The Journal to Stella by Jonathan Swift

The town is as empty as at midsummer; and if I had not occasion for physic, I would be at Windsor still. Did I tell you of Lord Rivers’s will? He has left legacies to about twenty paltry old whores by name, and not a farthing to any friend, dependent, or relation: he has left from his only child, Lady Barrymore,[6] her mother’s estate, and given the whole to his heir−male, a popish priest, a second cousin, who is now Earl Rivers, and whom he used in his life like a footman. After him it goes to his chief wench and bastard. Lord Treasurer and Lord Chamberlain are executors of this hopeful will. I loved the man, and detest his memory.

We hear nothing of peace yet: I believe verily the Dutch are so wilful, because they are told the Queen cannot live. I had poor MD’s letter, N.3,[7] at Windsor: but I could not answer it then; poor Pdfr was vely kick[8]

then: and, besides, it was a very inconvenient place to send letters from. Oo thought to come home the same day, and stayed a month: that was a sign the place was agreeable.[9] I should love such a sort of jaunt. Is that lad Swanton[10] a little more fixed than he used to be? I think you like the girl very well. She has left off her grave airs, I suppose. I am now told Lord Godolphin was buried last night.O poo Ppt! lay down oo head aden, fais I. . . ; I always reckon if oo are ill I shall hear it, and therefore hen oo are silent I reckon all is well.[11] I believe I ‘scaped the new fever[12] for the same reason that Ppt did, because I am not well; but why should DD ‘scape it, pray? She is melthigal, oo know, and ought to have the fever; but I hope it is now too late, and she won’t have it at all. Some physicians here talk very melancholy, and think it foreruns the plague, which is actually at Hamburg. I hoped Ppt would have done with her illness; but I think we both have that faculty never to part with a disorder for ever; we are very constant. I have had my giddiness twenty−three years by fits. Will Mrs. Raymond never have done lying−in? He intends to leave beggars enough; for I LETTER 53.[1]

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daresay he has squandered away the best part of his fortune already, and is not out of debt. I had a letter from him lately.

Oct. 11. Lord Treasurer sent for me yesterday and the day before to sit with him, because he is not yet quite well enough to go abroad; and I could not finish my letter. How the deuce come I to be so exact in ME

money? Just seventeen shillings and eightpence more than due; I believe you cheat me. If Hawkshaw does not pay the interest I will have the principal; pray speak to Parvisol and have his advice what I should do about it. Service to Mrs. Stoyte and Catherine and Mrs. Walls. Ppt makes a petition with many apologies.

John Danvers, you know, is Lady Giffard’s friend. The rest I never heard of. I tell you what, as things are at present, I cannot possibly speak to Lord Treasurer for anybody. I need tell you no more. Something or nothing will be done in my own affairs: if the former, I will be a solicitor for your sister;[13] if the latter, I have done with Courts for ever. Opportunities will often fall in my way, if I am used well, and I will then make it my business. It is my delight to do good offices for people who want and deserve, and a tenfold delight to do it to a relation of Ppt, whose affairs she has so at heart.[14] I have taken down his name and his case (not HER case), and whenever a proper time comes, I will do all I can; zat’s enough to say when I can do no more; and I beg oo pardon a sousand times,[15] that I cannot do better. I hope the Dean of St. P[atrick’s] is well of his fever: he has never writ to me: I am glad of it; pray don’t desire him to write. I have dated your bill late, because it must not commence, ung oomens, till the first of November[16] next. O, fais, I must be ise;[17] iss, fais, must I; else ME will cheat Pdfr. Are you good housewives and readers? Are you walkers? I know you are gamesters. Are you drinkers? Are you O Rold, I must go no further, for fear of abusing fine radies.[18] Parvisol has never sent me one word how he set this year’s tithes. Pray ask whether tithes set well or ill this year. The Bishop of Killaloe[19] tells me wool bears a good rate in Ireland: but how is corn? I dined yesterday with Lady Orkney, and we sat alone from two till eleven at night.You have heard of her, I suppose. I have twenty letters upon my hands, and am so lazy and so busy, I cannot answer them, and they grow upon me for several months. Have I any apples at Laracor? It is strange every year should blast them, when I took so much care for shelter. Lord Bolingbroke has been idle at his country−house this fortnight, which puts me backward in a business I have. I am got into an ordinary room two pair of stairs, and see nobody, if I can help it; yet some puppies have found me out, and my man is not such an artist as Patrick at denying me. Patrick has been soliciting to come to me again, but in vain. The printer has been here with some of the new whims printed, and has taken up my time. I am just going out, and can only bid oo farewell.

Farewell, deelest ickle MD, MD MD MD FW FW FW FW ME ME ME ME. Lele deel ME. Lele lele lele sollahs bose.[20]

LETTER 54.[1]

LONDON, Oct. 28, 1712.

I have been in physic this month, and have been better these three weeks. I stop my physic, by the doctor’s orders, till he sends me further directions. DD grows politician, and longs to hear the peace is proclaimed. I hope we shall have it soon, for the Dutch are fully humbled; and Prior is just come over from France for a few days; I suppose upon some important affair. I saw him last night, but had no private talk with him. Stocks rise upon his coming. As for my stay in England, it cannot be long now, so tell my friends. The Parliament will not meet till after Christmas, and by that time the work I am doing will be over, and then nothing shall keep me. I am very much discontented at Parvisol, about neglecting to sell my horses, etc.

Lady Masham is not yet brought to bed; but we expect it daily. I dined with her to−day. Lord Bolingbroke returned about two months ago, and Prior about a week; and goes back (Prior I mean) in a few days. Who told you of my snuff− box and pocket? Did I? I had a letter to−day from Dr. Coghill,[2] desiring me to get Raphoe for Dean Sterne, and the deanery for myself. I shall indeed, I have such obligations to Sterne. But however, if I am asked who will make a good bishop, I shall name him before anybody. Then comes another LETTER 54.[1]

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letter, desiring I would recommend a Provost,[3] supposing that Pratt (who has been here about a week) will certainly be promoted; but I believe he will not. I presented Pratt to Lord Treasurer, and truly young Molyneux[4] would have had me present him too; but I directly answered him I would not, unless he had business with him. He is the son of one Mr. Molyneux of Ireland. His father wrote a book;[5] I suppose you know it. Here is the Duke of Marlborough going out of England (Lord knows why), which causes many speculations. Some say he is conscious of guilt, and dare not stand it. Others think he has a mind to fling an odium on the Government, as who should say that one who has done such great services to his country cannot live quietly in it, by reason of the malice of his enemies. I have helped to patch up these people[6] together once more. God knows how long it may last. I was to−day at a trial between Lord Lansdowne and Lord Carteret, two friends of mine. It was in the Queen’s Bench, for about six thousand a year (or nine, I think). I sat under Lord Chief−Justice Parker, and his pen falling down I reached it up. He made me a low bow; and I was going to whisper him that I HAD DONE GOOD FOR EVIL; FOR HE WOULD HAVE TAKEN MINE