When the Vagabond was a little shaver of five, he used to climb on his father's knee after supper and demand a story. Now, these many years later, the first ones he can recollect being told concerned a man who went to a strange country of Little Men. Or sometimes he went to a land of Big People. The man's adventures were all very fascinating and exciting. . . .

The author of these stories until recently remained in Vag's mind as just another childhood fairy tale writer, like the author of "Alice in Wonderland" or the wonderful persons who composed his once-treasured "Book of Knowledge." Lately however, Vag has been finding out much more about this particular man. It seems Vag missed the point of these stories of strange lands. They weren't just fairy tales; they were satire--bitter, clever, biting, calculated ridicule of the life and society of eighteenth century England. Written in beautifully flowing, powerful, yet childishly simple language, they are considered perhaps the best satires in English. It is indeed a cruel sarcasm--and society's revenge on the author--that his best works should now be beloved only of children who read vacantly, failing to comprehend the purpose of the writings.

The author of these stories was a brilliant Irishman born of English parents. Although a high-ranking clergyman, he had no scruples about expressing his opinions in the most vigorous style. He did not like the predatory practices of English land-owners in Ireland. So he penned "A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Ireland from Being a Burden to their Parents or Country" in which he calmly unfolded a grotesque scheme whereby delectable one-year-old youngsters be sold for food--to be "Stewed, Roasted, Baked, or Boiled." He grew tired of the endless predictions of a well-known astronomer named Partridge. So, posing as Isaac Bickerstaff, astronomer, he made some "Predictions for the Year 1708" which solemnly forecast the immediate demise of Astronomer Partridge in one of the greatest hoaxes of the time. He outraged prim Queen Anne by his vulgarity in "The Tale of a Tub" which cost him preferment. But his "Drapier's Letters" made him beloved of the Irish, which was ample compensation. His "Voyage to Lilliput" laid bare society in all its smallness and pettiness; his "Voyage to Brobdingnag" magnified its faults to gigantic, revealing, revolting stature. He held up an exaggerating mirror to the English public's face and showed them a visage as distorted as a Coney Island reflection. His pen was undoubtedly the most feared of his era, and he wrote publicly and anonymously, over-seriously and over-humorously, at length and in brief, even in baby talk--whichever best suited his mood. And almost single-handed, he pulled English literature and society a step upward out of its complacent mire.

The Vagabond would learn more of this amazing, ribald, religious man who wrote the "Gulliver's Travels" every boy knows but does not understand. For this purpose, he journeys to Sever 11 at eleven o'clock this morning to hear Dr. Knox Chandler lecture on Jonathan Swift.