to his eyes to 
 assure himself of the fidelity of his senses ; 
 when he withdrew it, Hestor had gone, 
 and Sir William was walking rapidly away 
 towards the house. There was no illusion, 
 clearly, and poor Jonathan was sorry for 
 it; why, he could not perhaps have said. 
 So far the future author of the Yahoo 
 character had mingled with and thought 
 too little of vice for the worst interpreta- 
 tion of every human action to be the first 
 which occurred to him. That was not 
 yet. ^ Opinion,' he said years after, ' is 
 not so much what a man thinks as what 
 he is.' True, as everything he said was 
 true ; but — Jonathan ! Indeed, it was not
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 229 
 
 any interpretation of the incident whicli 
 occurred to him first, but a feeling of in- 
 tense disgust to the bird with the broken 
 wing, and it was on that he pondered as, 
 mechanically picking up his papers, he 
 prepared to leave the dimly-realised con- 
 fessional. 
 
 A few steps, and there before him, 
 hanging on a branch, was a cage, and in 
 it the raven. 
 
 ' Oh ! yes,' cried the bird, when it saw 
 him. 
 
 ' What !' said Jonathan, taken aback, 
 * are you not only a devil, but a familiar ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' — in a whisper. 
 
 ' You led me there — ^on purpose ?' 
 
 ' Ohj yes,' — louder. 
 
 ' You know why ?' 
 
 * Oh, yes,' — louder still. 
 
 * Shall I ever know ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes — oh, yes — oh, yes !' screamed 
 the bird, its eyes red with anger and its
 
 230 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 feathers ruffled, but sitting perfectly still. 
 ^ This is childish of me/ Jonathan tried 
 to say, as he strode away ; but an intui- 
 tion told him that the raven was right — - 
 at least, as reo:arded the future.
 
 231 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Matthew Prior, the subject of the late 
 conversation between St. John and Sir 
 William, and whose talents and misfor- 
 tunes had so highly excited the admiration 
 and sympathy of the former, was living at 
 this time at the village of Merton, having 
 arrived there a few days subsequently to 
 Jonathan's departure for Moor Park. Dear 
 Matt, as Jonathan learned one day to call 
 him, was the son of a butcher who had 
 lived nobody knew how and died nobody 
 cared where. At any rate, from an age 
 so early that he had no previous recollec-
 
 232 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 tions, Matthew was the care of an uncle 
 who carried on trade as a publican in 
 Cheapside, and who did his duty by his 
 helpless nephew in a way which very few 
 publicans, or anybody else, have done in 
 like circumstances. For, if ' true religion 
 and undefiled ' be to visit the widow and 
 the fatherless in their affliction, certainly, 
 to judge by experience, the gate is straight 
 and the wav is narrow. 
 
 Thanks to the judicious care of this 
 humane man, Matthew found himself at 
 fifteen years of age with just such an 
 education as every boy similarly circum- 
 stanced ought to have, namelj^, enough 
 book learning to enable him to acquire 
 more if he chose, and an honest, manly 
 wish and intention to work for his own 
 living. If that was the education school- 
 boards gave, I would not hate them as 
 unutterably as I do. Their system is to 
 tax cold mutton to supply paupers with
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 233 
 
 truffles. Confiscation, sir — sheer robbery. 
 It is a duty on which the State may insist 
 to supply everyone with both mental and. 
 material necessities, but an impost to 
 raise funds for teaching wastrels phil- 
 ology is a wicked thing directed to an 
 idiotic object. 
 
 Matthew's uncle was a poor man, 
 although the house over which he pre- 
 sided was a well-known one, and did year 
 by year an increasing business. Well 
 aware of this, the high-spirited orphan 
 donned a livery the moment he could ob- 
 tain permission to do so, earned a day's 
 wages on the same terms as other ser- 
 vants, and insisted on his uncle accepting 
 so-and-so much of it on account of board 
 and lodging. For six or seven years he 
 drudged indefatigably at this distasteful 
 work, solacing it by the devotion of every 
 spare moment to the study of his passion 
 — poetry. And so, very possibly, he
 
 234 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 might have gone on many years more 
 until his uncle dropped into the grave 
 and left him, like Ben Jonson, free to 
 shoulder a pike as a preferable evil to the 
 drawing of corks. One day, however, 
 came the incident which St. John re- 
 counted to Sir William Temple, and it 
 altered all the course of Matthew Prior's 
 life. 
 
 ' You cannot stay in London any longer/ 
 said his uncle to him after the rencounter ; 
 ' your chivalry, as you call it, and your 
 rhymes will ruin us both, if you do. Why, 
 my boy, I don't blame you so far : time 
 was when a pretty face made a lion of me 
 too. That is natural. There is something 
 calculated to — to — what do you call it? — 
 ferocity in a very pretty face, especially 
 when they cry. It may not be your fault ; 
 I don't say it is, but it will never do for a 
 tavern, never. Do you suppose customers 
 expect to be knocked down because they
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 235 
 
 aren't chivalrous ? Nonsense, lad ; there 
 isn't such a thing as chivalrous money. 
 Mind, I'm very glad you did it, very. It 
 warmed me up to see you. Besides, you 
 can hit out wonderfully straight. But it's 
 not business, it doesn't pay; in fact, it 
 means ruin. One or two may be too 
 ashamed of getting knocked down by a 
 waiter to tell their friends, but somebody 
 will sooner or later, and then the friends 
 won't come. Besides, you talked rhyme 
 when you did it, or at least I'm sure it 
 began with capitals, and, instead of swear- 
 i^^> jo^ talked as regularly as the gurgle 
 of wine from a bottle. Now, Matthew, 
 gentlemen won't stand that. If they are 
 gentlemen who like being knocked down — 
 I mean, if they are gentlemen who don't 
 knock back again, they won't stand 
 rhyme. Your — yes, that's it — blank verse, 
 odes, couplets, invocations rile that sort 
 worse than a good thrashing. No, no.
 
 236 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Matthew, this will never do. You must 
 go to the country, and I know a good 
 opening for you when you get there.' 
 
 Matthew protested and pleaded in vain. 
 "When St. John came to procure his services 
 as second, and when after the fight he 
 came back to the inn and spent more 
 money on his dinner than any five ordin- 
 ary customers, Matthew thought he had a 
 fair ground for contending that physical 
 force did sometimes pay, but he still found 
 his uncle inexorable. 
 
 ' I have a family of girls, lad, and can't 
 leave them penniless, and I am afraid they 
 would be left so if it depended on there 
 being two men who saw a thrashing in 
 the same light as Mr. St. John.' 
 
 So it was settled that Matthew should 
 go to take charge of the little inn at 
 Merton till he sobered down his chivalry, 
 when he should come back and relieve his
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 237 
 
 uncle of most of the bard work and worry 
 of the Cheapside business. There, then, 
 without further preface we can follow him 
 and watch how his efforts after the com- 
 mon-place affected the destinies of Jona- 
 than Swift. 
 
 A very few days elapsed before the new 
 landlord of the ' Cricket ' was the most 
 popular man in Merton. Everybody agreed 
 that it was not in the nature of songs to 
 be better sung than he sang them, or of 
 stories to be better told than as he told 
 them. Such songs and such stories too ! 
 How the village had got on before they 
 had been sung and heard nobody could 
 conceive. What insensate blindness to 
 have been contented with ' The Harvest 
 Home, Tol de rol/ or the story of John 
 Lawson's ghost. It was not to be ex- 
 plained. So Matthew had satisfactory 
 returns to transmit of the tavern takings ;
 
 238 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 for of course tlie company was gratis, the 
 beer was not. He had plenty of time too 
 on his hands, for the villagers plodded 
 along very soberly all day and only became 
 jovial in the evening. The * rhymes, blank 
 verse, odes, and invocations,' therefore, 
 found a fruitful soil, and were more assid- 
 uously cultivated than ever, but, for some 
 time after his arrival, Matthew thought that 
 his uncle could scarcely have picked out a 
 place better calculated to extinguish, if 
 not respect for the fair sex, at least 
 admiration for it. 
 
