A good picture of Garth the politician is found in the "Journal to Stella." "London, Nov. 17, 1711," writes Swift--"This is Queen Elizabeth's birthday, usually kept in this town by apprentices, &c.; but the Whigs designed a mighty procession by midnight, and had laid out a thousand pounds to dress up the pope, devil, cardinals, Sacheverel, &c., and carry them with torches about and burn them. They did it by contribution. Garth gave five guineas; Dr. Garth I mean, if ever you heard of him. But they were seized last night by order from the Secretary.... The figures are now at the Secretary's Office at Whitehall. I design to see them if I can." A Whig, but the friend of Tories, Garth cordially disliked Sir Richard Blackmore, a member of his own profession and political party. Blackmore was an anti-dispensarian, a bad poet, and a pure and rigid moralist. Naturally Garth abominated him, and sneered at him for his pomposity and bad scholarship. It is to be regretted that Garth, with the vulgarity of the age, twitted him with his early poverty, and with having been--a schoolmaster. To ridicule his enemy Garth composed the following verses:-- "TO THE MERRY POETASTER, AT SADLER'S HALL, IN CHEAPSIDE. "Unwieldy pedant, let thy awkward muse With censures praise, with flatteries abuse; To lash, and not be felt, in thee's an art, That ne'er mad'st any but thy school-boys smart. Then be advised and scribble not again-- Thou'rt fashion'd for a flail and not a pen. If B----l's immortal wit thou would'st decry, Pretend 'tis he that wrote thy poetry. Thy feeble satire ne'er can do him wrong-- Thy poems and thy patients live not long." Garth's death, as described by William Ayre, was characteristic. He was soon tired of an invalid's suffering and helplessness, the _ennui_ and boredom of the sick-room afflicting him more than the bodily pain. "Gentlemen," said he to the crowd of weeping friends who stood round his bed, "I wish the ceremony of death was over." And so, sinking lower in the bed, he died without a struggle. He had previously, on being informed that his end was approaching, expressed pleasure at the intelligence, because he was tired of having his shoes pulled off and on. The manner of Garth's exit reminds one of the death of Rabelais, also a physician. The presence of officious friends troubled him; and when he saw his doctors consulting together, he raised his head from his pillow and said with a smile, "Dear gentlemen, let me die a natural death." After he had received extreme unction, a friend approached him, and asked him how he did. "I am going on my journey," was the answer--"they have greased my boots already."