ing health.

He was now so much at ease, that, 1727, he returned to England; where he
collected three volumes of Miscellanies, in conjunction with Pope, who
prefixed a querulous and apologetical preface.

This important year sent likewise into the world, Gulliver's Travels; a
production so new and strange, that it filled the reader with a mingled
emotion of merriment and amazement. It was received with such avidity,
that the price of the first edition was raised before the second could
be made; it was read by the high and the low, the learned and
illiterate. Criticism was for awhile lost in wonder; no rules of
judgment were applied to a book written in open defiance of truth and
regularity. But when distinctions came to be made, the part which gave
the least pleasure was that which describes the Flying island, and that
which gave most disgust must be the history of the Houyhnhnms.

While Swift was enjoying the reputation of his new work, the news of the
king's death arrived; and he kissed the hands of the new king and queen
three days after their accession.

By the queen, when she was princess, he had been treated with some
distinction, and was well received by her in her exaltation; but whether
she gave hopes which she never took care to satisfy, or he formed
expectations which she never meant to raise, the event was, that he
always afterwards thought on her with malevolence, and particularly
charged her with breaking her promise of some medals which she engaged
to send him.

I know not whether she had not, in her turn, some reason for complaint.
A letter was sent her, not so much entreating, as requiring her
patronage of Mrs. Barber, an ingenious Irishwoman, who was then begging
subscriptions for her poems. To this letter was subscribed the name of
Swift, and it has all the appearances of his diction and sentiments; but
it was not written in his hand, and had some little improprieties. When
he was charged with this letter, he laid hold of the inaccuracies, and
urged the improbability of the accusation; but never denied it; he
shuffles between cowardice and veracity, and talks big when he says
nothing[104].

He seemed desirous enough of recommencing courtier, and endeavoured to
gain the kindness of Mrs. Howard, remembering what Mrs. Masham had
performed in former times: but his flatteries were like those of other
wits, unsuccessful; the lady either wanted power, or had no ambition of
poetical immortality.

He