 'Ah/ he thought, 'there is not one 
 woman in Merton whom I shall have 
 the face to call Dorinda. Augusta isn't 
 here, so obviously isn't here, that all the 
 poetic license in the world won't warrant 
 me in saying that she is. Chloe ! heaven 
 help me, not one of these people would 
 serve for Chloe's cook.' And then he 
 scribbled an epigram on the poor dears.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 239 
 
 ' Oh, Cupid, Cupid, list my sigh, 
 
 And cure my aching smart ; 
 Oh, thrust an arrow in my eye 
 
 As well as in my heart. 
 To Chloe, Nelly, Joan, Nannette 
 
 I would not be unkind, 
 I would not — but, oh, Cupid, yet 
 
 I must ! or else be blind !' 
 
 One morning, as he stood at the door 
 of the 'Cricket,' pondering in this frame 
 of mind, the mathematico-philosophical 
 question of how ugly any combination 
 of two eyes, a nose, a chin, etcetera could, 
 be made, Lauriel Swift, armed with her 
 market-basket, marched past him. 
 
 'Well, I don't know,' he murmured, in 
 the first blush of delighted admiration, 
 ' but I am strongly of opinion that no- 
 thing could be ugly enough to be the 
 antithesis of that: Lauriel stopped at his 
 neighbour the butcher's for a minute or 
 two, and then wended her way down 
 the straggling High Street towards the
 
 240 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 market-place. Scarcely had she turned 
 her back, before Matthew assailed the 
 worthy slayer of oxen with a perfect 
 hurricane of questions, beginning with, 
 ^Is she human or divine?' and endino: 
 with, 'Is there any being so degraded 
 as not to worship her?' 
 
 ^Why, Mr. Prior,' said the honest man, 
 when want of breath imposed a moment- 
 ary cessation on that gentleman's en- 
 comiums, 'I don't wonder at you. I 
 should say as much myself, if I had had 
 a London education. As it is, I am not 
 up to the fal de rol business, the chorus 
 like, but I think her just as pretty as 
 you do. And she's as good as she is 
 pretty ' 
 
 ' What is she so happy about ?' broke in 
 Prior. 
 
 'Happy! I don't think she is that, 
 poor child ; she was so quiet to-day. I 
 never remember her so quiet. Gener-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 241 
 
 ally, she laughs and chats enough to 
 cheer me up for the week, till she come 
 again. But to-day she spoke so softly, 
 I could hardly hear what she said, and 
 her laugh was like the ripple a feather 
 makes falliug in the water.' 
 
 * Poh ! that is nothing. Did you see 
 her eyes ?' 
 
 ' Oh no,' replied the abashed butcher. 
 ' Oh, dear no, I never dare look at her 
 eyes.' 
 
 ' Why ?' asked Prior, in amazement. 
 
 * Because, if I did, I should ask her 
 to marry me, and drown myself, if she 
 wouldn't, and ' — bitterly — ' of course she 
 wouldn't.' 
 
 ' Come now,' said kind-hearted Prior, 
 ' she might certainly go further and fare 
 a great deal worse.' 
 
 'No, no, not at all. Miss Swift is a 
 lady born. They are poor enough now, 
 in all conscience, poorer than most people 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 about here ; but it is only the money 
 that they have lost of their gentility.' 
 
 'She didn't look proud/ remarked Prior. 
 
 'And she does not behave as though 
 she were ; nobody less. But I know what 
 she thinks.' 
 
 ' Well, Priugle ' — the butcher's name, 
 by the way — ' I'll go home and write 
 her an ode, and since you are evidently 
 badly hit, I'll write you one too. And, 
 to be quite fair, you shall have your 
 choice of which you like to send her. 
 I won't take any mean advantages, but 
 I intend to marry Miss Swift — wasn't it ? 
 What's her Christian name ? — myself, if I 
 can.' 
 
 ' Sir,' said Pringle, turning round to 
 him, with solemn emphasis, ' something 
 tells me that that girl will never marry 
 anybody.' 
 
 * Fiddlesticks, man,' retorted his lively 
 friend, ' much love has made you mad.'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 248 
 
 But lie could extort nothing more satis- 
 factory from the butcher than, ' I hope 
 so, I'm sure,' and seeing that the subject 
 was scarcely one about which the worthy 
 man cared to converse, Prior rushed off 
 to more willing sources of information, 
 and readily obtained all the details which 
 Merton could supply about the Swift 
 family in general, and Lauriel in par- 
 ticular. That exhausted, he went back 
 to the ' Cricket ' and found his lieutenant, 
 a sturdy village clod-pole, amazed and 
 despairing. 
 
 ' The gentleman has gone out, sir, in a 
 perfect fury,' he said, alluding to a guest 
 who had arrived the night before, ' and 
 says you don't treat him as a government 
 officer ought to be treated. He wished to 
 ask you some questions, and you are not to 
 be found.' 
 
 ' Bother the fellow ! why didn't he 
 say so ?' put in Prior. ' Government 
 
 r2
 
 244 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 officers are arrogant prigs ; tliey think 
 that in their case the part is equal to 
 the whole, and grumble if they don't 
 get the homage due to King, Lords, 
 Commons, Convocation, Queen's Bench, 
 and the Court of Chancery collectively. 
 I'm going out again. Goodness knows 
 when I shall be back ; certainly not till 
 late. If our official friend grumbles any 
 more, tell him I wouldn't stay in to oblige 
 the small-pox, which is an officer of a 
 much higher government than he is, and 
 I don't see, therefore, why I should to 
 oblige him.' 
 
 Saying this, he dashed off to the great 
 pine-wood w^hich lay to the east of Merton, 
 and where, secure from interruption, he 
 could have a holiday after his own heart 
 in honour of the morning's discovery. 
 Heading Horace, writing amatory verses, 
 and swinging on a branch out of sheer 
 high spirits are enjoyable occupations
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 245 
 
 enough to a joang man of four and 
 twenty ; but Prior prayed heartily through 
 them all for the shades of evening, for 
 he had made up his mind to go, directly 
 darkness lent him courage enough, to Mrs. 
 Swift's, and leave a copy of impassioned 
 classical allusions for her pretty daughter. 
 Tired at last of waiting for the dusk to 
 draw in, he decided on going some round- 
 about way for the sake of the walk, and, 
 as a natural consequence of doing so, in 
 half an hour he fairly lost himself. 
 
 * Hm !' thought Prior, * this romance 
 bids fair to be mixed with rheumatism. 
 Oh ! bother, and I don't even see my way 
 to an epigram, so many have been written 
 already under the same circumstances. 
 Let me see, though, 'tis a punishment 
 because I didn't come the shortest way. 
 
 " Inflamed that his Dorincla's charms 
 Her lover thus should prize, 
 Who, far from rushing to her arms,
 
 246 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Approached them corkscrew- wise ; 
 The o[ocl of Love arransred it so." — 
 
 Hullo, what's that ? A mill-wheel !' He 
 listened. ' Yes/ he said to himself, * it 
 must be. I'll go and ask my way.' 
 
