the necessity of going to prison. The state in which he passed his time, and the treatment which he received, are very justly expressed by him in a letter which he wrote to a friend: "The whole day," says he, "has been employed in various people's filling my head with their foolish chimerical systems, which has obliged me coolly (as far as nature will admit) to digest and accommodate myself to every different person's way of thinking; hurried from one wild system to another, till it has quite made a chaos of my imagination, and nothing done-promised-disappointed-ordered to send, every hour, from one part of the town to the other."

last was se'nnight, and where I enjoy myself with much more tranquillity than I have known for upwards of a twelvemonth past; having a room entirely to myself, and pursuing the amusement of my poetical studies, uninterrupted, and agreeably to my mind. I thank the Almighty, I am now all collected in myself; and, though my person is in confinement, my mind can expatiate on ample and useful subjects with all the freedom imaginable. I am now more conversant with the Nine than ever, and if, instead of a Newgate-bird, I may be allowed to be a bird of the Muses, I assure you, sir, I sing very freely in my cage; sometimes, indeed, in the plaintive notes of the nightingale; but at others in cheerful strains of the lark."

When his friends, who had hitherto caressed and applauded him, found that to give bail and pay the debt was the same, they all refused to In another letter he observes, that he ranges preserve him from a prison at the expense of from one subject to another, without confining eight pounds; and therefore, after having been himself to any particular task: and that he was for some time at the officer's house, "at an im-employed one week upon one attempt, and the mense expense," as he observes in his letter, he next upon another. was at length removed to Newgate.

This expense he was enabled to support by the generosity of Mr. Nash at Bath, who, upon receiving from him an account of his condition, immediately sent him five guineas, and promised to promote his subscription at Bath with all his interest.

By his removal to Newgate, he obtained at least a freedom from suspense, and rest from the disturbing vicissitudes of hope and disappointment: he now found that his friends were only companions, who were willing to share his gayety, but not to partake of his misfortunes; and therefore he no longer expected any assistance

from them.

It must, however, be observed of one gentleman, that he offered to release him by paying the debt; but that Mr. Savage would not consent; I suppose, because he thought he had before been too burdensome to him.

He was offered by some of his friends that a collection should be made for his enlargement: but he "treated the proposal," and declared "he should again treat it with disdain. As to writing any mendicant letters, he had too high a spirit, and determined only to write to some ministers of state to try to regain his pension." He continued to complaint of those that had sent him into the country, and objected to them, that he had "lost the profits of his play, which had been finished three years;" and in another letter declares his resolution to publish a pamphlet, that the world might know how "he had been used."

Surely the fortitude of this man deserves, at least, to be mentioned with applause; and, whatever faults may be imputed to him, the virtue of suffering well cannot be denied him. The two powers which, in the opinion of Epictetus, constituted a wise man, are those of bearing and forbearing; which it cannot indeed be affirmed to have been equally possessed by Savage; and indeed the want of one obliged him very frequently to practise the other.

He was treated by Mr. Dagge, the keeper of the prison, with great humanity; was supported by him at his own table, without any certainty of recompense; had a room to himself, to which he could at any time retire from all disturbance; was allowed to stand at the door of the prison, and sometimes taken out into the fields; so that he suffered fewer hardships in prison than he had been accustomed to undergo in the greatest part of his life.

The keeper did not confine his benevolence to a gentle execution of his office, but made some overtures to the creditor for his release, though without effect; and continued, during the whole time of his imprisonment, to treat him with the utmost tenderness and civility.

Virtue is undoubtedly most laudable in that state which makes it most difficult; and therefore the humanity of a gaoler certainly deserves this public attestation; and the man, whose heart has not been hardened by such an employment, may be justly proposed as a pattern of benevolence. If an inscription was once engraved "to the honest toll-gatherer," less honours ought not to be paid "to the tender

This pamphlet was never written; for he in a very short time recovered his usual tranquil-gaoler." lity, and cheerfully applied himself to more inoffensive studies. He indeed steadily declared, that he was promised a yearly allowance of fifty pounds, and never received half the sum; but he seemed to resign himself to that as well as to other misfortunes, and lose the remembrance of it in his amusements and employments.

The cheerfulness with which he bore his confinement appears from the following letter, which he wrote, January the 30th, to one of his friends in London.

"I now write to you from my confinement in Newgate, where I have been ever since Monday

In a letter after his confinement.-Dr. J.
Leuer, Jan. 15.

