The Journal to Stella
“Poor Dingley fretted to see Stella lose that four and elevenpence t’other night.” Mrs. Dingley herself could hardly play well enough to hold the cards while Stella went into the next room. If at dinner the mutton was underdone, and “poor Stella cannot eat, poor dear rogue,” then “Dingley is so vexed.” Swift was for ever urging Stella to walk and ride; she was “naturally a stout walker,” and “Dingley would do well enough if her petticoats were pinned up.” And we see Stella setting out on and returning from her ride, with her riband and mask: “Ah, that riding to Laracor gives me short sighs as well as you,” he says; “all the days I have passed here have been dirt to those.”
If the Journal shows us some of Swift’s less attractive qualities, it shows still more how great a store of humour, tenderness, and affection there was in him. In these letters we see his very soul; in his literary work we are seldom moved to anything but admiration of his wit and genius. Such daily outpourings could never have been written for publication, they were meant only for one who understood him perfectly; and everything that we know of Stellaher kindliness, her wit, her vivacity, her loyaltyshows that she was worthy of the confidence.
LETTER 1.[1]
CHESTER, Sept. 2, 1710.
Joe[2] will give you an account of me till I got into the boat; after which the rogues made a new bargain, and forced me to give them two crowns, and talked as if we should not be able to overtake any ship: but in half an hour we got to the yacht; for the ships lay by [to] wait for my Lord Lieutenant’s steward. We made our voyage in fifteen hours just. Last night I came to this town, and shall leave it, I believe, on Monday. The first man I met in Chester was Dr. Raymond.[3] He and Mrs. Raymond were here about levying a fine, in order to have power to sell their estate. They have found everything answer very well. They both desire to present their humble services to you: they do not think of Ireland till next year. I got a fall off my horse, riding here from Parkgate,[4] but no hurt; the horse understanding falls very well, and lying quietly till I get up. My duty to the Bishop of Clogher.[5] I saw him returning from Dunleary; but he saw not me. I take it ill he was not at Convocation, and that I have not his name to my powers.[6] I beg you will hold your resolution of going to Trim, and riding there as much as you can. Let the Bishop of Clogher remind the Bishop of Killala[7] to send me a letter, with one enclosed to the Bishop of Lichfield.[8] Let all who write to me, enclose to Richard Steele, Esq., at his office at the Cockpit, near Whitehall.[9] But not MD; I will pay for their letters at St.
James’s Coffee− house,[10] that I may have them the sooner. My Lord Mountjoy[11] is now in the humour that we should begin our journey this afternoon; so that I have stole here again to finish this letter, which must be short or long accordingly. I write this post to Mrs. Wesley,[12] and will tell her, that I have taken care she may have her bill of one hundred and fifteen pounds whenever she pleases to send for it; and in that case I desire you will send it her enclosed and sealed, and have it ready so, in case she should send for it: otherwise keep it. I will say no more till I hear whether I go to−day or no: if I do, the letter is almost at an end. My cozen Abigail is grown prodigiously old. God Almighty bless poo dee richar MD; and, for God’s sake, be merry, and get oo health. I am perfectly resolved to return as soon as I have done my commission, whether it succeeds or no. I never went to England with so little desire in my life. If Mrs. Curry[13] makes any difficulty about the lodgings, I will quit them and pay her from July 9 last, and Mrs. Brent[14] must write to Parvisol[15] with orders accordingly. The post is come from London, and just going out; so I have only time to pray God to bless poor richr MD FW FW MD MD ME ME ME.
LETTER 2.
LONDON, Sept. 9, 1710.