 Following the sound, he made his way 
 through the wood, which every moment 
 became more and more dense, and in 
 places scarcely penetrable. Suddenly he 
 stopped short. Ten paces from him on 
 the other side of a clump of brushwood 
 sat Lauriel Swift, and by her side was — 
 so it at once occurred to Prior — the 
 reason why she looked so happy. She 
 was laughing to him a soft, rapturous 
 little laugh that sounded, between the 
 pulses of the torrent beside which they 
 sat, like Paradise between chaos and the 
 fall. Prior watched them just one mo- 
 ment ; long enough to see that the gentle- 
 man by Lauriel's side was a handsome, 
 soldierly man of rather foreign appear-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 247 
 
 ance, and tbeu, very much disgusted to 
 find his odes were clearly too late, he 
 turned round and started off again for 
 Mertou.
 
 248 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 Jonathan was heartily glad to have bis 
 pitiless questionings silenced, not many 
 minutes after we left liim, by the cheery 
 society of Henry St. John. 
 
 ^ Why, my dear sir,' cried that volatile 
 gentleman, ' where on earth, if it was on 
 earth, have you been ? I thought you 
 were lost in the essay on ancient and 
 modern learning hunting for an original 
 idea. Come and talk to me, do, and your 
 petitioner will ever humbly pray. I shall 
 not worry you long, for I leave to-morrow 
 for London.'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 249 
 
 'Believe me,' said Jonathan, 'I'm sin- 
 cerely sorry to hear it ; I had hoped your 
 visit might be a long one. Moor Park 
 is rather dull sometimes. Beyond Miss 
 Johnson, there is no one with whom I 
 can — in the proper sense of the word — 
 converse.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said St. John, ' a little wit goes a 
 long way with a woman. It is like a par- 
 rot's talking. Perhaps it can only say five 
 words, but one is surprised to hear it 
 repeat at all.' 
 
 Chatting gaily thus, St. John found 
 means ingeniously to lead the conversa- 
 tion to personal topics, when at once he 
 plunged into a detailed account of who he 
 was, where he came from, what he had 
 done, and what he hoped to do, in short, a 
 condensed biography, trusting thereby to 
 extract as much in return from Jonathan. 
 Nor was he disappointed. It is one of the 
 few truisms that are true, that sorrow is
 
 250 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 halved and joy doubled by being shared 
 with another; and, reserved though Jona- 
 than had all his life been, he felt instinct- 
 ively that in St. John he had found a 
 friend in whose sympathy and discretion 
 he could trust, and for whom he might 
 break down something of the otherwise 
 impenetrable barrier of his pride. Still 
 the narrative he told was far from being a 
 complete one, and but for the acuteness of 
 his hearer, who read very well between the 
 lines, it would have conveyed a most 
 erroneous impression. 
 
 ' Ah !' said St. John, breaking in at one 
 point of the account, when he fancied 
 Jonathan would be glad of a moment's 
 pause to steady his voice which trembled 
 a little with emotion, ' ah, you were edu- 
 cated at Dublin University.' 
 
 ' Yes/ said Jonathan, * but I fear she got 
 but little credit by me. At that time my 
 father was alive, and there was no proba-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 251 
 
 bility of my having to embrace any pro- 
 fession for the sake of earning a Hvelihood. 
 My poor father's means were not supposed 
 to be great, but nobody, not even himself, 
 suspected that for some years past he had 
 been a pauper. So it turned out, how- 
 ever, to be. One morning, some hitch in 
 the ordinary course of business forced him 
 to make a thorough investigation of how 
 things really stood, and the result was the 
 discovery of ruin. Robbed on every hand 
 for years, while he had carelessly been 
 revelling in supposed success, the check 
 came too late to be a warning. It was 
 utter, hopeless, inevitable ruin my father 
 saw staring from his books that morning, 
 and not till that morning. Well, relying 
 on my supposed financial independence, I 
 had neglected studying for the sake of 
 what I could make out of it. The degree 
 course I despised, university honours I 
 despised, as earned by the memory not the
 
 252 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 imagination. So I do now ; but, had I 
 known what was coming, I should never- 
 theless have exerted myself to obtain a 
 creditable degree and a share of don 
 laudation. They would have been of use 
 as a means towards a " career." Of course 
 immediately the crash came I left the uni- 
 versity and we all retired to England, 
 partly in hopes more openings would be 
 found there for my energies, whatever 
 those are worth, than in Ireland. A very 
 few days after our arrival my father died, 
 and my mother and sister were left to my 
 charge, poor things. The question of 
 what I should do became then more press- 
 ing than ever, for a small annuity my 
 father had, and which his creditors very 
 humanely left at his disposal, of course 
 lapsed, and we ' — he was going to say 
 penniless, but checked himself — *were 
 worse off than ever. Now you mustn't be
 
 JONATHxiN SWIFT. 253 
 
 Lard on me when you hear what is coming. 
 I know now how wrong I was, and would 
 never do it again, trust me, never ! A 
 decent tradesman offered me fairly re- 
 munerative employment, so I have not 
 even the excuse of saying that nothing 
 else offered — no, in the teeth of opportun- 
 ity, warning, common sense, I went to 
 London with almost the last of my mo- 
 ther's guineas in my pocket, and there 
 attempted to make a name and living by 
 literature. At last, after having wasted 
 months of valuable time, I went back 
 beaten, but (fancy the insanity) not 
 despairing. True, publishers would not 
 see sense in my prose, nor poetry in my 
 poetry, but the public would, I thought. I 
 would storm where I could not find the 
 sentries sleeping.' 
 
 * Heaven help literature if publishers 
 are its sentries,' ejaculated St. John.
 
 254 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 * Ob, went on Jonathan, * tliej were 
 passable individuals enough, well educated, 
 well read ' 
 
 ' Ugh !' retorted St. John, ' the vilest 
 thing in the world is a commonplace man 
 with a too good education. I detest clas- 
 sical statues in red brick. Well, I beg 
 pardon for interrupting you.' 
 
 ' I literally had made up my mind to 
 publish, at my own expense or, no — would 
 to God it had been so ! — at the expense of 
 my mother, some '* choice pieces," as I 
 fondly called them ; and I did ! The at- 
 tempt met with the success its morality 
 deserved. Six copies were sold, perhaps 
 forty were given away, and the rest rotted 
 in the dungeon of the publisher. Then I 
 came here. It was a better fate than I 
 deserved, to have such a haven to come 
 to.' 
 
 ^ That depends on the harbour dues,'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 255 
 
 replied St. John, gravely. ' I am, believe 
 me, very sorry indeed to hear of all the 
 trouble you have had ; and, as to the part 
 that seems to grieve you most, don't think 
 of it any longer as you do. At the worst, 
 it was only, so far as you were concerned, 
 an error of judgment as to public taste — 
 a want of experience of popular imbecility. 
 Come, come, cheer up. To judge of con- 
 duct by its consequences is well enough 
 for publicans and attorneys, but it is be- 
 neath Jonathan Swift. By the way, it is 
 beneath me too, so pray don fc do me the 
 injustice to fancy that I esteem you any 
 the less for what you have told me. Un- 
 less I mistake very much, the reasons you 
 had for publishing were exceedingly good 
 ones, and the barque would have carried 
 Caesar s fortunes well enough but for the 
 shallowness of the water in which it was 
 launched.'
 
 256 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' Thank you, sir/ interposed Swift, ' ten 
 times over for the compliment to me, and 
 ten thousand times over for the sneer at 
 the public' 
 
 ' Of course,' went on St. John, ' there 
 are deep pools, but the dij05culty is to find 
 them, and the shoals and shallows often 
 wreck the ship before the deep water has 
 an opportunity of lending its assistance.' 
 
 St. John saw how sad were the recol- 
 lections which crowded Jonathan's mindy 
 and changed the subject. 
 