Mr. Savage very frequently received visits, and sometimes presents, from his acquaintances; but they did not amount to a subsistence, for the greater part of which he was indebted to the generosity of this keeper; but these favours. however they might endear to him the particular persons from whom he received them, were very far from impressing upon his mind any advanta geous ideas of the people of Bristol, and therefore he thought he could not more property employ himself in prison, than in writing a poem called "London and Bristol delineated."§ When he had brought this poem to its presen See this confirmed, Gent. Mag. vol. vii. 1140 —-N. The Author preferred this title to that of "Lordon

*

state, which, without considering the chasm, is This performance was however laid aside, not perfect, he wrote to London an account of while he was employed in soliciting assistance his design, and informed his friend, that he was from several great persons; and one interruption determined to print it with his name; but en-succeeding another, hindered him from supplyjoined him not to communicate his intention to ing the chasm, and perhaps from retouching the his Bristol acquaintance. The gentleman, sur- other parts, which he can hardly be imagined to prised at his resolution, endeavoured to dissuade have finished in his own opinion; for it is very him from publishing it, at least from prefixing unequal, and some of the lines are rather inserthis name; and declared, that he could not re-ed to rhyme to others, than to support or imconcile the injunction of secrecy with his resolution to own it at its first appearance. To this Mr. Savage returned an answer, agreeable to his character, in the following terms:

"I received yours this morning; and not without a little surprise at the contents. To answer a question with a question, you ask me concerning London and Bristol, why will I add delineated? Why did Mr. Woolaston add the same word to his 'Religion of Nature?' I suppose that it was his will and pleasure to add it in his case; and it is mine to do so in my own. You are pleased to tell me, that you understand not why secrecy is enjoined, and yet I intend to set my name to it. My answer isI have my private reasons, which I am not obliged to explain to any one. You doubt my friend Mr. St would not approve of itAnd what is it to me whether he does or not? Do you imagine that Mr. S- is to dictate to me? If any man who calls himself my friend should assume such an air, I would spurn at his friendship with contempt. You say, I seem to think so by not letting him know it-And suppose I do, what then? Perhaps I can give reasons for that disapprobation, very foreign from what you would imagine.-You go on in saying, Suppose I should not put my name to it-My answer is, that I will not suppose any such thing, being determined to the contrary: neither, sir, would I have you suppose that I applied to you for want of another press: nor would I have you imagine that I owe Mr. Sobligations which I do not."

Such was his imprudence, and such his obstinate adherence to his own resolutions, however absurd! A prisoner! supported by charity! and whatever insults he might have received during the latter part of his stay at Bristol, once caressed, esteemed, and presented with a liberal collection, he could forget on a sudden his danger and his obligations, to gratify the petulance of his wit, or the eagerness of his resentment, and publish a satire, by which he might reasonably expect that he should alienate those who then supported him, and provoke those whom he could neither resist nor escape.

This resolution, from the execution of which it is probable that only his death could have hindered him, is sufficient to show, how much he disregarded all considerations that opposed his present passions, and how readily he hazarded all future advantages for any immediate gratifications. Whatever was his predominant Inclination, neither hope nor fear hindered him from complying with it; nor had opposition any other effect than to heighten his ardour, and irritate his vehemence.

and Bristol compared ;" which, when he began the piece, he intended to prefix to it.-Dr. J.

This friend was Mr. Cave, the printer.-N

† Mr. Strong, of the Post-office.-N.

prove the sense; but the first and last parts are worked up with great spirit and elegance.

His time was spent in the prison for the most part in study, or in receiving visits; but sometimes he descended to lower amusements, and diverted himself in the kitchen with the conversation of the criminals; for it was not pleasing to him to be much without company; and, though he was very capable of a judicious choice, he was often contented with the first that offered; for this he was sometimes reproved by his friends, who found him surrounded with felons: but the reproof was on that, as on other occasions, thrown away; he continued to gratify himself, and to set very little value on the opinion of others.

But here, as in every other scene of his life, he made use of such opportunities as occurred of benefiting those who were more miserable than himself, and was always ready to perform any office of humanity to his fellow-prisoners.

He had now ceased from corresponding with any of his subscribers except one, who yet con tinued to remit him the twenty pounds a year which he had promised him, and by whom it was expected that he would have been in a very short time enlarged, because he had directed the keeper to inquire after the state of his debts.

However, he took care to enter his name ac cording to the forms of the court, that the creditor might be obliged to make some allowance, if he was continued a prisoner, and, when on that occasion he appeared in the hall, was treated with very unusual respect.

This

But the resentment of the city was afterwards raised by some accounts that had been spread of the satire; and he was informed that some of the merchants intended to pay the al lowance which the law required, and to detain him a prisoner at their own expense. he treated as an empty menace; and perhaps might have hastened the publication, only to show, how much he was superior to their insults, had not all his schemes been suddenly destroyed.

When he had been six months in prison, he received from one of his friends,§ in whose kindness he had the greatest confidence, and on whose assistance he chiefly depended, a letter, that contained a charge of a very atrocious ingratitude, drawn up in such terms as sudden resentment dictated. Henley, in one of his advertisements, had mentioned, "Pope's treatment of Savage." This was supposed by Pope to be the consequence of a complaint made by Savage to Henley, and was therefore mentioned by him with much resentment. Mr. Savage

See Gent. Mag. vol. lvii. 1040.-N.

