unnatural hankering after human flesh. And this obstinate refusal to understand the meaning and purpose of irony has turned A Tale of a Tub, that amazing riot of wit and satire, into a work of dangerous example. Yet Swift could no more avoid irony than Rabelais could avoid ridicule. It was an integral part of his temper and his genius. Thus and thus only could he express the truth that was in him, and so fine an instrument did irony become in his skilful hands, that none has ever used it since with a like mastery and to the same effect.
It has been the custom to compare Swift with Rabelais. We all remember Pope's amiable criticism:
Whether he choose Cervantes' serious air,
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair.
Or praise the court or magnify mankind.
Or his grieved country's copper chains unbind.
The comparison is more kindly than just. Swift was not an English Rabelais. He rarely laughed; he never shook in an
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