LETTER 1.[1]
14
The Journal to Stella
Got here last Thursday,[1] after five days’ travelling, weary the first, almost dead the second, tolerable the third, and well enough the rest; and am now glad of the fatigue, which has served for exercise; and I am at present well enough. The Whigs were ravished to see me, and would lay hold on me as a twig while they are drowning,[2] and the great men making me their clumsy apologies, etc. But my Lord Treasurer[3] received me with a great deal of coldness, which has enraged me so, I am almost vowing revenge. I have not yet gone half my circle; but I find all my acquaintance just as I left them. I hear my Lady Giffard[4] is much at Court, and Lady Wharton[5] was ridiculing it t’other day; so I have lost a friend there. I have not yet seen her, nor intend it; but I will contrive to see Stella’s mother[6] some other way. I writ to the Bishop of Clogher from Chester; and I now write to the Archbishop of Dublin.[7] Everything is turning upside down; every Whig in great office will, to a man, be infallibly put out; and we shall have such a winter as hath not been seen in England. Everybody asks me, how I came to be so long in Ireland, as naturally as if here were my being; but no soul offers to make it so: and I protest I shall return to Dublin, and the Canal at Laracor,[8] with more satisfaction than ever I did in my life. The Tatler[9] expects every day to be turned out of his employment; and the Duke of Ormond,[10] they say, will be Lieutenant of Ireland. I hope you are now peaceably in Presto’s[11] lodgings; but I resolve to turn you out by Christmas; in which time I shall either do my business, or find it not to be done. Pray be at Trim by the time this letter comes to you; and ride little Johnson, who must needs be now in good case. I have begun this letter unusually, on the post−night, and have already written to the Archbishop; and cannot lengthen this. Henceforth I will write something every day to MD, and make it a sort of journal; and when it is full, I will send it, whether MD writes or no; and so that will be pretty: and I shall always be in conversation with MD, and MD with Presto. Pray make Parvisol pay you the ten pounds immediately; so I ordered him. They tell me I am grown fatter, and look better; and, on Monday, Jervas[12] is to retouch my picture. I thought I saw Jack Temple[13] and his wife pass by me to−day in their coach; but I took no notice of them. I am glad I have wholly shaken off that family. Tell the Provost,[14] I have obeyed his commands to the Duke of Ormond; or let it alone, if you please. I saw Jemmy Leigh[15] just now at the Coffee−house, who asked after you with great kindness: he talks of going in a fortnight to Ireland.
My service to the Dean,[16] and Mrs. Walls, and her Archdeacon.[17] Will Frankland’s[18] wife is near bringing to−bed, and I have promised to christen the child. I fancy you had my Chester letter the Tuesday after I writ. I presented Dr. Raymond to Lord Wharton[19] at Chester. Pray let me know when Joe gets his money.[20] It is near ten, and I hate to send by the bellman.[21] MD shall have a longer letter in a week, but I send this only to tell I am safe in London; and so farewell, etc.
LETTER 3.
LONDON, Sept. 9, 1710.
After seeing the Duke of Ormond, dining with Dr. Cockburn,[1] passing some part of the afternoon with Sir Matthew Dudley[2] and Will Frankland, the rest at St. James’s Coffee−house, I came home, and writ to the Archbishop of Dublin and MD, and am going to bed. I forgot to tell you, that I begged Will Frankland to stand Manley’s[3] friend with his father in this shaking season for places. He told me, his father was in danger to be out; that several were now soliciting for Manley’s place; that he was accused of opening letters; that Sir Thomas Frankland[4] would sacrifice everything to save himself; and in that, I fear, Manley is undone, etc.
l0. To−day I dined with Lord Mountjoy at Kensington; saw my mistress, Ophy Butler’s[5] wife, who is grown a little charmless. I sat till ten in the evening with Addison and Steele: Steele will certainly lose his Gazetteer’s place, all the world detesting his engaging in parties.[6] At ten I went to the Coffee−house, hoping to find Lord Radnor,[7] whom I had not seen. He was there; and for an hour and a half we talked treason heartily against the Whigs, their baseness and ingratitude. And I am come home, rolling resentments in my mind, and framing schemes of revenge: full of which (having written down some hints) I go to bed. I am afraid MD dined at home, because it is Sunday; and there was the little half−pint of wine: for God’s sake, be good girls, and all will be well. Ben Tooke[8] was with me this morning.