Mr. Pope. See some extracts of letters from that gentleman to and concerning Mr. Savage, in Ruff'head'a Life of Pope, p. 502.-R.

returned a very solemn protestation of his inno- | neither his judgment nor experience, have pubcence, but however appeared much disturbed at lished, either in ostentation of their sagacity, the accusation. Some days afterwards he was vindication of their crimes, or gratification of seized with a pain in his back and side, which, as their malice. it was not violent, was not suspected to be dangerous; but, growing daily more languid and dejected, on the 25th of July he confined himself to his room, and a fever seized his spirits. The symptoms grew every day more formidable, but his condition did not enable him to procure any assistance. The last time that the keeper saw him was on July the 31st, 1743; when Savage, seeing him at his bedside, said, with an uncommon earnestness, "I have something to say to you, sir;" but, after a pause, moved his hand in a melancholy manner; and, finding himself unable to recollect what he was going to communicate, said, "Tis gone!" The keeper soon after left him; and the next morning he died. He was buried in the churchyard of St. Peter, at the expense of the keeper.

His method of life particularly qualified him for conversation, of which he knew how to practise all the graces. He was never vehement or loud, but at once modest and easy, open and respectful; his language was vivacious and elegant, and equally happy upon grave or humorous subjects. He was generally censured for not knowing when to retire; but that was not the defect of his judgment, but of his fortune: when he left his company, he was frequently to spend the remaining part of the night in the street, or at least was abandoned to gloomy reflections, which it is not strange that he delayed as long as he could; and sometimes forgot that he gave others pain to avoid it himself.

It cannot be said, that he made use of his abilities for the direction of his own conduct; Such was the life and death of Richard Sa- an irregular and dissipated manner of life had vage, a man equally distinguished by his virtues made him the slave of every passion that hapand vices; and at once remarkable for his weak-pened to be excited by the presence of its object, nesses and abilities. and that slavery to his passions reciprocally proHe was of a middle stature, of a thin habit duced a life irregular and dissipated. He was of body, a long visage, coarse features, and me- not master of his own motions, nor could prolancholy aspect of a grave and manly deport-mise any thing for the next day. ment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon a nearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manner. His walk was slow, and his voice tremulous and mournful. He was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter.

With regard to his economy, nothing can be added to the relation of his life. He appeared to think himself born to be supported by others, and dispensed from all necessity of providing for himself; he therefore never prosecuted any scheme of advantage, nor endeavoured even to His mind was in an uncommon degree vigo- secure the profits which his writings might have rous and active. His judgment was accurate, his afforded him. His temper was, in consequence apprehension quick, and his memory so tena- of the dominion of his passions, uncertain and cious, that he was frequently observed to know capricious; he was easily engaged, and easily what he had learned from others, in a short disgusted; but he is accused of retaining his time, better than those by whom he was inform-hatred more tenaciously than his benevolence. ed; and could frequently recollect incidents, with all their combination of circumstances, which few would have regarded at the present time, but which the quickness of his apprehension impressed upon him. He had the peculiar felicity that his attention never deserted him; he was present to every object, and regardful of the most trifling occurrences. He had the art of escaping from his own reflections, and accommodating himself to every new scene.

He was compassionate both by nature and principle, and always ready to perform offices of humanity; but when he was provoked (and very small offences were sufficient to provoke him) he would prosecute his revenge with the utmost acrimony till his passion had subsided.

His friendship was therefore of little value; for, though he was zealous in the support or vindication of those whom he loved, yet it was always dangerous to trust him, because he conTo this quality is to be imputed the extent of sidered himself as discharged by the first quarrel his knowledge, compared with the small time from all ties of honour or gratitude; and would which he spent in visible endeavours to acquire betray those secrets which in the warmth of conit. He mingled in cursory conversation with fidence had been imparted to him. This practhe same steadiness of attention as others apply tice drew upon him a universal accusation of to a lecture; and, amidst the appearance of ingratitude; nor can it be denied that he was thoughtless gavety, lost no new idea that was very ready to set himself free from the load of an started, nor any hint that could be improved.-obligation; for he could not bear to conceive He had therefore made in coffee-houses the same proficiency as others in their closets: and it is remarkable, that the writings of a man of little education and little reading have an air of learning scarcely to be found in any other performances, but which perhaps as often obscures as embellishes them.

His judgment was eminently exact both with regard to writings and to men. The knowledge of life was indeed his chief attainment; and it is not without some satisfaction, that I can produce the suffrage of Savage in favour of human nature, of which he never appeared to entertain such odious ideas as some, who perhaps had

himself in a state of dependence, his pride being equally powerful with his other passions, and appearing in the form of insolence at one time, and of vanity at another. Vanity, the most innocent species of pride, was most frequently predominant: he could not easily leave off, when he had once begun to mention himself or his works; nor ever read his verses without stealing his eyes from the page, to discover in the faces of his audience, how they were affected with any favourite passage.

