Jan. 1, 1711. Morning. “I wish my dearest pretty Dingley and Stella a happy new year, and health, and mirth, and good stomachs, and Fr’s company. Faith, I did not know how to write Fr. I wondered what was the matter; but now I remember I always write Pdfr [by this combination of letters, or by the word Presto, Swift designates himself in the Journal] * * Get the Examiners, and read them; the last nine or ten are full of reasons for the late change and of the abuses of the last ministry; and the great men assure me that all are true. They were written by their encouragement and direction. I must rise, and go see Sir Andrew Fountain; but perhaps to-morrow I may answer M.D.’s [Stella’s designation in the Journal] letter: so good morrow, my mistresses all, good morrow. I wish you both a merry new year; roast beef, minced pies, and good strong beer; and me a share of your good cheer; that I was there or you were here; and you’re a little saucy dear,” &c. &c.
Jan. 13, 1711. “O faith, I had an ugly giddy fit last night in my chamber, and I have got a new box of pills to take, and I hope shall have no more this good while. I would not tell you before, because it would vex you, little rogues; but now it is better. I dined to-day with Lord Shelburn,” &c. &c.
Jan. 16, 1711. “My service to Mrs. Stode and Walls. Has she a boy or a girl? A girl, hmm!, and died in a week, hmmm!, and was poor Stella forced to stand for godmother?—Let me know how accounts stand, that you may have your money betimes. There’s four months for my lodging; that must be thought on too. And zoo go dine with Manley, and lose your money, doo extravagant sluttikin? But don’t fret. It will just be three weeks when I have the next letter: that is, to-morrow. Farewell, dearest beloved M.D., and love poor, poor Presto, who has not had one happy day since he left you, as hope to be saved.”
March 7, 1711. “I am weary of business and ministers. I don’t go to a coffee-house twice a month. I am very regular in going to sleep before eleven. And so you say that Stella’s a pretty girl; and so she be; and methinks I see her just now, as handsome as the day’s long. Do you know what? When I am writing in our language Pdfr, pay? Iss, and so la shall. And so leles fol ee rettle. Dood Mollow. [You must cry There and Here and Here again. Must you imitate Pdfr, pray? Yes, and so you shall. And so there’s for the letter. Good morrow.]”
And so on, through a series of daily letters, forming now a goodly octavo volume or more, Swift chats and rattles away to the “dear absent girls,” giving them all the political gossip of the time, and informing them about his own goings-out and comings-in, his dinings with Harley, St. John, and occasionally with Addison and other old Whig friends, the state of his health, his troubles with his drunken servant Patrick, his lodging-expenses, and a host of other things. Such another journal has, perhaps, never been given to the world; and but for it we should never have known what depths of tenderness and power of affectionate prattle there were in the heart of this harsh and savage man.
Only on one topic, affecting himself during his long stay in London, is he in any degree reserved. Among the acquaintanceships he had formed was one with a Mrs. Vanhomrigh, a widowed lady of property, who had a family of several daughters. The eldest of these, Hester Vanhomrigh, was a girl of more than ordinary talent and accomplishments, and of enthusiastic and impetuous character; and, as Swift acquired the habit of dropping in upon the “Vans,” as he called them, when he had no other dinner engagement, it was not long before he and Miss Vanhomrigh fell into the relationship of teacher and pupil. He taught her to think and to write verses; and, as among Swift’s peculiarities of opinion, one was that he entertained what would even now be called very advanced notions as to the intellectual capabilities and rights of women, he found no more pleasant amusement, in the midst of his politics and other business, than that of superintending the growth of so hopeful a mind.
“His conduct might have made him styled
A father, and the nymph his child:
The innocent delight he took
To see the virgin mind her book
Was but the master’s secret joy
In school to hear the finest boy.”
But, alas! Cupid got among the books.
“Vanessa, not in years a score,
Dreams of a gown of forty-four;
Imaginary charms can find
In eyes with reading almost blind;
She fancies music in his tongue,
Nor farther looks, but thinks him young.”
Nay, more: one of Swift’s lessons to her had been that frankness, whether in man or women, was the chief of the virtues, and