 ' Let us make a compact to stand by 
 one another all through life,' he said. 
 * The combined efforts of two men are far 
 more effective than twice the effort of one.' 
 
 ' Far more than twice twice,' said Jona- 
 than. ' If six men of genius could be 
 found of a mind, they could command the 
 world. But as to our compact ' (smiling), 
 ' it would overset. 'Tis too lobsided. 
 Jonathan Swift assisting Henry St. John
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 257 
 
 to realise liis ambition, would be not un- 
 like sending a wherry to save somebody 
 from drowning who is safely in a sound 
 three-decker. At the same time,' he went 
 on, warmly, ' in the very improbable cir- 
 cumstance of my ever having it in my 
 power to serve you, you may rely upon it, 
 Mr. St. John, that nothing will please me 
 better than to do so.' 
 
 * Well, at any rate, leave out the Mr. 
 Call me St. John, and I'll call you Swift. 
 I don't admit the lobsidedness of the alli- 
 ance. Just now may very well be balanced 
 by a very near future. At any rate, I am 
 going to arrange it so. Dorset shall see 
 your book, and if there are many things 
 in it as witty as the reason you assigned 
 last night why marriages are generally 
 unhappy — that young ladies spend most 
 of their time in making nets instead of 
 making cages — it will shortly be your turn 
 to recommend 7ne.' 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 Generous enthusiasm ! It is better to 
 be enthusiastically wrong than soberly 
 right.
 
 259 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 When Prior reached Merton, he found the 
 village in a state of great excitement. 
 Definite news had come at last about the 
 approaching royal visit. Delayed week 
 after week until hope had almost expired 
 in the breasts of the impatient villagers, 
 the wished-for phenomenon of a real live 
 king in Merton High Street was at last 
 actually about to be realised. 
 
 * Hurrah 1' shouted Prior, when he heard 
 it, forgetting for the moment his disap- 
 pointment. * What a trade the " Cricket " 
 will drive, and what an ode I'll write.' 
 
 S2
 
 260 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 It bad not occurred to anybody to cheer 
 so far; but the hint was taken, and Mer- 
 ton applauded vigorously and proclaimed 
 its loyalty at intervals afterwards through- 
 out the evening. 
 
 ' Cloddy,' shouted Prior to his assistant, 
 'bring me a whole heap of eggs. I'm 
 going to make some William the De- 
 liverer.' 
 
 Cloddy brought them amazed, and 
 watched with awe his London master, 
 who went through the mystery of mixing 
 ten eggs, a quart of brandy, five bottles 
 of beer and some other messes with an 
 anxious care, as though the whole combi- 
 nation were not fortuitous, and ' William 
 the Deliverer ' were not a brand new drink 
 evolved, on the spur of the moment, for 
 trade purposes, out of his own inner 
 consciousness. 
 
 ' Don't forget. Cloddy,' said Prior, with 
 solemn emphasis, ' "William the Deliverer"
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 261 
 
 must be drunk standing and served very 
 hot; 
 
 Before long the bar-parlour was filled 
 by Merton luminaries who had always 
 found, but especially since the new man- 
 agement, that no question of state could 
 be really satisfactorily discussed except at 
 the ' Cricket.' Prior welcomed every- 
 body according to their respective tastes, 
 with some flippant absurdity or solemn 
 observation, and managed to make them 
 all quite at home before the threshold was 
 fairly crossed, which is a great point with 
 a capable landlord. The last person to 
 put in an appearance was the government 
 official whose wrath Matthew had incurred 
 by being out when he should have been 
 under cross-examination. The man had 
 only the air of a constable, barring the 
 addition of being a constable out of 
 humour. Prior had not the remotest 
 notion who he was, but thought it wise
 
 262 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 to address him as sergeant, and then^ 
 having gained one step, to congratulate 
 him on not having disclosed the news. The 
 victory was won, and in perfect accord 
 the bar parliament commenced its session. 
 
 (I beg pardon here for my temerity in 
 having translated the following conversa- 
 tion out of its original provincialism into 
 ordinary English. My excuse is that I 
 am not such an unutterable idiot as to do 
 anything else. When the original manu- 
 script of * Othello ' is found, and it is 
 discovered that Shakespeare put as many 
 marginal notes as there was room for, to 
 say ' Othello was black, Othello was black, 
 Othello was black,' I will re-translate all 
 the passages in this biography which re- 
 quire it, and take care that so important 
 an element of character and history as is 
 implied in a Yorkshire farmer pronouncing 
 property ' proputty ' shall not be omitted.) 
 
 * Do you really think the news is true
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 263 
 
 this time, Mr. Sergeant,' demaDded Prior 
 of that gentleman, ' or are we to be disap- 
 pointed again ? Ah ! I see, you are afraid 
 of letting out too much if you say any- 
 thing. Come, Mr. Smith, tell the sergeant 
 what the information positively is, and 
 then he will know just how much the 
 authorities have thought fit to tell us. 
 Just one minute first, though. Cloddy,' 
 (calling), 'bring some ''William the De- 
 liverer." I think, gentlemen, that, under 
 the circumstances, we can't do less than 
 have a glass of the generous liquor which 
 bears the name of our king. And ifc 
 might be proper, gentlemen, to drink it 
 standing with three times three.' The 
 proposal being carried, and carried out, 
 * Now then, Mr. Smith, your humble 
 servants.' 
 
 ^Well,' said the individual thus ad- 
 dressed, ' the letter isn't exactly ofiicial, 
 but they say that no official notice is going
 
 264 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 to be given anywhere, for fear it should 
 be said that the king's reception was got 
 up by the Court. It is only a hint, after 
 all, you know ; black ink, common paper 
 — I saw it myself — and no seal. It seems 
 a pity not to put a seal.' 
 
 ' Oh,' put in a well-to-do farmer, ' the 
 great seal has never been used since the 
 warrant to murder the royal martyr was 
 stamped with it, no doubt that's v/hy.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' chimed everybody, and then 
 Mr. Smith went on to tell of what the 
 letter contained, from which it appeared 
 that the king was coming in three days' 
 time, that he would spend a few minutes 
 in Merton while changing horses, and 
 would then go straight on. It was trust- 
 ed that the loyal inhabitants of Merton 
 would not be too lavish in adorning the 
 town for the occasion, as the king would be 
 sorry to feel that his visit had caused the 
 least inconvenience to any of his subjects.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 265 
 
 'I think you may be quite sure it is 
 true this time,' put in the sergeant, ' quite 
 sure.' 
 
 * Bravo !' cried Prior. ' Here, gentle- 
 men, the king ! the king of Merton !' 
 
 ' Now,' said Mr. Smith, when the toast 
 had been duly honoured, 'what are we 
 to do ? How is His Majesty to be re- 
 ceived ? I protest against Merton being 
 lumped in with the county. We must 
 receive him ourselves. The place may be 
 small, but it isn't unimportant.' 
 
 ' Certainly not,' cried Prior, ' there are 
 a great many counties in England, but 
 there is only one Merton.' 
 
 So it was carried, amid shouts of ap- 
 proval, that Merton was to distinguish, 
 itself in a unique and original manner 
 quite distinct from the county rejoicings. 
 
 'But,' said Mr. Smith, in a moment 
 of inspiration, when this point had been 
 decided, and everybody — for Matthew
 
 266 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 made a point of not appearing more 
 wise than his customers in any way they 
 could understand — seemed of opinion no 
 lions were left in the way ; ' it's all very 
 well to say we will do something, but 
 what?' 
 
 ^We can put on our best and cheer/ 
 said somebody. 
 
