Harvard Classics, Volume 28 | Page 2

he resigned the editorship; and on December 23,
1863, he died.
Thackeray's greatest distinction is, of course, as a novelist, and an
estimate of his work in this field is not in place here. But as an essayist
he is also great. The lectures on the "English Humourists," of which the
following paper on "Swift" was the first, were the fruit of an intimate
knowledge of the time of Queen Anne, and a warm sympathy with its
spirit. And here, as in all his mature work, Thackeray is the master of a
style that for ease, suppleness, and range of effect has seldom been
equaled in English.

JONATHAN SWIFT[1]
BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
In treating of the English humourists of the past age, it is of the men
and of their lives, rather than of their books, that I ask permission to
speak to you; and in doing so, you are aware that I cannot hope to
entertain you with a merely humourous or facetious story. Harlequin
without his mask is known to present a very sober countenance, and
was himself, the story goes, the melancholy patient whom the Doctor
advised to go and see Harlequin--a man full of cares and perplexities
like the rest of us, whose Self must always be serious to him, under
whatever mask or disguise or uniform he presents it to the public. And
as all of you here must needs be grave when you think of your own past
and present, you will not look to find, in the histories of those whose
lives and feelings I am going to try and describe to you, a story that is

otherwise than serious, and of ten very sad. If Humour only meant
laughter, you would scarcely feel more interest about humourous
writers than about the private life of poor Harlequin just mentioned,
who possesses in common with these the power of making you laugh.
But the men regarding whose lives and stories your kind presence here
shows that you have curiosity and sympathy, appeal to a great number
of our other faculties, besides our mere sense of ridicule. The
humourous writer professes to awaken and direct your love, your pity,
your kindness--your scorn for untruth, pretension, imposture--your
tenderness for the weak, the poor, the oppressed, the unhappy. To the
best of his means and ability he comments on all the ordinary actions
and passions of life almost. He takes upon himself to be the week-day
preacher, so to speak. Accordingly, as he finds, and speaks, and feels
the truth best we regard him, esteem him--sometimes love him. And, as
his business is to mark other people's lives and peculiarities, we
moralize upon his life when he is gone--and yesterday's preacher
becomes the text for to-day's sermon.
Of English parents, and of a good English family of clergymen, Swift
was born in Dublin in 1667, seven months after the death of his father,
who had come to practise there as a lawyer. The boy went to school at
Kilkenny, and afterwards to Trinity College, Dublin, where he got a
degree with difficulty, and was wild, and witty, and poor. In 1688, by
the recommendation of his mother, Swift was received into the family
of Sir William Temple, who had known Mrs. Swift in Ireland. He left
his patron in 1694, and the next year took orders in Dublin. But he
threw up the small Irish preferment which he got and returned to
Temple, in whose family he remained until Sir William's death in 1699.
His hopes of advancement in England failing, Swift returned to Ireland,
and took the living of Laracor. Hither he invited Hester Johnson,
Temple's natural daughter, with whom he had contracted a tender
friendship, while they were both dependants of Temple's. And with an
occasional visit to England, Swift now passed nine years at home.
In 1709 he came to England, and, with a brief visit to Ireland, during
which he took possession of his deanery of St. Patrick, he now passed
five years in England, taking the most distinguished part in the political

transactions which terminated with the death of Queen Anne. After her
death, his party disgraced, and his hopes of ambition over, Swift
returned to Dublin, where he remained twelve years. In this time he
wrote the famous "Drapier's Letters" and "Gulliver's Travels." He
married Hester Johnson, Stella, and buried Esther Vanhomrigh,
Vanessa, who had followed him to Ireland from London, where she had
contracted a violent passion for him. In 1726 and 1727 Swift was in
England, which he quitted for the last time on hearing of his wife's
illness. Stella died in January, 1728, and Swift not until 1745, having
passed the last five of the seventy-eight years of his life with an
impaired intellect and keepers to watch