[Footnote 140: Lecky, "History of England in the 18th Century," vol. i, p. 522.]
[Footnote 141: Walpole to Sir H. Mann, March 23, 1752.]
[Footnote 142: The _Spectator_, "Sir Roger at the Playhouse."]
[Footnote 143: Horace Walpole, "Short Notes of My Life."]
[Footnote 144: Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, Aug. 2, 1750.]
[Footnote 145: See the "Newgate Calendar."]
[Footnote 146: See the "Newgate Calendar" and Pike's "History of Crime," vol. 2, chap. x.]
[Footnote 147: Walpole to Mann, bet. July 14 and 29, 1742.]
[Footnote 148: "Amelia," book i, chap. 2.]
[Footnote 149: Walpole to Mann, bet. July 14 and 29, 1742.]
[Footnote 150: "State Trials;" vol. xvii, p. 298. _Proceedings against John Higgins, Esq., Warden of the Fleet, Thomas Bainbridge, Esq., Warden of the Fleet, Richard Corbett, one of the Tipstaffs of the Fleet, and William Acton, Keeper of the Marshalsea Prison: 3 George II, A.D. 1729. Report of the Com. of the House of Commons_.]
Lord Hervey's bitter lines introduce us to Jonathan Swift. Nature, together with the character of his time, made the great Dean a misanthropist. Physical infirmity, disappointed hopes, and a long series of humiliations destroyed the happiness which should have belonged to his rare union of noble gifts,--his tall, commanding figure, his awe-inspiring countenance, his acute wit, and magnificent intellect. Naturally proud and sensitive to an abnormal degree, he was obliged to suffer the most galling slights. From his earliest years he hated dependence, and yet, until middle life he was forced to be a dependent. His education was furnished by the charity of relatives, between whom and himself there was no affection. His college degree was conferred in a manner which made it a disgrace rather than an honor. The long years which he passed in the household of Sir William Temple, subject to the humors and caprices of his master, embittered his temper at the time of life when it should have been most buoyant and hopeful. Thus began the melancholy and misanthropy which marred his whole life, darkening his triumphs, turning such love as he had to give into a curse to those who received it, producing an eccentricity which often gave him the appearance of a madman, and finally bringing him to a terrible end--to die, as he himself foretold, like a blasted elm, first at the top. He kept his birthday as a day of mourning. He solemnly regretted his escape when nearly killed by an accident. He habitually parted from a friend with the wish that they might never meet again. Cæsar's description of Cassius is wonderfully applicable to Swift:[151]