 But everybody saw the fallacy of that. 
 There would be a want of distinctiveness 
 about it. All the county would do no 
 less. It was long before light was seen 
 through the difficulty. At length some one 
 suggested a presentation of home manu- 
 facture. *Merton ale!' was the unani- 
 mous and instantaneous reply from all 
 the luminaries. Fancy having forgotten 
 Merton ale! Why, King Charles II. 
 would touch nothing else, when he drank 
 beer at all. Kow we've got it. The king 
 shall have a cask of ale, the very best 
 brewed.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 267 
 
 ' Cloddy,' shouted Prior, ' bring some 
 Merton ale — the best. The king, gen- 
 tlemen, the king !' 
 
 And in a thorough good humour with 
 themselves and all men, they honoured 
 His Illustrious Majesty for the seven- 
 teenth time. The host saw that his 
 guests' good temper was such that he 
 might venture on making a suggestion 
 to their collective wisdom. 
 
 ' We might even do more,' he said. 
 * Let us give him a pottery- ware flagon, 
 such as our friend Jenkyns there makes, 
 with a draught of beer in it just ready 
 to drink. He can't be expected to tap 
 the cask on the spot, can he? And yet 
 I shouldn't wonder it he did, when he 
 has finished the flagon. Have some more 
 of your brother-in-arms, " William the 
 Deliverer," Mr. Sergeant. And then, you 
 know, as to who is to present it, let us 
 get all the prettiest girls in Merton,
 
 26S JONATHAN SWIPT. 
 
 dressed in white, hair down their backs, 
 
 flowers Heaven — and the prettiest 
 
 of the prettiest shall march at their head, 
 and give Solomon Alexander, our bene- 
 ficent monarch, the flagon on her bended 
 knee, while the others, like a halo ' 
 
 He never got any further, the applause 
 drowned him. 
 
 'Well, gentlemen/ said the sergeant, 
 when the noise subsided, ' I'm surprised, I 
 confess, to see so many of you alive and 
 well, because if you agree about which is 
 the prettiest girl in Merton I should have 
 fancied a good few would have black eyes 
 to show for it. If you don't, how are you 
 going to settle ?' 
 
 Five seconds later it was quite clear 
 they did 7iot agree, and that there was no 
 chance of their doing so this side the 
 grave. Polly, Peg, and Poppetty, Mary 
 Ann, Susan, and a dozen others had each 
 fervant and unflinching supporters. It
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 269 
 
 seemed that the sergeant was going to 
 prove in the right. Expressions were 
 rapidly becoming unparliamentary, and the 
 meeting threatened to break up in dis- 
 order. 
 
 ' Stay, gentleman/ said Prior, when he 
 thought the discord had become sufficient- 
 ly pronounced to inculcate the impossi- 
 bility of any other solution, * let us cast 
 lots who shall nominate the goddess/ and, 
 no one objecting, he put in the crown of a 
 hat a certain number of blank pieces of 
 paper, and, as his friends supposed, an- 
 other, which was marked with the fatal 
 sign. This last, however, for the honour 
 of Merton taste and various other reasons, 
 he thought better to reserve to himself, so 
 as to make sure of drawing it, and the 
 harmless chicane succeeding admirably, he 
 called upon the company to rise while he 
 gave as his toast and divinity ' Stephanie 
 Swift.'
 
 270 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ' Bless you,' shouted honest Pringle, who 
 so far had been conspicuous for his silence, 
 ' Miss Swift ! ! ! If she gives the king his 
 flagon and makes an exhibition of herself 
 my name's not Pringle. She's too good 
 for the job. Choose another. You're 
 wasting your time.' 
 
 Prior, however, was firm. ' He would,' 
 he said, ' write an ode, in the name of 
 Merton, begging her to undertake the 
 task, and if she refused the voice of the 
 muses, why — but she won't, she can't. It 
 shall begin thus : 
 
 " Come, Stephanie, come " ' 
 
 ' That won't do,' persisted Pringle, ' the 
 family call her Lauriel now, they've 
 dropped Stephanie, and, besides, what 
 right have you to speak to her like that?' 
 
 ' Poetic license,' laughed Prior. * Well, 
 gentlemen, may I try ?' 
 
 The guests were getting sleepy by this 
 time : leave was accorded with only Pringle
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 271 
 
 as a dissentient voice, and the members 
 went home to bed. Matthew was delight- 
 ed with his success, and not at all in the 
 humour to follow his guests, so he induced 
 Mr. Sergeant to sit up a little longer and 
 have a final chat. William III. was a 
 notoriously reserved man, but the carica- 
 ture namesake of him Prior had concoct- 
 ed was very opposite in its tendencies. 
 Distinctly influenced by his royal master, 
 Mr. Sergeant presently shook Prior warm- 
 ly by the hand and remarked to him that 
 ' he was sure nobody could better keep a 
 secret.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I'm very sorry,' answered the 
 lord of the ^ Cricket.' 'It is a failing of 
 mine to be reserved and disagreeable ; 
 however, I hope you won't mind it. Every- 
 body has his faults.' 
 
 ' On the contrary,' went on the mag- 
 nanimous oflBcer, enflamed by something 
 of his attributed profession, ' it has inspired
 
 272 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 my confidence. I love you for it, sir, 
 even more tlian for your wit. Is there 
 any fear of being disturbed ? Mum's the 
 word/ 
 
 *Not the least; 
 
 ' Well, then, I'll tell you straight out, 
 and trust to your honour to give me infor- 
 mation if you can ; that's ten times better 
 than cross-examination with a gentleman 
 of your stamp. I am down here on very 
 special business. Information has been 
 received that a French spy has been seen 
 about here, a fellow called Guiscard — 
 some time ago, you know ; he may not be 
 here now. But the question is what he 
 ever wanted here. Why, nobody ever 
 knew him anywhere but what the object 
 was devilry, more or less.' Prior's atten- 
 tion was aroused, and the officer saw it. 
 * Have you seen him?' he asked. ^ Recog- 
 nise the description, eh ?' 
 
 ^Well, it isn't very distinctive as yet,'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 273 
 
 answered the poet. * It suits everybody 
 but you and me. Is there nothing more 
 unusual about him than a taste for 
 devilry? What colour is his hair ? Does 
 he squint? Do his toes turn in ?' 
 
 The sergeant fumbled in his pocket and 
 drew out a paper of instructions, while 
 Prior mixed vigorously at the jug of * Wil- 
 liam the Deliverer.' He felt convinced 
 that the description about to be read 
 would tally with the individual he had 
 seen a few hours before at the waterfall, 
 and feared the premonition might, in that 
 case, not save him from betraying some 
 emotion. The sergeant stumbled through 
 his instructions, description and all, and 
 Prior's doubt became certaintv. Afraid 
 of being questioned, he dropped the weapon 
 with which he was lashing the impertur- 
 bable liquor into a frenzy, shook his new- 
 found friend warmly by the hand, regret- 
 ted that he could not (in the sense of did 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 not choose) give bim any information, but 
 felt honoured by having one whom the 
 government trusted with so important a 
 commission beneath his roof. 
 
 ' One more glass, and then perhaps we 
 had better go to bed.' 
 
 For Prior had really taken a fancy to 
 Lauriel Swift, and felt vaguely uneasy at 
 the turn affairs were taking. 
 
 ' Possibly to-morrow/ he thought, ' I 
 shall see my way to getting more informa- 
 tion at less risk.'
 