A kinder name than that of vanity ought to be given to the delicacy with which he was always careful to separate his own merit from every

SWIFT.

other man's, and to reject that praise to which | numbers sonorous and majestic, though frehe had no claim. He did not forget, in men- quently sluggish and encumbered. Of his style, tioning his performances, to mark every line that the general fault is harshness, and its general had been suggested or amended; and was so excellence is dignity; of his sentiments, the preaccurate, as to relate that he owed three words vailing beauty is simplicity, and uniformity the in "The Wanderer" to the advice of his friends. prevailing defect. His veracity was questioned, but with little reason; his accounts, though not indeed always the same, were generally consistent. When he loved any man, he suppressed all his faults; and, when he had been offended by him, concealed all his virtues: but his characters were generally true, so far as he proceeded; though it cannot be denied, that his partiality might have sometimes the effect of falsehood.

For his life, or for his writings, none, who candidly consider his fortune, will think an apology either necessary or difficult. If he was not always sufficiently instructed on his subject, his knowledge was at least greater than could have been attained by others in the same state. If his works were sometimes unfinished, accuracy pressed with want, which he has no hope of cannot reasonably be exacted from a man oprelieving but by a speedy publication. The insolence and resentment of which he is accused

In cases indifferent, he was zealous for virtue, truth, and justice: he knew very well the necessity of goodness to the present and future hap-were not easily to be avoided by a great mind, piness of mankind; nor is there perhaps any writer, who has less endeavoured to please by flattering the appetites, or perverting the judg

ment.

As an author, therefore, and he now ceases to influence mankind in any other character, if one piece which he had resolved to suppress, be excepted, he has very little to fear from the strictest And though he may moral or religious censure. not be altogether secure against the objections of the critic, it must however be acknowledged, that his works are the productions of a genius truly poetical; and, what many writers who have been more lavishly applauded cannot boast, that they have an original air, which has no resemblance of any foregoing writer; that the versification and sentiments have a cast peculiar to themselves, which no man can imitate with success, because what was nature in Savage would in another be affectation. It must be confessed, that his descriptions are striking, his images animated, his fictions justly imagined, and all his allegories artfully pursued; that his diction is elevated, though sometimes forced, and his

irritated by perpetual hardships, and constrained
hourly to return the spurns of contempt, and
may surely be readily pardoned in him, to whom
repress the insolence of prosperity; and vanity
life afforded no other comforts than barren
Those are no proper judges of his conduct,
praises, and the consciousness of deserving them.
who have slumbered away their time on the
down of plenty; nor will any wise man pre-
sume to say, "Had I been in Savage's con-
dition, I should have lived or written better than
Savage."

This relation will not be wholly without its use, if those, who languish under any part of his sufferings, shall be enabled to fortify their patience, by reflecting that they feel only those afflictions from which the abilities of Savage did not exempt him; or those, who, in confidence of superior capacities or attainments, disregarded the common maxims of life, shall be reminded, that nothing will supply the want of prudence; and that negligence and irregularity, long continued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible.

SWIFT.

AN account of Dr. Swift has been already col- | clergyman, who was minister of a parish in tected, with great diligence and acuteness, by Dr. Hawkesworth, according to a scheme which I laid before him in the intimacy of our friendship. I cannot therefore be expected to say much of a life, concerning which I had long communicated my thoughts to a man capable of dignifying his narrations with so much elegance of language and force of sentiment.

sunce

*

JONATHAN SWIFT was, according to an account said to be written by himself, the son of Jonathan Swift, an attorney, and was born at Dublin on St. Andrew's day, in 1667: according to his own report, as delivered by Pope to Spence, he was born at Leicester, the son of

a

Mr. Sheridan, in his life of Swift, observes that this account was really written by the Dean, and now exists in his own. hand-writing in the library of Dublin Colbge --R.

Herefordshire. During his life the place of his
birth was undetermined. He was contented to
be called an Irishman by the Irish; but would
occasionally call himself an Englishman. The
question may, without much regret, be left in the
Whatever was his birth, his education was
obscurity in which he delighted to involve it.
Irish. He was sent at the age of six to the school
at Kilkenny, and in his fifteenth year (1682) was
In his academical studies he was either not
admitted into the University of Dublin.
diligent or not happy. It must disappoint every
reader's expectation, that when at the usual
time he claimed the bachelorship of arts, he was
found by the examiners too conspicuously def
cient for regular admission, and obtained his de-

† Spence's Anecdotes, vol. ii. p. 273.

gree at last by special favour; a term used in that | tinued his studies, and is known to have read, University to denote want of ment.