And who was this man who touched with fire the hearts of a nation and played on their feelings as a skilful musician runs his fingers over the keys of an instrument? A simple journalist, of obscure origin, without rank or station, with nothing but a beggarly Irish living to fall back upon, yet endowed with heaven-born genius and the pride of an insulted god. He treated art like man: with the same sovereign pride scribbling his articles in haste, scorning the wretched necessity for reading them over, putting his name to nothing he wrote; letting every piece make its way on its own merits, recommended by none. Swift had the soul of a dictator and the heart of a woman. This self-devouring heart could not understand the callousness and indifference of the world. He asked: "Do not the corruptions and villainies of men eat your flesh and consume your spirits?" Swift, like his great Master, was moved by compassion for the multitude. He knew what poverty and scorn were, even at an age when the mind expands and the path of life is sown with generous hopes. At that time, his career was crushed with the iron ring of poverty; maintained by the alms of his family; secretary to a flattered, gouty courtier, at the magnificent salary of 20_l._ a year, and a seat at the servants' table: obliged to submit to the whims of my lord and the fancies of an acidulous virgin, my lord's sister; lured with false hopes; and forced, after an attempt at independence, to resume the livery which scorched his soul. When writing his directions to servants, he was relating with bitterness what he himself had suffered; his proud heart bursting at the memory of indignities received while his lips were locked. Under an outward calm, a tempest of wrath and desire lashed his soul. Twenty years of insult and humiliation, the inner tempest raging, as all his brilliant dreams faded from hope deferred;--such was the man who moved his country to its centre and won her eternal gratitude. In discussing the burning topics of the day, Swift had against him the king, his parliament, and all the people of England, together with the Irish government and the Irish judges. The Irish parliament, whose cause he defended, could not have saved him: that sycophant assembly could not save itself, and was besides so lowered and debased by the over-ruling power of England, that it was more likely to become his prosecutor than his protector. Swift stood like Atlas, unmoved, and so laid the foundation of his country's liberty.