 275 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The following evening Monsieur de Guis- 
 card paid a short visit to Vane Castle to 
 explain to its honourable master the ar- 
 rangement he had made for the execution 
 of their great scheme. After deploring 
 that the short notice given of the precise 
 date would render the execution less cer- 
 tain than it would otherwise have been, he 
 went on to explain the following design to 
 his lordship, and entreat assistance : 
 
 ' I would not have been so long,' he 
 said, ' in stating definitely my plans, and 
 availing myself of your advice in perfect- 
 ing them, had I not been in daily expecta- 
 
 t2
 
 276 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 tion of receiving valuable information from 
 my agent — the only agent I have got in 
 England — and which, as it might have 
 changed the whole tenor of our enter- 
 prise, I thought it well to wait for before 
 troubling you with the details of a perhaps 
 to be abandoned project. I am the more 
 sorry for this now, as, after all, the fellow 
 has procured me but little really valuable 
 information or anything else ; and con- 
 sidering his position as private secretary 
 to Sir William Temple, where all the pri- 
 vate dispatches from the usurper must 
 come into his power, if he please, and 
 remembering that on every question of 
 the slightest importance Sir William is 
 consulted, it is too bad that it should be 
 so. I had quite reason, surely, for antici- 
 pating something of consequence should 
 be communicated which should facilitate 
 matters. Of course, a mere shot with a 
 blunderbuss can be arranofed in two min-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 277 
 
 utes ; but I confess I was anxious not to 
 be so clumsy as that in the affair. The 
 age demands a more finished assassina- 
 tion' — smiling — 'a bell-pull assassination. 
 However, as I say ' 
 
 * Who is Sir William's secretary ?' put 
 in Lord Yane. 
 
 ' Oh, I must tell you about that. Be- 
 fore I had been twenty-four hours in my 
 present hiding-place, I discovered that the 
 son of my hostess, a clever, intelligent 
 fellow, was a rank Jacobite, as all clever, 
 intelligent fellows are — a very rank Jaco- 
 bite indeed. I drew out his opinions as 
 well as I could, without exposing my own, 
 and presently learnt that the great object 
 of his ambition was to be instrumental in 
 wreaking the vengeance of his rightful 
 king upon the tyrant. After this we 
 talked long and earnestly about the un- 
 happy state of the country, and at length 
 I felt justified in admitting him to my
 
 278 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 confidence in so far as was necessary to 
 procure bis co-operation.' 
 
 ' But what good could he do you ?' asked 
 Lord Vane. 
 
 'Why, this/ was the answer. 'His 
 mother is related in some dim, distant, 
 undiscoverable way to Sir William, and so 
 he sometimes does the family a good turn 
 when he can. Well, he chanced to have 
 no secretary, and Jonathan Swift chanced 
 to be very hard put to for something to 
 eat at the same time. So Sir William 
 offered the post to the young man. Do 
 you see ?' 
 
 Lord Yane nodding his assent, De 
 Guiscard went on — 
 
 ' It may have been bad luck, but it cer- 
 tainly looks wonderfully like bad manage- 
 ment, that a whole month of free leave to 
 pry about Moor Park should have pro- 
 duced so little result. At any rate, the
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 279 
 
 broad fact is, that notlimg has come of it. 
 
 And now ?' 
 
 ' I find,' said the other, 'that there has 
 throughout been a fallacy in my original 
 argument. This distresses me very much, 
 for certainly, with so short a time re- 
 maining in which to make the necessary 
 arrangements, and deprived, as this must 
 deprive you, of the mainstay of your 
 hopes, to desert you seems very like de- 
 serting you to the power of certain failure. 
 Consider now, can you help me out of it ? 
 We agreed that it was quite justifiable to 
 kill a tyrant ; but is it always wise to do 
 so ; and, if not, is it so in this case ? I 
 think not ; because such is the constitu- 
 tional delicacy of the Prince of Orange 
 that he cannot possibly live many years 
 longer, and his continued existence for, 
 say, sixty months is a lesser evil than would 
 be the sympathy engendered by his assas- 
 sination.'
 
 280 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 The reader will please remember that 
 this was in the year 1695, and that pro- 
 fessorial or Germanic politics had not been 
 expounded as they have more recently 
 been by the parliamentary representatives 
 of various populous, if not intellectual, 
 districts. So, although Monsieur de Guis- 
 card had all along expected some turn of 
 the sort, he was heartily astonished when 
 he heard it. Making the best of the situ- 
 ation, he presently drew a long breath and 
 sadly shook his head. 
 
 ' I'm afraid, my lord, your argument is 
 right,' and then, after a pause — ' But 
 surely the fact is not as you imagine ?' 
 
 From this resulted a long discussion on 
 the merits of the case, that being the last 
 step with Lord Yane, as it nowadays is 
 with so many. De Guiscard supported 
 his view with all the warmth necessary to 
 be beaten with credit, and then, surren- 
 dering to the pressure of irresistible logic.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 281 
 
 he abjured tbe euterprise in a voice which 
 trembled with emotion. 
 
 ^ How exceedingly fortunate,' he thought, 
 as he wended his way to the cottage a 
 little later, * that the fellow should so 
 readily have helped me out of the scrape 
 of his association. That is an end,' he said 
 to himself. But no, it was in one sense 
 only a beginning. Little did he imagine 
 what fruit would be borne by that luxuri- 
 ant lie at the expense of Sir William 
 Temple's secretary. 
 
 He was met at the door of the cottage 
 by Lauriel, who held out to him, with a 
 laughing face, a long copy of verses in- 
 scribed on parchment. The fear that her 
 lover should be discovered had been gradu- 
 ally dulled by his long immunity ; and 
 his evening solitary walks had ceased to 
 terrify by the apprehension of what they 
 might entail. Thus Lauriel's life had 
 come to be, even in its hardships and
 
 282 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 deprivations, all sunshine and laughter, 
 which beamed and rippled everywhere ; 
 so that sometimes her brother wondered 
 at the brightness of her letters, and was 
 troubled at the clearness of the golden 
 note. 
 
 ' What is that, my own T he asked, 
 taking the paper. ' What ! verses ; nay, 
 I shall be jealous. That will never do.' 
 
 ' Well, Tm sure you needn't. Jmpnmis, 
 as Jonathan says, because they are a good 
 deal more about Venus than about me; 
 and secondl}'-, because I don't like them. 
 Now, fancy ! what would Jonathan say, 
 if Stephanie Swift, Lauriel in inverted 
 commas, should go to Merton on a public 
 occasion to hand about beer !' 
 
 * They want improving,' remarked the 
 count, referring to the verses, 'with which 
 view, I should esteem it a great favour 
 if you would read them to me. I have 
 read the prose.'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 283 
 
 While she read, in a soft, melodious 
 
 voice, as follows, Monsieur de Guiscard 
 
 sat, with his head resting on his hand, 
 
 thankins: his stars for the most marvellous 
 
 piece of good fortune that ever befell a 
 
 conspirator. 
 
 ' " I've watched the ocean swell, my sweet, 
 And shuddered at its roar ; 
 Yet it but cast one shell, my sweet, 
 That tide upon the shore. 
 
 • " I've heard the north wind blow, my sweet, 
 In all its mighty power ; 
 'Twas but to shake the snow, my sweet. 
 From our ppor shivering flower." ' 
 
 And so on to the realms of ancient 
 mythology. 
 
 Having finished which, she said, with 
 emphasis, 
 
 ' Being interpreted in the light of the 
 ^' prose," this means, will you come and 
 hand the king a glass of beer in the 
 name, and as representing, seventeen cob- 
 blers and a publican's apprentice. Should
 
 284 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 you have tbouglit there was such im- 
 pudence in the great city of Mertou T 
 
 'It is very terrible, is it not?' he an- 
 swered, looking up with a smile. 
 
