to benefit his hearers. Still his sermons were popular; and he
entertained at one time the hope,--a hope blasted by the death of
Queen Anne,--of being preferred to a city charge. So soon as each
London furlough was expired, he returned to Ireland, jaded and
dispirited, and there took delight in nursing his melancholy; in
pining for the amusements of the metropolis; in shunning and sneering
at the society around him; and in abusing his native bogs and his
fellow-countrymen in verse. This was not manly, far less Christian
conduct. He ought to have drowned his recollections of London in
active duty, or in diligent study; and if he found society coarse or
corrupt, he should have set himself to refine and to purify it. But he
seems to have been a lazy, luxurious person--his life a round of
selfish rapture and selfish anguish,--in fact, ruined by his
independent fortune. Had he been a poorer, he had probably been a
happier man. He was not, moreover, of that self-contained cast of
character, which can live on its own resources, create its own world,
and say, "My mind to me a kingdom is."

In 1712 he lost his wife, with whom he appears to have lived as
happily as his morbid temperament and mortified feelings would permit.
This blow deepened his melancholy, and drove him, it is said, to an
excessive and habitual use of wine. In the same year we find him in
London, brought out once more under the "special patronage" of Dean
Swift, who had quite a penchant for Parnell, and who wished, through
his side, to mortify certain persons in Ireland, who did not
appreciate, he says, the Archdeacon; and who, we suspect, besides, did
not thoroughly appreciate the Dean. Swift, partly in pity for the
"poor lad," as he calls him, whom he saw to be in such imminent danger
of losing caste and character, and partly in the true patronising
spirit, introduced Parnell to Lord Bolingbroke, who received him