ed
to show the earl that the proposal involved nothing dangerous to royal
power, he sent Swift for the same purpose to the king. Swift, who
probably was proud of his employment, and went with all the confidence
of a young man, found his arguments, and his art of displaying them,
made totally ineffectual by the predetermination of the king; and used
to mention this disappointment as his first antidote against vanity.

Before he left Ireland he contracted a disorder, as he thought, by
eating too much fruit. The original of diseases is commonly obscure.
Almost every boy eats as much fruit as he can get, without any great
inconvenience. The disease of Swift was giddiness with deafness, which
attacked him from time to time, began very early, pursued him through
life, and, at last, sent him to the grave, deprived of reason.

Being much oppressed at Moor-park by this grievous malady, he was
advised to try his native air, and went to Ireland; but, finding no
benefit, returned to sir William, at whose house he continued his
studies, and is known to have read, among other books, Cyprian and
Irenaeus. He thought exercise of great necessity, and used to run half a
mile up and down a hill every two hours.

It is easy to imagine that the mode in which his first degree was
conferred, left him no great fondness for the university of Dublin, and,
therefore, he resolved to become a master of arts at Oxford. In the
testimonial which he produced, the words of disgrace were omitted[94];
and he took his master's degree July 5, 1692, with such reception and
regard as fully contented him.

While he lived with Temple, he used to pay his mother, at Leicester, a
yearly visit. He travelled on foot, unless some violence of weather
drove him into a wagon; and at night he would go to a penny lodging,
where he purchased clean sheets for sixpence. This practice lord Orrery
imputes to his innate love of grossness and vulgarity: some may ascribe
it to his desire of surveying human life through all its varieties; and
others, perhaps, with equal probability, to a passion which seems to
have been deeply fixed in his heart, the love of a shilling.

In time he began to think that his attendance at Moor-park deserved some
other recompense than the pleasure, however mingled with improvement, of
Temple's conversation; and grew so impatient, that, 1694, he went away
in discontent.

Temple, conscious of having given reason for complaint, is said to have
mad