 'As terrible as a gratuitous insult to 
 polite poverty can be,' she replied, a little 
 hurt at the count's apparent indifference. 
 ' It is equivalent to saying, there is no- 
 thing in your manners, bearing, intelli- 
 gence, &c., &c., to discriminate you from 
 a farm labourer, therefore you may as 
 well represent one for the occasion.' 
 
 The count was silent. 
 
 'Don't think me proud and disagree- 
 able,' she went on, ' but it is hard to be 
 confounded with those whom one knows 
 are one's inferiors merely for lack of a 
 few wretched guineas.' 
 
 ' It was not that, pretty one,' he said, 
 with lifelike sadness. ' How could I think 
 YOU proud or disagreeable. I was silent 
 because I was going to ask you some-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 285 
 
 thing which, from what you say, I fear 
 you will think it crueltj^ to ask, and 
 yet ' 
 
 All Lauriel's dormant fears were aroused 
 in an instant. 
 
 'Oh, Henri! is there news? Is there 
 more danger ? Have you been seen ?' 
 
 'No, darling; it is not that, nothing 
 to do with that, except indeed thus far, 
 that so it may be any moment, until I 
 am either pardoned or — dead.' And then, 
 with an assumption of assumed gaiety, 
 as perfect of its sort as the preceding 
 melancholy had been, " Something much 
 worse than that. Guess again.' 
 
 But she only shook her pretty little 
 head wonderingly. He rose and took her 
 hand. 
 
 'Lauriel, I will tell you, because I 
 believe you love me, really love me, and, 
 if you do, I know you would be only 
 too ready to do what, my pretty one, I
 
 286 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 wish you should. You can save me, 
 Lauriel. This opportunity is one that 
 may never recur, never. Is it selfish that 
 I ask you to grasp it while you can ?' 
 
 * What is it, Henri ?' she answered. ' I 
 will do for you all and more than all that 
 I would do for myself or even for my mo- 
 ther or Jonathan. Don't distrust me, 
 please don't,' and her innocent, pleading 
 eyes looked full into his as though there 
 were no such thing in the world as treach- 
 ery, or in love as disappointment. 
 
 ' I do not deserve such love, my Lauriel,' 
 he answered. ' You are an angel, darling. 
 Come,' he continued, 'after all, though you 
 will think my request but little short of 
 martyrdom, it is really not so very dread- 
 ful. For, whether you succeed or not, we 
 shall not stay here much longer. Lauriel, 
 I want you to do as these Merton people 
 wish. Present the flagon to the king, and 
 present along with it a petition for justice to 
 poor Henri de GiiiscarcU
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 287 
 
 Lauriel looked at her lover for a mo- 
 ment with great eyes, in which wonder 
 predominated ; then a laugh overpowered 
 the wonder, and she fairly clapped her 
 hands with delight. 
 
 ' Oh, how stupid of me not to have 
 thought of that before. Fancy supposing 
 I should object to that. I'm going up- 
 stairs to tell mamma. What a pity Jona- 
 than isn't here to write the petition.'
 
 28S 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 * Sir "William begs, sir, that you will go to 
 him at your convenience, he is in the west 
 garden,' said a servant to Jonathan on the 
 afternoon of the same day on which 
 occurred the events recorded in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 Jonathan wenfc forthwith, wondering at 
 the unusual summons. He had never, ex- 
 cept on the occasion of the dinner, uttered 
 five words to the great man outside the 
 study. To be spoken to in the west gar- 
 den was a novelty. Late events, however, 
 had dulled the edo^e of the marvellous.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 289 
 
 Jonathan was quite prepared for tbe un- 
 expected to happen. 
 
 Sir William, when Jonathan approached, 
 was superintending with keen anxiety some 
 surgical operations upon a rose, by which 
 whig politics were mingled with horticul- 
 ture in the proportion of ten to one, and 
 Nature, in that ratio, sacrificed to reminis- 
 cences of the Hague. 
 
 ' Pardon me,' he said, ' one moment. 
 These fellows will make some mistake or 
 other if I relax ray vigilance for the twink- 
 ling of an eye. Their idea of a straight 
 line is — there, thank goodness, that will 
 do.' (To the men.) ' You will please leave 
 it exactly as it is till my return. Now, Mr. 
 Swift, I am at your service, what I wished 
 to see you about is a matter of some im- 
 portance. Will you give me your arm ? 
 Thank you. The fact is that I sat up all 
 last night writing a dispatch, and at my 
 years that is hard work. This morning 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 just retribution makes me feel very shaky. 
 However, that will wear off in the air 
 sooner than indoors.' 
 
 Jonathan Swift, linked arm in arm with 
 Sir William Temple, furtively rubbed his 
 eyes with the disengaged hand. No, he 
 was not dreaming : then he stole a glance 
 at his patron. Was he? Certainly not. 
 Nobody was ever more perfectly wide 
 awake than the ex-ambassador. Astonish- 
 ed though Jonathan was at the extra- 
 ordinary change of tone in Sir William's 
 conduct to him, it after all admitted of a 
 very easy explanation. No two natures 
 could be more diverse than were those of 
 the secretary and the statesman. The 
 one was a type and the other an individual. 
 Sir William certainly was a very estimable, 
 intelligent type of a very estimable, intelli- 
 gent class, but Jonathan Swift ' 
 
 ' Nature broke the mould in which she 
 oast him.'
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 291 
 
 So, having no more appreciation of the 
 genius of his secretary than a deaf man 
 has of an oratorio, and further, having 
 begun with a violent prejudice against 
 him, it had never occurred to Sir William 
 that Jonathan Swift might have the ordi- 
 nary talents of a clever man as well as his 
 own individual inspiration. 
 
 The encomiums of Henry St. John had 
 astonished him, and made him looh^ which, 
 after all, is the first step towards seeing, 
 and the step the omission of which is the 
 fertile cause of most of the ignorance, 
 bigotry, freethinking, and humbug with 
 which this world is so plentifully stocked. 
 Directly he looked he saw. Jonathan's 
 discussion of the Triennial Bill convinced 
 him that St. John was right. Having dis- 
 covered thus much, various circumstances 
 in the work of the last month recurred to 
 him, all confirmatory of his new opinion, 
 whereupon Sir William, who was not want- 
 
 u2
 
 292 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 ing in decision of character, came at once 
 to the conclusion that his secretary might 
 be usefully employed on higher class work 
 than he had hitherto been trusted with, 
 and that he deserved to be put on an 
 altosfether different footino^. 
 
 This being so, Sir William proceeded 
 to treat Jonathan Swift as a confidential 
 political assistant. .He was quite conscious 
 that Jonathan might be surprised at the 
 sudden change from the buttery to the 
 walk he was then enjoying, but that was 
 of no consequence whatever, and called 
 for no explanation, however hinted. He 
 had treated the young man as society or- 
 dained a gentleman should treat a superior 
 servant, whether that servant knew Greek 
 or not; but, having promoted him to be the 
 really confidential secretary of a statesman, 
 his future treatment would correspond 
 with his new position. 
 
 ' A dispatch from the kiug came yester-
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 293 
 
 day, as you know,' began Sir William. 
 ' The Triennial Bill about which you talked 
 so ably last night ' — Jonathan made a 
 gawky inflection — 'is the leading ques- 
 tion of the hour. Shrewsbury showed 
 himself greatly deficient in common sense 
 in introducing it — of that there is no 
 question. The sad results of its previous 
 agitation were long felt — indeed, we may 
 safely say they are felt still in the turmoil 
 of the political world. However, the bill 
 is to be introduced ; the peers will pass it 
 unanimously, and then, what is the king 
 to do? Should he reject it again on his 
 own responsibility, firstly for his country's 
 good, and secondly for his own, or should 
 he not? His majesty wishes to run the 
 risk of throwing it out. My opinion is 
 that to do so would be madness. The new 
 parliament would be disgusted at the out- 
 set, and then heaven knows how it may 
 all end. Well, the Duke of Portland is
 
 29 4< JONiVTHAN SWIFT. 
 
 coming to see what I tlaink about it^ 
 though in all conscience there can be very 
 little doubt about my o]3inions now, surely, 
 and then he is going to inform the king. 
 This won't do. Portland is a soldier ; I 
 am too ill to go myself, and a dispatch is 
 almost useless. Such things must be 
 talked over, and ably talked over, to efrect 
 any useful purpose ; so, Mr. Swift, I am 
 afraid I must ask you to go for me and 
 see what you can do.' 
 
 Jonathan again bowed. 
 
 ' I shall be very glad to do everything 
 in my power,' he said, * and shall exert 
 myself to ensure as satisfactory a result 
 as may be practicable.' 
 
 He felt that he ought to profess the 
 gratitude which he certainly felt for this 
 opportunity for distinction and the confi- 
 dence implied in it, but he could not bend 
 his haughty spirit so low. There was 
 nothing in what Sir William was doing
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 295 
 
 but a commercial appreciation of a vendi- 
 ble commodity. He bad found out bis 
 secretary could run a certain errand, so be 
 bade liim run ; and Jonatban, smarting 
 under tbe neglectful insults of a montb 
 wbicb bad seemed a century, could not 
 find it in bis beart to say, * Tbank you/ 
 
 ' Tbanks for tbis,' be tbougbt, ' would 
 imply tbat my montb upon tbe rack was 
 all to wbicb my desert entitled me.' 
 
 Sir William probably understood tbis. 
 At any rate tbere was no alteration of 
 tone or manner to evince displeasure, and 
 after affably explaining every point of im- 
 portance, including details of Court eti- 
 quette, be concluded by saying, 
 
 ' As to tbe dispatcb, I leave tbat to you. 
 The king will probably never read it ; all 
 be will do will be to listen more or less 
 attentively to wbat you bave to say wben 
 you bave to band it to bim. By tbe way, 
 of course, you know tbat His Majesty is
 
 296 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 at Lincoln, unless be has already left for 
 Derbyshire. I wish that procession were 
 well over,' he muttered, parenthetically. 
 *Your trip, therefore, will not be a Lon- 
 don outing. You will have to catch him 
 just where he happens to be. The route 
 is sketched in this letter of the Duke of 
 Portland's ; let me see — yes, there it is ; 
 but remember, as yet it is strictly secret ! 
 It does not do in these times to give too 
 much notice of His Majesty's where- 
 abouts.' 
 
 The conference over, Jonathan returned 
 to the house, and, meeting St. John at the 
 door, he told him with sparkling eyes of 
 his good fortune. 
 
 ' You have been so kind as to applaud 
 me to Sir William — I am sure of it/ he 
 said. ' This has not come about in the 
 natural course. I won't thank you for it 
 — not a word — I will do more. I will 
 never attempt to discharge the obHgation.
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 297 
 
 It shall be a pleasure to me to be in your 
 debt/ 
 
 And St. John, seeing the nature of the 
 man with whom he had to deal, looked 
 upon that as a very high compliment 
 indeed. 
 
 Next morning early Jonathan started 
 on his embassy, having St. John for a 
 travelling companion as far as London. 
 
 ' Thank goodness,' cried Jonathan, when 
 they were fairly off, ' that the cross coun- 
 try roads are all abominable. Could I 
 have got at Lincoln more directly, I should 
 have missed your company. As it is, I 
 am perfectly happy.' 
 
 ' So am I,' answered St. John, 'subject 
 only to a regret that you are in such a 
 violent hurry. If you could spare four 
 hours at most in London, I might be able 
 to come north with you. The uncle of 
 my friend Prior had a . little tavern in 
 Derbyshire left him by a distant relative
 
 298 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 some time ago, and there was some idea 
 of Prior being deputed to look after it. 
 If I find he has gone, I shall take a trip 
 down to see him. Four hours would 
 suffice for all my business in London. 
 What do you say ?' 
 
 ' I say it is an unmitigated nuisance. 
 Four minutes is more than I can afford. 
 Can't you manage in four minutes ? 
 Derbyshire, too ! You could have come 
 to Lincoln, and then gone back with me 
 to Derbyshire. Sir William kindly agreed 
 to my coming back round that way to 
 visit my mother, who lives near a little 
 place called Merton in that county.' 
 
 'Merton,' said St. John— 'how odd I 
 It is to Merton Prior has gone or is going. 
 Let me see, the tavern's name was — yes, 
 the "Cricket."' 
 
 Swift, however, protested he could not 
 wait. His instructions were to spare no
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 299 
 
 effort to catcli the king, to whose popu- 
 larity and success in what was really a 
 gigantic personal canvass, a definite de- 
 claration on the triennial bill would, Sir 
 William felt, be of the utmost conse- 
 quence. So the young men regretfully 
 proceeded to make the best of their 
 present companionship. 
 
 ' We shall have a grand time of it at 
 Merton if you reach it whilst I am there,' 
 remarked St. John. 'You and Prior 
 would be great fun.' 
 
 'What? All that sport for one Phihs- 
 tine?' laughed Jonathan, to whom the 
 merest suspicion of being exhibited was 
 an abomination. ' No, no, we must have 
 a triangular duel. By the way, you must 
 have wondered why I don't ask more 
 about Prior's work. All my questions 
 have referred to the flesh and blood of 
 him exclusively. The fact is that you
 
 300 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 called him a poet, and to my mind criti- 
 cism of ])oetry is absurd. You can't trans- 
 late a sense into language. We feel, but 
 we cannot feel in words. We hear, but, 
 though we hear words, we do not hear 
 in words, we see^ and there's an end of 
 it. Now poetry is colour. You can't 
 explain it. It appeals directly to a cer- 
 tain sense which some men have and some 
 have not, and which is as distinct from 
 any other sense, as the sense of sight is 
 from that of hearing. No exf)lanation 
 will convey the faintest appreciation of 
 colour to a blind man, and similarly no 
 explanation will enable anybody but a 
 poet to appreciate poetry. When I read 
 the Shakespeare that is really Shakespeare 
 I give utterance to what no more admits 
 of definition or criticism than the tinting 
 of the rainbow or the music of the spheres.' 
 ' Eight, by the prophet,' cried St. John, 
 who had a volume of the ' Turkish Spy '
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 301 
 
 in his pocket. ' I believe, after all, there 
 are ten wise men in Israel who know 
 the difference between verses full of accur- 
 acy, elegance, sentiment, pathos, thought, 
 wit, and human kindness, and inspiration. 
 I am glad of support for my opinions, 
 because I get it so seldom, and because 
 I am passionately in earnest.' 
 
 'Nay,' said Jonathan, 'don't be jealous. 
 It is a hundred to one odds that violent 
 zeal for truth is either petulancy, ambition, 
 or pride.' 
 
 ' To the two latter of which there is but 
 little objection,' laughed his companion. 
 
 ' None whatever, unless they are asham- 
 ed of themselves, and sail under false 
 colours. In fact, quite the contrary.' 
 
 And so, chatting merrily, London was 
 at length reached, and the young men 
 parted with many expressions of mutual 
 esteem and regard. 
 
 * I shall see you soon again,' said Henry
 
 302 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 St. John, as he turned to go, ^ at the 
 outside, three days.' 
 Alas those three days ! 
 
 END Ob^ THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BT DUNCAN MACDONALD , BLENHBm HOUSE. 
 
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